



Produced by Al Haines









[Transcriber's note: the source book had no listed author, however, the
British Library catalog shows John Arthur Hamilton as the author.]





THE MS. IN

A RED BOX




LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD

NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY




_Cheap Edition_



BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. LTD., LONDON




THIS WORK IS DEDICATED

TO ITS UNKNOWN AUTHOR

BY THE PUBLISHER




ORIGINAL PUBLISHER'S NOTE

One day in April last a parcel was sent to the Bodley Head.  On being
opened it was found to contain a MS. in a red box, without any
accompanying letter, without title, author's name, or address.  For
some days it was not entered in the book of the firm kept for the
purpose of registering the receipt of MSS.; but, as no letter was
received, towards the end of the month it was recorded in pencil as
follows: "The MS. in a Red Box."  According to the usual course it was
then sent to the publisher's reader, who reported on it with
enthusiasm; meanwhile there had been no inquiry from the author, and
the publisher read it for himself, and fully endorsed the opinion of
his literary adviser.  After some discussion, the following
advertisement was inserted in the pages of _The Athenaeum_ and _The
Academy_:--


TO AUTHORS.

NOTICE.--If the Writer of a Historical Novel, without Title, Author's
Name, or Address, sent some weeks ago to the Bodley Head in a Red Box,
will communicate with the Publisher, he will hear of something to his
advantage.

JOHN LANE.

Vigo Street, London, W.


This gave rise to much comment in the press, and of course brought
several applications from authors of MSS. which had gone astray.

The publisher learnt, to his bewilderment, that MSS. of novels have a
tendency to wander irresponsibly in space, somewhat after the fashion
of comets.

Later on the publisher again advertised, stating that he would publish
the book on a certain day under the title of "The MS. in a Red Box,"
unless the author communicated with him before the advertised date.

For the selection of the title, the publisher is indebted to Mrs. W. K.
Clifford, Mrs. Ford of Pencarrow, Mrs. Wilberforce, Mr. I. N. Ford of
the _New York Tribune_, Mr. Henry Harland, Mr. W. J. Locke, and
Professor York Powell, as it happened that these seven all suggested
the same title on the same day; and the superstitious instinct of the
publisher was not proof against this consensus of opinion.

Mr. Ford is responsible for the cover, which represents the Red Box in
which the MS. originally reached the Bodley Head; but to the Hon. Mrs.
Anstruther is due the witty suggestion of adding the Della Robbia
plaque from the Florentine Foundling Hospital.

The author may, perhaps, ask why the publisher did not wait longer for
him to reveal himself.  The reason was that it appeared that the
interest aroused in this foundling romance, through the author's
modesty or carelessness, would be best maintained by publication while
the incidents were still fresh in the minds of the public.  The
publisher holds that what is the author's interest is also his.

With regard to the business side of this transaction, the publisher
will try to meet the author's demands in a spirit of fairness; but,
should there be any dispute arise, he, for his part, will be quite
willing to leave the decision with the President of the Society of
Authors, Mr. George Meredith, and the President of the Publishers'
Association, Mr. Charles James Longman, the prince of English
publishers.

For the author's protection, some slight changes have been made in the
MS., in no way, however, affecting the story, but of sufficient
importance to prevent any false claim from being successfully advanced.
The author's interests have been further safeguarded by "The MS. in a
Red Box" being copyrighted and published in the United States of
America.  The work has been seen through the press by Mr. Richard
Upton, of Jesus College, Cambridge.

Apart from the interest the publisher has had in reading the book, he
has to thank the author for relieving the tedium of ordinary
publishing, and, in addition, for providing him with the unique
experience of dedicating a book to its unknown author.

THE BODLEY HEAD




_The MS. in a RED BOX_



CHAPTER I

On the tenth of May in the year sixteen hundred and twenty-seven, I
rode from Temple Belwood to Crowle, as blithe and merry as any young
fellow in the world.  For one thing, the day was the finest of an early
season, the air sweet with spring odours and glad with pleasant sounds.
The laburnums and lilacs and hawthorn and the foreign chestnuts (in
blossom for the first time at Temple Belwood that year) were full of
bloom.  The hen-pheasants were whistling to their new-hatched broods;
the fresh-shorn sheep were answering the bleating of their lambs; trees
and bushes rang with the melody of small birds, and from the holms and
islets of marsh and mere came a din of quacking, clanging, and
chattering water-fowl, which distance mingled and softened into music.
But what a pother I make!  It was a fine spring day in Axholme.  The
great reason for gladness was that I had received good news--news of
hard won victory from my father, then in London.  For years the Isle
had been threatened with invasion by one Cornelius Vermuijden, a
Dutchman, who had induced the King to grant him authority to drain the
meres, embank and stop the rivers of the Isle, and transform the
country at his pleasure, regardless of the rights of the Isle Commoners
covenanted in the Deed of Earl Mowbray.  When the Dutchman had
completed his precious scheme, one third of the land reclaimed was to
become the property of the King, another to be Vermuijden's, and the
remaining third to be divided among the Commoners of the Isle, that is,
the land-owners.  This, without the consent of the land-owners, be it
understood, and in nowise considering the ruin certain to befall
hundreds of poorer folk, who lived by fishing, fowling, reed-cutting,
egg-gathering, and the like crafts of marshmen.

When the first rumour of the plan came to Axholme, it was theme for
laughter.  What man in his senses could believe that his Majesty would
empower a foreigner to lord it over two hundred and fifty square miles
of English soil, diverting rivers, cutting canals, turning pools and
lakes into boggy ground, and of necessity (so said shrewd men, who had
knowledge of such matters, and as indeed proved to be the case),
turning fruitful fields into marsh and swamp?  But consternation
quickly followed jesting, for the incredible thing was true.  His
Majesty had great need of money, and the Dutchman held command of
inexhaustible treasure, so the Isle was to be given over to his will.
Then gentle and simple alike turned to my father, Thomas Vavasour.
They knew his courage and capacity and his public mind.  Into his hands
they committed their cause, and he became "their Solicitor," as they
loved to call him, though he was no lawyer by profession, nor ever
received aught for his services.  He had been in London on this
business for some weeks, and now wrote to me that he had obtained a
judgment of the Court of Exchequer, confirming the rights of the Isle
Commoners, and finally quashing the scheme of invasion.  My father had
worsted the Dutchman--and his Majesty himself--and saved the Isle!  The
news would set the bells ringing in every steeple in Axholme; there
would be bonfires on every hill and mound, and feasting and merrymaking
in every manor house and farm and cottage.  I had been ready to caper
and shout when I read the letter, but I suddenly bethought me that the
announcement should be made by "the Solicitor" himself, and that if it
so pleased him, my coming of age that day week would be a fitting
occasion.  It was hard to keep the tidings to myself, but it appeared
right to me that my father, who had gained it, should publish his
victory.  In his letter he said nothing to guide me.  I determined to
take counsel of the Vicar of Crowle, my uncle by marriage with my
mother's sister.  But when I reached Crowle, it became doubtful whether
I should impart the great news even to Mr. Graves, who had a high sense
of his importance as the parson of a parish, and might be unable to
resist the temptation to be the first to announce the good news.  The
next day would be Sunday, I remembered.  To think of this awhile
longer, I turned my horse into a track, which wound up a little hill
that over-topped the town.  As soon as I gained the crown of the hill,
a tumult of angry shouts and the noise of barking dogs came to my ears,
and I rode down the track toward the spot from which the sounds arose.
A thick growth of trees hindered my view until I came to an open glade,
where a number of men and lads, perhaps two score, were gathered round
an old oak.  They seemed to be threatening some one.  As I drew nearer,
I saw a young and beautiful woman, seated on a root of the old tree,
her back against the trunk, and one arm partly folded in her cloak,
round the neck of a fawn, huddled closely to her.  The cloak had been
torn in two or three places, and through the rents showed the whiteness
of her arm stained with blood.  Her face was deathly pale, but her eyes
were bright and dauntless.

The fellows parted right and left as I rode up, and some of them seemed
half ashamed of themselves before I spoke.

"What devilry is this?" I shouted.  "You vile cowards!  To set your
dogs on a woman!"

A stout fellow, whose face bore many scars of old wounds, nicknamed
Stride-a-mile from his skill in stilt-walking, answered me boldly
enough--

"The devilry is none of ours.  The foreign woman has bewitched the
fawn, and won't give it up.  How could we hinder the dogs snapping at
her?"

"You lie, you rascal," I replied.  "The curs are harmless enough now
that you are not hissing them on."

Half a dozen mongrel hounds were whimpering and snarling and growling
round the lady, but not attempting to bite.

"Maybe I am a liar and a coward and a devil, Master Vavasour," said
Stride-a-mile; "but the fawn is ours, and we mean to have it.  We found
it and the doe yonder"--pointing to a carcase which lay on the ground
thirty yards off--"out of forest bounds, and we've chased it, and 'tis
ours."  The fellow looked round on his comrades, some of whom answered
the look by gripping cudgels, displaying their big knives, or setting
their crossbows.

Boiling with rage at what I deemed the fellow's insolence, and
forgetting the odds against me, and what might happen to the lady, if I
should be overborne, I raised my riding-whip, and touched Trueboy's
side with my heel, when an oldish man, whom I did not know, stepped
between me and Stride-a-mile, saying--

"A parley, squire.  'Twould be a bad day's work if harm came to you;
and venison isn't worth any man's life.  Maybe the lady will explain to
you why she wants the whole fawn.  It would go bad long before she
could eat it all.  If she would be satisfied with a haunch, now, we
won't say her nay."

Angry though I was, I could not forbear laughing that the lady should
be suspected of so inordinate desire of venison, but I knew no more
than the fat fellow himself what her reason was for keeping their game
from the rabble.  I looked at her inquiringly.

She spoke in a clear, sweet voice.  "When its mother fell, and the dogs
sprang upon her, the poor little creature ran straight to me, and its
dear, brown eyes said, 'Save me,' as well as eyes can speak.  How could
I be so cruel as to refuse its suppliant plea?"

As her own fawn-like eyes were lifted to me, I wished I could paint the
beautiful face as a picture of the Mother of Pity.

"Will the men take money for the fawn, if they wish to eat it?" she
asked, holding out a piece of gold between thumb and finger.

Most of the men brightened at the suggestion, but Stride-a-mile
answered--

"Who's to say 'tis good?  No foreign tokens for us.  For aught we know
'tis witches' money, and will turn to cinder."

"Oh, if that's your objection," said I, "here's a twenty-shilling
laurel," which I tossed to him.

The magic of money!  The sulky clowns were happy on the instant.  They
gave a cheer for the "young Squire of Belwood," and hurried off to pick
up the doe, and then, doubtless, to the ale-house.

Dismounting, I inquired whether the lady had friends at hand to whose
care I might take her.

"My father and I are lodging at the inn of the White Hart," she said,
rising to her feet, but immediately sinking again, with a little moan.
"I am afraid walking is out of my power," she said.  "My ankle is
disabled.  If you will do me the kindness to acquaint my father, Doctor
Goel, with my position, he will know what to do."

"Pardon me, but that would be waste of time, and time is precious," I
answered.  "Your hurts should be seen to without delay.  If you can
manage to sit my horse, I will lead him gently."

A faint smile crossed her face, drawn with pain though it was.

"I have never ridden a horse, and should probably fall; for, to tell
the truth, I have some fear that I may swoon."

She was so pale, and such a dimness had come into her eyes that I
feared so, too.

"Then we must needs ride double," said I, jumping into the saddle.  "I
will take you in front of me, and there will be no risk of your
falling."

"But the little deer," she cried.  "We cannot leave the poor little
beast."

I was ready to curse the "little beast," but there was no gainsaying
the lady, so I leaped down again, took up the fawn, and scrambling up
on the roots of the old oak, which was hollow, thrust it through a
great hole, and let it drop inside.

Regaining my saddle, I said, "The fawn will be safe, until we have
leisure to return.  Now for the White Hart."

With some difficulty, I drew the lady on to Trueboy's back, and putting
one arm round her waist, set off at a canter.  Happily, she did not
swoon, and in ten minutes we arrived at the inn, where the stout
hostess and Nancy the maid received the lady into their arms, and
carried her to an inner room, making a great outcry of pity and
astonishment, and asking twenty questions in a breath.  Committing
Trueboy to Mat the ostler, I followed, in time to catch a glimpse of
the lady laid on a squab, and of a tall, spare man of sixty or
thereabout bending over her.  Then the door was closed, and I seated
myself in the common room, and waited, while Mistress Hind and her maid
bustled about with jugs and basins of water, hot and cold, and towels
and clean rags, shaking their heads, and sighing and exclaiming after
the manner of their kind.  Growing impatient of the noise they made, I
walked out into the inn yard, and remembering that the fawn was still
in the wood, and that the lady would be concerned about the creature, I
despatched Mat with a handcart, rope, et cetera, to bring it to the inn.

When I re-entered the house, the old man came to the door of the inner
chamber, and making a sweeping bow, addressed me in French, signifying
that his daughter wished to have speech with me.  I returned his bow,
and followed into the room, where the lady lay, a little colour now in
her cheeks, and in her eyes a mirthful light.  I thought I had never
seen woman half so lovely, and I think so still.

"Be seated, sir, if you please," she said.  "I have yet to thank you
for your courage and kindness."

I interrupted her.  "Are the wounds likely to be healed soon?  Is there
no peril of lameness, or enduring mischief?" I asked, half turning to
her father.

"My father has little English," said she.  "Perhaps you speak French?"

I shook my head; for, though I knew something of the tongue, I much
preferred to converse through the charming interpreter.

"To set your mind at rest," she continued, with a glance bright and
warm as a sunbeam, "my father tells me that a few scars will be the
worst consequences of what he calls my folly--and the barbarism of your
countrymen."

"Barbarism, assuredly," I answered; "but it is to be said for them that
the fawn was their game, and they did not understand your behaviour.
You ran great risk by defending it.  Why did you not offer them money
for it?"

"Because the heart is quicker than the head."  Then she added archly,
"You were not much wiser.  It did not occur to you to buy our safety.
You were for fighting, one against fifty, with riding-whip against
bludgeons and crossbows and guns."

"Perhaps I was more foolish than valiant," said I.

"Nay, I meant no flout," answered the lady, and her eyes were dewy as
she looked at me.

"The fat old fellow must have the praise for our deliverance," I said.

"Not from me," smiled the lady.

The gratitude she so expressed drove me to say, hoping to divert her
mind--

"By this time, Mat will have brought your fawn."

"How kind of you to take such pains!  But _my_ fawn it is not, since
your money purchased it from the hunters."

"Honour me by acceptance of it, then."

"A trifle additional to my life.  With pleasure.  I did not understand
perfectly why the man would not take my coin.  Said he not something of
witchcraft?"

"Only an idle word.  The ruffian spoke in amazement that the fawn had
taken refuge at your feet."

"It was wonderful to me; the more so that I had never seen such a
creature in my life.  We have no deer in the Netherlands."

"You are from the Netherlands?"

"My father"--looking fondly and proudly toward the old man, who was
deep in a book--"until three years ago, was not the least famous
professor in the University of Leyden, the intimate friend of the great
Oldenbarneveldt, and of the renowned Van Groot."

"My good old tutor, Mr. Butharwick, will hasten to pay his respect to
Doctor Goel.  He calls Grotius the second and greater Erasmus,
lamp-bearer of learning, the glory of Europe, and I know not what
besides."

Mistress Goel turned to her father, and spoke to him in their own
tongue, mighty well pleased, as I guessed, to tell him that an admirer
of his friend lived so near.  The doctor drew himself up in his chair,
his wrinkled face transfigured by a radiant smile.  His daughter
continued--

"My father's enemies, envious of his learning and repute, laid
accusation against him of being privy to the conspiracy to murder
Prince Maurice.  He was thrown into prison at the same time as his
friend.  Not to prolong my tale to tedious length, he escaped to
France.  We left Paris three months ago for London, where he met an old
acquaintance, Vermuijden by name, who is about to begin great
drainage-works in this part of the country, as you probably know."

"He _was_ about to do so," I answered; "but the scheme has come to
nothing.  The highest court of law in England has made void the King's
grant to Vermuijden."

"A court of law has annulled a royal decree!" she exclaimed.

"It is even so," I replied.  "The laws of England are not to be
overridden at the King's will."

Hereupon followed much converse between father and daughter, of which I
made out no more than that they were greatly astonished and in doubt,
as if my news had deeply concerned themselves.

Their colloquy ended, Mistress Goel asked me many questions, prompted
by the doctor, respecting the rights of the Commoners and their
opposition to the drainage of the Isle, repeating my answers to her
father, who seemed much disquieted thereby.  Hitherto, he had believed
that the scheme met with favour from all the inhabitants, excepting
some few of the baser sort, and I gathered that he had invested money
in the purchase of shares in an undertaking which he supposed to be of
unquestioned public advantage, and likely to yield no small gain to the
participants.

His anxiety was somewhat relieved when he heard that the Commoners had
no rights in the King's Chace at Hatfield, which formed part of the
area under Vermuijden's plan.

Suddenly remembering that I had overstaid the limits of decorum and of
kindness, Mistress Goel suffering as she must be, I rose to take leave.

"You will not forget to bring your friend to see my father," said she,
flushing a little, or so I fancied.

As I withdrew into the common room, Lord Sheffield entered by the front
door, and gave order in his imperious style to the obsequious hostess
that his presence should be signified to Doctor Goel.  He and I
exchanged the distant bow of ceremony, for there was no love lost
between us two.  His ten-years younger brother, Edmund, and I had been
dear comrades until Edmund's death; and, indeed, my hatred of the elder
grew out of my love for the younger, to whom my Lord Sheffield behaved
ever with bitterness and cruelty.  Not caring to remain in the same
room with "my Lord Arrogancy," as we of the Isle were wont to call him,
I went out into the yard to bid Mat bring my horse, and, as Mat had
many questions to ask concerning the treatment of the fawn, some time
passed before Trueboy was led out of stable.  Just as I lifted foot to
stirrup, his lordship came out of the back door, toying with his sword.
It was one of his whims, or part of his cowardice, never to go unarmed.

"You have a good horse, Master Frank," said he.

I nodded, knowing that he had not come out to praise my horse.

"If you should want a purchaser for him, I would make you a bid," he
continued.

"I have no present purpose of selling him," I replied.

"No immediate purpose, but when your father has flung away his
patrimony in suits at law against the King, you may be glad to know of
a buyer, who will give you your price."

"When that event befalls, I will remember your lordship's promise."

"Do.  My friends, Doctor Goel and his fair daughter, tell me you have
been exceedingly kind in bribing a rabble crew to call off their dogs
from the lady.  Pray accept my thanks.  It will give you comfort to
know that she will not again be exposed to annoyance by the scoundrels
of the neighbourhood.  To-morrow they remove to our poor castle of
Butterwick."

I bowed an acknowledgment of his information, mounted, and rode away.
A heedless rider I was, leaving Trueboy to choose the manner of our
going.  I saw nothing but, now the pale face with steadfast look
confronting the threatening crowd, now the face aflush with tender
pity, now the arch-light in the brown eyes as she talked with me in the
room.  And this was one of our invaders!  A conquering invader, right
surely!  A Dutchwoman!  Nay, an angel!

How flowingly and trippingly she spoke our English tongue!  How
divinely she endured her pain!  How daintily she mingled raillery and
sweetness!  No such woman had ever lived on earth before.  And one day
she could call me Frank, and be my own.  Some foreboding that my father
and I might be divided by my love, I felt, but none the less determined
that she should be mine.  That sneering villain, Sheffield, had marked
her as his prey, but I had no fear of him.  She would know him for the
libertine and coward that he was.  Why had he told me that to-morrow
she would be removed to his father's house?  Ten to one, he lied to me,
perhaps that he might hinder me from going to the White Hart again.
Ha, ha, what a thrice sodden fool to think _that_!  Or it might be that
he had some other mischief in his head.  Whatever it might be, I would
be too strong for him.

For all the way I rode there rang in my ears to the sweetest tune, "You
will not forget to bring your friend to see my father."  No, I should
not forget.  To-morrow, early, I would bring my friend.

How long, long ago is it since that bright day of May?  And I remember
all I felt, and thought better than I remember yesterday.




CHAPTER II

On the morrow I appeared at breakfast in silken stockings, new doublet
and hose, new shoes, with roses and strings of the latest fashion,
Flemish ruff and cuffs, and cloak of tawny velvet.  My man, Luke
Barnby, stared at my gaudy apparel; and, when I bade him have Trueboy
and the old, white mare at the door within half an hour, and to bring
me my Milanese rapier, he answered surlily--

"Which 'tis the first time I've heard of otter-hunting with swords, or
in Sunday clothes."

I had clean forgotten the big otter hunt!  This spring the otters were
more numerous than any man remembered them, and they were making havoc
among the salmon in Trent.  This was the day appointed for the meet at
Temple Belwood, when all Belton and Beltoft were to assemble and make a
great riddance of the vermin.  And I, the host and master of the hunt,
had clean forgotten the business!  To fail to be at my post would raise
an outcry among our neighbours, and might bring me severe censure from
my father, but to postpone the visit to Doctor and Mistress Goel was
not to be thought of.  I had my doubts whether the young lady could be
removed so soon as Sheffield had threatened; but there was a chance
that it might happen, and then farewell to the hope of seeing her for
Heaven only knew how long.  That was unendurable, so I wrote a few
lines to a neighbour, begging him to assume my place, and not to spare
the Temple ale or wine-cellar.

"Hark ye, Luke," said I; "put this into the hands of Squire Mell, of
Beltoft, with haste.  Mr. Butharwick and I have pressing business at
Crowle."

When Mr. Butharwick and I sat down to breakfast, he to his usual mess
of hot barley-water, sweetened with sugar and thickened with bread--he
having no stomach of a morning for steak and ale, and marrow-pudding he
abhorred--I saw that he had something on his mind, and was in no such
jovial humour as last evening, when he had been joyous in prospect of
meeting a scholar and a friend of his idolized Grotius.  At last he
broke silence with--

"Frank, it will be wise to defer this visit to Crowle.  The town is
ruled by Scorpio, and in thy horoscope Scorpio was occupied by Mars in
affliction.  To-day a malefic is transiting the place of Mars."

"Terms of art are thrown away on me," I answered.  "Who should know
that so well as you?"

"Crowle is always unlucky for you," said Mr. Butharwick.

"Truly, my horse once fell there, and once I came to disgrace for
snoring under a sermon by Uncle Graves; but other mischance I cannot
remember.  Yet I have gone thither--how many? say, a thousand times."

"Do not jest with the Heavens, boy," said Mr. Butharwick, sternly.

And, indeed, at any other time I should have been far from jesting, for
my tutor was marvellously skilled in astrology, but this day the
longing to see Mistress Goel's bright face made me defiant of the
stars.  Mindful, however, that my good tutor had been rereading my
horoscope, and anew consulting the heavens on my behalf, I replied--

"Pardon me, but the worst luck that could befall me at Crowle to-day
would be to find that Doctor Goel and his daughter had left the place
before we arrived.  And we are to keep our word, are we not, though the
stars be never so unfavourable?"

In the end Mr. Butharwick was persuaded much against his will to
countenance our going, but not until I had put on my topaz ring, and
engaged to use the prayer appointed for Times of War and Tumult.
Assuredly, no prince of the blood had ever more fonder faithful
counsellor than I in my tutor, but I chafed much at his delay and over
great precaution.

The old mare was covered with foam when we drew rein at the inn door,
and her rider fain to be out of saddle, for Mr. Butharwick was no keen
horseman.  The hostess led us into her best room, where the doctor
received us with distant stateliness, and his daughter with sweet
courtesy.  After introduction of Mr. Butharwick I left the clerkly men
to entertain themselves, which they were well able to do, having Latin
for their common tongue, and, as it seemed by the noise they made, an
infinite deal to say to each other.

I had thought Mistress Goel lovely when she was in pain and disarray,
and her form partly hidden by the long cloak she wore on our first
meeting; but now, wearing a gown which fitted her slim body closely to
the waist, with her shining brown hair neatly coiled and folded, and in
ease and gaiety of heart, as her pleasant smiling showed, I
thought--no, I did not think, I was overcome with love and felt that
all the high fantastic words and deeds of lovers, at which I had
laughed hitherto, were too tame for the height of my passion and
worship.  When I found my tongue, I asked particularly of her health.

"My hurts are healed, or will soon be healed," she assured me.  "Leyden
is famous for its leechcraft, and my father is--or was--the best
physician there.  We go to-day to Castle Mulgrave."

"But you cannot ride so far," I objected.

"We are to be carried in a litter, which the earl sends for us."

The old nobleman had, I then remembered, a litter in which he was
conveyed about the Isle when gout forbade horsemanship.

"You know the earl?" I asked.

"He did us the honour to pay us some attention, when we were in London."

I wondered what might underlie this, for the earl was one of the
proudest men in England, and not likely to care for the sorrows of an
exiled doctor.

"Did you make the acquaintance of Lord Sheffield in town?" I asked.

"Yes; he had the condescension to be our cicerone there."

The tone in which Mistress Goel pronounced the word "condescension" had
soothing for my jealousy.

"How long do you remain at Castle Mulgrave?" I asked.

"I do not know; perhaps until Mynherr Vermuijden appears.  We go
because Lord Sheffield has alarmed my father, warning him of danger in
our continuing here.  And our hostess is relieved of some strange
uneasiness by our going."

My mind was filled with apprehension, which I could not express.  That
Sheffield should do an act of pure kindness was incredible.  His foul
pursuit of beauty was a byword in the Isle, and there were fathers,
brothers, and lovers, who were held back from murderous revenge only by
terror of the old earl, who had long been President of the Council of
the North, and consequently held unlimited authority over the common
people of Axholme.  Even that fear might not have restrained some, but
Sheffield, as I have said, always went armed and attended, and had a
host of spies in his pay.  But how could I speak of Sheffield's
vileness to this maiden shining in her purity?

The door flew open, and Dame Hind announced: "His lordship, my lord
Sheffield."  From the plumes in his beaver, fastened with glistering
stones, to his riding boots, richly lined with lace, he was dressed
with splendour.  The courtly grace with which he doffed his hat and
bowed filled me with envy.  When he had saluted Mistress Goel and her
father, he told them that the litter awaited their pleasure, and then
greeted me with affected surprise.

"I' faith, Master Frank, I took you for some London gallant.  One is
used to meet you ready for the chase.  Vavasour is a mighty hunter, you
must know," said he to Mistress Goel.  "He hath no fellow in the art of
cutting a stag's throat, or spearing an otter."

Noting the slight shudder of disgust, which he had caused by so
artfully discommending me, he went on--

"In the Netherlands you have pastimes more refined than our English
sports.  I say 'our,' though I take no pleasure in them."

"It is true you are no hunter, but you are a skilful trapper, my lord:
cunning in bait and lure and bird-call," I answered.

One glance at Sheffield's face, white with rage, showed Mistress Goel
that more was meant than met the ear.  She stepped back nearer to the
two old men, who were so deep in some question of learning that they
were loth to part, and oblivious of every thing but their disputation.

"You cowardly cur," said Sheffield.  "You know that you are safe from
horse-whip in this presence."

"Safe from horse-whip anywhere in your hand, unless you had four or
five to help you."

Threat and defiance passed in whisper almost, but our looks were fierce
enough, as we stood close together, eyes pretty nearly level, for
Sheffield had not more than an inch advantage over my five feet ten.
He was the first to recover himself, saying--

"Your ill-timed jests would provoke a Stoic."

Then he turned to Doctor Goel, who had suddenly become aware that he
detained his lordship and his train unseemlily, and a movement was
made.  Not until the lady and her father were in the litter, borne on
the shoulders of four stout fellows in the Mulgrave livery, and the
escort mounted and ready to set off, had I speech with Mistress Goel,
and that no more than formal leave-taking, save that when her little
hand lay for a moment in my big paw, I touched it lightly with my lips.
She withdrew it quickly, but I saw no displeasure in her eyes.
Sheffield put his blackamoor in charge of the litter and its
attendants, and promising to overtake the party speedily, rode with two
of his men in the opposite direction.

Mr. Butharwick and I re-entered the inn, a dull hole now, that had been
lately so bright, and called for a cup of wine, which Dame Hind brought
us, and, setting hands on hips, gave vent to her feelings.

"The ease it is to my mind that they are gone, nobody knows.  No more
foreign mounseers and madams for the White Hart.  Good English meat
they wouldn't have; but she makes a mess with eggs and scraps--pudding
you couldn't call it.  And he gathers dandelion and dock-cress and
goosefoot, and the like o' that, which she cooks 'em, or he mixes 'em
wi' oil, and eats 'em raw.  It turned my stomach to see it.  And their
manners wasn't English.  Too civil by half.  'If you please,' and 'May
I trouble you?' and 'Would you be so good?' whenever she wanted
anything.  Didn't grumble or make a fuss about the reckoning--that I
will say for her.  Then their jabber-jabber between themselves!  It
give me the creeps to hear 'em.  Such a clat as he made wi' dirt, and
stones, and weeds, and rubbish, which schoolmaster says wizards and
witches always do; and he had a big book full of gipsy-marks, which
young madam called his brewing Bible; and, believe me or believe me
not, he read it back'ards way, as 'tis well beknown witches do read the
Lord's Prayer so, when they want to raise the devil.  Schoolmaster he
says they are both deep in witchcraft, and young madam worse than the
old mounseer, for all her prettiness and her smooth-spoken ways.  And
certain sure it is that she gave Mat something to drink that cured him
of the ague quicker than ever he was cured afore."

As soon as Dame Hind paused for breath, Mr. Butharwick reproved her.
Doctor Goel, he assured her, was a man of great learning, of perfect
integrity, and the intimate friend of the best and greatest man in the
world.

I broke in, hotly indignant that Mistress Goel should be accused of so
foul a crime.  We might have spared our breath, for the hostess replied
by shaking her head sorrowfully, and declaring her assurance that we
were both bewitched.  So saying, she swung out of the room, and left us
to our wine.  I had tried to remove the suspicion of the woman, gross
and ignorant though she was, fearing that her tongue might work
mischief, and now began to pluck some comfort out of the removal of my
lady to Castle Mulgrave, where she would be in safety from the fury of
folk always ruthless against one believed to be guilty of witchcraft.

It is no wonder that the people should be fierce against those who ally
themselves with the enemy of mankind, but their terror often blinds
them to evident tokens of innocence, and I cannot but be afraid that
many persons have suffered torture and death who were falsely accused
of the monstrous wickedness.  Perhaps I have been led to think so only
because the crime was laid to the charge of one so pure and kind as
Mistress Goel.

Before the day of my coming of age the Isle was in great commotion, for
a large fleet had sailed up the Don, bringing an army of Walloons and
Dutchmen with stores of timber, and tools, and weapons, and machines
unknown to us Islonians.  The invaders had their headquarters at
Sandtoft, where Vermuijden set about the building of houses and the
erection of fortifications, keeping relays of workmen busy day and
night.  How to reconcile these doings with the letter received from my
father I could not in the least understand, but I took credit to myself
for keeping silence concerning the decision of the court in my father's
favour.  That was far from being my father's opinion, when he arrived
on the Friday evening, and learned that Vermuijden had already begun
his operations.

"Thou foolish lad!" he broke out.  "Should'st have ridden through the
whole Isle, and set every hamlet aglow with bonfires and shouting for
joy.  And would'st have done it but for scraping acquaintance with that
old rascal and his daughter at the White Hart.  Hast lost thy five
wits?  What devil possessed thee to miss the otter-hunt, and to annoy
our neighbours and shame thy father?  Befriending the refugee,
conspirator, assassin, when should'st have been heartening our people!
And that dotard Butharwick with thee!  He shall pack out of my house."

This explosion astounded me, for my father, though of warm temper in
private (in public no man had more self-control), did not often use
such fiery language to me; but I answered sulkily--

"I am sorry to have angered you, sir, by what I supposed was
discretion."

"Discretion!" he almost shouted.  "Would that you had the smallest
tincture of the quality!  Is it discreet, think you, to parley with the
enemy of your father and your country, betraying God only knows what to
the sly old Dutchman?"

"A most inoffensive old gentleman," I answered.  "A simple scholar, who
has been duped by Vermuijden."

My father laughed bitterly.  "You simpleton!  Does Mulgrave make much
of 'simple scholars' and entertain them?"

As I believed, Earl Mulgrave cared little or nothing about Doctor Goel,
while Sheffield, I felt sure, cared much about the doctor's daughter,
but this was not the time to offer my father an explanation, which
would bring in the name of Mistress Goel, so I left him to digest his
wrath, and sought Mr. Butharwick.  I found him in much affliction, for
to hurt or offend his friend and patron was very grievous to him.  He
blamed himself alone for all the mischief, and he reminded me that my
father had had a weary sojourn in London, and after infinite trouble
and pains had won his cause, only to find on his return home that all
his labour and expenditure had been rendered null and void.

"What wonder, Frank," said the good old soul, "that thy father should
be angry, even if not quite justly angry, that nothing has been made
known of his triumph in the courts?  What wonder that he should be
incensed at our making friends with those who, he believes, are in the
counsel of his enemies, and whom he has seen caressed by the crafty
earl?  We are in fault, or rather, I am in fault, for I ought to have
guided thee more wisely.  I, at least, ought to have been sure that the
stars of heaven cannot lie."

This womanish babble did not soothe my ruffled temper, as I told Mr.
Butharwick, rudely enough.  My father had treated me with indignity and
injustice, and I did well to be angry.  So I went for a stroll in the
park, seeking consolation in solitary communion with Nature, where it
has seldom failed me.  Nor did it fail me now.  Sauntering under the
dense shadows of the old trees, or out in the dim stillness of the open
sward, startling browsing or drowsing beasts, which showed as dusky
shapes for a moment, and then vanished in the dark, I grew quiet; and
when I gained the highest ground and saw the low moon and her long
reflection on the broad expanse of water, I was filled with confidence
that my own prospect was as bright and boundless as the scene on which
I looked.

I turned at the sound of footsteps, and recognised my father.

"The cool night air is good for hot heads, young or old," he said.  And
we walked homeward together.




CHAPTER III

My good comrade, Dick Portington, was the first of our guests to arrive
at Temple on the 28th of May, and he brought me as birthday gift a gun
such as I had not before seen, the cock containing a flint, which, as
it fell, struck sparks from the cover of the pan, and at the same
moment forced back the cover so that the sparks flew on the priming.
The action was far quicker than that of the matchlock, and much surer
than the wheel-lock guns which I had hitherto handled, and I had great
pleasure in it, and a brace of pistols made after the same pattern.

"'Tis the rarest present, Dick," I said, "but you shame me.  Another
gift!  And I have never given you anything."

"Say nothing of that, man," answered he.  "I am older than thou, and
the squire is free with his money.  I have what I want for the asking.
Besides, to-day you come to riches, and may spend and give as you like."

Dick's allusion was to an understanding between my father and me, that
when I came of age certain properties in Beltoft, which were part of my
mother's dower, should be made over to me.  I had freely spoken of this
to my friend, and in truth, looked forward eagerly to the enjoyment of
means of my own, for my father had allowed me less money than men of
his rank were accustomed to allow their sons.  He was no niggard in
providing me things suitable to our station, but I had never much money
in my purse, so that I held aloof from companionship with other young
fellows except Dick, who knew my plight, and often listened to my talk
of the brave doings which were to follow my possession of an estate of
some ninety pounds a year.  To-day we had scant opportunity for
conversation, as our humbler neighbours came early, with full intent to
enjoy merry pastimes and good cheer; nor were the gentry and farmers
late, since all were keenly expectant of news and advice from their
"Solicitor."  Ladies and gentlemen on horseback, a few ladies who
preferred dignity in a jolting coach to ease in the saddle, farmers'
wives on pillion behind their husbands, labourers, marshmen, and
fowlers, with their women-folk, afoot, made the spacious park a lively
scene.  Our stables were soon filled, and many horses had to be
tethered in the paddock.  By good luck, the day was cloudless, and the
wind soft, almost still.

Our guests betook them to various sports until dinner-time.  The great
bowling-green was crowded with jostling, laughing bowlers; the archery
ground afforded amusement to many competitors, for our Islonians are
skilful in the use of the long-bow and cross-bow; parties were gathered
for cricket, balloon, quoits, nine-pins, and leaping the bar.  Some of
the lads and lasses began at once to trip it to fiddle and pipe and
tabour.  Many of the older folk were content to stand or sit and watch
a set of morris dancers, or filled the booth where a company of
strolling players performed a blood-curdling tragedy and a
side-splitting farce well within the hour.  A group surrounded Bet
Boswell, a gypsy lass, whom our Beltonians knew from the long stay
which her tribe had made with us, and more than one young farmer had
fallen over head and ears in love with her.  She was a tall, lithe
creature, boldly handsome, with that roguish look in her dark eyes
which passes away with the coming of Love.  To-day she told fortunes by
the palm and with the crystal.  As Dick and I joined the group, the
moonstruck gaping of some of the rustics proved that Bet was doing her
business skilfully.

"Here be young squire," said one.  "Tell him his fortune."

The rest echoed the fellow, and falling in with their humour, I said--

"Come then, Bess.  Let me hear my fate;" offering her sixpence.

"Not now," she answered, refusing the coin with a wave of her hand.
"Your destiny trembles in the balance to-day."

"How so, oracular sybil?" I asked, laughing, but a little impressed by
the gravity of her look and tone.

"Before you sleep, you will lose a fortune, and be offered another,"
she said.

"How I can lose what I have not, I do not understand," I replied; "but
of a certainty I shall take one, if it be offered me."

"If you are wise, you will," said Bess, and turned from me as having no
more to say.

At the instant, the ringing of a bell and blowing of a horn called
those of our guests to dinner who were to take their repast under tents
and awnings in the park, and I joined my father to make the round of
the tables, where huge joints of beef and mutton, piles of Trent salmon
and larded capons, and the like substantial viands, were rapidly
disappearing, washed down with copious draughts of strong October, to
which were added for the yeomen farmers brandy, wine, mead, and aqua
vitae.

When we had seen that all were faring merrily, and had nodded and
smiled acknowledgment of the cheers for "the Solicitor," and for "the
heir of Temple Belwood," we joined the company assembling in the hall,
and thence with proper ceremony to the ancient dining-room.  There the
talk ran on Vermuijden and his doings much more than on the rightful
hero of the day, and voices rose and tongues wagged faster and faster
as the men's glasses were replenished with wine of Burgundy, or
Bourdeaux, or Champaign, and the women sipped hock and Bacharach and
sherris.

My left-hand neighbour at table was Mistress Emma Ryther, a buxom girl,
with great ox-eyes that never changed.  She was accounted one of the
beauties of the Isle, and indeed as a piece of flesh and blood she was
pretty enough.  I scarcely knew whether I liked or misliked her, for
her manner to me seemed to betoken that she expected me to whistle, and
was ready to come.  Perhaps there would have been no more than a
toss-up between liking and misliking, since I had that conceit in my
head, if I had never seen the divine beauty which shines from the soul.
Having seen that, Mistress Ryther was to me but a well-painted figure
in porcelain.  While she babbled nothings to me, I wondered that I
could ever have thought otherwise of her than I did to-day.  Some
perception of my state of mind she showed by saying tartly: "Your head
is as full of the Dutch as everybody's."

When dessert was spread, to my astonishment, Mr. Ryther rose to propose
the toast of the day.  He was not an old friend, or a person of
consideration.  Some dozen years ago he had been so lucky as to inherit
unexpected wealth, and ever since he had devoted himself to increasing
his riches, chiefly by lending money on mortgage, and taking every
legal advantage of the necessitous borrower.  He was a biggish fellow,
with a loud voice and pompous manner, and a great hooked nose, which my
fingers itched to pull for his impudence.  My impatience grew as he
went on to speak, lauding my father's public spirit and generosity,
taking a tone as if he were the equal of Thomas Vavasour.  When he
began to talk of me my blood boiled, for he enumerated my good points
as though I had been a horse, and he had the selling of me.  He wound
up by saying that he looked forward to the festivities to come, when
the heir of Temple Belwood should bring a beautiful and well-dowered
bride to this ancient house.  I could have hurled a decanter at the
greasy forehead, which he wiped with infinite complacency.  I stammered
through as much as I could remember of the little speech which I had
conned for the occasion, saying as little as might be of the proposer.
The ladies withdrew, and the real business of the day began.  My father
rose to give an account of his proceedings in London, which need not be
set down here, as I have put it on record elsewhere.  He ended by
saying: "The highest court of law in this country has given judgment
against Vermuijden, but he continues his illegal action.  Persons near
to his Majesty have assured the Dutchman of royal protection, and dare
to set the King's prerogative above the law.  That assertion of
prerogative is baseless, and I confidently expect that it will be soon
withdrawn.  Parliament is at this moment, as you know, taking steps to
remove an injurious adviser from the position of authority which he has
shamelessly abused.  On the removal of the Duke of Buckingham from the
counsels of his Majesty, there will doubtless be a change of policy on
the part of a nobleman, our neighbour, who has hitherto upheld the
Dutchmen in their invasion of our Isle, and the law will prevail.  We
must not forget that Vermuijden believes that he is in his right, nor
that he has paid a very large sum of money for his supposed rights in
our soil.  We must proceed with strict legality, or we shall put
ourselves in the wrong.  Allow me to make a personal appeal to every
gentleman in this room.  I have given my time and, strength and means
freely to your service, and I beg that my efforts may not be frustrated
by resort to violence of any kind.  Let us adhere to the lawful course,
and we shall most assuredly be successful in the end."

As my father sat down there was some applause, and a few gentlemen
shouted, "Long life to our Solicitor;" but murmurs were heard in
several quarters, and Squire Portington, of Thorne, rose to speak.

"Gentlemen," said he, "law and order are all very well, but what about
our property?  A hundred acres of my best land is under water now
through the tomfoolery of these damned Dutchmen.  If they go on,
they'll drown me and my nearest neighbours out and out.  Mighty small
consolation it will be to us, if some fine day this Vermuijden has to
bow to the law.  That won't give us back our farms and our houses.  The
Law is on our side, but force has the upper hand of the Law.  As for
Parliament making an end of Buckingham, for anything I can see, he is
just as likely to make an end of Parliament.  Do you know that the
Dutchman swears he has full power to hang anybody who resists him, and
has set up a gallows at Sandtoft?  It is a fact, gentlemen.  We have
tasted Prerogative in demand for money which Parliament refused to
vote.  Prerogative means----"

The gentlemen on either side of Squire Portington dragged him down to
his seat, but the squire shook himself free, and got on his legs again.

"My neighbours here are afraid that I shall be brought before the
Council of the North for talking treason, and bring them into trouble
for listening to it.  I didn't suppose that there were any damned spies
and informers here.  I was saying that the law can't do anything to
save us from ruin.  So much the worse for the law.  But I'm not going
to sit quiet while the Dutchmen drown my land and me.  My motto is
'Liberty and Property.'  If the gentlemen here, or half of 'em, will
join me, we'll send Vermuijden three days' notice to quit our land.  Of
course, he won't take it, but that's his affair.  After the three days
have expired, we'll go with five hundred stout fellows, and drive the
beggars out, kill every man who resists, hang Vermuijden on his own
gallows, and sweep the Isle clean of the invaders.  That's my way.  We
will talk of law and order when we have made sure of our liberty and
property."

All the young men present, and a number of their elders, rose to their
feet, and shouted, "That's sense!  Liberty and property!  Three Cheers
for Squire Portington!  Send the Dutchmen to the devil!  Hang
Vermuijden on his own gallows!  There's Scripture for it.  Hurrah!"

These and similar cries made a deafening hubbub.  Filled with wine, and
stirred by Portington's harangue, our guests forgot decorum entirely,
and made such a tumult as encouraged the common sort to crowd about the
doorway, and add their voices to the cheers for "Liberty and Property"
and the cry of "Down with the Dutch."

Conspicuous among the intruders was Boswell, the father of the girl
above mentioned, a notorious poacher, and worse.  He had edged far into
the room and struck me as being all eyes and ears.  I sprang to my
feet, and bade the rabble clear out, which they did pretty quickly.  My
father seized the opportunity afforded by the slight lull which
followed to dissuade his friends from violence; declaring that if there
was not good prospect of remedy by lawful means within three months, he
himself would lead in defence of our just and legal rights by the
strong hand.

The pledge was hailed with loud shouts of approval and the draining of
many glasses in his honour; but there ensued a great buzz of talk,
during which men left their seats to be within earshot of this or that
speaker, so that the company broke up into separate knots, some
listening to the one they took for an oracle, others talking all at
once, and hearkening only to the sound of their own voices.  There was
an end of all orderly counsel for that time.

Late in the evening, when the festivities were over, and the guests
departed, my father explained that the reason why he had not handed me
the deeds of the Beltoft land was that he had been compelled to
mortgage it, owing to his outlay in defence of the rights of the Isle
Commoners.  I answered that I thought it hard my little property should
have been chosen to bear the costs of litigation; some other portion of
the estate might have borne them.  Whereupon my father amazed and
confounded me by saying that more than half the lands of Temple Belwood
were already mortgaged.  For some time I was dumb with astonishment,
and stood staring.  At length I burst out--

"Why should our estate bear all the cost of these proceedings?  Surely
every Commoner ought to pay his share."

"Thou art somewhat hasty, Frank," my father replied, "to call Temple
Belwood _our_ estate.  If I chose to spend in defence of the rights of
the Islonians, my son has no authority to call me to account."

"Is it your pleasure," I asked, "that I should go to the plough-tail
to-morrow?"

"Don't talk like a fool, boy."

"I became a man to-day, sir."

"Discretion limps behind old Father Time, it seems."

I suppressed the easy retort, and my father continued--

"If you have not your father's public mind, I am sorry; but your
private interests are safe enough, and Temple Belwood will be yours
without encumbrance on a single acre."

Again I was amazed and mute.

"Ryther is engaged to return the deeds to you on the day you wed his
daughter."

Now I understood mysteries; Ryther's insolence at dinner, for one, and
his daughter's manner, for another.  My father had squandered money in
a business which was no more his than that of any gentleman in the
Isle, assured that all damage to the estate would be repaired by this
absurd covenant of marriage.  The Vavasour patrimony was lost, and all
the ceremony and merrymaking of the day had been in honour of the heir
of--Nothing.

The state of things was maddening and yet laughable, and laughter would
have its way.  I shook with it.

"What in the world is there to laugh at?" shouted my father.

"God knows, I don't," I answered, still laughing.

It was my father's turn to be astonished.  He gazed doubtfully at me
until my fit was over.  Then he said--

"You have taken too much wine.  We will speak of this business when
sleep has sobered you."  And he went off to bed.

I was coward enough to be glad of the respite, foreseeing that my
father's grief and anger would be hard to bear, when he knew that I
would wed no woman on earth but Anna Goel.




CHAPTER IV

I could not now set down all that passed between my father and me on
the marriage, which he designed for me; nor would I, if I could, for I
said much that even to-day makes my ears burn to remember, and he some
things which are better forgotten.  I believe he was the hotter with me
that he did not in his heart like the alliance which he proposed, and
was obliged to do violence to his own feelings in urging it upon me.
We ended in anger, and were estranged the one from the other.  For some
time we did not feel the full painfulness of this, by reason of my
father's occupation with the affairs of the Isle, which took him much
abroad, and brought many visitors and messengers to Temple Belwood when
he was at home.

While he was busied with these matters, I haunted the neighbourhood of
Castle Mulgrave in hope of chance encounter with Mistress Goel.  The
distance between the two houses was not much more than three miles.
Sometimes I rowed my boat down the Nolffdyke, and so into Trent, when I
hoisted sail, and beat up and down the river on the look-out for the
earl's pleasure barge.  At other times I rode by the causey which
crossed the marsh extending from Beltoft to the Butterwick ferry, and
scoured the roads and lanes on the other side of the river.  My quest
brought me but one glimpse of my lady.  Once, as I gained a slight
eminence on the eastern bank, I saw her with a party entering the
courtyard of the castle--on horseback!  She had learned to ride since I
had last spoken with her, and I ground my teeth thinking of who had
taught her, and of the mounting and dismounting, and all the occasions
which the tutor had to touch hand and foot, even it might be to take
her in his arms.  How I hated Sheffield!  And, for the time, I almost
hated Mistress Goel, too.

The day after this maddening sight, Dick Portington came to Temple with
news which at another time would have mightily stirred me.  Hatfield
Chace was to be disparked.  The deer were to be driven and caught, to
be taken away and distributed in other of the royal forests.  When the
Chace had been cleared, Vermuijden might fell timber, drain off the
waters, and allot the land.

"No more winding of the horn, no more following of the deer, my boy,"
said Dick.  "We ought to see the last stag hunt in Hatfield.  And there
may be other sport besides the driving of the deer.  So come along."

"What manner of sport?" I asked.

"You know how many of our fellows in Thorne and Crowle reckon the Chace
as much their domain as the King's.  They are not over well-pleased to
lose their venison, or their pastime.  Moonlight nights will be dull
when there's no more stalking of the King's game, or chance to warm
one's blood in a fight with his keepers."

"You speak feelingly, Dick," said I, laughing.

"Ay, that do I," he answered.  "But the fowlers and fishers take it
worse than I do.  A fat buck once in a while is worth much to a poor
man.  There will be sullen faces looking on to-day."

"But the foresters will be too strong for assault," I replied.

"May be so.  But hark you, boy, Vermuijden and some of his people are
to meet a party from old Mulligrubs' to-day at the Crown, the more
fools they."

This news set my pulse going.  What so likely as that Doctor Goel and
his daughter would be present at a meeting between the earl (whom it
was Dick's whim to misname Mulligrubs) and the Dutch leader?  And if
there should be trouble brewing, the more reason that a friend should
be at hand.  So I answered--

"Have with you, then!"

But there was not a horse in the stable at the time, except the old
white mare.  Luke had ridden Trueboy to Haxey, and the rest were
galloping on my father's errands.  When I said so to Dick, he answered--

"Why wait for a horse?  Get stilts for us both, and we'll cross the
marsh to Messic Mere, and take one of Holmes's boats.  With this wind
we can fly up Idle as fast we could ride round."

So we did.  Walking to Belshaw, we mounted our stilts there, and were
quickly across the fen.  The long, dry weather had made it passable for
those who knew the shallows and the lie of the ridges, if they had
skill with the stilts, and few Islonians had more than Portington and
I.  We took boat at Holmes's, and then sped up the river merrily, Dick
with the sheet in his hand, I steering.  It was right pleasant going,
with the wind rustling and whistling among the reeds on either bank,
the water hissing and rippling from the prow, as we wound along narrow
lanes of water, and out into wide spaces where the fowls, startled by
our coming, made off, flapping and screaming, or scuttled in among the
sedges and bulrushes.  One never has the feeling of being away and
apart from the rest of the world, I think, quite so much anywhere else
as in lonely water-ways, and we two sat silently enjoying the quiet of
the scene for a while.  At length Dick spoke--

"D'ye know, Frank, that it is part of Vermuijden's scheme to stop the
Idle?"

"I don't take," I answered.

"He plans to cut off the river at the Nottingham border--has begun
cutting the drain which is to turn the water into Trent."

"Is he empowered to pull down churches that he may use the stones to
embank his drains?" I asked; for to me it appeared sacrilege to dry up
our rivers and streams.

"Doubtless he might do that, if he would pay money enough into the
empty exchequer," replied Dick; "and for a trifle more he might have
royal authority to dig up our ancestors' bones, and burn them for the
lime he could get out of 'em."

Before we reached Tudworth, Squire Portington's place, a noise in the
distance told us that the driving of the deer had begun; and, as soon
as might be, we were in the saddle and on our way into the forest,
guided by the sound of shouting men and barking dogs.  For some time we
rode on, neither meeting nor seeing any one.  The course of the drivers
seemed to be winding away from us.  Suddenly, as we emerged from the
shadow of a thickish grove, we saw in the open before us a doe and her
fawn standing in a stream, drinking.  Behind them were some of the
finest oaks in the Chace, magnificent in the splendour of mid-June
foliage.  My friend drew rein, and cursed all Dutchmen with a vehemence
that might have provoked laughter from a cooler companion.

"Think of it, Frank," he said.  "Not a buck to be left!  These trees to
be cut down!  No more music of hound and horn!"

How long Dick might have cursed and lamented, I know not, but for the
coming of a verderer, who told us that the beaters had orders to drive
toward Thorne Mere, and that we had best ride in that direction, if we
desired to see the taking of the deer.  So we hastened northward
instead of following the army of keepers, and made for the rising
ground above the mere, where we found a great crowd of gentle and
simple already gathered.

In a short time an immense herd burst from the covert of the wood,
followed by a multitude of men and dogs.  Nearly all the deer took to
the water, and then were pursued by a hundred or more boats.  A few
took refuge on islets here and there, and some swam right across the
mere, but far the greatest number huddled together, terrified and
exhausted, in water up to their necks.  The fellows in the boats
surrounded the little forest of horns, and some ventured amongst them,
and tying a strong, long rope to their heads, dragged them to land, and
bundled them into carts, or tethered them for ease of driving whither
they were to be handed over to the keepers of other forests.  To me it
was a sorry sight, and one of which I soon tired.  So, leaving Dick
with some of his cronies, and a promise to meet at the Crown in a
couple of hours' time, I made my way at once to the inn, in hope to
glean some knowledge from the people there of the company expected.

Turning a sharp corner of the lane pretty quickly, I almost ran over a
lady coming along the causey in the opposite direction.  As I drew up,
I perceived that it was Mistress Goel.  There was a little difficulty
in forcing my steed into the wide ditch; but that done, I dismounted,
and made my salutation, saying something of my pleasure in meeting her.

"My pleasure was somewhat dashed by fear of being knocked down," said
she.  "Is it customary in this country for horsemen to keep the path,
and drive foot passengers into the ditch?"

"Your riding-master must have taught you so much," I answered.

"And how come you to know I have had lessons?"

"By seeing how well you ride."

The lady made me a little bow.  I thought I read a question in her
eyes, but it did not pass her lips.

"May I accompany you to--wherever you are going?" I inquired.

"I shall be glad of your guidance.  I came out to breathe the air only.
There is an hour to be passed before we leave, and the inn is crowded
and noisy."

During that hour I learned several things, which I will set down
briefly.  It had been reported at Castle Mulgrave that my father had
vowed to expel the Dutch by force, that a quantity of new firearms had
been bought and stored at Temple for the purpose, and that an attack on
the settlement was to take place immediately.  The earl had informed
the King of this (supposed) state of affairs, and had received promise
of indemnity for any action he might see fit to take in defence of the
foreigners, and been empowered to arrest, imprison, or to question
suspected persons.  Doctor Goel had been warned of the danger of
removal to Sandtoft, but had preferred, for some reason not given to
me, to run the risk rather than prolong his stay at the castle.  As the
doctor proved unmovable on this point, the earl had ordered an armed
escort to attend him and his daughter to Thorne, and had advised
Vermuijden to bring a strong company to meet them.

Here was much food for reflection, but the pressing business was to
prevent mischief now and here.  Was it purely by forgetfulness, I
wondered, that the earl had appointed to-day, when hundreds of the
Islonians were present for the driving of the deer, and might be
provoked to riot by seeing a body of foreigners bearing arms.

On our way back to the Crown, Mistress Goel asked--

"Could you persuade your father to meet Mynherr Vermuijden?  Surely
they two, desiring only what is just and right, might come to a good
understanding.  There are those who seek to inflame the trouble, I
know, and I tremble to think of what may come.  Could you persuade Mr.
Vavasour?"

I laughed, rather bitterly.  "Unluckily, my father would not listen to
me."

"I gathered from what you told me that you were as happy as father and
son can be."

"So we were, but there is division between us now."

"Not on our account, I hope!"

"Nay, it is but a family quarrel of an ancient pattern."

No more passed, for we were at the inn; a long, low house, with a green
in front, where some scores of men sat or sprawled, drinking ale and
loud in talk, but keeping a watchful eye on the doings at the tavern.
Two dozen men, or thereabout, in the Mulgrave colours, armed with
muskets and cutlasses, stood near the porch; an equal number of
Dutchmen, pistols in belt and gun in hand, sat on empty barrels, pails
turned bottom upward, hen-coops, anything.  The Islonians on the green
were for the most part unarmed, except for the staff and big knife,
without which our men never stir from home, but here and there a
cross-bow was to be seen.  Within the house, at one of the open
windows, sat several young fellows of my acquaintance, Dick Portington
among them, merry over their wine.  No likelihood of disturbance,
thought I, the crowd being in good humour, and the Mulgrave retinue and
the Dutch having such advantage in the matter of weapons.  But as
Mistress Goel disappeared within the doorway, and I turned to lead my
horse to the stable, two of the earl's men happened to put down their
guns, leaning them against the wall.  In a twinkling, Dick reached out
of the window, and seized them.  "Ale or wine, gentlemen?" he asked, as
if he were a tapster.  And full in sight of the crowd he emptied a
tankard into the muzzles, and handed the weapons out again.  "Any other
gentleman want a barrelful?" he inquired.  A roar of laughter came from
the green.  One of the two men drew pistol from belt, and made as if to
fire at Dick, but I, being just behind him, knocked up his elbow, and
the pistol flew out of his hand without hurt.  Another roar from the
spectators filled the air.  Some of the Mulgrave men threw themselves
on me, gripping me by the arms, and one struck me in the face.  Then I,
who had been so intent on prudence and peace-making, lost my wits,
swung myself free from my captors, and knocked down the man who had
struck me.  A pretty scuffle ensued.  Dick and others sprang out of the
window, and came to my help with no weapons, but clenched fists and a
riding whip or two.  For a minute or so the struggle went on at close
quarters, so that the earl's men could not use their weapons with
effect, and their comrades, outside the mellay, could not strike or
fire without risk of killing or maiming their own men; but at the
words, "Shoot, you dolts, shoot," spoken by some one I did not see,
several pieces were discharged.  Will Staniforth, who was close to me,
fell, blood pouring from his neck.  I knelt to support him, but he was
past help.  The bullet had ploughed a horrible gash upward, and entered
the brain.  There was a gurgle in his throat, a shudder went through
his whole body, and he was dead.  When I rose from my knees, three of
my friends had muskets in their hands, Dick Portington being one.  The
earl's retainers had formed a half circle in front of us, their pieces
levelled.

"Yield yourselves, prisoners," said their chief, "or we fire."  Dick
answered by a shot which brought the speaker to the ground, and a sort
of madness came over me.  I saw everything through a red haze, and
cared for nothing but to avenge our dead companion.  I sprang on the
nearest of the enemy, tore his musket out of his grasp, and clubbed it,
smiting with all my strength.  As he fell, I shouted "One," and made
for the next, who gave back a little, and fired wild.  "Two," I yelled,
as my butt crashed on his head.  The third man toward whom I rushed,
threw his musket down and ran.  I glanced round, and saw that every one
of our party had possessed himself of a musket, and was using it in the
same fashion.  The enemy had no time to reload; six of their fellows
were disabled, including their leader; they had no stomach for more
fighting hand to hand, and so, though they were more than two to one,
they turned tail and ran for their lives.  But being clumsy rascals,
they had small chance of escape from us by that means, and were glad to
obey the order which Dick bellowed as we chased them, to throw down
their weapons.  Guns, pistols, cutlasses, all were discarded.  Even
then, I still pursued until Portington laid hold of me.

"Poor devils are unarmed, Frank.  Let 'em go," he said.

At that, I came to my senses, and turned back with the rest.  We met a
number of the men who had come from the green to pick up the spoils of
war.

"Fine fellows you are," said Dick to some of them, "to stand and look
on while your neighbours are maltreated."

"As far as I can see, squire," answered a fat fellow (the same
mentioned in the first chapter), "you were able to take care of
yourselves, and you must excuse poor men, who don't want to go to the
gallows or the Virginia plantations.  For the like of us 'tis a hanging
matter.  For all that, some of the jassups would have run their necks
into a halter, if I hadn't insensed 'em."

"Much thanks to you," replied Dick, laughing at the man's cool
impudence.

"Besides, your honour," said the fellow in a lower tone, "it behoved
some one to keep an eye on the Dutchmen."

"Ah! the Dutchmen.  I' faith, I had forgotten them.  And what came of
your watch, my man?"

"Almost as soon as the fray began, the pretty Dutchwoman came to the
window behind 'em, and talked with the big fellow, who seems to be in
command.  I crept near, but they jabbered in their own tongue.  All I
could make out was that she repeated 'Fermoyden' three or four times
and seemed to be laying down the law to the big chap.  Then off she
flew, like a bird, and my Lord Sheffield came out of the house in a
hurry (it was when young Squire Vavasour was cracking skulls like
walnuts) and he ordered the Dutchmen to go to the help of his men, but
the big captain shook his head, and either did not understand or
pretended that he didn't.  My lord stamped with rage, and made his
meaning plain by signs; but the other wouldn't budge, and repeated
'Fermoyden.'  Fermoyden hasn't come yet, and they are waiting for him."

"What do you make of this, Frank?  You came to the tavern with the
lady."

"That the lady had the wit to charge the Dutch captain not to aid the
Mulgrave men, but to refuse under the plea that he must have
Vermuijden's authority for interfering in a quarrel which was none of
his."

"By Jove, it looks uncommonly like that; and if so, some of us have to
thank the lady that we are alive."

Of that I had no manner of doubt.  While Dick's ill-timed jest and my
hot-headed fury at a blow had brought about a broil which had cost
Staniforth's life, and some others, Mistress Goel had prevented
conflict between the Dutch and our Islonian crowd.  As we turned the
corner of the tavern (the pursuit had led us along a heathery track to
the rear of it) we met Sheffield and his blackamoor, mounted, and bound
apparently for Castle Mulgrave.  He drew rein, and snarled--

"Treason and murder are merry sport, doubtless, but it ends in hanging,
drawing, and quartering."

Now I knew whose was the voice which said "Shoot, dolts, shoot;" and
the feeling which the knowledge stirred in me must have been plain in
my face, for Dick linked his arm in mine, and drew me on, saying, loud
enough for Sheffield to hear--

"Let the beaten dog yelp."

We bade the tavern-keeper, who met us at his door, provide food and
drink, for some of us had not eaten since early morning; and I went in
search of water to cleanse myself from blood and dust, not wishing
Mistress Goel to see me in my filthy plight.  In truth, I shrank from
meeting her, for now that my fury and strength were spent, I was
ashamed of my blustering rage.  But it so chanced as I went to the pump
that Mistress Goel overtook me, going to the barn with a basket.  At
the sound of her light, gliding step, I turned, and she paled at sight
of me.

"You are sorely wounded, I fear," she said.  "Come to my father, who is
in the barn."

"I have nothing worse than a few bruises and scratches," I answered.
"For that I have to thank you; your quick wit and kindness have saved
several lives to-day."

"I did no more than keep my own people from meddling in strife, which
did not concern them; but how you know of it passes my comprehension."

I explained, and then asked what her father did in the barn.

"He is busy repairing heads you have damaged," she replied.

"Two at least are beyond repair, even by his skill," said I.

"Not so," she laughed.  "Either your arm is not so terribly strong as
it seemed, or Lincolnshire skulls are thicker than ordinary, for my
father has good hope of both the men you struck down."

"Thank God!" I said devoutly.  "My brutish rage has not killed the
rascals."

"Oh! but it was not brutish," cried Mistress Goel, with sparkling eyes;
"you sought to avert violence.  And that you were roused to great and
dreadful wrath by seeing your friend shamefully and traitorously shot
down is not brutish.  Oh no, another word must be used for that."

How little I knew of woman's ways!  I had feared that I had lowered
myself in the lady's esteem for ever, and here she stood, looking up at
me with dewy eyes, and speaking as if I had done some noble deed.

It would have pleased me well, if our talk might have been continued,
but Mistress Goel had to hasten to her father's help, and I returned to
my comrades, after having removed the stains of battle, so far as
washing might do it.  We were not merry over our eating and drinking,
for in a room near lay the body of our friend.  It was agreed that four
of us should accompany the men who bore the remains to Staniforth Hall,
and that the other four should ride with the Dutch to Newflete, where
they had left their barge.  It fell to my lot to be one of the latter
company, but small good came of it to me.  Doctor Goel walked on one
side of the horse which his daughter rode, and the big Dutchman on the
other, so I had little converse with her.  At parting, her hand lay in
mine for a second, and I took some comfort from the kindness in her
eyes as she said good night.

When I came to Durkness Crooke, intending to cross the river there, no
boat was to be found, and I must needs ride on the river bank to the
Crowle Ferry.  I went slowly, for my nag was a sorry steed, hired at
the Crown, Portington's horse having scampered off to his own stable
during the tumult.  By the time I passed Beggar's Tree, the evening had
grown dusk, and I was startled by a moan from some one half hidden
under a champ of birch.  It was Bess Boswell, who had sprained her
ankle, and begged me to send some of her tribe, whose encampment lay on
my road to Temple Belwood, to convey her home.  I dismounted, and
helped her to my saddle, which she sat man-fashion.

For some time we went on in silence, which the gipsy girl broke by
saying--

"My warning came true on your birthday."

"Save your fortune-telling mystery for the bumpkins at the next fair,
Bess."

"Anyhow, I knew what you did not--the mortgages and the contract
between the squire and Ryther."

"True."

"And I can tell you much more that you do not know.  You go in peril of
your life.  Lord Sheffield will stick at nothing to remove you.  False
swearing, or poison, or a stab in the back, or a shot out of the reeds,
all's one to him and his creatures.  The slug which killed your friend
to-day was meant for you."

"Are you in Lord Sheffield's counsels, Bess?" I asked.

"I know as much as if I was, and more," she replied.  "Would that you
could be persuaded for your good."

"How then?"

"To go away for two or three months, anywhere out of the Isle."

"And how would that advantage me?"

"If you stay, you will lose your inheritance, your freedom, and may be
your life.  If you go, you will save them all."

"You talk in riddles, Bess."

"I say all I dare.  Most likely, I shall be beaten to-night for talking
with you."

"Beaten?"

"Yes; for I have had the luck to keep you from harm.  A man was hidden
in the reeds to shoot you, and he couldn't be sure of getting away
unseen, because I was with you.  Besides, the horse has been between
you and him."

"Bess!"

She leaped lightly to the ground.  "There's nothing amiss with my
ankle," she said.  "But I knew I could get a hearing, if I cheated you
into putting me on your horse.  Now ride on as fast as you can, and do
listen to advice.  Go away soon, and until you leave the Isle, have
pistol in holster, and sword at your side, and a trusty man behind you."

She slipped through an opening in the hedge, and sped across the fields
in the direction of the encampment of her folk.




CHAPTER V

On arriving at Temple, I hastened to bed, and for two hours or more
slept the heavy sleep of extreme weariness, but then awoke in pain and
burning thirst.  On getting out of bed, I found myself stiff and sore,
and somewhat light-headed; so, after a draught of water, tumbled into
bed again to watch for the morning in great uneasiness and impatience.
At length the dawn appeared, and not long afterwards Luke entered my
chamber, and made much ado about my condition, and that of my clothing,
rent in places, and stiffened with blood, which he naturally supposed
to be my own.  His uplifted voice aroused Mr. Butharwick, who came to
my room, and I was compelled to submit to an examination, which
revealed more bruises and slight wounds than I had been aware of.  As I
had some fever upon me, my tutor and my servant took a high and mighty
tone, declaring that I must keep my bed, and drink febrifuges; and I
only escaped blood-letting because Luke had got it into his noddle that
I had already lost at least a gallon.  When once Luke got anything into
his head, no other man could get it out again.  In rising to prove that
their solicitude was needless, a touch of giddiness laid me on my back,
after which they had their way with me--they and the housekeeper, who
boasted great skill in the compounding of broths of bitter herbs and
seldom had the chance to exercise her art in our healthy house.

So this day I spent in bed, having my tutor for company, my father
being away on some business of his solicitorship, and having (for once)
left no clerkly task for Mr. Butharwick.  My old friend was in no way
surprised by the things which I had heard from Mistress Goel.

"Your father knows what has been reported to the earl, and is
beforehand informed of every step which his lordship takes.  The
'Solicitor' has trusty spies in the earl's own household.  For example,
he knows that a troop of soldiers would have been ordered here ere now
to search for arms, but that they could not reach Temple, either from
Hull or Doncaster, without our being advertised by the marshmen."

For my part, I had no confidence in "spies," who might play a game of
their own, but I held my tongue.  Mr. Butharwick had infinite faith in
my father's ability, and it was not for me to shake it.

Mr. Butharwick lay under great apprehension as to what might be the
upshot of the skirmish at Thorne, fearing I might be summoned to appear
before the President of Council on the charge of assaulting those who
were, in a manner, the officers of his Majesty, but took refuge in the
certainty of our knowing the purposes of the earl in time for me to
hide until my father should return, I thought his fears on that score
groundless.  A Vavasour could not be condemned without trial, and an
open trial would be dangerous to Sheffield.  As it was, the death of
Will Staniforth might be laid to his charge.

Three days later, I received a letter from Staniforth's father, begging
me to come to him.  Though I dreaded to witness the grief of an old
man, infirm, and now bereaved of his only child, I set about going.
The water had risen in the marsh since Dick and I crossed, and I meant
to pole over in a punt from Belshaw to Messic Mere, whence a sailing
boat would carry me to Staniforth in two, or at most, three hours.  And
Sandtoft lay in my way.

I took Luke with me, or, as I should rather say, Luke went with me, for
he gave me to understand that in future he did not intend me to go
about alone, in which he was strongly upheld by Mr. Butharwick.  Not
that I opposed his going, for the words of the gipsy girl had an
influence with me, and I even carried gun and pistol, albeit there was
small likelihood we should meet with an enemy on our voyage.

Here I am put in mind by a critic (the kindest in the world) that
Axholme is greatly changed from what it was at the time of which I
write, and that I ought, for the better understanding of my readers, to
give a more particular account than I have hitherto done of the nature
of the country in my youth.  The fault is plain, but not the remedy,
since I am unskilled in description.  The best I can do is to prefix a
map, one glance at which will show more than pages of my writing could.
As to the journey to Staniforth, I may say that the space between
Belshaw and Messic Mere was sometimes land, sometimes water, and more
often a mixture of both.  In dry seasons, swine could pick up some feed
there, and, now and then, a venturesome cottager turned out a cow,
keeping watch lest it should be bogged.  In winter, eels were to be
caught and ducks shot there.  Clumps of birch, small oak, poplar, and
alder grew here and there on "holmes" of gravel or sand.  Long rows of
reeds marked channels always filled with water; ling and gorse, in
spots, flourished on the drier mounds and ridges.

On this day, as I have said, there was abundant water (though the month
was June, and the summer had been almost rainless), which we supposed
to be due to heavy showers further south, swelling the rivers Trent and
Idle.

Luke took the pole, and pushed quickly across to the mere, where we
changed into a sailing boat, and went gaily to Sandtoft, then an oblong
island about four furlongs by two, or, roughly, some eighty acres in
extent, surrounded by the Idle.  Leaving Luke in the boat, I scrambled
up the bank, which sloped steeply, and was palisaded at top to the
height of six feet.  I pulled myself up and looked over, and had
scarcely done so when a bullet whizzed over my head, and I saw the man
who had fired it reloading as he came nearer to the fence, and others
swarming out of a shed like angry bees out of a hive.  Thinking it
might be as dangerous to retreat as to advance, I drew myself up and
tumbled, rather than jumped, down inside the palisade, and walked
toward the sentinel, calling out, "A friend," which did not hinder his
shooting a second time.  Happily, he was no marksman.  Being quite
ignorant of Dutch, I continued to announce myself as a friend in
English, German, and French.  When we came within arm's length, two of
the men collared me, and one asked in a sort of French what my business
was.  My answer so far satisfied them that they let go their hold, and
conducted me to Doctor Goel's abode.

On the way I admired the diligence and skill which had reared a Dutch
town in so short a time.  A wide street of substantial houses, mainly
built of wood, it is true, ran from west to east, and at either end of
the street there were workshops, storehouses, and what I took to be an
arsenal.  As I afterwards learned, a good deal of the material had been
brought over ready shaped, needing only to be put together on the spot.
Some acres of ground were covered with pumps, wind-mills, sluice-gates,
carts, in sections or complete, and machines and parts of machines of
which I could not guess the use or purpose.  One thing I saw certainly.
The men who had embarked in this enterprise would not lightly abandon
it.  They had precise and definite plans, and they had expended vast
sums of money.  The settlement was fortified as for a siege, and there
were several pieces of artillery.  In an open space stood the gallows,
and near by a pole from which flew the Dutch flag, surmounted by the
royal standard of England.  To drive these people out of the Isle would
require an army, and a general.  As for judicial sentences, I
remembered that it was a legal maxim that possession was nine points of
the law.  Looking round on the evidences of the king's authority, and
of the wealth at the disposal of Vermuijden, and of the determination
of the settlers, it came home to me that my father was losing his
labour and spending money in vain.  And yet I rejoiced to think that
Mistress Goel was likely to remain in the Isle.  It did not occur to me
that I might be banished from it.

My guards led me to the doctor's house, where we found him seated at a
table on which were spread a handful of feathers, a piece of
fish--smelling stale--bits of touchwood, and other rubbish.  As we
entered the room, he laid down a queer shaped lens, through which he
had been gazing at some of these things, and greeted me cordially.  He
and the men held a short parley, and they turned to go, when I begged
the doctor (in very bad French) to assure them of the harmlessness of
my man Luke, lest they should take it into their heads to shoot the
poor fellow.  After further talk with them, the doctor informed me that
one of the men had a little English, and had promised to certify Luke
that all was well with me.  The doctor and I talked in a heavy fashion,
bad French on my side, broken English on his, for a few minutes, when
Mistress Goel appeared.  She had not tarried to don her finest
clothing, as is the wont of so many damsels, but came in household
garb, her round, white arms bare to the elbow, her head covered by some
kind of hood, which, however, she threw back as she entered the room,
her fair face flushed as by her work, but a smile of welcome in her
eyes--more beautiful than ever in her homely neatness.  In the course
of our chat, she told me that the watchmen were on the alert, because
last night some bold fellows had scaled the palisade, broken some
costly machinery, and endeavoured to set fire to the buildings.
Vermuijden's lieutenant had given strict command to shoot every
intruder who did not enter by the gates, of which it seemed there were
two.

"Is it that you wear chain-mail under your clothing, or a scapulary
blest by the Pope or witch's charm," she asked, "that you court danger
as if you loved it?"

I was much too slow-witted to give the right answer, and blundered
something about being preoccupied with the pleasure of seeing her.  But
_Ay di mi_!  I forget that what I recall with delight will not interest
the reader.

When I rose to take my leave, and Mistress Goel heard whither I was
bound, she inquired whether we had food with us in the boat.  On
hearing that we had none, she insisted on supplying us, "For the poor
father will be overcome with sorrow, and never think of your hunger,"
she said.  As I would not stay to take a meal with them, she retired to
the kitchen, and came back cloaked, with basket in hand, followed by
her maid, who carried another.  Declaring that she would show me the
gate, so that I need not rush on bullets when next I came, she led the
way to a point about a hundred yards further round the bend of the
river.  I hailed Luke, who came up and received the baskets with looks
of wonder.  Mistress Goel commended Martha's pastry to our attention,
and with "Bon voyage!" she left us.

As we fell to our luncheon, I asked Luke what had passed between him
and the Dutchman who had engaged to assure him of my safety.

"'A leaned o'er fence, and 'a says, 'Icy Ingliss!  Allride.  Got-tam'
I stared at un like a stuck pig, and 'a says again, 'Allride, Got-tam,'
and grinned from ear to ear, so I knew he meant it friendly."

When we had ended our meal, Luke said, "Master Frank, I've heard cook
say as foreigners can't make pastry."

"I dare say; what of that?"

"Why, it's a thundering lie; that's what it is, a thundering lie!  I
never ate such eel-pie in all my days.  And ain't she spanking?"

"Who is spanking?  Cook?"

"No, no; that Martha.  'Tis a nice, comfortable name.  And what a pie
it was!"

Luke's eyes were half closed, as if he were deep in meditation.  At
Staniforth, forgetful of his self-imposed duty of keeping guard over
me, he would have remained dreaming in the boat if I had not reminded
him of his duty.

The servant who admitted me whispered, "Master is very bad to-day, sir,
but he will see you."

The old man sat bent forward over a turf fire, though the day was hot.
The room was almost unbearably close to me.  I had seen him not more
than twice or thrice before, for he shrank from exposing his
decrepitude to general view.  Some years ago he had been thrown over
his horse's head, and, in our country phrase, his back had been broken,
that is, he had sustained an injury to the spine, which had deprived
him of the use of his lower limbs.  He was a pitiable object, cowering,
almost bent double, over the fire; his long, white hair hanging about
his shoulders, his beard reaching nearly to his knees, his yellow face
puckered with a thousand wrinkles.  But there was a fierce light in the
eyes as he turned toward me and said--

"Hast done right to come, young Vavasour.  Look at his grave."

He pointed to the window, from which I saw a newly made mound in the
middle of a field of grass.  Then, as if he answered a question, he
said--

"No, the parson didn't gabble lies over him.  We put his body into the
ground without parson's lies."  Then the old man repeated scornfully,
"'We give Thee hearty thanks, for that it hath pleased Thee to deliver
this our brother out of the miseries of this sinful world.'  It might
be said for me, but not for him, my strong, handsome boy, who ought to
have lived sixty years.  But I prayed, young Vavasour--I prayed for
death and damnation on his murderer."

The strength and fire with which the feeble old man hurled out the last
words were terrible.  Then his tone changed.

"The best son that ever lived he was.  Up with the lark, all over the
farm before breakfast, seldom taking his pleasure with his mates.
Gentle as a woman!  No woman would ha' been half so gentle with a
peevish old man, often mad with pain.  Why should the Lord take the
prop of my age, the one joy of a broken-backed <DW36>?  The Lord
didn't take him, you'll say.  No; but He let the devil do it.  If I
could but have his murderer here!  Oh, that I might grip him by the
throat!"

The father stretched out his arms, the trembling hands clenched, as if
they grasped the neck of the man he hated.  Still I said nothing.  What
could I say?

"He loved thee, Frank.  He made me jealous at times with his talk of
thee.  Said how brave thou wert, how warm-hearted, what a good
sportsman, what a gallant gentleman, what a true, staunch friend!  And
thou led'st him to his death.  It was thy quarrel he died in.  He was
no brawler."

"That is true," I said; "he lost his life through coming to my rescue."

"He did not lose his life," the old man screamed; "his life was
taken--foully, treacherously taken, and his blood cries for vengeance.
Wilt be a man and avenge him?"  His eyes glittered as he asked the
question.

"You cannot think of asking me to pledge myself to do murder," I
answered.

"Murder! who talks of murder?" he rejoined.  "If it were any other man
than the son of my Lord President, I could have him hanged.  But what
poor man dare give evidence against him?  Curse him.  What lawyer in
the isle or county will undertake my case?  When justice is not to be
had by the law, we have a right to take it.  If God or devil would give
me the use of my limbs, but for a single day, I would take it."

The passion of the old man lent him strength, and he drew himself up,
almost erect, a fearsome sight.

But in a moment he drooped again, and moaned, and I sat silent beside
him.

Then rousing himself he said, "Hast milk in thy veins instead of blood?
Canst not hate the man who killed thy friend--not man to man in honest
fight, but by a dastard word to his villains?"

"God knows I hate him only too well," I replied.

"Dost, Frank, dost?  God bless thee for that.  Meet him, taunt him,
make him draw on thee, shoot at thee; force a quarrel on him somehow,
and kill him! kill him!--kill him as slowly as thou canst, so it be
sure."

He put his trembling hand on my knee, and thrust his face near to mine,
his eyes blazing under their bushes of dead-white hair.

"Swear it, Frank," he begged.  "Swear it, and I shall die happy.
Happy!" he groaned, in mockery of his own word.  "Nay, don't speak
yet," he said.  "Listen to me.  Thy father is wasting his patrimony on
law and lawyers.  'Twill do no good.  When did it ever do good to spend
money so?  But don't let that trouble thee.  If thou'lt be a son to me
so far as to do justice on the man that murdered Will, the Grange shall
be thine, and many a good mortgage besides.  Shalt be a rich man, young
Vavasour."

Up to this point, I confess that the old man had been so near gaining
the ascendancy over me, that I might have made him some sort of promise
of vengeance on his enemy, but this offer broke the fascination.

"Your grief has maddened you, Mr. Staniforth, or you would not bribe me
to do murder."

He tore his long hair with rage, and moaned--

"Fool that I was not to remember thy pride and vanity of the Vavasour
breed.  Some men are vain, and some are proud, but Vavasours are both.
Thou wilt not avenge the murder of thy friend, who died for thee--for
thee, dost hear?  Thou wilt not help his heart-broken old father,
because he spoke of leaving his land to thee?  Then go and the devil go
with thee.  May an old man's curse cling to thee all the days of thy
life."

He shook with rage, and spoke with a choked voice, foaming at the lip,
so that I dreaded lest he should fall into a fit and die.  I hurried
out of the room, and bade the servant, who met me in the hall, hasten
to aid her master.  Calling Luke to follow me, I sped down to the
river.  What a change to be out in the pure air, under the blue sky,
hearing the twitter of the swallows far above, seeing green fields
where cattle grazed, and the river rippling in the sunshine!  And how
miserable to feel that I, who had the freedom of the beautiful earth,
and abounding life in me, could do nothing for the sorrow-crazed father
of my dead friend!




CHAPTER VI

Farm business held me from going over to Sandtoft for many days.  Much
of our land was too rich for the growing of corn--which was apt to
spoil on the ground by its own rankness--and was sown with line year
after year.  This season it fell to my lot to meet the merchants, who
came to buy our standing crops, and to show them hospitality.  Having
occasion to go to Crowle on this business, bargains concluded, I paid
my respects to my relatives at the vicarage, little thinking of the
reward awaiting my dutiful behaviour.  As I entered the door, I heard
my aunt cry out, "Frank!  I know your step.  Come this way."  The voice
came from the store-room, where I found the notable housewife, among
the tubs and jars and boxes, from which she had so often produced
dainty cakes and preserved fruits for the delight of my juvenile palate.

"At last you have remembered that you have an aunt!" said she, lifting
her face to me.  "I am busy now, but I will talk to you after dinner.
I have company to-day."

"What company?" I asked.

"People you know, Mistress Goel and her father.  What is there in that
to make you open your eyes so wide?"

"I did not know of your acquaintance with them, that is all."

My aunt gave me to understand that the vicar had visited the strangers
when they lodged at the White Hart, and invited them to the vicarage.
She herself had taken a violent fondness for the daughter, and for the
father a superb contempt.

"The man's daft, or he would not bring a girl to live in a hole like
Sandtoft, where there is no other woman except her maid and the wives
of mechanics and labourers, and the men are all boors and savages.  The
only excuse for such barbarity is that the man has lost his wits.  But
there's a Providence above, and the poor, dear child will have her
recompense.  There's a coronet at her feet, or soon will be."

"God in heaven!  You cannot mean that you favour that beast, Sheffield!"

"No profane language here, Frank.  Lord Sheffield is a changed man."
Nothing could exceed my aunt's complacency as she gave me this
assurance.

"Has he made proposal of marriage?" I asked.

"Not directly as yet; but he is quite open with me," and the good woman
smiled loftily.

"Then he comes here?"

"He has been several times to hear your uncle discourse, who is
satisfied that a work of grace has begun in his lordship's soul.  But,
bless me!  I shall be late with dinner."  And she began to bustle among
her stores.

"When do your guests arrive?" I asked.

"They have been here since the day before yesterday.  You will find
them in the garden."  So saying, she hurried off to the kitchen.

What Sheffield's game might be, I could not guess; but that he had some
evil design in professing to be edified by the homilies of the simple
clergyman, and in flattering his still simpler wife, there could be no
doubt whatever.

The sight of Mistress Goel in a chair on the grass-plot under the shade
of an old pear-tree drove away my gloomy surmisings.  She rose to greet
me in her pretty way of formal courtesy, and when she resumed her seat,
I threw myself on the grass near her, and found her bright face
lovelier than ever when looked at from that position.

"How long it is since I saw you!" said I.  "I have been full of
business which I might not leave, or I should have been to Sandtoft ere
this."

"It is well that you have not," she answered.  "Our men are furious.
Almost every night a machine is broken, or something is stolen, or an
attempt to fire the buildings is made.  Four days ago, a barge came
down the river too late to be unladen, and the man who kept watch on
board was seized, gagged, and bound, and the boat was scuttled, with
the man in it.  It was done with such stealth that our men knew nothing
of it until morning, although the sentinels had been at their posts all
through the night."

"But I have nothing to do with midnight marauders," I growled.

"Our men do not know that.  They have heard that you are one of the
instigators of these doings."

"Is not my--my acquaintance with you a warrant that I am not an enemy?"

"No.  I am sorry to confess that our acquaintance leads to our being
suspected rather than to your absolution."

"Good heavens!  Our Islonians have not a monopoly of barbarism, it
would seem."

"Remember that our men are strangers in a strange land.  They are
plundered, harassed, threatened.  Some of their comrades have been
killed.  The night attacks are so skilfully made as to lead them to
think there must be a traitor within the camp.  My father is in the
habit of walking and watching late o' nights, and I have talked with
one of the enemy.  Most unhappily, Vermuijden is away, and it is
uncertain when he will return.  I was glad indeed to leave the
settlement for a few days, and you will be wise not to come over at
present."

"I have no inducement to visit the settlement while you are at the
vicarage, which is a much more fitting abode for you than a hut at
Sandtoft."

"So Mrs. Graves will have it, and in her kindness would detain me here
I know not how long; but my place is with my father, and he is by
agreement physician to the settlers.  You are not to think that my
father brought me thoughtlessly to Sandtoft."

How beautiful she looked as she bent forward, her face aglow with love
and pride!

"He is not so much absorbed in science as to forget his care for his
daughter.  Oh no, indeed!  He would have had me stay in Leyden, when he
fled.  He entreated, almost commanded me to go to the care of friends
in Amsterdam, when he left Paris, and to remain there until he had a
suitable home for me in England.  But what is home?  Do masons and
carpenters make it?  For me, it is where my father lives.  My mother
died in my seventh year, and my father did his utmost to make up my
loss.  His grief made him an old man before his time: his days were
filled with labour, and the most learned and polished society in Europe
made claim on his leisure, but nothing was allowed to interfere with
his tender care of his little daughter.  He continued his great love
for his wife in his love for her motherless child.  Pardon me that I
say all this, but I could not bear that you should misconstrue my
father."

I forgot to answer, looking up with pure delight into the beaming eyes.
Surely, she cared something for me, unworthy as I was, since she wished
that I should respect her father as he deserved.  At length I replied
softly--

"I count it great honour that you have told me."

But my new reverence for Doctor Goel was instantly in danger, for he
came up to us, a cabbage-leaf in one hand and his magnifying-glass in
the other, and pointed out something to his daughter in great
excitement.  He turned to me while she looked, and plunged into
English, of which I reproduce the sense, not the exact words--

"Your great Bacon thought that caterpillars were engendered of dew and
leaves by putrefaction.  But it is not so.  They come from eggs, laid
by the butterfly.  It is one more instance to confirm the theory that
every living thing derives its being from a parent."

And the old gentleman rubbed his hands and smiled, as if he had found a
diamond.  'Twas all I could do to refrain from laughing at this ado
about some tiny caterpillars on a cabbage-leaf, but Mistress Goel
seemed to enter into her father's pleasure, and, to my astonishment,
said something to him in Latin, as if quoting a book, to which he
replied by a long sentence in the same language.  Then he returned to
the harness-room, taking his precious cabbage-leaf with him.

Happily, the clang of the dinner-bell called us into the house, and
saved me from uttering my opinion on the value of studying grubs.
After dinner, during which nothing was said which needs record here,
the vicar withdrew to his study, the doctor to the harness-room, where
he smoked his pipe, my aunt to her room for her customary nap, so
Mistress Goel and I strolled round the garden.  Somehow, I was led on
to talk of myself, a topic on which I was fluent, not to say vapouring.
I confided to the lady the dubious state of the Vavasour fortunes, and
spoke of retrieving them by the sword.  I more than half hinted at my
father's project for the relief of our estate, and of difference
between him and me on that account.  In fine, I was autobiographical,
sentimental, braggart.  The patient hearing, the gentle glance, the
sweet smile on my companion's lips lured me on to talk as I had never
talked before.  Little did I dream that I was pouring out my boyish
crudities to one of the most accomplished women of the Netherlands, the
bosom friend of Tesselschade Visscher, a distinguished member of the
brilliant circle who made the Visscher _salon_ famous throughout
Europe.  Happy in my ignorance, young bumpkin that I was, I babbled on,
and she listened and answered as simply as any rustic damsel.  I longed
to tell her how I loved her, but held myself in check, remembering that
I might be disinherited to-morrow, and what a poor heritage at best
mine was like to be.  Longed!  I ached with longing.  And when I
thought of Sheffield, it was as though my head and heart would burst,
so full I was with jealousy and rage.  What I might have said, if we
had been left alone awhile longer, I do not know, but my aunt came out
to join us, and she stuck like a leech.  I sauntered to the
harness-room, where the doctor sat, smoking his pipe, and fell into
talk with him.  His English improved as we conversed, and I got the
notion that he had once used the tongue with freedom.  He asked
questions about our farming, the trees and herbs in the fenny soil, the
birds and beasts of our woods and marshes.  He told me curious things
of the weeds spread upon a rough table before him--some too marvellous
for belief, but I kept my countenance.  He had been seeking glow-worms,
and I told him where they were to be found.  I asked him questions
concerning some things which had puzzled me, and received answers full
and plain.  He grew very friendly, and our talk lasted until
supper-time.

That supper would have been a right pleasant meal but for one thing.
The room was gay with vine-leaves, green boughs, and bunches of roses
in jars and vases.  Never had I seen it so gracefully decked, and I
knew whose handiwork it was.  My aunt had skill in providing, as the
table bore witness, set out with well-cooked poultry, tench, salmon,
plovers' eggs, dainty tarts, and amber- ale and French and
Spanish wine, but the adornment of the table and the room was new and
strange.  When the doctor and I entered the room, "my Lord Arrogance"
stood at the other end, bending reverentially to listen to the vicar's
talk, He made his bow to the doctor, and we took our seats--Sheffield
at Mrs. Graves' right hand, Mistress Goel next him, the doctor and I on
the other side of the table.

Sheffield talked with the Goels of Brederoo's _Farce of the Cow_, and
of some tragedy by Vondel.  He applauded the genius and enterprise of
Doctor Samuel Coster, and praised to the skies the Sisters Roemer
Visscher.  It was in listening to this conversation that I discovered
how intimate Mistress Goel was with those learned and beautiful ladies.
The playwrights and poets of Amsterdam and Leyden were quite unknown to
me, and to the vicar and my aunt; but Sheffield contrived to interest
Mrs. Graves by condescending to explain to her, and appealing to her
taste and judgment, and he pleased his host by a sentence now and then
in which he implied that these topics were far beneath the altitude of
his sacred learning.  I imagined that Sheffield designed to expose my
clownish ignorance in contrast with his knowledge of the literature of
the Netherlands; but his evident anxiety to keep the direction of the
conversation in his own hands, and an exchange of glances between
father and daughter, as if some remark of his tickled them to the point
of laughter, made me aware that his lordship did but repeat a lesson
with which he had been stuffed for the occasion.  In a little time he
had taken a good deal of wine, and then he did me the honour to become
aware of my presence.

"I' faith," said he, "'tis uncourteous to Vavasour to talk only of
divine poesy.  Does line fetch a good price this year?"

The inquiry was addressed to me, but before I could answer, Mistress
Goel shot me a question--

"What did you say was the motto of Sir William Vavasour?"

I had said nothing of a motto peculiar to this ancestor of mine, and
could not at once see the drift of the query.  Then I perceived that it
was meant to stay the anger which had sent the hot blood into my face,
and I answered her with the first jingle I could remember.

Soon after sunset thick clouds gathered, cutting short the twilight,
and candles were brought in.  Then my aunt prayed Mistress Goel to
sing, and I learned what ineffable delight may be in music, for the
singer had the art-concealing art, and sang as the thrushes and
nightingales do.  The old spinet became another instrument under the
touch of her fingers.  I sat entranced, listening to song after song,
watching the singing with devouring eyes.  To my wonder the songs were
chiefly English, and some of them the simple ballads dear to
peasant-folk.  By-and-by Mrs. Graves asked for "that Spanish duetto,"
which she had heard Sheffield sing with her guest, and he condescended
to gratify her.  'Twas a concert of crow and nightingale, but the
fellow tugged at his collar, and stuck up his chin, and wriggled about,
as if his performance had been the finest in the world.

During the last hour the low rumble of distant thunder had been heard,
and just as the Spanish song ended, there came a flash of lightning,
and a tremendous peal of thunder immediately followed, loud enough to
be the crack of doom.  My aunt began a great fuss about having no bed
to offer me, and the necessity of my going home before the storm grew
worse, and I was in a manner forced out of the house.  So I made my
adieux, promising the doctor some glow-worms in a day or two.  As I
bade Mistress Goel good night I thought her little hand trembled, and
there was a look in the brown eyes which I chose to interpret as
concern for my safety.

On first setting off, Trueboy was uneasy, the lightning becoming
frequent and the thunder almost continuous, but a firm rein and a
little soothing brought him to composure.

I have never seen lightning more splendid.  At every flash a fire
seemed to run along the ground before me, and the water on either side
glared redly, while quite distant trees showed, or appeared to show,
their every leaf.  Near Hirst Priory, some cattle and horses, which had
leaped the fences in their panic, were scampering to and fro on the
causey like mad creatures, running great risk of bogging themselves in
the swampy margins of the road.  It would have been unneighbourly to
pass on and leave Farmer Brewer's bestial to their fate, so I opened
the gate of the drift, and then gathered and drove all I could see into
their owner's grounds.  It was slow and difficult work, the beasts
being so wild with fear, and the only light that of the flashes which
followed one another for some seconds without intermission, the
succeeding darkness bringing me to a stand; but at length it was done.
Then I battered and bawled at the door of the hind's cottage.  He
opened after some minutes, and stood quaking and shaking like a man in
an ague-fit.

"O Lord!  Be it you, Master Frank?  I thought it was the devil come to
fetch me.  The Almighty's terrible angry, for sure."

I bade the man stick some bushes on the gate and the fences near,
remaining to see that he obeyed, bantering him the while on his
ridiculous fear that his sins had put the elements into such commotion.
When he had finished the job, I rode slowly on, pondering a fact which
I had noted in collecting the cattle, namely, that the waters of the
marsh had risen, and encroached on the causeway here and there,
although no rain had yet fallen.  All at once, Trueboy started off at a
great pace, and I became aware of hoof-beats behind me.  I pulled him
up, and he capered about a bit, for he was never willing to be passed
on the road.

"Out of the way, there," shouted a voice, which I recognised as
Sheffield's.

I turned in the saddle, and asked, "Is my lord so drunk as to need all
the breadth of the causey?"

"Oh, it is you!" answered Sheffield.  "You might as well have staid to
see my leman give me the parting kiss, hanging on my neck, pressing her
sweet lips to mine."

By this time we were riding side by side.

"Liar!" said I, and dealt him a blow across the face with my whip.

I drew rein, expecting that he would take instant revenge with sword or
pistol, and ready enough for the encounter, though I had no weapon but
the one I had used.  But he did not strike.  He said something which I
could not understand, and I felt a crashing blow on the head.  I
remember thinking I had been struck by lightning.  The next thing I
knew was that I lay on the causey, dizzy and sick.  By degrees, I found
that my clothing was drenched, and supposed that the rain had come and
soaked me while I lay unconscious.  Then I perceived that Brewer's hind
was stooping over me, and that he was dripping wet.  Shortly
afterwards, I came fully to myself, and heard the man's account of what
had befallen me.  Briefly, it was this: he had lingered at the gate a
minute or two after I rode away, and saw two horsemen follow me.
Thinking they might be highwaymen, he had plucked up courage to run
after them, and came near enough to recognise by a flash that one of
the men was Sheffield's gigantic black servant.  Supposing me to be in
no danger from him or his master, the man had turned toward his cottage
again, when he heard a great splash, and a succession of lightning
gleams showed him two men riding off, and my horse riderless.  He
hurried up, and found Trueboy, up to the chest in the water, trembling.
The fellow had the wit to guess that the horse was trying to reach his
master, so he waded cautiously forward, and found me lying two feet
below the surface.  My enemy had shown readiness and cleverness,
assuredly.  But for the presence of the one spectator, I should have
drowned quietly, and it would have been supposed that the death was
accidental.

"Now, Stubbs," said I, "you have made me your friend and debtor for
life; but you must remember that if you say a word of this matter, you
will make another sort of debtor, who will pay you quickly."

Stubbs vowed perpetual silence, and we parted, I to ride home, feeling
extremely queer.  The lightning still flashed, but at longer intervals,
and before I had gone a hundred yards, there came a gust which tossed
upward the tree branches and beat down the reeds, and the rain fell in
streams.  That was no matter to me, for I was as wet as man could be,
but Trueboy misliked it, so the rest of our way we flew.




CHAPTER VII

Luke burst into my room early next morning, to tell me that the waters
were out to a height such as no one remembered.  The Don, which had
been turned by the Dutchmen into a channel connecting it with the Aire,
had taken its old course with fury, flooding the western side of Crowle
as with a second deluge.  I jumped out of bed, almost forgetting the
aching and soreness of my head and the stiffness of my limbs, for, if
this account were true, the inhabitants of the Crowle vicarage were in
jeopardy.  Luke assured me that "'twas no manner of use to try to reach
Crowle by riding, for t' causey was under water;" so after I had broken
fast with a crust and a cup of small ale, I had out my boat, and taking
Luke with me, set sail northward.  The marsh had become a deep lake,
and the low-lying fields in our neighbourhood were flooded, and here
and there we came on the carcase of a sheep or a pig; but when we drew
near to Crowle there was a sorry sight indeed.  The cornfields on the
<DW72>s of Totlets had disappeared under muddy water, and several
clay-built cottages had crumbled and fallen in.  Some of the recent
tenants were about in punts, gathering up what they could of their bits
of furniture.  From them we learned that no life had been lost there.
The folk had been aroused by the barking and whining of a dog, and had
taken refuge on higher ground, before the old walls fell in.  As we
came nearer to the town, the water was so cumbered with wreckage, that
we let down the sail, and took to the oars, lest we should foul among
the bundles of reeds, straw-stooks, empty casks, dead sheep and swine,
hay rakes, pails, and other things innumerable, which were strewn on
the surface of the water.  Some of the more westerly houses were
surrounded with water up to the lower windows, and at sight of us, the
inhabitants, who were at the upper windows, set up a great cry for
help.  We shouted that we would come, or send to them, as soon as might
be, our first concern being the vicarage.  Passing Farmer Dowson's on
our right, we saw him and his men, waist-deep in the water, staggering
under bags of corn, carrying pigs in their arms, struggling with
frightened horses, leading them to the higher ground behind the
farmstead.  The farmer hailed us, but only to relieve his soul by
shouting a malediction on the Dutch.  The water became shallower as we
neared the church, for (as we discovered later) the first rush of the
river had brought down an immense quantity of silt, which had been
deposited in a bed sloping from the wall of the churchyard.  To our
surprise we found the depth at the gate of the vicarage not more than
two feet.  We moored our boat to the old oak, and with some difficulty,
for the bottom was soft, made our way to the house, where we found the
inmates in safety on the upper floor.  My aunt was loud in lamentation
over her goods and chattels and store of food.  The vicar's most
pressing care seemed to be a funeral, which had been arranged for this
day.  Doctor Goel was poring over a plan of the drainage, going again
through calculations, which proved to his satisfaction that the channel
cut for the Don was deep and wide enough to carry off its water into
the Aire in any possible event, and that the embankment raised must
infallibly resist whatever pressure could be brought against it.  He
was so perfectly certain that what had happened could not by any chance
occur, that I was obliged to laugh in his face--and mightily offended
him.

"You cannot suppose, doctor," said I, "that the Islonians have broken
down the embankment for the pleasure of drowning themselves."

"I do not know that," he snapped.  "They are stupid enough."

Remembering how the water had gradually accumulated before the coming
of the great rain, I believed that neither the drain for the turning of
the Don, nor that for the conveyance of the surface water had been
large enough for its purpose, but I did not offer my wisdom to the
doctor just then.

Mistress Goel asked many questions, and wept and wrung her hands to
hear of the distress of the people, but she was quickly her calm self
again, entering into talk of what had best be done for them.  My first
notion had been to collect as many boats as were to be had, and to go
to bring the folk from the outlying farms and cottages to Crowle.

"But you need not do that," said she, "unless there is danger of a
house giving way.  The water is subsiding."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"By a mark I made on the staircase wall at five o'clock this morning.
The water has sunk three inches since then."

I said something in praise of her self-possession in a time of alarm,
but she urged me to the present work.

"The poor people out in the flood," said she, "will have little or
nothing to eat.  Their food will be spoiled, and they will have no
means of procuring fresh supplies.  That is the first thing to be
thought of.  And the mere sight of a friendly face will do them much
good.  Will it not be best to load your boat with a stock of such
provisions as are to be had, and to send some one of influence round
the town to urge others to follow you?"

To this I agreed, and, after some further talk, I turned to go.  As I
stepped into the water at the foot of the stairs, she called to me from
the landing--

"Oh, Frank, don't forget milk for the children."

I looked up, and saw her face burning.  "I will not forget," I
answered, and out I strode with the music lingering in my ears.

Old men and women still tell the tale of the great flood, and part of
the tale is how the "young squire" of Temple did feats of rowing,
lifting, and carrying in helping the folk.  If I was bold and active
beyond the ordinary on that day, and I think I was, the secret is that
I had heard my name for the first time from the lips of my love, and
seen her blush to use it.

It is no affair of mine to repeat the chimney-corner story.  It
suffices to say that I and Luke and a dozen willing fellows worked our
hardest until dark, visiting every farmstead and every hovel which
remained standing on the lower levels.

A score cottages right on the bank of the river, occupied by labourers
and marshmen and their families, had been swept clean away, with what
destruction of life could not then be known.  The farmers' losses were
terribly heavy.  The havoc done among horses and cattle was
considerable, and hundreds of swine and thousands of sheep had been
drowned.  Stacks were overthrown and spoiled, and the standing crops
were ruined.

How the men cursed the Dutch!  Their threats of vengeance made me wish
that Mistress Goel and her father were safely out of Crowle.  For our
Islonians are not fellows who ease their minds with a curse, and then
think no more of it, but of that slow, stubborn kind, which smoulders
first and does not flame until the end.  I assured them that their
"Solicitor" would demand compensation for their losses.  I argued that
this disaster might have so much good in it as to justify my father's
resistance to the Vermuijden scheme, and oblige the King and his
advisers to hear reason.  But I met with bitter and scornful laughter
for the most part.

One man said, "'Taint no sort of use to talk so, Mester Frank.  Your
father is a real gentleman, but he's no match for the Dutch devils.  We
didn't ought to ha' listened to his peaceable kind of discoursing.
Squire Portington's is the way to deal with robbers and murderers like
Vermuijden and his gang."

Pretty nearly all were of the same mind, and I returned to the vicarage
dispirited and apprehensive, and so weary and spent and heavy with
sleep, that I crept off and tumbled into bed, too tired even to talk
with Mistress Goel.

Most unexpectedly, the vicar requested me to remain a few days at his
house.  Hitherto, we had had little to say to each other; he never had
much to say to any one.  I had disliked him from my early childhood,
when I got the impression that he was bound in parchment like one of
his folios, and that the back of his head had been chopped off.  His
days were passed among those folios, and Mr. Butharwick spoke with
respect of his learning, but what good came of it I never knew.  He
preached sermons of an inordinate length, and totally incomprehensible
to me, and, as I judged, to his parishioners generally, who composed
themselves for slumber when they heard the text.  My aunt attended to
all the affairs of the parish, and always inspected the parson before
he left the house, to see that he was decently clad, and had his
handkerchief in his pocket.

The calamitous flood aroused him to the everyday life around him, not
all at once, but slowly.  He entered into the sorrows of his bereaved
parishioners especially, of whom there were many.  One Coggan, a small
farmer, had been found dead in the water at the foot of a ladder
descending from his bedroom.  Another man, a somewhat drunken fellow,
had been overtaken by the flood, while sleeping off his drink on the
kitchen floor.  An old man, whose people had left him alone for the
night, had been caught and overwhelmed in the act of opening his door,
apparently.  The child of Ducker, the blacksmith, had been ailing for a
day or two, but on the night of the inundation had fallen asleep on a
couch, and slept so peacefully that the mother would not disturb its
slumber, but covered it up as it lay, and went to bed.  She found it
drowned in the morning.  Besides these cases in the town itself,
numerous bodies were recovered in the neighbourhood of the cottages on
the banks of the Don and elsewhere.  In these circumstances, many
appeals were made to the vicar for guidance, help, and consolation.
The sexton lost his wits, poor man, and there were difficulties in
making preparation for the decent interment of so many bodies, as well
as difficulties as to who would guarantee payment for this and that.
We were hard put to it to find a messenger to go for the coroner, every
man's hands were so full of his own, or his master's business.
Consequently, the vicar impressed me into service, and gave everything
into my charge.  I must do him the justice to acknowledge that he was
diligent in attending to his spiritual duties, and generous with his
purse.  The painful and somewhat horrible details are no necessary part
of my narrative, and so I leave them; but, as may be supposed, I was
fully occupied for several days.

There was an hour every evening which made up, and more than made up,
for all the weariness and trouble of the day, when Mistress Goel talked
awhile with me, or sang to me.  Our talk was mainly of the one
engrossing subject, and there could be no quiet, private chat at such a
time; but to see her and to hear her voice was enough to make me happy
for the present.

Luke made me somewhat uneasy by telling me that he had overheard
conversation at the White Hart, and elsewhere, to the effect that
Doctor and Mistress Goel had come over to Crowle "to charm the water."
Dame Hind had had much to say of the certainty of their being in
commerce with the devil, and some of her guests swore to put an end to
the witches at the first opportunity.  Although I did not think these
threats very serious, and had perfect confidence in my own ability to
protect my friends, being in high favour with the Crowle folk, I
contrived to restrain them from going beyond the vicarage grounds,
except when I could accompany them.  Luke was exceedingly afraid, but
as he had always a keen nose for scent of danger, his fears did not
excite mine.

On the third evening of my stay, Sheffield was announced.  He met me
without a trace of confusion.

"Ha, Vavasour!" he said.  "Give you joy of coming to life again."

"Thanks--much thanks," I replied.

"Coming to life again!" cried my aunt.  "What do you mean, my lord?"

"Has he told you nothing?  When last I saw him, on the night of the
thunderstorm, he was struck by lightning."

"Struck by lightning!" my aunt echoed.

"Yes; I overtook him on the road, and we got into some sort of quarrel,
about what I don't remember, for, to confess the truth, I was too
drunk.  We were riding side by side, jabbering angrily, when I saw a
ball of fire flashing down.  It struck Vavasour, and he fell from his
horse.  I am ashamed to say that I was so dazed and terrified that I
rode off as fast as I could, and left him to his fate."

Being pressed to give my account, I said, "I did not see the flash
which knocked me down, and I can tell you no more, except that I found
myself in bed next morning, little the worse."

My aunt gave me a scolding (with tears in her eyes) for my reticence,
and was touchingly grateful to Sheffield for informing her of the peril
I had been in.  Doctor Goel's interest was in the meteor, and he asked
so many questions about the size and shape and colour of it, the degree
of its brightness, the length of time it was visible, and so forth,
that Sheffield got himself into a coil of contradictions, and then
excused them on the ground that he was very drunk at the time.

"By Bacchus," said the doctor, "you must have been."

One person kept silence, but her bright eyes were observant of
Sheffield and me.  Doctor Goel turned to me, and endeavoured to extract
some account of my feelings, but I stuck to it that I could tell
nothing more.  Sheffield took himself off, declining my aunt's
invitation to stay supper.

Mistress Goel hinted a desire for a walk, and I, being eager enough,
stood ready to accompany her.  While she put on her hat and wrap, I
waited in the hall, and Luke, who was never far from my elbow at this
time, came to me with my pistols.

"You may need 'em," said he, in a low voice.  "I've seen some ugly
fellows about this evening."

I laughed, but took them, and the belt which Luke had not forgotten,
and armed myself besides with a tough ash-stick, which I reckoned the
best weapon a man could carry.

We took the path winding upward through the wood to Crown Hill, the
moon, now nearly full, shining intermittently through scudding clouds
into our faces.

"I want to ask about the attempt made on your life the other evening,"
my companion said abruptly.  "Oh!" she continued, "I know the tale
about a thunderbolt is altogether false.  You were struck down from
behind, and left for dead.  Your assailant cannot understand how it is
you are alive, so he makes up a story as a defence for himself,
perhaps, or, more probably, to provoke you to say something which may
clear up what is mysterious to him.  And you saw the design, and would
not betray the secret."

"This is wizardry!" I said, staring.

"Oh dear, no! it is ordinary woman's wit, enlightened by the looks
which passed between you and your enemy."

I granted that she had rightly discerned, but said nothing of what
followed the knock-down blow.

"You are determined to keep secret the manner of your rescue?" she
asked.

"At present, yes," I answered.

"Doubtless you have good reason.  But there is another matter on which
I wished to speak with you.  Do you allow that there is such a virtue
as prudence?  If so, is it prudent to expose yourself to an enemy--a
powerful, crafty, unscrupulous enemy?"

Then I burst out, "Do you bid me run away from him?  Because----"

"Stay one moment," said she.  "Surely prudent avoidance and cowardly
flight are not the same thing."

"There is too much of a family likeness for me to distinguish between
them," said I.

"So I feared," she answered.  "What is the noise we hear?"

It was the noise of a crowd--hurrying feet, hoarse shouts.  It came
rapidly near.  The mob was coming up the hill.  Now I could hear
distinctly "foreign witch," "Dutch devil," and other cries of a fouler
kind.  Unmistakably we were pursued.  On the crest of the hill stood an
old windmill, which might shelter us, and thither I hurried Mistress
Goel.  The door was padlocked, but one strong kick crashed it open.
Pushing my companion inside, I took up the door, laid it across the
entrance, dragged a few sacks of corn against it, and had a tolerable
barricade; not a moment too soon, for the mob was upon us, with a yell
of disappointed rage at sight of the obstacle in their way.

"Can you load a pistol?" I asked Mistress Goel.

"Yes," she answered.

I detached powder-horn and shot-bag from my belt, and passed them to
her.

"I will throw my pistol into your lap, if I have to fire; reload it and
give it to me, keeping well behind me," I ordered.

By this time the crowd had gathered in front of the mill.  Luckily we
were in shadow, and the moonlight was full on them.  For half a minute
they halted, and a murmur of talk among the leaders was the only sound.
Then one of them stepped forward.

"One stride nearer, and I fire," I said quietly.

"Nobody wants to hurt you, Measter Frank," the fellow said.  "Give up
the witch, that's all we ask."

"There's no witch here," I answered.  "There is a lady, the guest of
your vicar; woe betide you if she comes to harm at your hands!  But you
will have to murder me before you lay finger on her."

"She be a witch, and brought the water on us; Nancy Isle knows it for
sartain sure," replied the spokesman.

(This Nancy Isle was a poor creature in her dotage, but still held in
repute as a "wise woman.")

"She gave Mat, hostler, stuff that cured his ague in no time," shouted
a voice.  "Has a charm to tame wild things," cried another.  "Doth wash
all over in cold water every morning, which would kill any Christian;
Lisabeth, maid at the vicarage, told me herself," bawled another.  "She
makes hell-broth of galls and toadstools and caterpillars.  I've seen
the old devil agathering 'em for her," said another.  "On with you, you
cowards," shrieked a female voice.  "Are you feared of one man, and him
bewitched?  She killed my innocent babe, and I'll tear her eyes out."
And Ducker's wife came forward with a rush, three men following.

I shot the first of them through the shoulder, and he fell; I brought
the butt of the pistol down heavily on one hand of the woman, who was
clawing at the barrier like a wild cat, which sent her howling.  The
other two men came on slowly enough to give me time to toss the pistol
into my companion's lap, and to cower for an upward blow with the fist.
I struck one of them under the chin, and he went backward insensible;
but the second got half over the door before I could deal with him.
With some shame, though I was fighting for more than life, I gave him a
kick in the "wind," which settled him for a while.  So far I had
splendid luck, and the enemy were a bit cowed, but if they came on in a
body, I must be overborne by sheer weight.  Their pluck was not
sufficient for that just now; they began to throw stones, which was not
a bad move, seeing that I was bound to guard the doorway.  I received a
tremendous blow on the jaw.  Then followed a lull, which ended in one
of the crowd calling to me--

"We don't want to kill thee, young squire."

"Thanks," I replied.  "I am not much killed so far."

"We don't want to kill thee.  Give up the witch, and we'll swim her.
If she sinks, we'll go away.  If she floats, thou'lt leave her.  We
can't say fairer nor that."

"Now listen to me," I answered.  "You can have any one tried by proper
course of law for witchcraft.  If you take the law into your own hands,
I shall kill some of you, and the rest will be hanged for killing me."

They replied by a volley of stones, and a furious rush.  A stone struck
Mistress Goel, and she sank to the floor.  I could do nothing for her,
save push her with my foot as far back from the door as I could reach,
for the men were on me, shouting, and brandishing sticks and knives.  I
stepped back, counting on their jamming themselves together in the
opening, which they did, coming on pell-mell.  Attempting no kind of
guard, I stood to crack intruding heads.  A knife was thrown, and stuck
in my left shoulder, whether in cloth or flesh, I knew not.  My good
ash-plant struck three heads down, and my boot smashed a face at a
corner.  Then the fellows drew off a little, dragging their fallen
comrades with them, but still facing the doorway; so I whipped out
pistol, and shot one of them in the leg.  That sent them out of range.

"Hand me the pistol," said my companion, rather faintly.

"Thank God!" I ejaculated, but I could not leave my post to see her.

Some of the men were talking loudly, and pointing; others ran off in
various directions.  Shortly, they returned, carrying dead branches and
heaps of straw.  They made for the other side of the mill, keeping well
out of pistol shot.  Plainly they meant to set the mill on fire and
burn us out.  It would blaze quickly, for it was slightly built, and
the timber old and dry, and I feared that the place would be too hot
for us long before a large number of people were drawn to the spot; but
our best plan was to stay where we were as long as might be possible.
The bulk of our enemies now sat on the ground to await the result of
the fire.  I might have broken a hole through the mill wall, but our
safety--such as it was--depended on there being only one opening to
guard.  So, keeping one eye on the enemy, I looked at Mistress Goel's
hurt.  It was a gash over the eye, and had bled copiously, but the
bleeding had ceased.  She insisted on cutting open my sleeve, from
which the knife had fallen, after sticking there some time, and found a
deepish cut, and my sleeve soaked with blood.  She bound up the wound
with a strip from her dress.  Now we heard a great crackling and
roaring outside.  The fire had taken hold.

"Frank," said Mistress Goel, and my heart thrilled at the word and the
tone.  "Frank, promise that you will kill me rather than let me fall
into their hands.  I would ask for a pistol to do it myself, but you
may have need of them.  Promise me, by all that is most sacred to you."

"I promise you that you shall not be taken alive, by the most sacred of
all things to me--my love for you."

The heat of the mill grew stifling.  Snaky flames came through the
cracks and crevices, and hissed upward.

"We must try for life," I said, and pulled away the sacks and the door.

The enemy awaited us.  All at once, they turned the other way, and the
head constable rode into view, followed by a posse of young men, some
on horseback, some on foot.  Then the crowd fled a dozen ways, and I
carried my fainting lady into the midst of a group of cheering,
laughing friends.




CHAPTER VIII

The task of answering the hundred and one questions of our rescuers
fell upon Mistress Goel, for I could not speak distinctly, my cheek and
lips being so swollen.  Two of my friends hoisted me upon their
shoulders, in spite of my growling resistance, while other two made "a
chair" for her with their arms and sticks, and we were carried with
shouting to the vicarage, terrifying the good folk there no little by
the noise.  When my aunt saw Mistress Goel's blood-stained face and my
puffed cheek, she fell to laughing and crying in a breath, and cried
out that I was the most reckless fellow in the world, and not to be
trusted with the care of a lady.  The doctor clasped his daughter to
his breast, and then held her off to examine her hurt, and turned to
glare at me fiercely, as if I had done the mischief.  Oddly enough it
was the vicar who called for sponge and water, bandages, plaister, and
the like; recommended the doctor to lose no time in attending to our
wounds; imposed silence on the dozen who were babbling all at once,
and, in short, put us into order.

Luke told how he had followed us, being in some fear that we might be
attacked, but he had been astonished by the number of the crowd, which
had gathered so quickly, and appeared to be under the direction of a
man, who was a stranger to him.  He saw us take refuge in the old mill,
and then thought it better to call a party to our aid than to come
single-handed.  Accordingly, he had set off to give the alarm to the
young fellows who had worked with us on the day after the flood, and,
by great good luck, found the chief constable of the wapentake at
supper in one of the houses at which he called.  The rest of the story
may be understood without the tedium of further words by me.  During
Luke's recital, Doctor Goel had attended to his daughter's hurt, and
now gave me his care.  My cut in the shoulder he pronounced
unimportant, but shook his head over the injury to my jaw.  At present,
he could do little but bind a wet rag about my face, and give me a wash
for the mouth, with a caution to swallow none of it.  Meanwhile, my
friends, on Mistress Goel's report, were making me out to be a hero,
and there I sat with a swelled face, rolling a liquid in my mouth which
made me wince, and unable to say a word.  It struck me as so queer a
fix for a hero to be in that I laughed, spurting out some of the
doctor's stuff, and gulping some of it down, but the coughing fit and
the pain which followed effectually cured me of inclination to further
laughter.

The chief constable deemed it advisable to set a watch over the
vicarage for the night, himself remaining in command.

"There is no telling to what lengths the rabble may go, when they have
got suspicion of witchcraft into their heads," said he; "and, in my
judgment, it would be wise for Doctor and Mistress Goel to take shelter
among their own people at Sandtoft as soon as may be."

We were not disturbed during the night, and that happened on the morrow
which, for a time at least, put our affairs into the shade.  We
received a visit from a Royal Commissioner, who caused public
proclamation, with beat of drum, that all well-disposed persons and
good subjects were to wait on him in the course of the next three days
in the Court-room at the White Hart, where the Manor Court was usually
held, there to prove their loyalty to the throne by loans,
benevolences, free gifts of money, and tender of service to his
Majesty.  This personage appeared at the vicarage early in the day,
attended by a file of musketeers, I happened to be with the vicar in a
room where he transacted such parish business as he could not depute to
my aunt, when a pot-bellied man swaggered in, with what he meant for an
air of dignity, but which in reality was a consciousness of the
musketeers outside.  After curt salutation, he took a seat, and opened
by saying--

"You received instructions from the archbishop to preach to your flock
on the duty of contributing to the royal exchequer, so preparing them
for my visit.  You thought it sufficient to read the letter from the
pulpit.  Explain your disobedience."

Something of the old Adam still lived in the clergyman, and flashed
from his eyes.

"By what authority do you----" he began.

But the other broke out--

"Authority! authority, quotha!  Authority enough to send a bishop to
jail, if he gave me occasion."

At this point I did an exceedingly prudent action.  The commissioner
held his neck awry, and my hands itched to give it a twist right round,
so I walked out of the room and a temptation which might become too
strong for me.  From prudence to policy is but one step.  The next
thing I did was to send Luke out to the musketeers with strong ale,
bidding him stay to learn how they liked the brew, and anything else
they chose to tell him.  They told him a good deal.  The commissioner
had a list of the gentry and farmers in the neighbourhood, and against
each name the amount to be demanded.  He had another list of poorer
folk, including the names of young men who might be impressed for
service in the army or navy, unless they, or their relatives, were
ready to buy a discharge.  There did not appear to be any limit to the
powers of this bashaw.  Before his entry into the Isle he had sent
several gentlemen to prison for refusing to pay his demand in full.
Some reputed misers of low degree, who had pleaded poverty, he had tied
up by the thumbs.  Incredible sums had been extorted from poor old
women by threatening to take away their sons.

Fellows who had been "insolent" to his Majesty's representative, had
been shipped off to the plantations.  The corporal had favoured Luke
with the opinion that the King would get so much money by this
collection as to put him above the need to ask Parliament for another
shilling.

The pot-bellied man left the vicarage soon after I received this
account, taking with him fifty pounds, and the vicar retired to his
study, perhaps for prayer.

In the course of the morning Mr. Butharwick came over to see me,
bringing a summons from the commissioner, requiring my father's
attendance at the White Hart, so about one o'clock I joined the company
assembled there.  The commissioner, Tunstall by name, as we learned
from the reading of his warrant under the Great Seal, which he allowed
some of the gentlemen to inspect, sat at a table, with a scribe on his
left hand, four or five of his musketeers standing behind him.  There
were seats for the men of rank and condition, but two-thirds of the
floor were filled by a standing crowd.  After the reading of the
warrant, Tunstall made a long pompous speech, setting forth the
necessities of the King, the duty of his subjects, and the trouble
caused in the realm by factious and treasonable persons, who had abused
their privileges and his Majesty's leniency by contriving to delay the
voting of supplies, urgently required for the defence of the kingdom,
and the dignity of the Crown.  The short of it was the king wanted
money badly, and we were to find it, or the consequences would be
disagreeable.  The commissioner looked at his papers, and then said
that the first name on his list was that of George Stovin of Totlets,
assessed at five hundred pounds.  Squire Stovin rose, and spoke--

"It is not for me to judge of his Majesty's requirements, or to give an
opinion as to the propriety of this unwonted way of meeting them, but
only to say that the demand made on the gentry and farmers of
Crowle--and on the gentry and farmers of Axholme generally--is to the
last degree ill-timed.  Hundreds of acres in various parts of the Isle,
which last year bore heavy crops, are reduced to swamp by the action of
foreign invaders, who are under his Majesty's protection.  In this part
of the Isle, many of us have been brought within a little of beggary.
I myself have had the cottages in which my labourers lived swept away,
and most of my barns and outbuildings.  Scores of my sheep have been
drowned--my crops are lost.  It is monstrous to ask me to give money to
the King.  I want compensation from the King."

There followed a loud rumble of assent to Squire Stovin's speech.  As
soon as it ceased, the commissioner gave some order in a low voice to
the corporal, and then said--

"That treasonable talk will cost thee more than five hundred pounds,
thou impudent rebel.  I allow thee one hour to send and get what may be
wanted for a sojourn in Lincoln castle."

At the word, a musketeer seized the squire, and tied his hands behind
him.  A growl of angry voices was heard all over the room, and, a
tumult might have happened, but, at some signal which I did not
perceive, a score musketeers entered by the door behind the assemblage.

Squire Stovin called out: "Will some friend be kind enough to go to
tell Mrs. Stovin I am going a journey, and want my portmanteau?"

"No man quits the room except by my permission," bawled the
commissioner, as a number of gentlemen turned to do the squire's errand.

Daft Jack, the town idiot, shambled forward from the rear to the table.

"May be your worship's honour will give me leave to go," he said; "but
I should like to give the poor King ninepence."  And with that the fool
laid the coin on the table.

The commissioner, mindful of the chuckling sound of laughter, threw the
piece back to poor Jack, bidding him begone about his business.

The fellow made a gesture of amazement, and then repocketed his money,
and shambled off to the other end of the room, talking to himself in
his high falsetto voice the while--

"'Tis a long way to Lincoln, and ferries to cross, and nasty bits of
road, and footpads and highwaymen about.  I wish the squire may get
there safely, poor man."

A faint smile at Daft Jack's concern for the prisoner's safe arrival,
crossed the commissioner's face.  He evidently did not suspect Daft
Jack's real intent.  Then he called out--

"See you bring the prisoner's portmanteau straight to me, d'ye hear,
fool?"

"Yes, yes, your honour," answered Jack.

"James Tankersley, wheelwright," the clerk read out, and the
wheelwright stepped forward, well known as a poor, but industrious man,
the sole support of an aged mother and his sisters, two sickly women.

"Hast the honour to be chosen to serve his Majesty, Tankersley,"
grinned the commissioner.

"Would ask nothing better, your worship, but my poor old mother and my
misters depend on me for their bread."

"That's no affair of mine, man.  The day after to-morrow you march with
me.  If you skulk, you'll be shot as a deserter, that's all."

The big fellow trembled like a leaf in the wind.

"Oh! your honour," he cried, in a choking voice, "have pity on us.
'Twill kill my mother."

"Stop your snivelling!" shouted the commissioner, "or I'll have you
strapped up and flogged.  If you're a damned coward, pay me ten pounds
for a discharge."

"Ten pounds!" cried the poor fellow; "I haven't a pound in the world,
and half the wood in the yard isn't paid for."

Farmer Brewer came to the front, and said: "I will buy his discharge."

"God bless you, Mr. Brewer," said the wheelwright.

"Brewer?  Have we that name on the list?" asked the commissioner of his
clerk.

Then the two of them rummaged among their papers, but seemed to have no
record of the farmer's existence.  At length the commissioner looked up
and said--

"A man who has ten pounds to spare for another must be well to pass,
Mr. Brewer.  Fifty pounds for the King will be no burdensome demand."

A murmur went round the room, for the farmer had lost heavily in the
flood, and everybody knew that he had never prospered greatly.
Something to this effect, Brewer began to plead, but was cut short.

"I am not here to argue, my man, but to collect money.  If you are
obstinate, I have the means at hand to persuade you feelingly.  Bring
the sixty pounds by three o'clock, or you will learn what they are.
Corporal, pass this man out."

So things went on, man after man being bullied and threatened, and sent
off to scrape money according to the commissioner's assessment.  The
proceedings were exciting enough at the time, but they would be
wearisome to narrate.  They were interrupted by Daft Jack's return, in
less than the hour allotted, with the squire's portmanteau, which he
dumped down with a bang just inside the room, saying as he sat down on
the floor with his back against the door, mopping his face, "I can't
carry it a step furder; take it to his honour, one of you."  At a nod
from the corporal, one of his men went forward with it, and placed it
on the table.  The clerk opened it for the inspection of his chief,
when with a humming and buzzing noise which filled the room, a swarm of
angry wasps rushed out.  What happened then I cannot describe.  I saw
the commissioner and his clerk striking, dancing, in a frenzy, through
a darting haze of furious insects.

Looking the other way, I saw a mass of hunched backs and bent heads,
helter skelter to the door.  Exit thus was too slow for my fancy, with
a cloud of wasps round my head, so I jumped from the only window which
opened door-wise.  It was a good long drop to the ground, but several
active men followed me.  We found Squire Stovin in saddle in front of
the inn, his feet tied under the horse's belly, his guards mounted on
each side, and a big crowd gathered round them, hustling and jostling
one another in a manner that boded no good to the troopers, most of the
men having their poles in their hands.  Mischief would have begun
before now, but for Mr. Stovin's authority with the fellows.  Shortly,
the corporal came out to say that the commissioner being unable to give
the instructions for which the men were waiting, he would take the
responsibility of setting the squire free on parole.  Mr. Stovin
readily gave it; his bonds were removed, and a mob escorted him home,
huzzaing until they were hoarse.  Host Hind told me that Tunstall and
his clerk were fearfully stung, and in no small danger.  "His head's
near as big as his belly," said Hind of the commissioner.  About him I
had no concern, but much about poor Jack, who would be horribly
punished, doubtless, if he were caught.  And, besides, I felt some
curiosity.  I found Jack in his one-roomed hovel at the south end of
the town, with a quantity of articles spread out on the clay floor: a
pair of cleat boards, a leather bottle, a whittle, coils of wire and
band, a ball of worsted string, fish-hooks, corks, cross-bow, a few
cakes of black bread, and other things, some of which he was in process
of transferring to his many and capacious pockets.

"I'm going to my hunting-lodge on Thorne moors," said he, with perfect
gravity.

"A little money may be of use," I said, tendering some.

"No, thank you, Mester Frank," he replied.  "I'm not likely to want
any.  There's a plenty of hares, rabbits, moor-fowl, fish, eggs on my
estate."

Jack's confidence was well grounded, I knew, as he had the utmost skill
in placing a snare for a rabbit, snickling a pike, or luring a bird
within shot.

"Do you mind telling me how you came to put a wasp's nest into the
squire's portmanteau, Jack?"

"All a mistake through being deep in thought, Mester Frank."

"How so?"

"Coming down the drive, I see a wasp-hole in the bank.  And I wanted
wasp-grub for bait.  So I clodded the hole, and pulled the nest out,
you see."

"But you didn't want live wasps, Jack."

"Live wasps are very good for dibbing, Mester Frank, if you know how to
handle 'em.  But, being deep in thought, I put the nest into Squire's
porkmankle instead of into my handkerchief.  And I forgot the nest when
I put the porkmankle down, and give it a shake, through being so deep
in thought."

"But what were you thinking about so deeply?"

"Tryin to puzzle it out why the pot-bellied man called me a fool."

And Jack looked as if the question still perplexed him.

"Fool, or no fool, Jack, you have done what none of the rest of us had
the wit or pluck to do.  But he will kill you, if ever he gets well
enough to do it."

"If I live till he kills me, I shall be a very old man," Jack replied,
with immense scornfulness.

He had now stowed away his properties, some in his pockets, and some in
a sack, which he slung over his shoulder, and stood ready for flight.
We shook hands, and he said--

"Luke Barnby knows the way to my lodge."

Desirous as I was to return to the vicarage, it took me a long time to
do so, for everybody was in the main street, talking and laughing over
the sudden break-up of the meeting summoned by the commissioner.  Here
I met one who had not been present, and wished to hear my account of
the affair; there another, who had been present, and wanted to go over
it again.  A knot of young fellows dragged me into the White Hart,
where they drank Daft Jack's health, and the health of the man who had
"put him up to the trick."  For no reason they had given me the credit
of the device, nor did my plain denial quite remove their belief that I
had a hand in the business.  At last I got away from them, and found
all quiet at the vicarage.

It had been agreed to act on the suggestion of the chief constable the
following day, and he had engaged to protect the house during the
night.  Anna, as I had come to name her to myself, had recovered from
the shock of the previous evening, and looked charming even with a
cross of plaister on her brow.  After I had told the true and full
story of Daft Jack's achievement, the doctor and the parson prosed
alternately, the one describing all the venomous insects known to man,
I should think; the other giving instances from history, sacred and
profane, of their intervention in human affairs, and seeming to have
pleasure in recounting the torture inflicted on an unlucky wight, whose
name I forget, by an enemy who had him smeared with honey, and exposed
to the stings of bees and wasps.  The vicar was too good a Christian to
rejoice in the sufferings of the commissioner, but I am sure he got
some kind of consolation in the very particular description which he
made of the torments of the other man.

Anna was unusually silent, which I hoped might be due to the same
thought as kept me so, that of the parting to come on the morrow.  I
noted with secret delight that the songs she chose, when she went to
the spinet at my request, were tinged with a sweet melancholy, which
might be that of love.




CHAPTER IX

"I asked you to come out with me because there is something I must say
before you return to Sandtoft."  So I feebly began, as we paced the
garden, now somewhat cleared of the mire and refuse brought by the
flood, a few flowers lifting their heads to the July sun.  "I told you
the other night I loved you.  I might never have dared to say it, but
for the fear that I should not have another chance.  Mistress
Goel--Anna--do you, can you love me?"

She lifted her noble face a little, gave me a look which I could not
understand, and then the eyelids drooped, as she answered with
trembling lips--

"It would be only too easy to love you, Frank, but I am
bound--betrothed already.  Have patience with me, while I tell you my
miserable story."  She sat down, and I beside her, heavy-hearted.

"Years ago, my father and his dearest friend, Cornelius Vliet, agreed
upon a marriage between me and his friend's only son.  I shrank from
the thought of it, and begged my father to allow me to refuse; but he
laughed at what he took to be girlish perversity.  He could not believe
I had a repugnance against a young man, who was reckoned handsome,
well-bred, brave, the heir to a large fortune.  And, indeed, I could
say nothing against Sebastian, but only that I had the strongest
dislike to be married to him, or to any man.  My father so far yielded
as to defer the matter awhile.  Then he was seized and thrown into
prison, and we knew his doom would be death, or lifelong imprisonment.
Sebastian came to me, and offered to secure my father's escape--on one
condition.  I gave him my promise, and he fulfilled his own by lavish
bribery, and, I must acknowledge, at the risk of his own liberty,
perhaps his life.  He accompanied us to Paris.  There I saw and heard
much more of his manner of living than I had known at home, and it was
fearful and loathsome to me.  My father assured me young men were no
worse for--what was so offensive to me.  I cannot tell you how dreadful
I felt it to be to fail in duty and love toward my father, and to be so
ungrateful to Sebastian for my father's life and freedom, but I could
not keep my plighted word.  I vowed that I would not be married until
Sebastian changed his course.  He did not upbraid or taunt me, or argue
with me, but disappeared.  For some months we have heard nothing of
him.  I supposed he had been disgusted with what he must think my
ingratitude and fickleness; but yesterday my father received a letter
from him, saying he has given up drinking and dicing and all evil ways,
and is coming to claim his bride.  He has decided to join Vermuijden,
and to share our exile, and will quickly follow his letter.  My father
is delighted.  Forgive me, Frank, that I have not avoided you.  I am
guilty, I know.  Forgive me."

I had been on the point to interrupt the story a dozen times; but
seeing how hard Anna found the telling of it, I would not make it
harder.  Now I burst out.  "Forgive her!  Forgive the sun for shining,
the flowers for blooming!"  I told her how sorely my heart ached for
her, but she must bear up bravely still.  I would not hear of duty to
her father in regard to this marriage.  I declared that a promise so
extorted could not bind her.  To try to keep it would be to sin against
herself, against the man, against her father, who must be made wretched
by it in the end, against me, against love, against God.  I told her I
was sure she loved me a little, and I would never give her up.  She was
_mine_, and should be mine as long as she or I lived.  Where the words
came from I did not know, for I am commonly slow of speech, but they
came hot and swift, and Anna looked up at me, as I stood over her (my
feelings had raised me to my feet) smiling through swimming eyes, and
said tremulously--

"You masterful Frank!  I could almost believe you; but oh! it cannot
be."

She rose to her feet in a sudden agitation.  "Here is Sebastian!" she
exclaimed, and I turned and saw him, accompanied by Doctor Goel,
approaching us.  After greeting had passed between Anna and him, the
doctor said something by way of introduction, and Vliet and I bowed, he
looking as black as a thundercloud, and I, doubtless, equally so.  I
think he knew me his rival at first glance, and hated me accordingly.
How heartily I detested him there are no words to express.

He was a fairly well-made man two or three inches below my height, with
cold, bluish-grey eyes, rather closely set, a big mouth, thick-lipped,
a low forehead, and cheeks somewhat bloated.  That he had turned to
sober and cleanly living I did not believe, or that he ever would, and
my unbelief was warming to the heart.  Having no part in the Dutch
conversation, I left the three, and returned to the house, where I
heard that Vermuijden was again at Sandtoft, and had sent Sebastian
Vliet in command of six of his men to escort Doctor Goel and his
daughter thither, with request that they would come with speed.

Within the hour the party was ready to set off, two of the Dutchmen
carrying the baggage (except certain small boxes, which the doctor
would not entrust to other hands), and the other three men with
muskets, cutlasses, and pistols, going in front.  Then came the doctor
and Vliet, Anna and I last.  As the landing-place, where they had left
their boat in charge of one of their number, was not more than half a
mile away, I hastened to take up the thread of our previous talk, but
was baulked of my intent.  At a spot where three roads met we
encountered a crowd "riding the stang."  At the head of the procession
strode a fellow blowing a horn; then a dozen others, beating pans and
kettles with pokers and iron spoons; a bagpiper made a noise like pigs
in a storm; a ragged rascal, sitting a donkey, carried a pole on which
dangled a woman's smock.  After this standard bearer followed an old
horse, bestridden by a grinning woman, who held an enormous ladle, with
which she merrily belaboured her husband, who rode behind her, his face
turned to the horse's tail, pretending to work at a distaff.  Two lads
marched behind the couple on horseback, bearing a pole, on which rode a
third, thumping a pan, and repeating--

  "With a ran, tan, tan,
  On my old tin can,
  Mrs. Mooley and her good man,
  She banged him, she banged him,
  For spending a penny when he stood in need.
  She up with a three-footed stool;
  She struck him so hard, and cut him so deep,
  Till the blood ran down like a new-stuck sheep."


A shouting, jeering rabble accompanied the cavalcade, making uproar
with marrow-bones and cleavers, tongs, gridirons, and kettles, and
'some half-score of barking and yelping curs swelled the din.  A
prominent figure in the rout was Ducker's wife, who had gone crazy
through the loss of her child.  She skipped and screamed and laughed,
now here, now there, almost as much the object of amusement to the mob
as the henpecked husband and his shrew of a wife.

If the mad woman caught sight of Anna there would be trouble, I felt
sure; so I pushed on, hoping to avoid touch with the crowd, who would
most likely turn by the road we had come, to make the circuit of the
town.  But the spectacle had some attraction for Vliet, who stood to
see the crowd go by, saying with a laugh, "Ah! justitia de los
cornudos!" from which I surmised he had seen the riding of the stang in
Spain.

I asked Anna to urge the five Dutchmen forward, the boat being yet some
four hundred yards away.  As I feared, some of the mob stopped to stare
at Vliet in his foreign costume, and this led to Ducker's wife
perceiving Anna and me.  She raised the cry, "Witches! witches!" and
the crowd took it up instantly.  I saw the vixen leap down from her
charger to join the blacksmith's wife in the leadership of the gang,
which followed us pell-mell.  Then I ran for the boat, half carrying
Anna, who at first hung back, imploring me to go to her father's
rescue.  As he had six men well armed to defend him--for the Dutchmen
had faced about and behaved manfully, the two who had borne the baggage
pitching it into the reed-bed that bordered the road, and taking to
their weapons--I attended to nothing but Anna's safety.  I had put her
into the boat, and made the man understand that he must push out into
the stream, and take shelter under the reeds, when the rest of our
party came up, the mob at their heels, brandishing their pokers,
gridirons, cleavers, and what not, encouraging one another with shouts
of "The witch!  Tear her to scotticks!" and savage curses.

With great coolness and quickness, the Dutchmen took in the condition
of things, and faced the angry rabble, and two of them fired.  Whether
any one was hurt, I could not see, but the yelling mob was not even
checked.  On they came furiously, and for some minutes we were engaged
in a confused hand-to-hand struggle, which would have ended, most
likely, in our being forced into the river by sheer weight of numbers,
but for a pistol-shot fired into the rear of the crowd, which took them
by surprise, and scattered them a little.  This gave the Dutchmen the
chance to use their muskets, and as one of the leaders of the mob fell,
the rest were somewhat daunted, and drew off a few yards.  Then Luke
ran from behind them, and took his stand by me.  He it was who had
fired the shot which saved us, having followed me with my pistols.  In
this lull of the storm, I tried to persuade the folk to go away; but I
had scarcely begun to speak, when one of the men took a stride forward
and hurled a gridiron at my head, which happily flew wide, for I leaped
on him in the act, snatching him up, and tossing him into the reed-bed.
But he had given the others a lead which they were quick to follow; all
sorts of missiles hurtled about us, and one of the musketeers was
struck and fell backwards into the river.  We could do nothing for him,
because another shower of knives, pots, and stones flew about us, and
our assailants came on with a rush.  I gave Vliet a hint, though I knew
not whether he understood English.  He nodded, and spoke to his men.
When the foremost of the crowd were right upon us, we drew apart
swiftly, Vliet and three of the Dutchmen on one side, I and Luke and
one of the Dutchmen on the other.  The pressure of those behind sent
five or six of the leaders headlong into the river, and we threw or
thrust several more after them.  The rest took fright, and ran like so
many rabbits.  I believe the discovery that the "witch" had vanished
had as much to do with their panic as the loss of their boldest
spirits, who were floundering in the water.  As the rabble fled, I
perceived that blood was spouting from my right wrist, and my strength
going with it.  I asked Luke to tie my handkerchief tightly round it,
but that did no good; the handkerchief was a soaked rag in no time, and
the blood still pouring.  Luke in great alarm called for Doctor Goel,
who came and ripped up my coat and shirt-sleeves, and placing a bit of
wood on my arm some distance above the elbow, fastened it there with a
bandage torn from my shirt.  This marvellously staunched the bleeding,
but I became queerly drowsy, and sat on the ground, overcome with
languor.  The doctor went from me to look at two fellows, dead, or
badly wounded, who lay in the road.

The Dutchmen were chasing the men in the river, firing now and then,
but everything was dreamlike to me, until I heard a light footstep
behind me, which I knew was Anna's.  Before I could turn round, I saw a
movement in the reeds, and then a face, the mad woman's face, glaring
at me, or at some one behind me.  The next instant she sprang from her
hiding-place, knife in hand, and I, now roused from my stupor, rose to
seize her.  I caught her in my arms, but she bore me to the ground.
She writhed and twisted; she clasped her hands round my neck, trying to
strangle me; she bit my bare shoulder; but I had just sense and
strength enough to hold her fast until I heard Luke say--

"Let go, Measter Frank--let go; I have her safe, and you're bleeding to
death."

The next thing I knew was that the vicar stood near in his old gown,
and he and everybody looked so solemn that I got the notion this was a
funeral company, and I the person they meant to bury.

"You mustn't," I whispered.  "I'm not dead."

Wine was produced in some mysterious way, and Anna held the horn to my
lips.  The draught revived me greatly, and they told me what had passed
during my fainting fit.  As soon as the crazy woman had been secured,
Luke had run to the vicarage for wine, and had ordered the sexton to
bring the bier as the handiest means of conveyance.  The vicar had
followed.  The doctor had attended to my wounds, and given instructions
for their future treatment, and now Vliet was impatient to be gone.  So
we said our adieux, and Anna's right hand lay for a moment in my left,
and my lips touched it.  Then the boat moved off, and I was carried to
the vicarage.




CHAPTER X

No one cares to read of sickness and pain (unless it may be those whose
business it is to cure them), but I am in a manner compelled to say
something of my wounds, else my story later on would be hardly
understood.  The cut in my wrist caused me much trouble by the third
day, so much that I could scarcely forbear from ripping off the
bandage.  By-and-by the pain in my hand was almost intolerable.  The
hurts in my shoulder were painful too.  The earlier wound broke out
again, and the bite inflamed greatly, and a kind of fever came upon me,
so that I grew light-headed at times, and hardly knew where I was, or
what I said.  When I was myself again, I fumed and chafed at my weak
and helpless condition, and sometimes grew frightened lest the bite of
the mad woman might communicate madness.  I could not comprehend my own
irritability and want of self-command.  The servants enraged me by
stealing in and out of my room so softly, and by speaking in sharp
whispers which went to my brain like stiletto thrusts.  Good Mr.
Butharwick, who nursed me with nigh unsleeping care, nearly drove me
crazy by bidding me not to think of subjects which disturbed me, and by
talking of matters that in nowise concerned me.  He had made some
astounding discovery about the children of Israel, and how their
destiny was written in the sky, as also were the future of the true
Church and the doom of Antichrist.  Everything could be made plain to
one who read the Bible and knew astrology, and my good tutor appeared
to think I might be soothed by hearing these mysteries expounded.  I
refrain from blasphemous language about the Holy Scriptures, but I said
things about the stars and star-gazing which hurt Mr. Butharwick
grievously.

Dick Portington watched with me one night, and in my intervals of
relief from pain, he told me how the commissioner had been carried away
more dead than alive, but vowing vengeance on those who had caused his
sufferings.  Of fights between the Dutch and the Islonians he had much
to tell; how the men of Haxey had driven off Vermuijden's men, thrown
down their embankments, filled up the drains, burned carts and tools,
and utterly destroyed their works in the south of the Isle; how an
attack had been made on Sandtoft and repelled, some of the assailants
falling into the hands of the Dutch, who had flogged them within an
inch of their lives, and then turned them loose to shift as best they
could, threatening worse punishment to the next batch of captives.
This was done by order of the new commandant, Vliet, who was in high
esteem with the Dutchmen on account of his boldness and cunning.
Vermuijden had gone away to oversee another operation in Bedfordshire,
leaving Vliet in full authority.

For the next two days I was in high fever, and my guardians refused to
give Dick another opportunity of conversing with me.  Luke was my best
nurse and companion in these days, for my stolid man was in love, and
in love with Martha, Anna's maid.  They contrived to meet somehow,
whenever I gave him permission to cross to Sandtoft, which I was never
loath to do.  If he had asked leave to go seven times a week, I should
not have said him nay.  In fact, losing count of time as I sometimes
did, by reason of weakness and wandering of mind, I would ask him if he
meant to go to-day, and he would answer, "Lord love you, Measter Frank,
an' 'twere but yesterday I fared across."  Through Luke I heard of my
love, and she sent me messages, and gave him directions about the
treatment of my hurts and as to my diet, Luke it was who told me that
her mother was an English woman, the daughter of a London merchant, who
had gone into exile for conscience sake.  Martha also was of English
parentage, the child of a servant who had accompanied the family to the
Netherlands.  "Which accounts for her pastry-making," added Luke.
Through Luke I heard that Vliet pressed his suit with ardour, Doctor
Goel seconding him; but that I had a friend at court in the maid, who
was a humble friend rather than a common servant, and hated Sebastian
with a perfect hatred.  I was surprised and perplexed to hear Sheffield
had visited Sandtoft, and struck up a friendship with Vliet.  This I
could not understand, and it disquieted me.

At the end of a fortnight I could go about a little, but the wounds in
the shoulder did not properly heal, and I recovered strength but slowly.

One day as I sat out on the lawn in front of the house, Luke near me,
busied in cleaning a gun, an old woman, with a tattered shawl over her
head and a basket on her arm, came feebly up the drive, now and then
coughing asthmatically.  In a wheezing voice she begged to be allowed
to show me the contents of her basket.  Luke gave her his stool, which
she accepted with profuse gratitude, and then asked for a drink of
water.

"Bring her a cordial, Luke," I said, as he went off to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of hearing, the old woman said in Bess Boswell's
voice.

"Send him away again when he returns.  I must have a private word with
you."

Sure enough, now I looked narrowly at her, I recognised the eyes, but
the rest of the face was that of an aged woman.

"What is the meaning of this mummery, Bess?" I asked.

"Have you forgotten what I told you?  It is dangerous for me to be seen
speaking to you," she replied.

"No; but I can't for the life of me understand the danger," said I.

"Certainly you can't; but that does not alter the fact," answered she,
in a tone rather scornful of my sagacity, I thought.

Luke came toward us with the cordial at this point, and I bade him
leave us awhile, as the poor body had something to tell me of her
affairs.  He withdrew out of earshot, but remained within sight of us.

"Your man is quicker of apprehension than you," she said.  "He doesn't
know me, and he doesn't trust me.  He is loading his gun, and keeping a
watchful eye on me; a good servant, that.  I wish you would take a leaf
out of his book, and be on your guard against strangers.  Two months
ago I begged you to go away out of the Isle, and it is by the most
wonderful luck you are alive to-day."

"I have been in danger once or twice; I do know so much."

Bess waved her hand loftily.

"I do not speak of mobs and crazy women; your enemies are much more
formidable."

"Come now, Bess, drop this mysterious style, and tell a plain tale, if
you have one.  You mean that Sheffield owes me a grudge, and won't
stick at trifles to pay it.  I know that as well as you, and I am not
shaking in my shoes about it."

Bess laughed.  "One of your worst enemies is your confidence in bodily
strength and pluck.  Lord Sheffield is not blessed with the sharpest
wits in the world, though he is more than your match in craftiness, but
he has the help of a man as cunning as the devil."

"Do you mean the Dutchman, Vliet?" I asked.

Bess laughed again.  "The Dutchman is a bulldog, and, if you are
prudent, you will not go near his kennel.  But you have to be on your
guard against one who can intrigue.  Let me tell you there are sworn
accusations now at Castle Mulgrave that Daft Jack was your tool, and if
the poor fellow is caught he will be made to confess that he was."

"But it is a lie!" I exclaimed.

"I wonder how many lies have been confessed on the rack," retorted
Bess.  "There is a charge against you--waiting for something to
strengthen the case--of having resisted the King's authority at Thorne,
and inciting others to do so.  At the same time it is being whispered
about among the common sort that you are a traitor to the Islonian
cause, and to your father.  The Dutch are told that you are their
secret enemy, the instigator of the attacks made on them."

"But these stories are contradictory, the one of the other!"

"What does that matter?  The effect of them is that you are looked upon
with hate and disgust all round.  You were in great favour with the
people just after the Crowle flood, but they are in a different mind
to-day.  Tales are told of you in every alehouse which would be
laughable, if they were not believed.  All this is done on the chance
that your enemy may be saved the trouble of your taking off; he is
prepared to act himself, if they don't."

"But what motive can he have?" I asked, incredulously.

"To get money," she answered.

"Who is the man?"

"Before I tell you, I must have your word never to betray me--never to
tell any one else, directly or indirectly."

"I give it you."

"The man is my father."

I laughed now.  "Lord Bozzy," "cheating Bozzy," the gipsy rascal, whose
feats and pranks were a perpetual and relishing jest all over the Isle!
It was ridiculous to consider him in the light of a malignant, subtle
enemy.

Bess gave me a contemptuous smile.  "Do you happen to know that he has
stolen a horse, and sold it afterwards to the man from whom he had
stolen it?  Did you ever hear of his being entertained as an honoured
guest at the house of a magistrate, who had condemned him to the stocks
a day or two before?  Have you heard of his passing for a clergyman,
London merchant, French traveller, and a dozen other characters, among
people who knew him well, or thought they did?  And if he can take in
every dull-witted squire in the Isle just for mirth and play, what do
you suppose he can't do, when he is to gain a fortune by doing it?"

On reflection, I admitted to myself that contempt for Boswell might be
foolish, and passed at once to suspicion.  What if this girl had been
employed to frighten me away?  Her I did not suspect, but might she not
have been allowed to hear this and that, in the hope that she would
inform me, and so I might be driven out of the Isle?  A fine fellow I
should be to run for my life, because a wench cried Bugaboo!

"Well, Bess, I am infinitely obliged to you," I said; "but I am not
likely to take to flight.  If you are good enough to warn me of any
scheme you may hear of, I shall be forearmed."

"Do you suppose my father imparts his plans to me, or any one?  I may
guess his design by some direction he gives; I may divine a purpose by
watching him closely.  He doesn't talk of doing a thing, he does it."

It was curious to see the sort of pride she had in the man whose plans
she was endeavouring to thwart, pride mingled with fear.

We sat a little while in silence.  Then Bess got up to go.

"You will not heed my warning?  Oh, you are bewitched, or you would not
lose house and land, scorn a fair damsel, who would be your loving,
faithful wife, break your father's heart, risk your life, all for--an
outlandish woman!"

"I believe you honest, Bess," I rejoined; "but is all this of your own
motion?"

"And who should prompt me?" she asked.

"Nay, that I cannot guess."

"Nor ever will."  And away she went without another word.

A day or two later, my father returned, looking worn and aged, so that
my heart ached to see the change.  He, on his part, was deeply
concerned to find me weak and ailing, and sent Luke to Doncaster with a
letter to a physician there, forbidding him to return until he could
bring the doctor.  When he heard that my wounds had been got in
defending the Goels, he refrained from speech, but his looks were of
sorrow and anger both.

Late in the evening he gave to Mr. Butharwick and me an account of what
he had done to get the decision of the judges put in force against
Vermuijden, but all in vain.  At length he determined to appeal to the
King himself, whose will made null and void the sentence of the law.
He bribed some of his Majesty's attendants heavily, but could not for a
long time obtain audience.  The King was in such anxiety and excitement
about the Queen's French servants, of whom he greatly desired to be
rid, and to have them sent back to their own country, that he could
think or hear of nothing else, unless it were of some means of laying
hands on money, which he wanted sorely.  So the courtiers and servants
said.  Nevertheless, my father followed the King, who was exceedingly
restless, from one place to another, seeking a favourable occasion, and
at last found it in a village near Cambridge.  One of the King's
gentlemen, who had taken my father's money, came to him at his lodging,
reporting his Majesty to be in better humour that evening, having had
from his Grace of Buckingham a letter which satisfied him the mounseers
would soon be packed off to France.  Seeing him in this temper, the
gentleman had presented my father's petition, which the King had read,
and then signified that the petitioner might be admitted to his chamber.

"But as soon as I came into the King's presence," said my father, "I
knew, by the scowl on his face, my plea had no chance of success.  He
did not condescend to speak to me until he had told his people I was
from Lincolnshire, which Henry VIII. had declared the most disloyal
county in England, which condemnation was justified in his own
experience.  And of this rebellious county, the worst part was the Isle
of Axholme, where one of his commissioners had been vilely used of
late.  Then he went on to say that in his care for his subjects in that
barbarous corner of his dominions, he had authorized a scheme for
reclaiming many acres of soil now under water, and, pointing to me, he
said, 'This fellow has dared to defy his King by opposing our gracious
purpose, setting forth I know not what legal quibbles in the courts of
law; and when he fails in his rebellious design, actually has the
audacity to approach us in person.'  Then he tore up the paper and
threw it into the fire, and turned to me, saying, 'Go to the devil, and
thank your stars you are not helped thither by a sword through your
body.'  Whereupon I was jostled out of the sacred presence."

After Mr. Butharwick had retired, my father opened out to me on the
state of our affairs, and in a strain altogether new.  The change was
so great as to make me afraid of I hardly knew what.  He, who was used
to speak and act with so much resolution and masterfulness, now
lamented his unwisdom in taking upon him the burdensome charge of the
"solicitorship," and accused himself of wronging me thereby.  I could
scarcely believe my ears, and doubted whether I was awake or dreaming.

"I had confidence that a just cause must prevail in England, but I
ought to have perceived that everything is changed in this country.  A
King, who despises the rights of his people in general, and flouts his
Parliament, cannot be hindered of his will with a few landowners and
poor folk in Axholme, when he is in dire straits for money, and can get
it by trampling us underfoot.  In my foolish confidence I have done a
great wrong by encumbering the estate so heavily."

I knew not how to answer; babbled something about doing our utmost to
repair the mischief.

"Happily, it is possible to do that," he replied.  "There is no doubt
that Mistress Ryther and her father will welcome you as a suitor for
her hand in marriage.  You may not be inclined for matrimony just at
present, and there is no hurry, but you should lose no time in asking
the lady's promise.  That obtained, all our troubles are at an end.
And as soon as you are wedded I will go abroad, taking Butharwick with
me, leaving the bride to queen it here.  When I return, a house in
Beltoft will suffice for me.

"Unfortunately, I cannot ask Mistress Ryther to marry me," I answered,
"because I love another lady with every fibre of my body and every
thought of my heart."

My father smiled.  "You think so, Frank; and it is partly my fault.  I
ought to have turned you loose in town, sent you on the grand tour,
given you a chance to prove how often we can be in love, and how
quickly out of it again.  'Tis a malady incident to youth, a passing
fever; but while the delirium lasts, we see and converse with angels.
Change of air is a cure for it."

How I threw scorn on this scorn of love, how I protested and vowed my
love could not die, may be imagined by a lover, and no other would care
to read such matter.

My father replied, with an indulgent smile, "Yes, yes, my son, I know.
But you must see that marriage with the Dutch girl is out of the
question.  You have nothing to marry on.  If you refuse Mistress
Ryther, you are a landless, penniless man.  Even if it were otherwise,
how can you wed the daughter of a fellow who broke prison and fled his
country, sooner than take his trial for conspiracy to murder his
Prince?  A pretty family connection for the master of Temple Belwood!
You might as well propose to marry a gipsy; better indeed, for your own
people would not burn the house over your head for that, as they
certainly would, if you took a wife from the camp of the Dutch
invaders.  Besides, the girl is mated already--or as good as
mated--with a rascal who was drummed out of King Christian's army for
cheating at dice.  You see I have taken some pains to inform myself
about your Fancy and her associates."

"And who is your informant, may I ask?"

"A Frenchman, Chavatte by name, a gentleman and a man of affairs, who
came over with Vermuijden, putting much money into the business.  I met
with him at Cambridge, where he was seeking Vermuijden, as I was
seeking the Lord's Anointed.  He has withdrawn from the company for
good reasons.  For one thing, he is convinced that the plan for the
drainage is fatally defective, and Vermuijden will not hear of
alteration.  Then he has discovered that the King has sold what never
belonged to him, and has no mind to be a receiver of stolen goods, nor
does he expect that the rightful owners will ever submit to the
robbery.  And he has the strongest distaste to Vermuijden's lieutenant
and deputy.  He is trying to recover some of his money, and will
shortly go home.  You will be inclined to consider him a man of sense,
for he admires Mistress Goel's beauty, and applauds her devotion to her
father, whom he regards as lunatic, most especially because he desires
to give her in marriage to this Vliet.  'But he finds favour with the
incomprehensible sex,' Chavatte added, with his French shrug of the
shoulders."

I did not speak for some time.  A horrible doubt had crept into my
mind.  Suppose Anna's filial piety should overcome her repugnance to
Sebastian Vliet.  Suppose the fellow had reformed his conduct.  Suppose
he succeeded in gaining her consent.  If Anna were lost to me, what
mattered it to me whether I married Mistress Ryther, or a gipsy, or a
blackamoor?  If I could redeem the dear old place, and make my father
happy, was it not my duty to do so?  Always supposing that Anna could
not, or would not be my wife.  It was the first time I had given way to
despondency, and even now I do not understand what it was that plunged
me into gloom.

One thing only was clear to me, that I must see Anna without delay, and
learn whether I was to be blessed or miserable for the whole of my
life.  I could not keep before myself that I had nothing to offer for
her acceptance, or that her father might treat the offer with ridicule.
I could think of nothing but the necessity to see Anna, and hear the
word which should decide my fate.  My father said nothing to interrupt
my meditations.  Since he had been away from home, he had formed the
habit of smoking, and he now lighted his pipe and puffed silently.
When he had finished his pipe and knocked out the ashes, he said--

"I will not press you for an answer to-night; but it is to be
remembered that handsome young women, who have heaps of money, are not
as plentiful as blackberries in September."

"I will give you an answer to-morrow evening," I replied; but did not
say anything of my intention to go to Sandtoft in the morning, for I
felt certain my father would oppose it strongly.  Indeed, what with the
lightness of my head and the heaviness of my heart, it took me some
time to get upstairs and to bed.  Luke, who was accustomed to help me,
was away, and it occurred to me that if I missed him to-night, I should
miss him much more to-morrow.




CHAPTER XI

As I was about to turn in to bed, I perceived a red glare in the sky
westward, and feared it meant trouble at Sandtoft, so I lay long awake;
but at length weariness overpowered me, and I slept for some hours.  I
awoke early, and, having dressed in a slow, fumbling way--my arm being
more than usually painful--I walked out as if I sought the morning air,
taking care to give no inkling of my purpose to the servants, who were
already astir.

At that time of the year, the middle of August, there was choice of
three modes of crossing the fen.  One might pick one's way on stilts,
or with cleat-boards, but in my present weakness I dared not adventure
either method.  The third course was to take boat at Belshaw, on a
winding stream, which in the end joined the Idle a mile or so above
Sandtoft.  Luke had told me that the Idle was flowing again since the
destruction of Vermuijden's work in the south of the Isle, so I chose
the easiest, if slowest, manner of going; but when I reached the little
inn at Belshaw, there was no boat to be had.  Dame Drury told me their
boat was at the carpenter's under repair, and the flat-bottomed punt
Drury had taken out, meaning to try for half-duck and snipe, which had
begun to appear in the fen.  There was nothing for me but to await his
return, which would be early or late, according to his luck in fowling.

While the dame got ready a breakfast for me, she chanced to make
mention of her husband's cousin, who had lain at their house for a
year, crippled with a kind of palsy.  Half in curiosity, half in
compassion, I questioned her, and learned that he was about thirty
years of age, that he had inherited a moderate property on the death of
his father thirteen years ago, and had gone out to see the world,
seeking knowledge and adventure in many countries.  Some twelve months
before this time he had arrived in London, intending to visit his
friends in the Isle, and then to go to Virginia to join Captain John
Smith (who was a distant kinsman of the Drurys); but he had been
suddenly struck down by a mysterious disease, and now lay helpless in
an upper room.  On my asking whether the poor fellow would welcome a
visitor, she went to inquire, while I took my meal, and came back with
the message that he would be very glad to receive me.

At first sight my heart warmed to him, though what was the secret of
his charm for me I do not know.  Do we ever know what it is which draws
us toward another?  He had a handsome face, but his eyes only were
remarkable.  The broad brow was crowned with clusters of dark hair;
mouth and chin were hidden under moustachios and beard, but the eyes
glowed.  There was witchery in his smile, as he extended his thin hand,
saying--

"This is a day to be marked with a white stone.  I have often heard of
you, but little expected ever to see you in my den."

I gripped the hand, with a choking in my throat to see such a man a
prisoner, and said--

"If I had known, I would have come earlier."

"I thank Dame Fortune that you have come now," said he.

He had made his poor little room a wonderful place.  On the walls were
many sketches, pencilled from memory chiefly, as I came to know
afterwards, full of life and spirit.  Quaint drawings, the expression
of his humorous fancy, there were also.  A few well-thumbed books in
several languages stood at his bed's head.  On the table lay papers
covered with mathematical studies.  He followed my glance, and said--

"The hours are not so leaden-footed as you might fear.  With books and
pencil and a questioning habit of mind, one need not be idle."

"But accustomed to liberty and travel----" I began.

"And, therefore, with store of remembrances," he interrupted.  "I used
to roam the field and browse; now I lie and chew the cud.  You may
laugh when I tell you that my worst plague is the perpetual swarm of
flies.  At times their buzzing and their touch nearly madden me.  The
idlest, foulest, most impudent and vilest things on earth, no wonder
the Bible ascribes their creation to Beelzebub.  You don't happen to
know what is the proper sacrifice to offer him?  I should make it, if
he would be favourable to me, and remove his creatures from me."

"The dame would prepare you a paper to catch them."

"Don't speak of it!  She did, and the horror of it abides with me.  But
one thing I learned therefrom.  The priests are wrong with their
doctrine of everlasting torment.  Why, I could not endure the miserable
struggles of the most loathsome and detestable and worthless insects.
_A fortiori_."

"Questions of divinity are beyond me," I said, laughing.

"Whereas questions of all sorts are my occupation," he answered.

Then the conversation turned on his travels, and he talked of men and
things in nearly all the countries of Europe.  He seemed to have made
friends wherever he had been, and had something to say of the virtues
of every people.  He had seen with his own eyes and judged for himself,
and spoke with a delightful freshness.  Many a droll prank he had
played in his desire to see things from the inside, here to get into a
mosque, there to penetrate into a brigand's cave, and he told his
escapades briefly and lightly, as I had never heard man speak before in
my life.  Despite my longing to be away to Sandtoft, the time passed
quickly in his company, and we took our luncheon together pleasantly.
But when two o'clock, three o'clock struck, and Drury did not appear, I
grew restless and uneasy, and made some excuse for going out.

"As you will," said he; "but if you want only a vent for your
impatience, pace about, and swear a little.  It is long since I have
had the pleasure to watch a lover."

"And who tells you I am one?"

He laughed as I have never heard another man laugh, softly, musically.

"Oh, my friend, the name is writ all over you.  A blind beggar's card
is not so readable.  Sighs, fits of silence, eager hearkening for means
of flight--a dozen signs make it plain.  And besides, what could take a
wounded man, still ailing no little, across the fen to Sandtoft, of all
places in the world--but Love, the strongest of the most ancient gods,
venerable as Chaos and Mother Earth and the Nether Deep?"

"You speak like a votary," said I.

"Ay, of the god; not, like you, of the priestess.  The deity is one;
his ministrants are many."

To me this was a jangling and jarring note, but there came to my ears
the sound of Dame Drury's voice in grumbling welcome of her husband, so
I bade my new friend "Good day," and hurried downstairs.

I had difficulty in getting the loan of the punt.  Drury had this,
that, and the other to do to-morrow.  There was "a plenty of fowl"
about, which would fetch good prices so early in the season, and he
distrusted my assurance of return that evening; and even hinted doubt
of ever seeing the punt or me again, if he allowed me to take it to
Sandtoft, where "the Dutchees are as mad as bees when their skep has
been upset."  "Would he sell it outright?" I asked, impatient of the
waste of time in wrangling.  No; he wouldn't do that, because the price
of the punt would not cover the loss of time while a new one was being
put together.  "Take any price you please," said I, and at five o'clock
stepped into the punt, and began to pole down stream.  I could not ply
two poles by reason of the weakness of my right arm, so I got forward
but slowly.  Several times I was compelled to use both arms to the
single pole where the water was very shallow, or the weeds grew rank;
and heavy work I found it, so heavy that after an hour's toil, I was
taken with a kind of swimming in the head, and lay down in the bottom
of the punt to rest awhile.  I know not whether I fell asleep or
fainted, but when I came out of slumber or swoon, the light had faded,
and a gentle shower was falling.  I suppose the rain on my face awoke
me.  I pushed on, but so feebly that darkness overtook me before I
reached Sandtoft, for the thickening rainclouds cut off the twilight.
When I came to the settlement I got out at the first convenient spot
for landing, and, having moored the punt, walked slowly and cautiously
along the bank to find the gate.  Suddenly a lantern flashed in my
face, and my arms were seized from behind and pinioned.  My captors
hurried me forward, exchanging a few words in their own language, but
saying nothing to me.

Shortly, I was thrust into a bare room, lighted by a lamp slung from a
hook in the planking overhead, where Vliet and three others sat,
smoking, round a table, on which stood two or three square bottles,
several glasses, and a pitcher of water.  The closeness of the room
with the reek of tobacco and odour of Schiedam was choking and
sickening, and all things began to go round; but I pulled myself
together by strong effort of will, for something warned me that I must
have my wits about me here.  While Vliet and the others talked in
Dutch, one of the men loosed my bonds, and on looking down I saw my
right hand was red, and then felt a slow trickling down the arm.  Now I
understood my faintness.  My wound had broken out again, and loss of
blood had weakened me.

The man who had cut the cord which tied my arms now searched me, as if
he supposed I had weapons hidden under my clothing.  In so doing, he
stripped off my coat, and finding my shirt sleeve soaked in blood,
looked in my face narrowly, and then made some remark to Vliet, which
caused him to take the lantern from one of the men and poke it against
my nose.  He sat down after the inspection, and laughed until his face
grew purple.  Then he poured out a huge glassful of spirit, half of
which he took down at a gulp, and laughed again.  When his fit was
over, I said--

"You recognise me, I believe, Mynherr Vliet?"

He could speak English, I found, though abominably, and with a drunken
stutter.

"Oh yes, mister--devil take your name!  I know you."

"You cannot suppose that I came to Sandtoft with any ill intent."

"By heaven and hell, but I can suppose it, and be sure of it.  Thousand
devils, yes.  You are a spy, a traitor, a Judas."

Then he turned to his men, gabbling fast them in Dutch, finally issuing
an order to one of the men, which he went out to execute.

"These hurts got in defending your people should certify you, M.
Vliet," I said, pointing t my shoulder.

"Ah! you are crafty, Mister-Judas.  You fight a little in the daylight
for us, that you may plot against us in the dark.  You designing devil!"

Although I knew, looking at Vliet's countenance, in which raging hatred
was no less visible than drunkenness, that there was but a step between
me and death, I could not refrain from smiling at the character he gave
me.

"You laugh!  You will look very funny when you are hanged!" he said.

"Be sure of this," I said, speaking slowly, and as plainly as I could,
if perchance some of the Dutchmen, might have English enough to take my
meaning: "if you hang me, you will be hanged, and every man who aids
you."

I saw by the look of one of the fellows that he understood me.  He
whispered to Vliet, who looked up and asked--

"What lie have you to tell why you came here?"

"I came to speak with Doctor Goel and his daughter on private business."

"Under cover of darkness, like a thief!  You creep on the bank at an
unguarded place.  To see the doctor!  Liar!"

"I set out early this morning, but was hindered by the way, and, being
fatigued, I got out of my boat at the first spot I touched."

I saw I had somewhat impressed the one man, for he asked Vliet a
question, in which he mentioned the doctor's name, to which the answer
was a roaring negative; and as he gave it, Vliet took a pistol from a
drawer under the table, and looked at the man threateningly.  Then he
turned to me.

"You are a liar.  Your Lord Sheffield told me how you are cunning.  You
pretend to be a friend of some of our people that you may get knowledge
of our work and our defences.  Then you send your rascals to burn and
destroy, as they did last night.  I hanged two of them, and I will hang
you.  Your English law!--that for it!"--snapping his fingers.  "You are
a rebel against your King; and an English lord will stand my friend."

He swallowed another fiery draught.  I began to think my chance of life
was small.  Vliet might or might not really believe I was the
instigator of attacks on the settlement, but he had the word of
Sheffield for it, and would doubtless have Sheffield's men ready to
swear it, if so it pleased his lordship.  Vliet's real motive could be
well hidden under pretence of summary justice on a public enemy.  There
was, however, a possibility which had not occurred to him; I would put
it to him.  All this passed through my mind before Vliet placed his
empty glass on the table.

"Have you any witnesses to prove that Lord Sheffield told you I raised
rioters against you?  Because if you have not, when you have gratified
him by putting me out of the way, he will not lift a finger to keep you
out of the hangman's clutches.  He will deny that he ever said such
things, and laugh in your face."

For a moment he was staggered, but he was too far gone in liquor to be
able to think.

"Bah! you are a lying devil!" he said.

At this moment, the man whom he had sent out returned to say, as I
understood, that everything was ready.  I took a glass from the table,
rinsed it out with water from the pitcher, filled it again, and drank.
I was inclined to shiver, and the fellow might think I trembled with
fear.  Vliet gave a signal, and I was led out into the open.  Several
men stood by, with flaming torches and cressets in their hands, and by
these lights I saw the gallows overhead, from which a rope dangled.
The noose was slipped over my head.  Some men spat on their hands and
seized the other end of the rope, ready to haul upon it; and I closed
my eyes to pray the publican's prayer, when a loud cry in the clearest
voice in the world roused me.  The crowd parted, and Anna came up to
the foot of the gallows, saying something in Dutch with an imperious
tone.  The men slacked the rope, one of them giving it a turn or two
round a peg in the upright.  Then followed a rapid conversation between
Anna and Vliet, with an accompaniment of murmuring voices from the
bystanders.  I understood no word, but by tones and gestures I knew
that Anna began in indignation and anger, but was driven to pleading.
Then the doctor came up and joined in the talk, addressing himself to
his daughter chiefly.  It ended in Anna allowing Vliet to take her
hand, repeating a sentence which he seemed to dictate.  Anna now made
as if to come to me, but Vliet barred the way; and there ensued an
altercation, which again ended in Vliet having his will.  Anna went
reluctantly away with her father, and I was conducted to the room to
which I had been taken at first.

When we--that is, Vliet and I and his three toping
companions--re-entered the room, one of them handed me my coat, but I
did not put it on, for it was drenched with the rain.  He then found a
horse-blanket, threw it over my shoulders, and offered me the
spirit-bottle.  Seeing him thus far well inclined, I asked for bread,
and he produced some, which I munched before helping myself to a small
quantity of the liquor.  It made me shudder to drink it, but it put
life and warmth into me.  All this time Vliet lay back in his chair in
a sort of stupor, consequent, I imagined, on his having been, in the
fresh air after so much gin-drinking.  After awhile he roused himself
and took a dram.  Then he lighted his pipe and began to talk to his
comrades in a snuffling manner, and thickly.  By-and-by he turned to
me--

"I spare your life; I will not hang you.  Why do you not kneel down and
kiss my boots?  Where is your gratitude for my mercy?"

As I did not answer the inquiry, he continued--

"Stupid pig!  But I will make you speak.  I have given my word to my
wife--my _wife_, you understand--that I will not hang you; but I will
crop your ears and slit your nose.  Thousand devils, yes!  And then I
will kick you out into the fen, and if you die there that will not be
my fault."

"If you want revenge on me, take it like a man," I answered.  "You have
a knife in your belt; give me one and let us fight.  You are half
drunk, but I have only my left arm, and am otherwise weak.  Come, be a
man."

And I stood up, for I desired nothing better than a duel to the death.
Life without Anna was nothing worth, and if I could by any chance kill
him, she would be freed from the loathsome brute.  The other Dutchmen
jabbered among themselves and to Vliet, and, as far as I could
understand, they backed my demand for a fight.  Perhaps they would not
greatly grieve, if the bully got the worst of it.  He scowled savagely
round on us all, poured out more gin and drank it, let his pipe fall to
the floor, drew his knife, and came at me.  But he had drunk too much
to be dangerous.  One blow between the eyes sent him to the ground like
a log, and he lay there senseless.  The friendly Dutchman took me by
the arm and led me to Doctor Goel's house.




CHAPTER XII

Martha opened the door to us so quickly as to give me the notion she
had been waiting behind it in expectation of our coming.  She showed me
into a room which looked wondrous comfortable after the one I had just
left; and a cold chicken, bread, and a bottle of wine were pleasant
things to see, for I had the hunger of a famishing dog.  Anna came in,
and compelled me to sit down to eat and drink, untidy and dirty as I
was, with the horse-blanket round my body.  She would not suffer me to
talk much, and Martha bustled in with fresh supplies until I declared I
could eat no more.  Then the doctor came to examine my arm.  He
whistled as he laid it bare.

"How droll you English are!" he exclaimed.  "To think of using an arm
in this condition!  But, after all, it is fortunate you did."

Then, with much learned language, he endeavoured to explain to me how
well it was that my wound had broken out afresh.  He bathed and
cleansed the arm, anointed and tied it up, talking all the time to Anna
and Martha, who stood by to hand him things he wanted; but I was too
heavy to pay attention, being half asleep before he had done with me.
I felt some surprise at the appearance of Luke on the scene, but he had
me speedily to bed.

Late the next day I awoke, brighter and fresher than I had been for
many days, but exceedingly feeble.  Luke brought me a draught of some
strange kind of beer, which revived me greatly, and when I had taken
it, he told me how he had returned late yesterday from Doncaster with
the physician, and found everybody at Temple Belwood in much trouble
about my disappearance.  No one had surmised I might be gone to
Sandtoft, but Luke naturally guessed my purpose; so, taking pole,
lantern and cleat-boards, he made off to Belshaw, where he heard of my
doings, and struck across the fen in a bee-line for the settlement.  He
had only to make the signals which had been agreed on between him and
Martha, a whistle like that of the grey plover, followed by an owl's
cry, to bring his sweetheart to their trysting place, but was
confounded to learn that nothing had been seen or heard of me at Doctor
Goel's.  Prowling cautiously about, Martha keeping watch, he found the
punt, and having this assurance of my being in the neighbourhood, he
returned to Martha.  As they entered within the palisade through an
opening concealed by a clump of willows, a flare of cressets and
torches showed me and my conductors going from the guard-room to the
gallows, and they hurried to the doctor's house with the news.  What
followed is already written.

When I spoke of going home, the doctor took a tone of authority, and
vowed he would detain me, by force, if need were, until he had
satisfied himself I ran no more danger of losing my arm.  I made no
stout resistance, but despatched Luke to Temple to set my father's mind
at ease, and bring me a change of clothing and other matters of which I
stood in need, and settled myself down in the doctor's household most
contentedly.  A marvellous change had come over me, which may have been
due to the removal of the venom from my blood, as the doctor affirmed,
or to my being under the same roof with Anna, as I inclined to believe.
No one seemed to apprehend further trouble from Vliet, and I began to
doubt whether my experience of the previous evening had been real or
only a nightmare.  Doctor Goel sat in his own room, pipe in mouth, over
leaves and roots and such like rubbish, now and then coming out to ask
me questions, giving as his reason for so doing that I had a quick eye,
and a habit of observation remarkable in one unskilled in the sciences,
but I thought his true intent was to hinder my being alone with his
daughter, albeit there was small chance of that, for Anna had
housewifely duties (or made them), which caused her to be going and
coming continually.  Now it was to make up medicine for her father's
patients; now to confer with Martha about kitchen matters; now to look
out old clothing for some of the poorer sort among the settlers; always
something to break off our converse as I approached the topic nearest
my heart.  So, despairing of a talk with her for the present, I made
bold to interrupt the doctor in his curious pastime.  He bore the
interruption courteously, though he sighed as he put down his glass and
ceased to pore over the stuff on the table.  I asked him whether Vliet
had abandoned his drunken freak at Mistress Goel's intercession.

"Freak?  That is joke, is it not?" he replied.  "It was no joke, Mr.
Vavasour.  Sebastian was enraged by the mischief done on the previous
night, and he would have hanged you, but for my daughter's
intervention.  Oh yes.  Perhaps he would have endangered his own neck.
I know not.  The law appears to be in abeyance in this part of England.
But Sebastian would have taken his chance of that.  It was inconvenient
for you at the time, but what says your proverb?  'All's well that ends
well.'  My daughter was at hand to save your life.  I was at hand to
save your arm.  I have the satisfaction to be of some service to a
gentleman who has laid me under obligation.  And there is now an end to
a misunderstanding between my daughter and her affianced husband.  She
has consented to marriage within three months, and I have some hope of
being permitted to return to my own country by that time.  So 'all's
well,'" the doctor concluded, smiling.

Married within three months!  I wished Luke had lost his way, or Vliet
had been more stubborn.  What was my life worth to me, Anna being lost?
But chained to a drunken ruffian!  Better far, if I had been strangled
last night.  It could not be.  It should not be.

I know not how my outward bearing betrayed my feelings, but the doctor
perceived something of them, for he went on--

"There is a little irregularity, almost impropriety, in what I am about
to say, but there will be mutual advantage, perhaps.  I am aware you
admire my daughter, and imagine yourself in love with her.  Stay:
listen to me for a short time.  Doubtless you would describe your
feeling in stronger terms.  We will say you love her.  Consider, will
you, please, how impossible it is that her father should entertain a
proposal of marriage from you.  Your inheritance of your father's
estate depends on your father's pleasure, if I am rightly informed?"
(Who had informed him? I asked myself, as I nodded.)  "The estate is
heavily burdened, or so I am told?"  Again I nodded, and wondered.
"But, supposing your prospects were as good as they appear to be bad,
could I consent to my daughter's being buried in a half-savage region
like this?  Could I allow her, esteemed as an ornament of the most
intellectual society of Europe, to become the despised associate of fat
farmers' wives, to whom the sale of poultry and butter is the main
business of life, and whose amusements are coarse and frivolous in the
extreme?  It would be an unheard of folly on my part, even if there
were no precontracted arrangement for my daughter's settlement in life.
But it so happens she is affianced to a gentleman of large fortune, who
has shown the sincerity of his attachment by striking proofs" ("And
particularly last night," I murmured to myself), "not the least being
that he has forsaken agreeable scenes and companions to endure exile to
be near the lady of his choice."

I could hold my tongue no longer.

"You have brought Mynherr Vliet into discussion, doctor, so you must
pardon me for asking whether you believe any lady can love the drunken
brute?  And, if not----"

"There is no need to treat the matter hypothetically," the doctor
interrupted.  "I can assure you my daughter has all the affection for
Mynherr Vliet which her betrothed could reasonably look for.  We are
somewhat indelicate to touch on such a subject, but as I desire to
clear away any delusion which may exist in your mind, I give you my
word that any inclination toward yourself which you may have imagined,
was nothing more than a passing sentiment.  Young women of a certain
turn of mind, nourished by poetry and the drama, are apt to entertain a
transient fancy for a handsome young man, encountered in new scenes,
especially when they are somewhat piqued by the supposed desertion of
the accepted lover."

I looked at the old gentleman, who smiled on me benignly, as if
confident in his knowledge of the heart of woman, and wondered whether
he could by any possibility be right.  Or was he deluding himself about
his daughter's happiness, because he longed so much himself to be
restored to home and friends and congenial pursuits?  It might be true
enough that Anna did not really love me, that I could well believe; but
it was incredible she could love a beast like Vliet.  While I sat
silent, word was brought of Vermuijden's arrival, and of his wish to
see the doctor and Anna.  So I was left alone to ruminate.  Some things
which the doctor had said puzzled me not a little.  As for what he had
spoken against the Isle, I cared not a jot, nor was I much troubled
about the low state of my fortune, which, in my youthful confidence, I
hoped to mend in no long time.  Could he be speaking truth when he said
that Anna really chose to become the wife of Vliet?  That was the
question.  I could not but think that her avoidance of me pointed that
way.  And yet, what passed near the gallows looked rather as if she
gave her word to Vliet out of pure desire to save my life.  But that
promise, extorted under threat, and a threat which Vliet himself could
not in his sober senses attempt to justify, could not be held binding.
It was absurd to think it a sacred pledge.  Nor could I believe Anna
light-minded and fickle, even if her father accused her.  Only one
thing was clear to me--that I must have speech with Anna.  While I sat
pondering, I heard a knock at the door, and the buxom Martha came in to
say Luke had returned and awaited my pleasure.  Her bright, honest face
was good to see, and I fell into talk with her.  I asked her whether
she had heard what passed between Mistress Goel and Vliet last evening.

"Nearly all, sir," she answered, "and wished I was a man for the first
time in my life."

"Why so?"

"That I might have the strength to kill him then and there for
torturing the brightest, sweetest lady on earth."

"He demanded a promise that she would marry him within three months,
did he not?"

"Oh yes.  He took no heed of reason or warning.  He said you should
die, whatever might afterwards happen to him, unless she gave him her
word on the spot before witnesses."

"And Doctor Goel can think his daughter will be happy with him!" I said
to myself, in amazement.

"Oh, the doctor!" cried Martha contemptuously.  "He has wasted his
brains on weeds and creeping things, until he has none left to
understand his fellow-creatures with.  He thinks of Sebastian Vliet as
he used to be, before his cheeks were bloated and his hands shaky.
Then the doctor has lost his money, or as good as lost it, in this mad
business, and he wants to make up the loss to my mistress.  He thinks
Vliet has plenty of it, and hasn't sense to see that money melts like
snow in April, when it is in the hands of a drunken gambler.  And that
is what Vliet is.  Every night, when Vermuijden is away, he is toping
and playing--and losing, for the men he plays with know all his tricks
and more.  Then he is rooked by the lord who comes to see him, and by
another rascal who fetches and carries for the lord.  Vliet's money is
going at a great rate.  But what does Vliet matter?"

"He seems to be of some importance, since he has Mistress Goel's word
to marry him, and her father is well pleased it should be so."

"And what does that avail against a gentleman who loves her?  Every
lover I've heard of snapped his fingers at foolish old people, pinked
his rival, and rode off with the lady."

"Unluckily," thought I, "one needs a purse as well as a rapier for
that, and somewhere to ride to."  What I said was: "But the lady must
consent before even the hero of a ballad can run away with her."

"Consent!" repeated Martha.  "And what's a lover good for, if he does
not save her the trouble of consenting, cut all arguments short by
stopping her mouth, and have it out with her parents when the ring is
on her finger and the happy blush on her cheek?  You may think me a
bold hussy to talk so.  But I know what I know.  And my heart is sore
to hear sobbing and praying all last night, and to see the dear angel
with swollen eyelids, and a pitiful quiver on her lips this morning.
One thing is certain, Sebastian Vliet will never call her wife.  If he
escapes drunken surfeit, shooting by the men he bullies, the knife of a
boozing companion, the Almighty's lightning, I'll put rats-bane in his
meat myself."

She looked as if she meant it, her face pale, her eyes glowing.

"Shall I send Luke to you, sir?" she asked in another voice.

Luke had much to tell me, but the sum of it was that my father's
displeasure over my visit to Sandtoft and my continuance there was
great; and Mr. Butharwick had charged Luke to entreat me to return
without delay, the good old man being much alarmed by my father's
anger.  Neither had heard of my narrow escape from the gallows, as I
had forbidden Luke to mention it.

Not until the evening of the next day did I get five minutes talk with
Anna, who avoided me with astonishing skill; but, by Martha's help, I
contrived to meet her as she came out of a house which was used as a
hospital for sick and wounded Dutchmen.  Even then she tried to escape
me, but I would take no nay.  She must go with me where there might be
a talk without interruption, and that was on the river.  When she had
yielded, and we had got into a boat, she began to speak of her hope
that the feud between the Dutch and the Islonians might be abated by a
measure agreed upon at the council held the previous evening.  Large
pay was to be offered to such of the natives as could be induced to
labour in cutting trenches, rearing embankments and carrying material.
If the labour should not be directly profitable, the employment of it
might help toward more amicable feeling.  I suffered her to speak on,
well knowing who had advised this course, until we came to a broad
water with a small bank in mid-stream, on which grew an old birch tree.
I ran the boat close under the tree, gave the painter a twist or two
round an overhanging bough, shipped the oars, and took my turn to speak.

"The questions between Dutch and Islonians will keep, but not the
question between us two.  You know I love you, Anna.  I can't tell you
so in fine language, but never man loved woman more since the beginning
of the world, or ever will to the end of it.  I am a plain, rough
fellow, and I have nothing to offer you but my love--not money, or
land, or rank, or anything; but I will make or cut my way to something,
please God, if you will come to me when I've done it.  I think you love
me, but you have never said so.  Say 'I love you, Frank,' and----"

She stopped my long speech with one word--"Cruel!" and burst into
weeping.

Then I nearly capsized the boat.  It was a slight crazy thing, and my
weight considerable, but I scrambled to her side, and, putting my arm
round her, drew her head on to my breast.  She did not see how narrowly
we escaped an overturn, nor did she resist my embrace, but went on
sobbing, as though her heart would break.

Then I found out that one can be heavenly happy and full of sorrow at
the same time, for every sob of hers seemed to tear my bosom, while I
knew not how to contain my joy.  When she had recovered breath a
little, she made as if to withdraw herself, but that I would not allow.

"But, Frank, I shall be doubly, trebly perjured, and grieve and shame
my father beyond endurance."

"Say 'I love you, Frank,'" I insisted.

At last she did, and hid her blushing face against my breast.  Then I
told her--what I shall not repeat.  And in a great trembling, I gave
her a blundering, clumsy kiss.  How long I should have talked in my
rapture, trying to hearten my love, I know not, but the sun set without
our perceiving it, until the deepening dusk made Anna exclaim about the
time.  So I took the oars and rowed away from the loveliest islet in
the world.  Martha stood at the door, watching for our coming, and as
we entered the house, she seized my hand and lifted it to her lips.




CHAPTER XIII

The doctor had been summoned to a conference with his chief, so I had
hope we might have a long evening to ourselves, but Anna nipped it in
the bud.

"Fortune is kind," said she.  "I will give you something to eat, and
then you must away home."

"Away home?  Why?" I demanded.

"Because my father will be very angry when he knows what we have done."

"The more reason I should stay with you."

"Oh, you stupid Frank!  Do you think he will beat me?  But, if you are
here, he will say things he will one day be sorry for--things you may
find it hard to forgive.  Whereas, if I have him alone, I can coax, or
scold, or cry, as may be needed, and bring him to reason."

"Running away does not suit me," said I.

"Nor would I send you away, if you could do the least good.  There is
nobody to be knocked down or thrown into the river just now; only an
elderly gentleman to be managed.  And there is another at Temple
Belwood impatient to see his son.  Go and do your best with him,
leaving my father to me."

In the end I consented.  I called Luke to prepare things for my going,
and he had to tell me that a tract of the fen from Sandtoft, almost
direct to Belton, had been recently flooded to a depth of two to three
feet by the raising of an embankment for a drain which had been begun.
In a light boat one might cross more easily and quickly than had been
possible heretofore.

"Why not walk on the embankment?" I asked.

It seemed the bank was rough, and there would be awkwardness here and
there in the growing darkness and a rising mist.  So we settled on the
boat as my conveyance.  While we talked, Anna had made haste to provide
supper for me, eager to have me gone, nor would she permit me to linger
over the meal, or afterwards.  I wanted to talk of our future, but she
would not.

"Have you a ninepence?" she asked.  "Rustic lovers break one, do they
not?"

I broke one, and held out the halves to her.

She took one, and said, laughing, "Now we are properly plighted; what
need of more words?  When you bring your token, mine will be ready."

Rosy-red she blushed, as I took her in my arms, and held her against my
quick-beating heart, and joined lip to lip.  But she withdrew herself,
cut short our leave-taking, and dismissed me.

I found Luke waiting for me with the little boat, and stepped in,
bidding him stay at Sandtoft till morning, and bring me word of
Mistress Goel then.  He raised some objection to my going unattended,
but I overruled him, and doubtless the prospect of a longer confab with
Martha disposed him to obedience.  He had put a lighted lantern into
the boat, which would be useful, he reminded me, when I came to the
will-pits.  The will-pits were pools, reputed bottomless, half
surrounded by very old birches, some still green, others fallen and
rotting.  Now the fen was under water, the trees might be plaguy unless
I had a light, for the night was darker than nights are wont to be in
August.

Thanking my good fellow for his care, I bade him good night, and
sculled off rapidly, keeping well away from the embankment, lest there
should be timbers near the foot of it.  When I had gone about a mile,
as I reckoned, I stopped sculling to pick up the lantern, and held it
forward on the lookout for the will-pit trees.  As I did so, I
perceived that the boat drifted backwards and a little toward the
embankment.  How could there be a current in a sheet of standing water?
But a current there certainly was; and running pretty strongly too.
The Dutchmen could not be at work at this time of night, opening the
sluice for any purpose that I could conjecture.  There might be a
defect in the embankment somewhere, a crack which was widening under
pressure of water.  Whatever might be the secret, my best course was to
go an as fast as I could scull; so I took both in hand, pulling with
all my might.  Up to this time I had used only one scull over the
stern, sparing my weaker arm.  Not more than five minutes later the
sculls scraped bottom and the boat stuck fast.  Shipping oars, I leaned
over the side, lantern in hand, and saw there were but a few inches of
water all round the boat.  I had not grounded on a mud-bank, but was
stranded by the draining away of the water!  What to do next was a
question.  If I could wade to the embankment, I could continue my
journey on foot; but that was not to be ventured until I knew the
nature of the ground, for in this part of the fen were many mire-pits,
and to step into one of them meant being sucked down to a horrible
death.  I prodded the soil with a scull, and it went down like a spoon
into porridge.  I was right over a mire-pit.  I tried sculling again,
but that was of no use whatever.  Then I attempted to thrust the boat
forward, but there was nothing to thrust against.  I stood up, holding
the lantern above my head, peering through the mist, and saw a bush
some six or seven yards ahead of me, so there was a bit of solid ground
just beyond reach!  If I had had a coil of rope with me, I might have
thrown a loop into the bush, and so saved myself; but the painter was
the only rope in the boat, and it was not more than six feet long.  The
only thing left for me was to wait as patiently as I could until
morning, when some one might come within hail, or Luke might seek me,
unless by good luck the water should rise again.  'Twas no great
hardship after all: the night was not cold, but a shade chilly with the
mist.  As I came to this conclusion, I was startled by something which
whizzed over my head and fell with a splash and a soft thud some yards
beyond the boat.  Somebody must be throwing from the embankment, and at
me apparently.  My lantern must assist his aim, so, not wishing to
extinguish it, having no means of relighting it, I wrapped a thick
neckerchief I wore over the horn, and stowed it in the bow.  While I
did this another stone crashed into the boat with such force that I
judged it was hurled from a sling.  Other stones followed in swift
succession, but not more than one in three or four hit the boat; but
one struck me such a thump on the buttock as to set me thinking what
the consequence would be of receiving another blow like it in a more
vital part.

I could not devise any kind of protection at the moment, but it
occurred to me that a little dodge might puzzle my enemy.  I pulled up
one of the thwarts with no great effort, for the little craft was old
and rotten, took off my coat to hide my operations from the enemy, cut
a bit of the painter, and lashed the lantern to the thwart, and set it
afloat on the water, trusting to the chance that it might drift away.
I placed it with the horn on the side from the embankment, hoping it
might go a little way before my assailant caught sight of it.  To my
great relief it glided gently off, not rounding until it had gone, as
nearly as I could guess, some twenty yards.  It drew his volleys for a
while, and then it vanished, though whether he struck it, or it toppled
over by chance, I knew not.  While his attention was thus diverted from
me, I had time to think what to do in case he contrived to discover my
whereabouts again, which I was sanguine enough to consider unlikely.
In this I was mistaken, my enemy was not to be so easily beaten.  But I
turned the temporary respite to the best advantage I could think of by
tearing up the other thwart, so as to get room to stretch myself in the
bottom of the boat, and rolling to one side, depressing the gunnel
nearly to the surface of the water, thus shielding myself from hurt as
long as the crazy boards might hold against his battery.

I had been none too quick.  A faint red gleam began to show through the
mist, and having some notion of what the enemy might be about, I
slightly enlarged the aperture of a gaping seam, and looked toward the
embankment.  A fire had been kindled, and the man who had lighted it
stood full in the glare of it.  As I had supposed, the man was Vliet.
He had a gun hanging at his back and a sling in his hand.  Doubtless he
had seen my departure from Sandtoft, pulled up the sluice-gate to let
off the water, and followed me along the embankment.  Chance had
favoured him by stranding me on a spot from which I could not move.  He
had only to knock my boat to pieces, or even to make it unfloatable,
and my fate was sealed.  He could return to close the sluice, and in a
few hours the water would cover both the boat and me.  That was pretty
safe, if he did no more than smash the boat.  He would try to do more
than that, I had no doubt.  I could do nothing.  To attempt to crawl
over the slime would be to seek death.  I must stick to the boat as
long as the planks held together, hiding myself, if possible, and
making no sound.  He might imagine that I had escaped, or that I was
dead, if I made no sign.

As I watched his doings, he gave me a ray of hope.  He lifted a bottle
to his mouth, and he did not tilt it high.  How fervently I hoped that
he had enough to get drunk on!  His next move showed he was not by any
means drunk at present.  He walked away from the fire, often stopping
down, as I supposed, to pick up stones.  He evidently meant to spare
powder and shot as long as he could, and to do his work as silently as
possible.  When he came back to the fire, he lighted a torch and
descended the embankment, looking carefully, at the soil of the fen, as
if he sought to get nearer to the boat, but he had too much prudence to
venture.  Then he ascended the bank and resumed his sling.  He had
found where the boat lay, for he managed to hit about once in three
times.  His aim was so bad that it would have been laughable under
other circumstances, but I had no inclination to laugh, as plank after
plank cracked and started.  I turned over, and lay with my back to him,
grinding my teeth with rage to be so ignominiously stoned and so
utterly helpless.  At length, perhaps after an hour of continuous
firing, came a pause, and I turned over to look at my enemy.  It was
only too easy to see him through gaping seams and holes broken in the
planking.  He sat between the fire and me, so that his every movement
was clearly discernible.  If I had had a gun I could have shot him
wherever I chose.  He rubbed his right shoulder with his left hand, as
if it ached with his exercise.  Then he drank from his bottle, tilting
it higher this time.  He sat so long that I began to hope he imagined
he had made an end of me; but by-and-by he rose to his feet, took his
gun in hand, and prepared to fire.  I rolled to the very edge of the
gunnel now, and the water and ooze flowed softly in on me.  It was well
I did, for Vliet's aim with a gun was another matter than his aim with
a sling.  Shot after shot struck and riddled the heap of boards which
had been a boat, but as by a miracle, shot after shot missed me.  Vliet
plainly believed that there could be no one in the wreck except a dead
man, for he began to sing.  Never have I listened to music, even the
best, with more pleasure than I had in hearing that thick and drunken
voice yelling a tuneless song!  I watched him finish his bottle,
scatter the fire, and heard by the diminishing noise that he was going
back to Sandtoft.

It was not until he had gone, that I knew how cold and wet I was, and
then discovered that the half of the boat on which I lay had sunk into
the mire.  At first I fancied that I had to do with nothing more
serious than the ooze, which had flowed in when I lay on the edge of
the boat; but by dipping my fingers straight down into the mud, I found
that the pit was swallowing my raft and me slowly, but surely, at the
rate, it might be, of a barleycorn a minute.  I could not be sure of
that, for I had no certainty about time.  The one certainty was that
the mud was gaining on me.  I feared to move about, lest my weight
should make worse of the wreck; but I could not lie still in the dark
to be steadily sucked under, so I rolled over in a very gingerly
manner, and by degrees pressed down the holed and shattered planking on
to the surface of the mire, thus upheaving the side on which I had
before lain.  For a wonder it did not go utterly to pieces, and I lay
on it some time before it began to be overflowed by the mud, when I
turned gently over to the other side which had been raised by my
weight.  This gave way more quickly than before, but it held me up for
perhaps ten minutes, and then I repeated the performance, and continued
this kind of see-saw for, I should think, an hour or more, but on the
seventh or eighth turning, with a great cracking, the one side parted
from the other, the line of breakage being not far from the keel, as I
made out by groping.  For a second or two, I fell into despair, but
soon perceived that my chances of escape were perhaps improved by the
splitting of the boat.  Kneeling on the less broken half, with my legs
as far apart as I could stretch them, I tried to pull the other half
upwards and forwards.  It was hard work, for the mire held it fast, and
my half sank at least half a foot while I tugged at the other, but at
length I had the mass in front of me, and crawled on to it.  My arms
felt as if they were pulled half out of their sockets, but there was no
time to rest.  I must try to get the piece of the wreck on which I had
knelt out of the mire and before the other.  This proved a tougher job
still.

Before the thing was done, I was up to the middle of my thighs in the
pit, and almost spent, but done it was at last, and as I pushed it
forward, it encountered some solid obstacle.  There was dry ground, or
a tree, not more than three yards or so ahead of me.  That assurance
gave me the strength of madness.  I dragged myself a little out of the
mud, and threw myself on the piece of wreckage with such force, that it
sank beneath my weight so deeply that I was swallowed up in the mire,
shoulder high.  But the other end of my raft remained firm, and by
clutching, writhing, pulling, I got inch by inch out of the slough,
and, while doing so, to my unspeakable joy I perceived a faint glimmer
of dawn.  That showed me a down-drooping branch of birch above my head,
which at last I reached, and clung to it trembling lest it should
break.  It held, and by its aid I gained solid ground.  I threw my arms
round the trunk of the tree as though it had been a human friend,
laughing and sobbing in a breath.  Then I vowed Sebastian Vliet should
answer to me for his dastard trick before he was many hours older.
After that, I remembered to thank God for my deliverance, and fell
asleep over my thanksgiving.  I must have slept an hour or more, for
the sun was above the horizon when I awoke cold and shivering.

It would be wearisome to relate how I got home, for nothing happened by
the way; though I have the keenest recollection of the effort it cost
to walk the two miles, which were as long as twenty, my clothing being
caked with mire even to my shirt, and my limbs shaking with cold and
exhaustion.

But by the usual breakfast hour I had eaten and drunk, washed and
changed, and was my own man again.  I had need of all my strength, for
my father came into the room with suppressed fury in face and voice.

"At last you have condescended to honour me," he began.  "Have you come
to say you will save Temple from the hammer, or that you choose beggary
for yourself and disgrace for your father?  Quick: let me know your
mind."

"If you mean will I wed a girl I do not love----"

I was answering, when my father burst out--

"Bah!  Do not sicken me with play-actor rubbish.  Are you going to act
like a man of sense and of honour, or like an idiot?"

"I will not offer marriage to Mistress Ryther," I replied.

"Then begone out of the house," he thundered, "and let me never see
your fool-face again, and if there is anything in a father's curse, may
it cling to you as long as you live."

At this moment, Mr. Butharwick entered the room with a feeble step.  He
stretched out his hands imploringly to my father, and said in a voice
not his own--

"My honoured patron, my friend and benefactor," and something more
which was indistinguishable, for his mouth began to work strangely.
Then he staggered, and would have fallen but my father caught him in
his arms, and laid him on the couch.

I called for help, and servants came hurrying into the room, to whom my
father gave order about fetching a surgeon, and this, that, and the
other, adding--

"Bid Savage, the attorney, come to me without delay."  Then, turning to
me, he said: "Will you go, or must I have you thrown out by the
servants?"

My dear old tutor's face looked my way, and I thought I saw a
beseeching in his eyes, but I could do nothing.  I went out, haunted by
the drawn face and the wistful eyes, and the face of my father hard as
if cut in marble.  It was my last sight of both of them.

Luke met me in the hall, and I bade him follow me to my room.  He had a
letter for me, the first I had received from my love, full of courage
and cheer, which just then I sadly needed.  Luke told me the doctor was
transported with rage on hearing his daughter avow her fixed
determination to abide by her promise to me, so that even Martha was
terrified by his furious wrath.  And my true-hearted love could write
to sustain my nagging spirits when she was in such trouble herself!
Everybody had been at a loss to understand Vliet, who had tried to
soothe the doctor, affecting to think Mistress Goel would be in a more
compliant temper by-and-by.  I understood him well enough.  The
scoundrel was confident he had put me out of the way: he should soon
know better.  It eased my heart a little to write him a few lines, in
which I challenged him to meet me in open fight, and declared I would
hunt him down like a verminous beast if he was too cowardly to meet me
fairly.  This I gave to Luke to be delivered into Vliet's hand without
loss of time.

After I had told Luke of my last night's adventure, to which he
listened with wide eyes and some muttered curses, he cried out--

"From this time forrard, Measter Frank, I'se stick to you like your
shadder."

"That is just what you will not do, my good fellow, for I am an outcast
from my father's house; and where I may go, or what I shall do is all
in the dark to me, except that I kill Vliet, if he does not kill me,
to-day or to-morrow."

"Wherever you go, I go too," answered my man.

"That is quite impossible, Luke," said I.  "We must part for the good
reason that I have not five pounds in the world, and that won't keep
me, to say nothing of a serving man, for many days.  Besides," I added,
"you can be much more useful to me by staying at Temple.  I may want a
friend in the house, and I want above all things, some trusty friend to
watch over the safety of Mistress Goel, when I may be far away.  You
can come and go between this and Sandtoft, and I shall be sure that
whatever two true souls can do for her will be done."

We argued and wrangled for a good while, Luke urging everything he
could think of to induce me to take him with me, but I would not give
way.  He took my instructions sorrowfully, not to say sulkily, as to
what was to be done with my belongings, the main of which I desired him
to carry to the vicarage at Crowle, with a message to my aunt.  Just
then I could not face the dear lady, or bear her exclamations and
expostulations, nor did I incline to see my friend Portington.  I had
resolved to spend the time between now and my duel with Vliet at
Belshaw, in the company of my new friend, because there could be no
heartrending talk with him, and also because I hoped to learn from him
how to join Captain John Smith, which appeared to me the likeliest
means of earning my living, with some chance of cutting my way to
fortune.  For the few days which I expected to pass in the
neighbourhood, I meant to ride Trueboy, and afterwards to sell him to
replenish my purse.  These things being arranged, I appointed a place
where Luke was to meet me the next evening, and went to the stables.  I
hoped to get away quietly, but it was not to be.  Almost every servant
in and about the house, down to the kitchen wench and the youngest
stable-boy, had assembled to say good-bye to me, the women crying, and
the men murmuring hoarsely what they meant for encouragement.  They
would have unmanned me, but for Trueboy.  He, having had far too little
exercise lately, was as frisky as an unbroken colt, rearing, and
lashing out his heels in sheer delight, so the little crowd scattered
right and left, and I mounted and rode off at full gallop across the
park, the shortest cut to Belshaw.




CHAPTER XIV

"I suppose Vliet will be blotted out of existence, if he be fool enough
to meet you, which I doubt.  But, my friend, you are of a charming
simplicity.  We are not an extremely law-abiding people in the Isle,
but there is a constable of the wapentake; there are justices of the
peace.  Would it have been very troublesome to send the Dutchman to
Lincoln Castle to await his trial for attempted murder?  He would have
been out of the way for a time, at any rate, and there is just a chance
he might have been hanged.  You prefer to give him the opportunity to
shoot you, or to devise some other means of killing you more convenient
to himself.  Or, if you should kill him, the law may be set in motion
against you, probably by the gentleman who objects to you as a
son-in-law.  If you will be advised by me, you will retract your cartel
of defiance, and take steps to commit Mynherr Vliet to gaol."

So spoke my friend Drury, when I told him how matters stood with me.
One half of my mind held him wise, but that did not in the least quench
my desire to settle my quarrel with Vliet man to man.  I have often
done things, knowing all the while I was a fool for doing them; my
difficulty not being lack of wisdom (for my friends have always been
ready to supply me with the best) so much as want of liking for it.

While I waited at Belshaw for the answer to my challenge, my friend
gave me many particulars of the history of Captain John Smith, whom he
thought one of the greatest men in the world, although the captain was
his cousin.

"He is now in London," said John, "and in hope to lead another
expedition.  He will snap you up at a word.  A tall fellow who has more
lives than a cat, and relishes fighting better than his victuals, will
suit him to admiration."

"There, indeed, you mistake me," I protested.  "I am no lover of
brawls, and would go far to avoid one."

"But not so far as to the house of a justice of the peace--eh?"
answered John, with his low, pleasant laugh.  "I have been wondering
why you hate Lord Sheffield so cordially."

"Oh! that is a very old story.  His younger brother--younger by nine or
ten years--and I were playmates.  He was a tender little chap, and I
was a big, hulking boy; but I was his squire, ready almost to be his
dog, partly because he was as delicate as a girl, and partly because he
was of so fine a spirit.  Child as he was, he could make me laugh or
cry by the music he drew out of his fiddle.  What was the driest
taskwork to me was play to him, and while I slowly spelled out a story
of Greece or Rome, he was somehow rapt away, and seeing it all enacted
before his eyes.  And he told tales of his own making such as I never
heard or read.  But I cannot describe him.  His elder brother used to
torment him with the devil's own cunning.  Edmund was feeble in body
and timid, but he scorned to be a coward.  His chief pride he took in
that his father had received the Garter for his courageous exploits
against the Spanish Armada, and he would not own to fear, even when he
was ready to die of it.  Sheffield practised on the child's pride and
terror, endlessly.  An old mastiff, chained in the courtyard, was so
savage (with some kind of pain, poor beast, I doubt not) that the
kennel-man feared to deal with it.  One day Sheffield dared his little
brother to go up to the dog, swearing him a coward if he did not.
Edmund went within the reach of the mastiff, and fell down in a faint.
The dog was nobler than the brother, and did not touch the child.  At
another time, Sheffield tied a rope round Edmund's body and lowered him
far down the deepest well, threatening to let go the rope, and paying
it so fast as to terrify the boy into thinking he had done so."

"But why, in Heaven's name, didn't the little one appeal to his father?"

"He would have died sooner.  He was drawn up from the well more dead
than alive, and was ill for days after, but he never breathed a word
about the torture he had been put to, except to me."

"But why didn't you acquaint his lordship with what went on?  You
couldn't be afraid of the big brother."

"I was afraid of my hero's contempt.  He would have thought me
dastardly, traitorous, I know not what, if I had told tales of the
cruelty he was too proud to complain of himself.  But there came an end
to the business, and I made it.  Looking for Edmund one day, I went
into an outhouse, where Sheffield had the little fellow across his
knee, held fast as in a vice, and the demon was pinching his tender
body with slow, screwing pinches.  Edmund was writhing and moaning.  I
didn't stop to think, but struck the tormentor's cheek as hard as I
could with my fist, and the next instant we were going at each other
with all our might.  I was only a lad of fourteen and he a man of
twenty-four, but I was tall and strong for my age.  He knocked me down
pretty often, but I was up like a cat and flew at him again, until,
either in fear lest he should kill me, or in fear for himself, he
opened the door and ran.  Shortly afterward, as Edmund led me across
the courtyard--for both my eyes were puffed up so that I could not
see--it chanced that the earl met us, and would have an account of what
I had been doing.  Nothing loth, I answered his questions, and he heard
enough to make him careful Edmund suffered no more at the hands of his
brother.  The dear little fellow died a year later.  I could tell you
more, but do you wonder I hate my Lord Sheffield?"

"No," answered John.  "I don't wonder at that.  I am inclined to wonder
that he is still alive."

"I have had very little to do with him since Edmund's death.  The earl,
who used to have a kindness for me, seemed to shun the sight of me from
that time forward."

In the afternoon Luke appeared, grinning as he entered the room.

"What tickles you so much?" I asked.

"That Dutchman," answered Luke, laughing outright.  "Was as scart as if
'a'd seen a bogle, when 'a oppened t' letter, and said sommat in 's own
lingo, swearing like.  Asked me when you gev it me.  So I says, 'This
morning, when 'a came down to breakfass.'  Then 'a stared at me with
his mouth as wide as a church door, and I stared at him as simple as a
sheep."

We laughed, and I opened Vliet's letter.  He had written in Dutch for
some unimaginable reason, perhaps because he was puzzled and shaken out
of his wits.

Drury reached out his hand.  "I have some acquaintance with the
tongue," he said.

Vliet accepted my challenge, and would meet me the next evening at six
o'clock at a spot about three-quarters of a mile from my present
lodging, where we might be free from interruption.  He would come
alone.  He chose the sword as his weapon, and sent me its length.

From time to time between the coming of Vliet's letter and the hour
appointed, Drury expressed apprehension of some treachery on the part
of the Dutchman, begging me not to go alone, and to have some other
weapon besides my sword, but I smiled at his fears.  As I said again
and again, Vliet could not bring accomplices with him without my seeing
them on the fen, and I meant to keep a good look-out.  I would not take
Luke with me, for I had other occasion for his service, namely, to go
with a letter to Anna, in which I asked her to meet me on the following
day.  John shook his head over what he deemed reckless folly, and I
laughed the more, though I felt sorry his long confinement to his couch
had made him so timorous.

About five o'clock on Sunday evening, I ascended the rising ground
behind the tavern, and watched for Vliet's coming, which was not long
delayed.  He came alone in a punt, and as far as I could see without
other arms than his sword.  I had pistols in my belt.  I met him at the
little wharf, and after salutations, we walked in silence to the
ground, he making no remark on my firearms.

The country had never seemed more lovely to my thinking than it did on
this still August evening.  Ridges and islets, purple with ling, stood
out of the green and golden brown of the fen; water-lilies, yellow and
white, spotted the surface of the water, and patches of the blue
trumpets of the gentian brightened the edges of the marsh.  Young
broods of duck and moorhen were playing and splashing near the shelter
of the reed-beds, which swayed gently under the evening breeze, and the
sound of Belton church-bells came, now loudly, now softly, with the
rising and falling of the light wind.  'Twas not a suitable time or
place for killing a man, methought, as I looked at the landscape, but a
glance at Vliet changed my feeling.  As for being killed myself, that
never came into my mind.  The road wound to the right, and again to the
right, out of view of Belshaw, to a sort of natural terrace, which
would fit our business.  Above us on one side the ground sloped
gradually upward to an oak plantation, thirty yards away; below the
terrace there lay a sharp incline which ended at the margin of the fen.

"Dis vill do--dis vill do!" shouted Vliet at the top of his voice; and
as I began a remonstrance at the noise he made, three horsemen rode
swiftly out of cover of the plantation, one straight toward us, and the
other two in a more curving course, as if to cut off my retreat.

"Yield, or we fire," said one of them.

I answered by drawing pistol out of belt, and shooting at the villain
who had laid this ambush for me, but I missed him.  Then I flew up the
bank to an old tree, the nearest of the plantation.  If I could get my
back against it, there was a bare chance I might keep them all at bay
for a short time, and the sound of firing might bring me help from
Belshaw.  I gained the tree, my pursuers close on my heels, but not
firing.  As I turned to face them, my foot slipped on one of the roots,
and I fell backward against the tree with some force.  With a great
crunch, the bark gave way, and back I went into the hollow, jammed
tight from rump to knees.  Before I could work myself free, the men
were on me.  They disarmed, bound, and gagged me in no time, and then
fell into great laughter at the ease of the capture.  All three wore
short cloaks with high collars, and had pulled their hats down over
their brows, but I saw that one was Sheffield's big <DW64>.  Vliet lay
down and roared with glee, and ended by rolling over near to me and
spitting in my face.  One of the others gave him a kick in the ribs,
calling him "dunghill cock" in a voice I did not know.  Vliet jumped to
his feet, and drew his sword, but a cudgel fell like lightning on his
wrist, disabling him for the present.

"No more waste of time," said he who had struck the blow.  "You,
Mynherr, will go north as far as Belton, and home by your new
embankment.  If you are questioned, you will say that you met Mr.
Vavasour here, intending to fight him, but before you could draw sword,
he rushed up the hill, and disappeared in the plantation."

"Backside first," one of the others threw in, laughing.

The first speaker continued, "He disappeared, and you could find no
trace of him.  It is a short story, and can be remembered, even when
one is muddled with strong liquor.  If you don't stick to it, you will
be dead meat soon.  Now, stir your stumps."

When Vliet had gone out of hearing, two of the men carried me through
the plantation, on the other side of which ran the high-road.  Here
waited a fourth man in charge of a horse and cart.  They bundled me
into the cart, throwing sacks over me.  I heard the man who had done
all the talking say, "Two within hail in front, and one behind.
Remember, you have nothing to do with me unless I whistle twice."  So
the director was my charioteer.  By-and-by the jogging of the cart
shook a piece of sacking from my face, and I could see the driver, a
common labourer by his dress, with a fringe of ragged beard all round
his face.  He sat slouching forward, staring vacantly before him, as
stupid as any lout in the Isle.  As we rumbled through Epworth some one
accosted him.

"Cartin' o' Sunday!  What hasta getten theer?"

"Nobbut a half deead mon from Keadby for Doctor Hoggatt," was the
reply.  "Ah'd keeap ma distance, if ah wor theea, fur 'a smells loike
t' plague tu meea."

The hint sufficed to make the inquirer sheer off quickly.

When we had passed through Epworth, we rattled on faster, and in half
an hour arrived at the gates opening into the grounds of Melwood
Priory, a house which had had many tenants since the Carthusians were
driven out of it, and all unlucky.  It had stood unoccupied now for ten
or a dozen years, falling into decay, and was believed to be haunted by
the ghost of Matthew Meekness, the last lord prior.  Few persons cared
to enter its precincts alone, even by day, and fewer still would dare
to enter them by night.  My conductors had chosen a very safe place of
concealment for whatever crime they had in view.  We entered the
avenue, or rather what had been one, for all the trees had been cut
down long ago, and the cart bumped and joggled along the unkempt road
until it came to a stand at the main entrance.  My captors pulled me
out of the cart, carried me in, and down some steps into a large,
vaulted chamber, which, as I saw by the light of a fire of logs blazing
on the hearth, showed such signs of occupation as a table, a chair,
several stools, a rough couch, pots and pans on a shelf, and other odds
and ends.  Here they laid me down on the floor and left me.  I heard
coming and going, slamming of doors, shouts of laughter, and supposed
my captors were telling their story to comrades, but I could not think.
My head throbbed fearfully, and my limbs were cramped and cut by the
ropes with which I was bound.  In a while, the driver of the cart came
in, attended by the Moor, carrying a lamp, which he placed on the
table.  The driver knelt down beside me.  His fringe of beard had gone,
and I knew him.  It was Boswell.  He took the gag out of my mouth, and
said--

"Perhaps I needn't tell you where you are, Mr. Vavasour--on the lowest
floor of Melwood Priory.  There is only one door by which you could get
out, and it is bolted and barred and well guarded.  There are six men
at my call, everyone well armed.  Resistance is hopeless, and can only
end in your being baldy mauled.  I am going to cut your cords, and I
hope for your own sake you won't try to play any pranks."

I made no answer, but he released me, and handed the one chair to me.
My limbs were so benumbed that I had something to do to get up and seat
myself.

"Now," Boswell said, "hand me that bundle, Musty."  The <DW64> produced
it from a corner.  "I want your clothes, which you must take off, even
to your shirt, and put on these.  Leave your pockets as they are."

I obeyed, for I saw the odds were too great for me to dispute with the
fellow, but contrived to hide and keep my love-token, which I wore
round my neck.  The clothing given to me in place of my own was clean
and decent, but of the commonest homespun.

"Will you give me your word to make no attempt at escape?" asked
Boswell.  "If so, I will spare you these things"--picking up manacles
and fetters from underneath the couch.

"I will give no promise of any kind," I answered.

"As I expected," he rejoined; and proceeded to fasten the bonds on my
wrists and ankles.

Both handcuffs and fetters were connected by a short, strong chain.  So
bound, I was helpless against the weakest man who had the use of his
limbs, and Boswell smiled a grim smile as he marked how clumsy I was in
moving.

A week of my imprisonment passed without event.  Once a day, generally
in the early morning, Boswell or the Moor appeared, placing food and
water and fuel within my reach.  When they had gone, I had the freedom
of the corridor and the rooms or cells opening into it, and I shuffled
about with a brand from the fire in my hand--the lamp had been carried
off--rather despairingly seeking to discover some outlet, or what might
be made into one; but there was not even a crack through which daylight
might be perceived, and the floor everywhere was of solid stone.  The
door at the end of the corridor was thick and heavy, and strengthened
with iron bands.  I beat on it by the hour together, shouting and
yelling as loud as I could, on the chance that some one might come
within earshot.  I searched every nook and corner for a file, or what
might serve the purpose of a file, but in vain.  I attempted to break
my bonds by jerking and straining, but the only result was hurt to
myself.  When too much spent for such efforts, and weary of prowling
and prying, I endeavoured to guess what were the intentions of my
gaolers, and what my friends might be doing on my behalf, but got small
light or comfort by this means.  I thought it likely my father would
give little heed to what Luke might say to him; he might even imagine I
was hiding somewhere.  If my man went to Dick Portington, there might
be quest made for me, but it would naturally go after Vliet, and if he
stuck to the tale which Boswell had put into his mouth, nothing would
ensue of advantage to me.  I grew frantic when I pictured to myself
Anna's perplexity and distress; but in one short week I sank into a
kind of lethargy, which was broken now and then by fits of
rage--helpless, foolish rage.  Used as I was to freedom, light, air,
exercise, good food, the confinement in the dark told on my health and
spirits greatly.  If my gaoler had not given me fire, I think I should
have lost my wits.  It was, indeed, a friend to me.

On the eighth day, Boswell paid me a visit in the evening, and brought
me much better fare than had been supplied during the week.  He was
attended by several men, who did not enter my dungeon, but made merry
in the chamber adjoining mine.  He spread the table with decent viands,
and produced a bottle of wine, the black man coming and going all the
time on one errand or another, both being weaponed.  When supper was
laid, Boswell removed my manacles and fetters, and invited me to eat
and drink; and I drew up to table, thinking, as I took knife into my
hand, now free, that the best use to which I could put it would be to
cut the fellow's throat; but, as I should be all the better of meat and
wine, I decided to wait until after supper.  He smiled, as if he read
my thoughts, and called out, "Hal, Pete, Robin, have you your tools
handy?"  But he did not quite understand my notion, which was that it
might be a good thing to make an end of him, whatever might happen to
me afterwards.  When I had finished my meal, Boswell said--

"I have to make you an offer, which will not be made again, if you
refuse it.  If you will put yourself into my hands, I will have you
conveyed out of this country, and set free with money enough in your
purse to equip yourself like a gentleman."

"Is it part of your conditions that I see nobody--speak to nobody--and
disappear without the knowledge of my friends?" I asked.

"Assuredly."

"Then I decline your offer."

"Consider well," he replied.  "You will disappear, whether you accept
or refuse.  You have disappeared already.  If you agree to my proposal,
you will find yourself free, with a well-filled purse.  You will be
some thousands of miles away from England; but there will be nothing to
hinder your return, if you desire to return."

"And what will happen to me if I refuse?"

"You will find yourself far away from home and friends, penniless,
helpless, a hopeless slave."

"Why should you be at so much trouble in disposing of me?  Why not kill
me here?"

"Well inquired," said Boswell.  "If my advice had been taken, you would
have been buried under these stones."

"I am indebted to you for your kindness," I remarked.

"You may come to think so," answered Boswell.  "My patron wants a
fuller vengeance than your death would be."

"Vengeance!" I exclaimed.

"He has much to say (in his cups, I grant) of how you stole the
affection of a brother, and bred quarrel between him and his father,
and alienated friends from him.  If the half be true, it is no wonder
he should hate you."

I sat speechless with astonishment awhile, for I was too young to know
what lies men can tell, deluding even themselves into a sort of belief
in their truth.

"What I say," continued Boswell, as if to himself, "is that revenge is
costly, and death pays all."

"But, how would my removal to a distant country satisfy Sheffield, if
he burns for vengeance?" I asked.

"I did not say that it would.  The offer is mine," he answered.

"Oh, you would play false with your patron, pretending you had carried
me off to the hopeless slavery of which you speak, but setting me at
liberty, when we were far enough away?  Is that your scheme?  And what
do you stand to gain thereby?"

"Your bond for five hundred pounds."

"Which, as you doubtless know, would be worth precisely nothing."

"If I am willing to take the risk, that is my concern.  Look you, Mr.
Vavasour, I will be open with you.  I have no spite against you, nor
any great liking for this business, being in it solely for the money to
be made by it--and money I must have.  If you agree to my terms, Lord
Sheffield is rid of you for six or nine months, or, it may be, a year.
I keep faith with him so far that he has value for his money.  But you
return safe and sound, which is value for yours.  Nay, hear me out.  If
you refuse my offer, Frank Vavasour will be dead and buried and mourned
awhile by his friends; and even if you should contrive to return to
England, nobody--not even your nearest relative--will believe that you
are he."

"Bah!  Would you persuade me you are Satan himself, to work such
wonders?  And, if you are, I make no compact with the devil."

I spoke more boldly than my inward feeling warranted, for I began to
fear the man.  He took no offence, as it seemed, but answered--

"Sleep on it.  Night is a good counsellor."

A moment later, he asked if I desired more wine, and took up the bottle.

"You have not emptied this yet, I see."

He placed bottle and cup near me, made fast the door opening on the
corridor, and joined his comrades in the next chamber, whom his
presence appeared to check, for their talk and laughter became subdued.
I drank the remainder of my wine, and began to pace the length of the
room, endeavouring to fathom Boswell's designs; but could make nothing
of his strange threats, inclining to think his mysterious language was
mere gipsy rodomontade.  In a short time I grew sleepy--extremely
so--and threw myself on the couch, the absence of my bonds enabling me
to stretch at my ease, and soon fell asleep.




CHAPTER XV

In my sleep I dreamed of what happened when I was seized and carried
off.  Again I was running up the <DW72>, again I backed against the
tree, again I fell through the yielding bark, again my captors bound me
and thrust me into the cart.

And I awoke to find myself more tightly bound than before.  My arms
were held to my sides by a sack, and my legs were fastened to a pole.
My head was firmly clamped, I knew not how.  I could move my lips and
my eyes; otherwise I was like a man of wood.  A lamp stood on a
projection of the wall, so that its light shone full on my face, and
Boswell was stooping over me with a knife in his hand.  My cheek was
wet, and a smarting there told me the moisture was blood.  What could
the man be cutting my face for, I wondered, being dazed and not yet out
of my dream.  Before I had quite come to myself, he had made two slits
in my nose, and pressed it to one side.  At this I yelled, not so much
for pain as from a kind of fright, and with that I regained my senses
pretty well.

"What's your devilish game now?" I asked with difficulty, for blood was
running into my mouth.

Boswell gave me no answer, but went on with his operation.  He laid
down his knife, released my head, pulled out of his pocket a narrow
strip of cloth, and bound it tightly over my nose, crushing it cruelly.
I could not speak now, being near suffocation by the stoppage of my
nose with the bandage and of my mouth with blood.  When he had taken a
good, long look at his surgery, Boswell filled and lighted his pipe,
and sat down to full enjoyment of his tobacco.  While he sat puffing
smoke through his nostrils, I recovered my wits a little, perceiving
that I had been overcome by some drug, mixed with the wine I had taken,
but what was the intent of the villain in gashing my face I could not
surmise.  My first thought was that the design might be to make me
hideous in Anna's sight.

As I lay, dizzily pondering, Boswell finished his pipe and laid it down
to resume his work.  He passed a cord several times round my body just
above and below my elbows, knotting it securely.  Then he slit the
sack, and tore open my shirt, laying bare my breast, and taking up a
needle and a small pot from the table, he began pricking my chest,
dipping the point of the needle often into the pot.  The pricking was
worse to bear than the slashing with the knife, but I made no outcry,
knowing the uselessness of it.  So I lay silently shivering under the
dab, dab of the needle for what seemed to me a fearfully long time,
while he worked some kind of pattern on my breast.  At length it came
to an end, and when Boswell had examined his handiwork, adding a touch
here and there, he laid down his implements, refilled his pipe,
refreshed himself from a bottle, and sat down with the air of one well
pleased with his achievement.

I thought it plain that this business with knife and needle was
intended to give me a deceiving resemblance to some other man, in all
likelihood a boatman or sailor, for such fellows had a custom of
wearing figures and letters imprinted on breast or arm.  The man into
whose likeness I was to be changed had, I supposed, a broken nose and a
scar on his cheek.  But I could not see how this marking and mutilation
would avail much, so long as I had the use of my tongue.  Still,
Boswell must have considered this.  He must have thought how easy it
would be for me to declare who I was, and to give proof of my identity.
Must he not be prepared for such a certain event?  There came to my
mind stories I had heard of the disappearance of persons who stood
between others and a great inheritance, and of the abduction of persons
who might be inconvenient witnesses against men of rank and power.
Some of these stories ran on to the discovery of such persons in after
years, rendered blind or mute, or reduced to idiocy, by the art and
craft of gipsies.  I had smiled at these fireside tales of the
peasantry, but as I lay helplessly bound on this ninth day of my
imprisonment within a few miles of home, smarting and aching under
wounds inflicted by gipsy tools, I became more credulous.  Boswell
might deprive me of sight or speech or strength by a knife-thrust, or
even the prick of a needle.  How I had laughed at the warnings of Bess!
But the event had more than justified them.  Well, come what might,
there was only one course for me, to play the man and trust in God, as
I vowed to do to the end.

There is no need to linger over the details of the next few days.
Boswell attended closely on me for a week, treating my wounds with
salve, and compelling me to drink a quantity of some abominable
decoction.  He eased my bonds from time to time, but took good heed to
prevent my having freedom to use my arms, while I watched closely for
any opportunity.

On the sixteenth day of my captivity, Sheffield's <DW64> appeared on the
scene, evidently bringing disquieting news for my jailer.  He carried a
hamper into the adjoining chamber, and there the two conversed in a
lingo which I did not understand, but from the tone of their voices I
judged that they were hurried, and in perturbation of mind.  Now one
and now the other went out, and once I heard a great crash overhead.
Finally, the <DW64> brought in an iron ball of fifty or sixty pounds'
weight, attached by bar and chain to a ring, which Boswell locked on my
right ankle, otherwise releasing me entirely.  The pair kept their eyes
on me, and their weapons handy, when this had been done, but I was not
so foolhardy as to attack them.  In truth, a great hope had come to me
that they meant to leave me alone awhile, and I waited to see whether
they would deprive me of the means of deliverance.  After a good deal
of gibberish had passed between them, and the Moor had done various
errands at Boswell's command, both went out together, locking and
barring the door in the corridor, and then the outer door behind them.

I picked up the ball, which I could carry in the crook of my arm,
lighted a lamp which had been left on the table, and made a tour of
inspection, rejoicing to be able to move about, my limbs being stiff
and feeble by long constraint.  As I had imagined, the <DW64> had
brought a store of food.  I found bread, salt-beef, tongue, a couple of
pasties, several bottles of burgundy, a jar of aqua vitae, but no water.
But I had no great concern about meat or drink.  It was more to my
purpose that there were eight moderate-sized <DW19>s of sticks, a pile
of turves, and a dozen largish logs.  These would suffice.  I shouted
for joy to find a small hatchet, but was disappointed in searching for
oil: the jar was empty.  My survey taken, I made up the fire, and put
my iron ball at the back of it, so that the links of the chain
connecting ball and bar might get the full benefit of the heat, and as
soon as one grew red, I prised it open with the head of the hatchet.
Fire had freed me from a weight, and provided me with a missile, which,
if well thrown, would disable an enemy.  I had no means of ridding
myself of the bar, much though it would be in my way in my next effort,
which was to explore the chimney.  I removed the fire from the hearth,
and had it well blazing in the middle of the floor, before attempting
the chimney, for on fire I must now chiefly depend for my liberation.

My climbing brought down such a quantity of soot as almost smothered
and choked me, and I found the flue so narrow a little way up, as to
forbid all hope of escape in that direction to a man of my width and
stature.  So I restored the fire to the hearth, and began my second
enterprise.  I heaped turves and sticks against the door of the
corridor on the side on which it was hinged, and set fire to the pile.
The flames soon licked the door, but they did no more than blacken it,
for it was hard and solid, and moreover, as I have said, protected by
bands of iron.  It was like to be a slower business than I had
expected, and time being precious, I cast about for means to hasten the
process.  There was a small poker on the hearth in my dungeon, which I
made red-hot, and tried to bore holes with it in the upper part of the
door, but the poker was thin, and the door was stout and thick.  The
bar, which dragged at my ankle, would have been more serviceable, but I
could not manage to break any of the links which held it to the
shackle.  In the intervals of reheating my little poker, I chopped at
the door with the hatchet, and when my hands grew very sore, varied my
employment by hurling the ball against the place where I had chopped
and bored.

How long I spent over the work I cannot reckon, but I had used more
than half of my stock of fuel when the fire really took hold.  When I
saw the door begin to burn I turned away, lest in my impatience I
should be tempted to meddle, and so hinder the business.  I forced
myself to eat a few mouthfuls of food and to drink a little wine before
I returned.  What was my joy to see that the lower hinge-iron had
slightly parted from the woodwork!  I threw myself against the door
with all my strength.  It yielded a little, and, at the fourth or fifth
rush, it gave completely, and I had cleared the first barrier.

I made haste to heap all the remaining fuel against the outer door,
emptying over the pile the contents of the jar of aqua vitae.  The
roaring blaze bit the wood almost at once, clean contrary to my
expectation; but I suppose it was weather-worn and perhaps worm-eaten.
At all events, it was opened in less than half the time required for
the other.  For a few moments my eyes were blinded by the sudden light,
but they quickly recovered, and I stood outside my prison, drinking in
the pure, sweet air, and looking at green earth and blue sky with such
delight as can be understood only by those who have lacked the sight of
them as long as I had done--and regained it on a cloudless September
morning.  I had never known how beautiful are all the things which God
has made.  Even the wilderness of arched and twisted brambles that grew
about the place was charming to my sight, and I admired with a strange
tenderness the tomtits which were flocking and fluttering about the
bushes in search of the ripest fruit.  From that day forward I have
never looked at a caged bird without the desire to set it free.  For a
while I stood looking about me in a kind of ecstasy, but soon
remembered I must be moving, if I would keep my new-found liberty.  I
judged it safest, on the whole, to keep to the main road, passing
through Epworth, where I might be relieved of my fetter, and gather
information.  I met few people, a little gang of labourers, a boy on
horseback, a pedlar carrying his pack, but no one greeted me, and all
stood still to look when they had gone some distance past me.  When I
came to the Bull, I walked into the smithy--Johnson, who kept the inn,
being a blacksmith--and asked him to remove the bar and chain.  He and
his man retained their hammers, and simply stared.

"Come, don't stand staring, my man, but off with this thing, quick," I
said impatiently.

"And who are you?" asked he.  "My Lord Dirt, from Dunghill Hall?"

"'Tis a poor lunatic 'scaped from Bedlam," growled the other.

Now I remembered my wry nose and scarred face, which I had for the time
forgotten; and I remembered also that a head and face which had not
been touched with water for more than a night, and had been lately
poked up a chimney, and grilled over burning <DW19>s, would certainly
have no prepossessing appearance; nor would my coarse clothing, rent
and smirched and stained with blood and other liquids, give me the air
of a gentleman, whose commands should have instant attention.
Doubtless the remembrance of these things caused me a momentary
hesitation, but I answered--

"I am Frank Vavasour."

"Be'st a thundering liar!" gasped Johnson.

"'Tis a poor lunatic," said his man.  "Else he wouldn't give hisself
the name of a dead man."

"Dead!  What do you mean, fellow?" I asked.

"I mean what I say," answered he.  "Everybody knows Measter Frank
Vavasour is dead, AND buried."

My head began to whirl, and I leaned against the wall to steady myself.
The smith and his man whispered together.

"Do you know particulars of this pretended death?" at length I asked.

"Particulars?  I should think I do," answered Johnson, nodding to his
man, who went out.  "The young gentleman's body was found in the pool
in Belgrave Park a week ago last Sunday, shockingly disfigured, for the
eels had been at his face, but he was swore to at the inquest by his
manservant and his own father.  His friends had been looking for him
high and low, for more than a week, when they dragged the pool."

The innkeeper paused at this.

"Go on," I said hoarsely.  So Boswell's craft had dressed some other
man in my clothes and mangled his face.

"At the inquest, Luke Barnby, who had been the young squire's
bodyservant, told how one of the Dutchmen had tried to take his
master's life, and how Master Frank went out to fight the Dutchman on
Sunday, the very Sunday before the one he was found, and had never been
seen or heard of since.  So order was given to arrest the Dutchman, and
they took him."

Again the narrator paused.

"Well, what next?" I asked.

"They took him," repeated Johnson, "but they didn't keep him long.
Some of the Belton and Beltoft people went by night meaning to tear the
murderer limb from limb, and even some of the gipsies, that's been
thereabout so long, joined 'em.  They broke into the outhouse at Squire
Stovin's, where he was locked up, but somehow he got away."

What more easy trick could have been played?  The gipsies had befooled
the rest in the darkness, and smuggled Vliet out of danger.

Fierce rage against my persecutors restored to me the wits which had
been scattered in my first consternation.

"All this you have told me is a pack of lies.  I don't mean that you
have lied," I added, noting the heat in the man's face, "but it is a
diabolical plot.  Another man has been buried under my name--a man who
was dressed in my clothing, and his features obliterated cunningly.  I
am Frank Vavasour, and have been kept prisoner in the vaults of Melwood
Priory while this devilry was doing.  Remove this thing from my leg.
Let me have a room, and soap and water.  Tell your people to get me
pen, ink, and paper.  Have a lad in readiness to ride to Temple
Belwood, and another to go to Tudworth Hall."

"And who's to pay, my lad?  The mistress will charge high for letting a
room to the like o' you.  I don't send horse and man up and down the
country till I see the colour of your money.  Pay to-day and trust
to-morrow is my motto."

"There will be no difficulty about that.  My friends will----"

"No, it won't do, my man," said mine host.  "Look ye, there's a pump in
the yard.  You can wash there, and welcome, and then do your own
errands on Shanks his pony."

Seeing I should but waste time by tarrying, I got the fellow to release
me from the leg-iron, and going to the pump, I made such shift as I
could to cleanse my face and hands, and put my clothing into somewhat
more decent array.  When I saw the image of myself in the water, I no
longer wondered that my tale should appear incredible, for I could
scarce believe my own eyes.  The flattened and twisted nose, and the
scar across my cheek, had given me a look simply villainous.

The sooner the better I found myself among those who knew me, thought
I, and I hurried forward with a brief good day to mine host, who stood
at the smithy door staring and scratching his head, as if in some
perplexity.

I made straight for Temple Belwood, where I might find Luke; nor was I
quite without hope that my father might be inclined to reconciliation
with a son who had come back from the dead.  As I passed Belton church
I caught sight of a woman seated on a flat tombstone, her back toward
me, whose figure and attitude reminded me of Bess Boswell, and I
entered the yard to get a nearer view.  At the sound of my footfall she
turned, and I saw it was the gipsy girl, her face tear-stained and
woebegone.

"Ulceby!" she cried.  "You here!  Do you know there are soldiers about?"

"That is not my name," I answered.  "Don't you know me, Bess?"

She rose from the stone, stepped closely up to me, and looked
wonderingly into my face, with one hand fluttering about her breast.
Then she sank back upon the tombstone, still keeping her eyes fixed on
me, and said--

"Oh yes; I know your voice; I know your eyes.  But where have you been?
And who lies there?"--pointing to a new-made grave.  "Your servant
swore it was you.  Your father swore so.  Speak again.  Let me touch
you."

She rose, trembling all over, and reached out her hand.  I took hold of
it, and drew her down to the stone, seating myself beside her.

"Who has done that hellish work on your face?  No; don't tell me, not
yet."

She hid her face in her hands, shuddering.

"That has been done to give me the semblance of the man you named just
now.  And this too," I said, baring my chest, showing a crown and
anchor, and the letters J.U.

"Who is Ulceby?" I asked.

"A soldier, who escaped from Lincoln, after striking one of the
officers, and being condemned to be sent to the plantations.  He came
to us for hiding.  He had the ague badly, and was taken to safer and
better quarters, so I was told.  That was just before I was sent to
Horncastle fair, and on to Corby, and Spalding, and Stamford, because
my father must stay to attend to Ulceby.  And he seemed to be so much
concerned about the deserter, that I thought no evil could be brewing
against you just then, and so I was far away when mischief was doing.
But I don't understand.  Where were you?"

I told how I was captured, imprisoned, mutilated, and how I had escaped.

"This Ulceby must have died on your father's, hands," continued I, "and
he conceived the design of taking me, putting my clothes on the dead
man, corroding his face, and sinking the body in Belgrave pond."

By the girl's face, when I said that Ulceby must have died on her
father's hands, I saw she thought of a darker probability.  When I had
ended my narrative, she remained silent awhile.  When she spoke, it was
to say that the mystery of my disfigurement was beyond her; why Boswell
should have spared my life, when it was so easy to take it, she could
not understand.

"He must have been confident of handing you over to the soldiers
himself.  Perhaps he meant to put a finishing touch to his work.  I
have heard him say horrible things, boasting of what can be done by a
pin-prick."

"Thank God, I am safe from him.  I shall be at Temple shortly."

"Ah! but, of course, you don't know that Temple is shut up.  Your
father left almost as soon as the funeral was over.  Some of his
neighbours had called upon him to keep his promise of helping to drive
out the foreigners as the law was powerless, and he quarrelled with
them.  He went away, vowing never to return, so they say."

So vanished for the present my hope of reconciliation with him.

"My old tutor?"

"Died a fortnight ago."

"And Luke Barnby?"

"I have heard nothing of him.  I know little of what has been doing in
the Isle, for I came back only yesterday morning.  I did not hear of
your death till then."

She paused with some choking in the throat, but in a moment resumed--

"You must lose no time in making yourself known to your friends.  If
the soldiers find you before that is done, they will drag you off to
Hull."

"Where are these soldiers?" I asked.

"Some in Epworth, and some in Crowle," she replied.

Now I understood the by-play at the Bull.  The blacksmith's man had
gone to seek the officer, and the smith had not ventured to attempt to
hold me until the soldiers came.  Perhaps he had not felt entirely
comfortable at the thought of giving up a poor wretch to life-long
misery.  I told Bess of the colloquy.

"Oh, you must go," she cried.  "They may be on your track already."

"I will push on to my aunt's--to the Crowle vicarage," I answered.

"And I will go toward Epworth, and send the soldiers on a wild-goose
chase, if I meet them," said Bess.

"But these men of war cannot all be looking for Ulceby, surely?"

"No, no; the search-party has returned to Lincoln, but these men are
billeted hereabout to keep the Islonians in check, because of the
attacks which have been made on Sandtoft; but there is a reward offered
for the capture of Ulceby, and poor Daft Jack may be taken, if he is
found.  I meant to try to find and warn him, but now I must go the
other way.  But you must go at once."

"Stay yet half a minute," I said.  "Do you know where Boswell is, and
what he is about?"

"To-morrow night at Daft Jack's cottage, I will tell you all I know.
You must not lose more time.  And take my purse, for you must be
penniless."

"In an hour I shall be at the vicarage," said I, declining.

"Then you can give it back to me to-morrow night."

She thrust it into my hand, and we went our different ways.




CHAPTER XVI

I kept to the road, often glancing backward for any sign of pursuit,
but reached Crowle without adventure, and made straight for the
vicarage.  The front door stood open, and I strode in, right glad to be
in security, shouting, "Aunt, where are you?" forgetting, for the
moment, the shock I was like to give her.  A maid whom I did not know
came from the kitchen, but stopped short at sight of me, and screamed.
That brought me to recollection.

"Don't be alarmed, my wench," said I, "but go quick to Mistress Graves,
and tell her there is one here who has news for her."

But the maid continued to scream "Master!  Thieves!  Murder!"  And her
cries brought a strange clergyman into the hall, who appeared not to
like the look of me.

"What is this?  Who are you?  What is your business?" he asked, all in
a breath.

"I would see Mistress Graves," I answered.

"Mistress Graves is with her husband in Lincoln, as every one in the
parish knows," said the parson, eyeing me more mistrustfully.

"In Lincoln!" I echoed in amazement.  Then I remembered that the vicar
held some appointment at the minster--a praelectorship, or
sub-praelectorship, I believe it was called--which took him to the city
at stated times.

"In Lincoln," repeated the parson.  "Therefore you can have no further
business here."

"And have they taken their servants?" I asked.  "They would not need
the gardener: is he not here?"

"There are men on the premises," he answered, "but you will find the
vicar's gardener at his cottage, I dare say."

And he motioned with his hand toward the door.

"Oh, I am not to be so dismissed," I blurted out.  "I am Mistress
Graves' nephew, Vavasour."

"What effrontery!" cried the parson.  "The young gentleman is dead and
buried."

"But I am he, I tell you.  I have been immured in Melwood Priory, and
only escaped this morning."

"If that be so," answered the parson, who evidently did not believe a
word of it, "you should appeal to the magistrates."

"Such is my intention.  But all my belongings are here.  I sent them to
my aunt's care seventeen days ago.  I beg you to let me have the means
of cleanliness, and a change of clothing."

"You must be as much fool as knave, to imagine I shall give my friend's
property to the first beggar who chooses to ask for it."

"But I will describe my baggage and its contents," I pleaded.

"Doubtless, doubtless.  Perhaps you have an inventory in your pocket,"
he replied, with contempt for the tricks of beggars in his tone.

His own words seemed to set him thinking, for he drew out a paper from
his pocket, and read it, looking up at me two or three times in the
course of reading.

"I have here your description, point by point," said he, when he had
finished the perusal, "and your name is given as Jim Ulceby, for whose
apprehension a reward is offered.  The description tallies precisely,
so far as I can see.  It makes mention of certain marks on the breast,
which may or may not be on yours."

"I bear the marks," I said.

"Oh!  You confess it?"

I recounted briefly what had been done to me, ending by a claim that he
should aid me as befitted his sacred office.  In this I made a great
mistake, for the parson waxed hot, declaring my story utterly
incredible, and bade me begone.  I felt quite sure he would have
detained me, if he had had force at command.  So I made my way to Daft
Jack's cottage by every turn and cross-cut I knew, in hope to elude
observation.  It stood near one end of a small orchard, thickly
planted, a narrow path leading from the orchard gate to the cottage
door.  I rapped on the door with my knuckles, and heard Jack's high
voice tremble as he called "Come in."  The room, lighted only by a
small window, which a tree overshadowed, was dim to eyes fresh from the
sunshine, but I saw Jack seated on a stool, shoulders bent, hands on
knees, face directed toward the door.

"Who are you?  Speak," he cried, in a tone of fear.

"An old acquaintance, Jack; not dead, as you may have believed, but
sorely in need of friendly help."

Jack sprang out of his posture of fright, and seized my hands.

"I knew it was your step," he almost shrieked.  "Oh yes; and it is your
voice.  You're warm and wick.  Oh, Mester Frank, where have you been?
And what's come to your face?"  The poor fellow trembled, and fell to
blubbering, squeezing my hands and gazing up at me.

"I will tell you all about myself shortly, Jack, but I am as hungry as
a moudiwarp; how dirty I am, there's no telling.  Can you find me soap
and water and a scrubbing-brush?  And I want some other clothing than
these foul rags.  Whether my money will go so far, though, is doubtful."

Pulling out the purse which Bess had given me, put me in mind of the
warning with which she had charged me.

"But you are to lie, snug, Jack, so you cannot do marketing for me.
Bess Boswell sent you word that soldiers are prowling about."

Jack chuckled, and taking out of a box a gown and a bonnet, such as our
labouring women wear in the fields, he informed me that, indued in
these, he became Judy Hoggat, well known to his neighbours; and as his
hairless face was womanish enough, when framed and partly concealed in
the hood, I judged he might safely do my errands.

An hour later we sat down to meat, I clean and tolerably comfortable in
shepherd's garb.  When we had eaten and drunk our fill, and I had
satisfied Jack's curiosity, I asked for cleat-boards and staff,
intending to cross to Sandtoft without delay; but while Jack was
getting ready for my journey, I fell asleep in my chair, and slept till
four o'clock--too late to go and return to meet Bess, who might have
something of urgent importance to tell me.  I felt heartily ashamed of
my drowsiness, and inclined to be angry with Jack for not rousing me;
but he answered my rating with--

"Wouldn't ha' waked you for a hatful of gold.  Why, you looked as tired
as a dog in a pedlar's cart."

With the dusk came Bess, who had met a troop of carabineers soon after
we parted at Belton, and being questioned by the officer, had sent them
eastward to Butterwick ferry.  Of her father's whereabouts and present
business she knew little, beyond the fact that he had gone away in a
hurry on receipt of a message from Sheffield.  She was disposed to
think the message related to Vliet, for Boswell had growled a curse on
"all Dutchmen."  Bess had ascertained that my friend Portington was at
home, and she urged my going to Tudworth under cover of the darkness.
My first duty, she held, was to obtain the help and countenance of
friends; and in spite of my longing for sight of Anna, I acknowledged
the good sense of the advice, and agreed to set out shortly.  I had no
sooner said so than we heard the clatter of horses at the trot.

"Soldiers!" exclaimed Bess.

"Judy Hoggat, be ready to slip out," said I.

Jack nodded, and put on his simple disguise.  The horsemen drew up with
a jangling noise, which certified them soldiers.  Heavy footsteps
approached the door, and some one knocked as with the butt of a pistol,
and called out--

"Open, in the King's name!"

Jack threw it wide.  "And what does his Majesty want of poor Judy
Hoggat?" he asked, in a quavering, frightened voice.  There was no
chance for him to escape, for the little orchard was thronged with
carabineers.

A grizzled old sergeant strode into the room, followed by three of his
men, and answered--

"A better light for one thing.  Stir up your fire, my good woman, and
bring me a candle."

This done, the sergeant poked the candle in my face.

"Uncover your chest," he ordered.  The old fellow examined the marks
attentively.  "As described," he muttered; but I thought he had the
look of being mystified about something.

"Jim Ulceby, you are my prisoner," said he.

"I am not Jim Ulceby, but I yield--under protest."

The sergeant shook his head, as if to imply that my protest was no
affair of his, and gave order for my removal.  I had time only to ask
Bess to let Portington and Drury know of my state, which she promised
to do without delay.  I begged her also to send the news of me to
Mistress Goel, but the soldiers had me out of the cottage before I
heard her answer.  There is no need to dwell on the particulars of the
next few days.  The first night I was lodged in a stable-loft at the
Bull in Epworth, where we remained until evening, when the sergeant and
four carabineers took me to Keadby, which place we left by sloop for
Hull on the following day.




CHAPTER XVII

We had a tedious passage, for the wind was light, and we missed the
advantage of the tide; so it was after six o'clock when we arrived.  My
guards took me to a large house in Mytongate, adjoining a butcher's
shop, the butcher, Acton by name, being the lessee of the prison.  When
I had been some time in a little den which smelled vilely, my jailer
appeared--a lewd fellow, far gone in liquor.

"And you're come to pay us a visit once more," said he, with oaths
which I need not repeat.  "We have not much accommodation to spare just
now, but we must find you a garret somewhere on the old terms, I
suppose."

This talk of accommodation was Greek to me.  "I don't understand," said
I, "not having the honour of your acquaintance."

Acton laughed until his red face turned purple.  "Oh, that's
good--'nation good!  Gentleman Jim--Jim the bully-boy, hasn't the
honour of my acquaintance!"

As I stared at him he broke into laughter again, and gave me a
resounding smack on the shoulder.

"You do it so well, Jim!  Might ha' been born with a coronet on your
head!  'Not having the honour of your acquaintance!'"  Again he roared.
"You are going out as governor of the colony, are you!  Oh, you'll be
the death of me with your jests!"

The fellow babbled on of the doings of Ulceby, of cheating at play and
other frauds, of street brawls and manslaughter, until he talked
himself dry and called for brandy, which was brought by a sluttish
wench and placed on the table, the only furniture of the room, save a
rickety chair which I occupied.  Acton ceased his jabbering in order to
drink, and I tried to get in a word; but as soon as he had gulped his
dram, he went on unheeding me.

"The old man has more chink than ever, chandling and stockfish bring
him in a pretty penny; but now he's gone in for whale fishing in the
Greenland sea, and he has the devil's own luck.  They say he is down
for sheriff next year, but whether he can get you out of this scrape,
Lord only knows."

"Of whom do you speak?" I asked.

Acton, seated on the table, was in the act of swallowing more brandy,
but my question brought him to his feet, laughing, sputtering and
coughing well-nigh to suffocation.  When he regained breath, he vowed I
was the drollest fellow living.  Then he changed his tone to one of
drunken gravity, inquiring what money I had, and continued--

"Look ye, Jim, a jest is all very well, but I must see your father's
money, or have his word for it, or out you go into the cellars."

I had hard work to draw a plain meaning out of the man, his tipsy head
being filled with the notion that I was the "Gentleman Jim" with whom
he had such familiarity; but little by little I gathered that Ulceby
the elder lived not far away, a man of substance and standing, who had
paid his son's debts two or three times, from whom Acton had received a
good deal of money for prison fees and food and lodging.  This gave me
hope of liberty, so I demanded paper and pen and ink, and wrote a few
lines, asking Mr. Ulceby of his charity to come to see one, who was
falsely imprisoned under the name of his son.

This letter Acton undertook to despatch and relieved me of his
presence.  Some two hours I spent alone in the darkening room, the wind
howling outside with a most melancholy sound, and hearing fitfully a
noise of talk and laughing from some room near, whenever a door was
opened.  About eight o'clock, Mr. Ulceby came in, Acton attending him
with much obsequiousness.  When the jailer had placed candles on the
table and a chair for the visitor, Mr. Ulceby signified his desire to
be left alone with me.  On the first glance my spirits rose.  He was a
tall man, somewhat portly, silver-haired, and bore himself with natural
dignity.  He heard what I had to say of my capture and imprisonment at
Melwood, my escape and recapture, with grave attention, two or three
times asking a pertinent question, and at the end of it said smiling
half sadly--

"One thing can be easily proved.  My testimony that you are not my son
should suffice, after legal forms have been observed, to obtain your
release.  That shall be my first business to-morrow morning.  Possibly
it may take a few days to set you free."

I thanked him heartily for his kindness in coming so speedily to my
help; but he cut short my thanks, making light of the matter of his
trouble.

"I wish I could take you out of this den of wretchedness," he went on;
"but as that is not possible, you must allow me to offer such
hospitality as may be had here."  He rapped on the table with his cane,
and Acton entered.  "Can you let us have a more comfortable room and a
bit of cheerful fire?" he asked.

Acton intimated that anything could be done which would be well paid
for; and Mr. Ulceby sent out to the Saracen's Head for the best supper
that could be furnished.

"Mr. Vavasour does me the honour to sup with me," he said to Acton, who
favoured me with a knowing wink and went about the business.

Presently we were in a room more spacious and airy, and after supper,
Mr. Ulceby gave me a short account of his son, which is no part of my
story, except that it was given so tenderly and sorrowfully as to make
me sure that here was a good man indeed.  He ended by saying--

"There seems little doubt of his death, but I must be certified of it,
and if he met with foul play, bring his murderers to justice.  My duty
to him can best be fulfilled by a partnership with you.  Will you give
me confidence for confidence?  You have told me of your imprisonment
and the horrible practice of your enemies, but nothing of the reason.
Since the desire of money, or the love of woman is at the bottom of
most mischief, perhaps there is a lady in the case.  Believe me, though
I am hoary-headed, I am not too old to feel with a true lover."

Of that I felt well assured and poured out all my tale, to which he
listened with no sign of weariness, nodding and smiling now and then,
and once rising from his chair to pace the room and murmur something to
himself.  At the end he stretched out his hand, saying--

"Let us strike a bargain.  We two are partners: until we know the truth
concerning the fate of my poor, misguided lad, and you are avenged of
your enemies.  Now that means," said he, as I put my hand in his, "that
there is no distinction between _meum_ and _tuum_ for the term of our
partnership.  Nay, hear me," observant of the flush in my face as I
thought of my destitute condition.  "I may have to ask you for more
than money can buy before we are at the end of our joint business.  The
first thing I offer is counsel.  Write a letter to Mistress Goel,
assuring her of your safety and of your speedy coming, but saying
nothing further, not even where you are, lest the letter should fall
into other hands.  I will send it by a trusty messenger as fast as good
horseflesh ought to be ridden.  To-morrow I will bring you a skilful
surgeon, who should be able to do somewhat to repair the injury to your
face.  There will be no loss of time thereby, for your liberation can
scarcely be effected to-morrow; and if you have to go plaistered and
bandaged, there may be advantage in the disguise.  We might dress you
like a shipmaster too.  We must pounce on the enemy, if we may, for
they will stick at nothing, now that you hold their liberty, perhaps
their lives, in your hand."

I had nothing to say against these counsels, being in truth very
thankful to have a friend capable of advice and one so forward in my
cause.  Mr. Ulceby laid his purse on the table.

"Such men as you have here to do with, will be the more respectful if
they know you have money at command, and you may have unforeseen
occasion for it."

When I had written a few words to my love, Mr. Ulceby left me, again
assuring me he would bestir himself about my business early in the
morning.  It was long before I sought sleep, which indeed would have
been hard to come by until after midnight, for my fellow-lodgers in the
room next to mine, and in the one overhead, kept up such a noise of
shouting and singing and laughter as astounded me, seeing they were
prisoners.  On Mr. Ulceby's departure, a maid looked in to ask whether
I had need of anything; and, as I had no orders to give, locked and
bolted the door on the outside, and I was left alone to my meditations.

Hitherto I had not been much given to reflection, and in these later
days I had been concerned with the present danger and what might impend
in the instant future, but now that the strain was relieved, thought
came upon me like a flood.  A few hours ago I had been threatened with
the fate of a plantation slave.  If any man had foretold on my coming
of age that such a peril would befall me, how incredible it would have
appeared!  And I had been saved from such a doom not by the things in
which I had pride, not by my name or place, not by my strength or
courage, or by the staunchness of my friends, but by the kindness of a
stranger.  How much reason I had for thankfulness to him, and how much
more to the Providence which had sent him for my deliverance!  A great
awe crept on me of the eye which had been upon me when I had thought
myself buried out of sight, and of the hand which had brought me help
when I was most helpless; and I felt how utterly undeserved was the
kindness of God, and at the same time assuredly confident therein.
These things I hold are not to be much spoken of, but some record I am
bound to make of that which changed the face of the world to me, and
filled my heart with a new, strange, and solemn gladness.




CHAPTER XVIII

My liberation did not come to pass so quickly as Mr. Ulceby had hoped,
for the justices and the sheriff and the commander of the castle, and I
know not how many authorities besides, all had something to say in the
matter.  After my friend's testimony that I was not his son had been
accepted, I supposed I should be set free at once, but no such thing!
"If I was not Jim Ulceby, who was I?"  "Where was Jim Ulceby?"  "How
came I to resemble him?"  So the authorities demanded, and seemed to
think these questions must be answered before they gave me my liberty.
One magistrate, whose gravity and dulness were of equal magnitude, took
it into his head that a plot of some kind was on foot.  If he could
have had his way, I believe he would have put me to bodily torture; to
torture of mind he often put me, coming to "examine the prisoner," by
asking the most absurd questions, looking as solemn as an owl the
while.  I never understood his drift, nor I believe did he.  Mr. Ulceby
warned me of this man's first visit, and implored me to endure it with
all the patience I could muster; so I contrived to keep my temper, and
in the end the ass was good enough to express the judgment "that I was
a blind instrument of the conspirators."  That there was a conspiracy
he was well assured.

Acton gave us some trouble at first, holding that I was in fact his
one-time crony, and that Mr. Ulceby had taken the course of denying me,
as the one means of saving me from transportation to America.  He
declared that no man would be at the pains and cost which Mr. Ulceby
took on my behalf for a stranger, and claimed "hush-money."  When he
could not extort that, he did his worst against me secretly.  Even when
the surgeon had restored me to something more like my former looks,
Acton would not be convinced.  The surgeon did me good service by
giving evidence as to the recent date of the distortion of my face,
which was corroborated by the sergeant who brought me to Hull.  He
testified that he had been perplexed when he arrested me by the
freshness of the tattooing and of the scars.  But eight days passed
before my good friend, who had been unceasing in his exertions in my
cause, came with the order for my release.  Every comfort which money
could procure during those weary days I enjoyed, and Mr. Ulceby gave me
as much of his time as might be spared from the business of expediting
my deliverance.  After the second day of durance I kept to my own room.
On that day I had the curiosity to look over the prison.  It consisted
of two houses which had been thrown into one, and of buildings which
occupied two sides of a quadrangle behind them.  These buildings would
not have been used as stabling by a man who valued his horses.  Here
the wretches were confined who could not, or would not, pay for
accommodation within the house; some of them kept safely by being laid
on the floor with iron bars across their legs; others having liberty to
stand upright, but chained to staples in the wall.  Some were free to
roam the yard, variously ironed and fettered.  The most part were half
starved and in rags, the most miserable creatures I had ever seen.

The inmates of the house were such as had means to pay the exorbitant
charges which the jailer made for food and lodging and fees for this,
that, and the other.  Many of these had money to waste in gambling and
drunkenness, but few had any compassion for their poverty-stricken
fellow-prisoners.  In this den were prisoners awaiting trial, prisoners
under sentence, and prisoners who had been acquitted, now detained for
payment of the jailer's charges; prisoners of both sexes and of all
ages, from childhood to decrepitude.  While I was making the round of
the yard, a greasy fellow came to one of the windows, and calling to
the crowd, threw out the orts and scraps of his breakfast, for which
the hungry wretches scrambled.  In the struggle two women fell out and
began to fight, tearing, scratching, and biting with the fury of
tigresses, while men stood round them laughing and betting as to which
would be the victrix.  Turning away from this, I came upon a ragged,
miserable creature, who lay moaning and whimpering in a corner.  He had
tried to climb the wall with the aid of a rope which a friend had
managed to convey to him, but had been caught in the effort; so the
jailer and his men had beaten the soles of his feet to a horrible
condition.  A few of the prisoners lay about dead drunk, the objects of
the envy of others, who had not the luck to have friends able and
willing to give them liquor.  Much that I saw and heard is not to be
described.  I took refuge from the little hell in the solitude of my
own room, right thankful I had not been compelled to herd with the vile
and wretched crew.  In a sense it was lucky for me that Acton held to
the belief that I was Jim Ulceby, for he made it loudly known, and so
saved me from being molested by the bullies in the house, who feared to
meddle with one who had the repute of never failing to pay back in full
any ill turn that might be done him.

Not until the fourth day of my incarceration did I receive a letter
from Anna, for Mr. Ulceby's messenger had been delayed by one mishap
after another, howbeit they need not be set down here.  All the day I
read and re-read that precious letter, wondering how a pen, which in my
hand is an unwieldy tool, came to be such a wand of magic in hers, that
I could, in a manner, hear her clear voice, and almost see her
sprightly smile and the sudden coming of her tears.  I will copy parts
of the letter here, for they tell the story far better than it could be
told in words of mine.

"When Luke brought me your letter, in which you promised to come on the
day following, he told me of the wickedness of Sebastian Vliet, and I
made him repeat the matter in my father's hearing.  But when Luke went
on to say you had sent a challenge to your would-be murderer, I was
almost beside myself with anger that you should risk your life so
lightly in fighting with a wretch so infamous.  For a brief moment I
thought you had slain my love by your folly, but I soon knew it still
lived by the sinking at my heart for fear of what might be devised
against you by so crafty a coward.  When I learned that Vliet had gone
to meet you alone and armed only with a sword, you may be sure all his
doings were watched as closely as two women knew how to do.  It filled
me with wonder.  But my fears were redoubled by Vermuijden's report of
what had happened, which was that you had fled from Vliet in sudden
terror, and gone he knew not whither.  A lie so gross and palpable made
me certain some foul deed had been done, but what I could not guess,
and for days I was as one bereft of reason.

"At last came the news of the finding of a body in a pond, said to be
yours: but I could not believe you were dead.  My father and Martha and
Luke thought me distraught with grief, but my heart said you were still
alive.  And as my wits returned, I questioned Luke particularly about
the dead man.  That he was of your height and build, and dressed in
your clothes were no sufficient proofs to me.  I doubted whether fishes
alone had disfigured the face beyond knowledge, and the condition of
the man's breast seemed unaccountable.  I asked whether there was trace
of any deadly wound; and was answered 'None.'  How, then, came the body
into the pond?  If you, even in the dark, had stumbled into the water,
you were strong enough to get out again.  No one could have thrown you
in, unless he had first stunned you with a blow from behind, and there
was no mark of such a blow.  Luke told me what was found in the
pockets: your purse and the coins which it contained, a ring of keys,
your penknife, and your seal.  But no word of the half of a ninepenny
bit.  I felt assured my Frank had not thrown away or lost his
love-token.  So my mind did in some degree confirm my heart's faith,
although every one thought my hope the veriest madness.

"And now to tell you a strange thing.  The day after that body was
committed to the grave, I sat here, wearied out with thinking and
wondering, and I saw you stretched on a couch in what looked like a
church crypt.  You were bound hand and foot, and by the light of a lamp
hanging from the wall behind you, I could see blood upon your face.  A
man came out of the shadowed part of the room, and stood so that he hid
your face from me, and then all faded from my sight.  I cried out to my
father, who sat near me reading, 'Frank is alive!  I have seen him.'  I
described the place and your state to my father, being perfectly sure
of the truth of what I had seen.  He sought to convince me I had
dreamed it, but I knew I had not closed my eyes; and, besides, there
was I know not what of reality in the sight, which would not suffer me
to doubt.  I sent for Luke, who was in the house at the time, and
inquired of him whether he knew of such a room as I had seen, but he
could not help me.  My own mind ran on the dungeons of Castle Mulgrave,
and I gave my father no rest until he ventured with me, professing his
desire to consult a book in the earl's library as the reason of our
going.  I pretended a whim to see the vaults of the castle, and the old
nobleman gave order to his seneschal to take me through them, who did
so willingly, he and I being great friends.  (He it was who gave me my
lessons in riding on my first visit to the castle, so you see your
one-time jealousy was misplaced.)  From him I heard that Lord Sheffield
had his abode at present at Normanby, where he led a life less
restrained than was possible under his father's roof, which set me
thinking that there might be underground rooms there; but my guide
assured me there was not so much as a wine-cellar.  'It was,' he said,
'a poor place, but honoured by my lord's residence when heavy drinking
and high play and other delights were desired.  For the last ten days
the revelling had been perpetual.'  Had your disappearance anything to
do with this merrymaking? I asked myself.  I would set Luke to spy upon
the comings and goings of his lordship, I resolved, little as he was
fitted by nature for the part.  But on our return, which was made in
safety, I found Martha in distress about the poor fellow, who had
struck his foot with an axe, while chopping wood, and he is even yet
hobbling on a crutch.  Will it always be that we poor women must
depend, even in maddening anxiety, on the aid of men?  If I had been
free, I should have donned the garb of manhood, and ridden the length
and breadth of the Isle to find you, for I had the feeling that your
prison was not very far away.

"But at length, three days before your messenger brought me this
letter--which I have wet with happy tears, and kissed a thousand times,
and held in my hand and looked at, even while I poured out my thanks to
God--at length came the beautiful gipsy girl, who had seen you, spoken
with you, touched you.  I have much to say to you about the dark
beauty, and some questions to ask you.  Our meeting was a strange one
(of that another time), but before long we were sobbing in each other's
arms.  And we had arranged to follow and find you on the very day your
letter arrived."

Of Vliet, Anna had no more to tell than I already knew, that he had
been arrested, and that he had escaped and disappeared.  She wrote of
her father as being wholly taken up with researches and experiments
regarding ague, and full of hope to find a preventive against that
sickness.  Vermuijden had hired a number of the poorer sort of
Islonians to work with the Dutch, but their neighbours were so bitter
against them for this going over to the enemy as to render it necessary
to provide lodging for them within the settlement.  Nevertheless, Anna
had confidence that the step would tend to amity and a good
understanding in due time.

On the third day after the receipt of this letter, Mr. Ulceby came to
me with the order for my release duly signed and countersigned, and as
soon as we had settled with Acton, I was once more a free man.  My good
friend had reckoned on my impatience to be on the road to Sandtoft, and
had provided breakfast at the nearest inn, his house being on the other
side of the town.

When the meal was eaten, three horses were brought to the door, one for
me, one for my friend, and one for his manservant.  Mr. Ulceby believed
he had been spied upon and followed several times during his visits to
my prison, and feared my enemies were on the alert; hence his purpose
to accompany me to the Isle.

"Three men, well mounted and well armed, might travel much more safely
than a single horseman," said he.

I may here say that there was no need, as we afterwards came to know,
of all this care for my protection, Boswell having never counted on my
being delivered from the prison.

We rode with no more serious mishap than the shying of my horse at the
flapping of a cloth, which a housewife came to her door to shake as we
were passing.

We crossed Trent at Burringham Ferry and went by Crowle Causey, it
being my intent to see my friend in quarters at the White Hart, and
leaving him there, to ride south to Belton, and thence to Sandtoft by
the embankment, but this was not his mind.  He would have no nay but we
should dine together, procure fresh horses, and he and his man go with
me to the settlement.  Impatient though I was to see my love, I was too
much bound to Mr. Ulceby to refuse to do as he would have me, seeing
how he, had set his heart on this thing.  After we had eaten and drunk,
we went on our way, and Mr. Ulceby with great delicacy spoke of what I
was to do to earn a livelihood.  He did not approve my plan of joining
myself to a company of adventurers, or of enlisting in the military
service of a foreign prince.  He had another scheme for me, which was
that I should enter into his business, either as his agent and clerk,
or, if mercantile affairs were distasteful to me, as supercargo on one
of his ships, with a prospect of coming to the command of a vessel,
when I had gained a sufficient degree of seamanship.  He spoke as if he
thought he ought to make excuse for offering occupation so humble to
one of my birth and breeding, but pointed out that a competency might
much more certainly and speedily be made by such means than by
exploring American forests or engaging as a soldier of fortune.  And he
touched on the need he would have shortly for a partner, whose youthful
energy might supply the lack of his own declining strength.  He ended
by saying--

"I am but a plain, blunt fellow, Mr. Vavasour, with no more learning
than I got at a dame's school, and unused to the ways of gentlefolks,
so I trust you will excuse me if I put it badly; but if your heart's
desire is to prepare a cage for your singing-bird, I think it will be
most quickly gratified by condescending to trade."

Had such an offer been made me only a month before, assuredly I should
have rejected it with scorn, but one may learn a good deal in a month,
especially if part of it be spent in prison.  Even now I had no liking
for a seat on an office stool with a pen behind my ear, or going to and
fro as a chapman.  The command of a ship would be more to my taste
truly, though its cargo might be hides or stockfish or whales' blubber.
But I was in no case to consider liking and misliking.  I had not a
penny of my own, or any present likelihood of gaining one, but in the
manner Mr. Ulceby had indicated.  The clothes I wore, the food I had
eaten these ten days, his money had bought; and it was by his kindness
and the mercy of God that I was not now groaning in the hold of a
slave-ship.  So I made him a reply suitable to his generosity,
signifying my readiness to undertake such duties as I might prove to be
fit for, albeit I had the gravest doubt about the matter, because of my
ignorance and want of capacity.  This vastly pleased him, and he went
on to tell me his mind had been set on coming to Sandtoft with me,
partly because he thought himself better able to lay the matter before
Doctor Goel, if I accepted the offer.

"I am older, and used to reason with old folk," he said; and then
lapsed into silence, smiling as if he had pleasant thoughts which he
kept to himself.

I also inclined to silence.  Welcome though the chance was to earn my
bread, and maybe something more in time, I could not rid myself of the
feeling that it was a dreary destiny for the last of the Vavasours of
Temple Belwood to become a fish merchant, notwithstanding I knew so
well that a fish merchant might be as worthy and generous a man as any
squire in Axholme or in England.  Little did I think that in a few
hours I should envy the safety and freedom of the poorest quill-driver
in the kingdom.  Ah, me! if I had had the foreknowledge, it would only
have spoiled for me the bit of pure happiness which was soon to be mine.




CHAPTER XIX

When we landed from the ferry at Sandtoft, Martha and Luke were in
waiting for us, and after greetings had passed, I asked the maid what
accommodation could be found for Mr. Ulceby and his man.

"That is seen to," answered Martha.  "We spied you half an hour ago,
and mistress ordered rooms to be prepared for your fellow-travellers.
Luke will guide them to their quarters, and bring them to supper
presently.  You will come with me."

"Ay, ay," said Mr. Ulceby.  "Right glad shall I be to rest awhile
before supper.  'Tis long since my old bones were rattled with such a
stretch of riding.  So no hurry about supper, my bonny lass."

He shot a look at Martha, who replied by a smile of understanding, as
Luke swung on his crutch to lead my companions to their lodging.

On our way to the doctor's I noted the presence of a number of
Islonians among the foreigners, who were trooping into the settlement
from their day's work afield, and some of them looked curiously at me.
Scarce a word passed between me and the maid, for she had some ado to
keep up with my long stride.  But when she threw open the door of
Anna's sitting-room, she found breath to say demurely, "Mr. Vavasour."
I had had some shrinking under my eagerness to see my love, lest my
scarred face, still partly striped with plaister, should give her
fright; but there was no sign of that in her beautiful eyes, as she
stood waiting for me as near as might be, with allowance of room for
the opening of the door, and with a low, soft cry of pity such as
mothers use, she came into my arms.  After the long embrace of welcome,
she held me off, looking into my face some seconds, and then smiling
through her tears, called me her brave soldier, her hero, and I know
not what, asking a hundred questions, and laughing and crying in a
breath, until the only thing I knew was that she was the loveliest
woman in the world, and I the happiest of all men to have her love.  At
length I remembered I kept her standing, and drew her to a chair,
kneeling beside her, and she touched my ugly face softly with her lips,
and then broke into a gentle rain of tears.  Before we had time to talk
together, Martha rapped at the door, announcing supper.

We sat long at table, for the doctor, forgetting his studies awhile,
asked many questions as I told my tale, and that was long enough.  When
I came to relate how Mr. Ulceby had befriended me, Anna could not speak
her gratitude, but it shone so brightly in her face that the good man
answered her--

"The happiness is on my side, Mistress Goel.  I am repaid a
hundred-fold for such service as I trust any man would have rendered
who happened to have the ability."

She governed the swelling in her throat so far as to rejoin--

"Methinks the good Samaritan would have said much the same."

Supper ended, and the main of my story told, Mr. Ulceby pleaded
weariness as a reason for going off to his quarters, whither we went
with him, Anna being wishful to assure herself nothing was omitted for
his comfort.  When we had left him we paced to and fro under the starry
sky in talk of the future.  Anna did not approve of my entering Mr.
Ulceby's service.

"Believe me, Frank, it is not the consideration that you are a
gentleman by long descent that weighs with me," she said, "and I hope I
am not wanting in thankfulness to this good man who has been so much
your friend.  I could give him anything else, but not my Frank to be a
slave.  For that is what it would be.  There would not be some things
to bear in Mr. Ulceby's counting-house which Virginian slaves endure,
but the life would be little better than theirs--for you.  You would
have to do not only with Mr. Ulceby, but with his clerks and servants;
and every one of them would despise you for your ignorance of his
little knowledge, or hate you for being a gentleman, or both.  And how
could you bring your mind or body to sustain the confinement and the
weary sameness of mechanical drudgery?"

I need not record what I said on the other part, since I was not fated
to the course I would have taken.  I put down Anna's words of wisdom
for love's sake, though I yet believe that the pride which she disowned
had more influence with her than perhaps she knew.  And to tell the
truth I loved her none the less on that account.

My prudent lady would have me beware lest, in my haste to be honest and
desire to prove my gratitude, I should imperil all our future; it might
take time to find employment more genial and suitable, but she doubted
not it would be found.  She would like to speak with Vermuijden, who at
this time was in command of the settlement.  This led her to say that
the Islonian labourers, who had been hired by him, had been so much
persecuted by their neighbours that it had been necessary to find them
lodging within the pale, where they had come to good terms with the
Dutch, and to a particular kindness toward her father and herself.
Bess Boswell had left her father and her tribe, and for the present had
shelter in Sandtoft.  Of these and other matters, which need not be
written, we talked until late.

When I went to my chamber I found my sword and pistols laid in
readiness by my bedside,--and smiled at the superfluous care of Luke,
who, I supposed, had placed them there.  Through the open casement of
my window came the rustle of leaves and the whisper of the wind among
the reeds, and once or twice a faint twitter of some bird dreaming on
his perch.  The stillness was sweet to ears which had been vexed o'
nights with the noise of drunken gamblers, horse-laughs, and oaths and
shouting.  The holy quietness and my happy thoughts soothed me soon to
sleep, from which I was awakened by a great glare of fire through the
window.  Before I had gathered my wits, I heard a shuffling as of many
feet, and as I sprang out of bed and huddled on my clothes, a shot
rang, then other shots were fired, and a general hubbub arose.  As I
opened my door, Doctor Goel came out of the room opposite to mine,
candle in hand, and Anna and her maid appeared immediately afterwards.
We descended to the parlour together, the uproar without increasing
every moment, shouts in Dutch and in English, clash of steel, crash of
stones against woodwork, discharge of firearms, roar and crackle of
burning, and the trampling of a mob hither and thither.  It was the
more confounding to me that I had observed on entering the settlement
how guns had been placed to command the gates, and the doctor had
mentioned other means of defence which had been adopted since the last
assault.  I said something of this, and Anna answered--

"Do you not hear the cry 'Treachery'?  The Islonians have opened the
gates, after over-powering the guard."

I blew out the candle, and then drew one of the shutters back a little
way, and looked out.  By the blaze of some building which I could not
see, but which some one said must be the guard-house everything was
illumed almost as if by daylight.  The thick of the tumult was now at
some distance beyond us westward, but men were fighting in twos and
threes here and there quite near us.  I had said something of rushing
out to bring Mr. Ulceby and his man to our company, when a rabble of
men and women came up, crying, "The witch!" and in the forefront of
them the mad-woman and another old hag capered and yelled like demons.
They were guided by some one who knew the doctor's house, for I had no
sooner closed and bolted the shutter than they began to smash the
window-panes, redoubling their cries.  Pressing danger will at times
quicken my slow wits, but I was at a non-plus now.  The best that I
could do, methought, was to stand at bay and hope for some unforeseen
deliverance.  And in truth that seemed nigh at hand all on a sudden.
The rabble screamed and shouted as if they were being driven off.
Several shots banged close to our ears.  A thundering rap was made at
the door, and Sheffield's voice called out--

"Doctor Goel, open; it is I, your friend Sheffield."

"Yes, open, doctor," said I, "but say nothing of me.  God sends devils
on His good errands sometimes."

As the doctor groped his way to the door, I stepped out into the
passage, and back to the other end of it, so as to see with little
chance of being seen.  When the door opened to give Sheffield entrance,
I caught a glimpse of some of his men well armed, and, beyond them, of
the baffled crowd.

"All in darkness, doctor?" said Sheffield, and called for a lantern,
which one of his men handed to him.

I screened myself within a doorway.  When he and the doctor had entered
the parlour, I drew near enough for eavesdropping, and heard my lord's
mocking speech.

"Yes, Mistress Goel, it is I, the slighted, scorned, rejected
Sheffield, who come to your aid.  A warning reached me that another
attack in force was about to be made on the settlement, most
unfortunately too late for me to obtain military strength sufficient to
disperse the rioters; but hearing a rumour that some of the wretches
intended especial mischief to you under cover of the general assault, I
rode with such of my own knaves as were within call to your rescue.  My
devotion is proof even against your disdain, beautiful Anna.  Come, I
have a horse saddled for your riding, and I and my stout fellows will
conduct you to a safe asylum."

"Have you a horse for my father, my lord?  And for my friend Martha?"

"I' faith, no, my charmer.  I could not at a moment's notice provide
for a whole household, but I will leave two or three musketeers for
their defence."

"Thank you, my lord, I will share their protection and my father's
danger."

"Not so, madame; I leave not one of my troop, unless you ride with me.
Think what you do.  The howling devils outside will tear you limb from
limb, or burn you over a slow fire.  They have sworn you shall not
escape them this time."

"But they will not dare to do me hurt, or if they dare, will not be
able, as long as my lord Sheffield and his men defend me."

"There you are utterly mistaken.  We could not hold out against them
here.  Half a dozen of us might suffice as an escort perhaps, when once
we have crossed the ferry.  The rest of my men shall return to guard
your father and your maid."

"I will not leave them, my lord."

"But, by Heaven, you shall, if I have to drag you off by main force."

And then I heard the clanking of spurred heels and a movement of other
feet, the doctor's voice crying, "Hold!  Stand back, sir," and in the
same instant my love cried, "Frank!"

"As well call upon one of the damned!" cried Sheffield, with a hideous
laugh.

Now, although I was in a white heat of fury, I remembered that the men
outside might hear any loud noise in the room, in spite of the uproar
around them, and, if they were brought in on me, there would be little
likelihood of saving my love.  Nor did I wish to do murder, if I could
rescue her without it, so I drew no weapon as I rushed into the room.
As I entered, Sheffield thrust the doctor violently aside, and seized
Anna round the waist, his back being toward me.  Whether he heard my
step, or something in Anna's face caused him to turn round, I know not,
but he faced about, and for a moment stood as if terror-struck; but,
recovering himself with amazing coolness, he pulled a pistol from his
belt.  Quick though he was, I was quicker.  Catching his right hand
with my left, I struck him a blow with my right, which, in turning to
avoid, he received on the side of his head, and fell all his length as
stiffly as a nine-pin falls.  I held up my hand to enjoin silence while
I bent over him, and saw that he had been stunned.

I was in some perplexity what was next to be done, when some one
touched my shoulder, and on turning round I saw Bess Boswell.  She
whispered rapidly--

"Follow me as silently as you can, women first, men in the rear, doing
just as I do."

She took up the lantern and led the way to the back of the house,
hiding the light under some part of her dress as we came to the kitchen
door, when she zig-zagged from one bit of shadow to another, now of a
pile of wood, now of a bush, now of a tree, for there was a great glare
of red light over all the settlement by this time.

We gained the stockade without being followed--or so we hoped--and
then, one by one, we slipped through the gap, hidden by the willows
which Luke had used to find so convenient.  On the other side of the
fence we were in sheltering darkness, and in some measure secure.  Then
Bess let us know what she would be at.

"There was a boat hereabout yesterday; if you can get by water to
Belshaw, that will give you a good start, for there's no crossing the
fen just now, and the mob must go a long roundabout to catch you, even
if they see you."

"How did you come to our aid just in the nick of time?" I asked.

"I heard what the mob were shouting as they made for the doctor's
house, and was running to be there before them, when I saw Lord
Sheffield and his men ride up and drive the crowd back.  I felt sure
that meant mischief.  When he had posted his men and gone in alone, I
walked up boldly and told the fellows I was required to attend a lady.
They grinned and let me pass.  I bolted and barred the door behind me,
making as little noise as I could.  When I had done that, I perceived
you, for I can see like a cat.  So I waited to know what your game
might be, ready to play it according to your lead.  Now we must find
the boat quick."

Bess it was who found it, and a pair of oars and a pole.  We got in as
quickly and quietly as possible in the darkness--all but Bess, who
stooped to push us off.

"Come with us," said Anna.

"Nay, the load is heavy enough for one pair of oars," she answered,
"and I may be of service best by staying here."

"Not so; come with us, Bess, I beg," said I, speaking in fear of what
might befall her if she remained, the Mulgrave men and the mob knowing,
as they were like to do, that it was by her means we had got away.

She stepped into the stern, gave a thrust of the pole against the bank,
and I plied the oars with my best strength and skill.  As soon almost
as we shot out of the darkness into the glare, a loud voice, which I
knew was Boswell's, shouted--

"There they go--the witch and the murderer of Lord Sheffield!  A
fortune to the man that takes him dead or alive!" and at the same time
the fence became alive with figures, which for an instant stood black
against the light, and then dropped into the darkness where we had been
a minute before, reappearing swiftly, some on one bank, some on the
other.

Our Islonians were too well accustomed to wading and swimming to be
hindered long by water, and they scrambled up the banks at a great rate
and ran after us, firing and throwing stones as they ran, until the
order was shouted--

"Run ahead, you fools, and then stand and fire."

"Cower low," said I to my company in the boat, pulling with all my
might, the sweat pouring down my face.

All obeyed but Bess, who stood up in the stern with the pole in her
hands.

We had sped some furlongs under a continual rain of stones and bullets,
and whether any one was seriously hurt I did not know, nor even whether
I myself had been hit or not, when we were delivered from those of our
pursuers who were on my right hand, by their plunging into a bog.
Another furlong, and we might escape the others by turning into the
Belshaw stream.

While I was saying so to myself--for my panting would not suffer me to
say it aloud--the doctor groaned.  A minute later a sting in my left
arm nearly forced me to let go the oar.  Soon after Martha made a
moaning cry.

"Crouch, Bess--crouch," I tried to say, but knew not whether she heard.
She took no heed if she did, and as at last we neared the mouth of the
smaller stream, she struck something in the water; what I could not
see, for we were now surrounded by the darkness.  Again she struck.
Then she turned and said, "Ease a little."

A great yell rent the night from the Idle bank, as our enemies
discovered that we had left them in the lurch.  Even if they crossed
the Idle, they could not hope to pursue us further over the swamps
which bordered our little river.

I pulled slowly awhile to make sure of being beyond their reach before
stopping to know what hurt had been taken by us.  We could not see, for
our lantern had burned out, or been smothered in the folds in which
Bess had enwrapped it.  Anna, who sat nearest me, affirmed she had
suffered nothing worse than a few bruises; the doctor had a wound in
the left shoulder, which was bleeding freely, he said; Martha had been
struck on the head with a stone, but now felt better; Bess assured me
she had no serious injury, which I could scarce believe, exposed as she
had been.  Well it was for the rest of us that she had risked herself
so boldly.  Twice, in spite of the ready pole, some of our pursuers had
swum out from the bank to lay hold of our craft, and had gone under
with cracked crowns.  All would have been over with us if they had
clutched the gunnel.

Something of this I was saying, when Bess cried, "Cease rowing a
moment."

As she spoke, a hoarse sound of cheering came to our ears, and as it
died away we caught a faint noise of dipping oars, which grew more
distinct while we listened.

"Some of them are following in a boat," said Bess.  "Hand me your
pistols, and row on."

"Look to the priming," said I, as I passed the weapons and bent again
to the oars.  There could be no going fast, for the stream twisted
about sharply at this part, and the darkness was thickened by alders
and willows which leaned over the water, so that I had to feel my way
slowly, lest I ran the boat aground.  Happily, I knew every bend and
shallow well, having been out on the stream duck-shooting scores of
times, though never in such gloom as now.  My hope was that our
pursuers might be less familiar with its windings, in which case they
might stick on a shoal, or foul a bush long enough to give me time to
cross a "broad," which lay a little ahead.

Out on open water, a boat rowed by three or four men would be sure to
overtake us, unless we had a long start of them; but if I could cross
the "broad" before they came up with us, I had some hope of winning the
race; for the remainder of the stream twisted about in a manner full of
difficulty to those who did not thoroughly know its course.  Just as
the channel widened, and I was revolving in my mind by what dodge I
might elude our pursuers, they broke out into loud curses, and I
guessed what had happened to them.  The stream forked a little way
behind us, and one branch soon ran shallow over a bed of pebbles.  If
one pushed over this, one came to a bed of weeds which was quite
impassable.  Our pursuers, I imagined, had come to the shallow, and I
hoped they would go forward.  We could hear they were disputing and
quarrelling.  So I was assured of the long start I wanted, and pulled
cheerily across the mere, rousing the waterfowl by thousands, to the
astonishment of Anna, who had never heard such a thunderous flapping of
wings and such a tumult of screaming, quacking, and cackling.

We gained the entrance to the further stream in safety, and I felt
confident we should reach Belshaw before the other boat could come up
with us.  Not that we should be out of danger there, since it was more
than likely some of the mob would go round by the embankment and the
road, if they had an inkling of our destination, but they could not
possibly arrive for an hour or so, which would give us time either to
go elsewhere, or to take shelter and send a message to Belton, where
there were many stout fellows who would come to the rescue, if they
could be brought to believe that "t' young squire" still lived and
stood in danger.  So I said, encouraging my friends, and as I spoke the
sky began to redden a little in the east.  In half an hour we were in
sight of Drury's place, and a few minutes more brought us to the
landing.  Nothing could we see or hear of the other boat, and
everything was peaceful enough, except Drury's pigs, which were
clamouring for their breakfast.




CHAPTER XX

When we looked to our hurts we were astonished at the slightness of
them.  My shoulder had been struck by a bullet on the rebound, which
had penetrated but a little way and was easily removed; Anna had
escaped with a few bruises; Martha's cut on the head was nasty, but not
serious.  We had a laugh over the doctor's wound, which could not be
discovered, nor was there a spot of blood anywhere on his clothing.  He
must have been splashed with water, which he had imagined was his own
blood.  Bess had had very much the worst injuries, her hands and arms
and face being bruised and cut badly, but the doctor shook his head
chiefly at a bruise on her breast.  How she had kept firm grip on pole
and pistol after that sickening blow--nay, how she had held up at all,
he declared he did not understand.  She smiled and said he had not been
used to doctoring gipsies.  While Doctor Goel attended to us, I sent a
lad to bring such of my old servants and neighbours as might be willing
to help me against the mob, which I felt sure would appear shortly.
Boswell would stir them on with all his craft, I knew.  Happily, it had
already been made known that it was not I who had been buried in the
Belton churchyard, and my friends were ever talking of me, Dame Drury
assured me.  Her husband begged me to go away, and when he found I
would not budge, he growled at the risk he ran of losing property, and
perhaps of seeing his house in flames, in a quarrel which was none of
his.  Dame Drury took a more cheerful view of the matter, being sure
that "t' young squire" would not see them come to harm in the end.  She
bustled about to get breakfast for us, and while we were eating it, she
told me that "cousin John was all of a dither" in his great desire to
see me, and begged the young lady would honour him by going with me to
his chamber.  He lay fully dressed, as his custom was, on his couch,
trembling with eagerness, and, to my amazement, he half rose from his
bed to greet Anna, to whom he spoke with a courtly grace peculiar to
him above all the men I have ever known.

In answer to his inquiries, I ran over the main events of the last
month, and let him know how things stood with us at present.  A great
hurrahing rose outside, and when I went to the window I saw about fifty
men, all, or nearly all, armed with guns and poles.  On sight of me
they cheered madly again, and again.  They were Beltonians, full of
friendliness for me, and more than willing for a fray.

"Tell us what you want with us, Mister Frank," some one called out.

"Tell off three men," I replied, "one to watch on the upper road, one
on the lower road, and one at the landing-place to watch the river.  If
any one sees the mob coming, let him fire as a signal.  I'll tell the
rest my tale and what help I ask of you."

Three men marched off at once to do my bidding.

"Friends and neighbours," I began, "we have no time to waste, so I will
be brief.  As you know, it was given out that I was dead, and a man was
buried under my name in our churchyard; but I had been kidnapped and
carried off to Melwood Priory.  There my enemy cut and carved my face
to make me look the picture of the man who had been buried as Frank
Vavasour.  And I was marked on the chest as he had been marked.
See"--and I threw open my vest.  "This devilish bit of cunning was done
to make me pass as a man who was under sentence of transportation to
Virginia as a slave.  But why?  Because I loved a young lady on whom
Lord Sheffield had set his fancy."  Here I had to stop while my hearers
groaned and eased their feelings with some strong language.  "My lord
thought it would punish me for my presumption, and also leave the lady
at his mercy, if I were so disposed of.  But I broke my prison."  The
men hurrahed until I held up my hand.  "After all, I was caught, and
taken to Hull to lie in prison until the ship was ready to sail.  There
God sent me a friend, who delivered me, and only last evening I came to
Sandtoft to see my lady.  In the night, as I dare say you know, an
attack was made on the settlement.  I believe it was egged on by my
Lord Sheffield.  Certain I am that his agents stirred up some foolish
people to mob my lady as a witch, on purpose that he might come with
some of his retainers to carry her off to Normanby House, under
pretence of rescue.  He did not know I was on the spot.  When I stepped
forth to save her from his clutches, he drew pistol.  Now I give you my
word that, though I had sword by my side and pistol in my belt, I
touched neither.  I knocked him down, and he fell stunned."

"Same as if a horse had kicked him, I warrant," said a voice.

"Now they give out that I killed him."

"Mighty good riddance!" shouted another voice.

"Well, I didn't wish to kill him, and I don't believe I did; but if I
did, I am willing to give myself up----"

"Nay, that you shan't!" came from several parts of the group.

"I am willing to give myself up to the coroner, or any one who has a
just right to try me, but not into the hands of my enemies, who have
been the tools of my Lord Sheffield, for it is too much their interest
to have my life."

"Mustn't be taken to torture chamber!" a voice called out.

Torture chamber was the people's name for the dungeon in Castle
Mulgrave, where the Lord President of the Council of the North was wont
to examine prisoners.  From that chamber men had come with maimed limbs
and shaken wits, men whose only crime was their unwillingness to give
the testimony which his lordship desired.

"I don't think there is much fear of that with so many brave fellows to
stand by me; but if I should be taken or killed, I beg you to defend
this lady and her father until they are under the roof of the Vicar of
Crowle."

So saying, I drew Anna forward to the window.  My words had taken the
colour out of her face and set her trembling, but she spoke with a
clear voice--

"Oh, I am sure you will not let him be killed or taken!"

The sight of her pale face, and the sound of her sweet tones uttered
from quivering lips, roused the men to the highest pitch, and they
answered with one voice--

"Never--never!"

So I went to work about our defence, placing twenty men round the
house, under such shelter as we could find or make with bundles of
reeds from Drury's stack, or anything that came handy.  Twenty more I
disposed in a half circle about fifty yards away, facing the road by
which the enemy must come.  Five of our best shots I appointed to guard
the approach by the river, strictly charging them not to leave their
post; and the remainder of our men, twelve in number, I sent to the
higher ground overlooking the road, so as to be ready to take our
enemies on the flank.

After our disposition had been made, we were reinforced by sixteen men,
whom I sent to join the twelve on the higher ground; bidding them hide
themselves until they heard three blasts from a horn, when they were to
fire and charge down the hill.  I had meant to take the command of this
part of my force myself; but as young Mell came in the last company,
and he was both cool-headed and courageous, I entrusted him with it.
We had ample time for our preparations, for we saw nothing of an enemy
before seven o'clock, when there came in sight a big, disorderly
crowd--about a hundred men in number as near as I could reckon--armed
with poles, crossbows, slings, knives, and a few guns.  Two or three
women accompanied the band.

A little way up the <DW72>, above my semicircle of men, stood an old
pollard willow, which I climbed as a post of observation, keeping my
body in the shelter of its trunk, and having my face well shielded
among the young shoots.  I could see no Mulgrave livery in the crowd,
so I concluded Boswell held the earl's men in reserve.  The mob came
along in a straggling fashion, and did not appear to look for any kind
of defence outside the house, or to note our preparations, so well were
my men covered.  When they came within fifty or sixty paces, I cried,
"Halt, or we fire."

The foremost of them stood and stared; but those behind pressed them
forward.  Some of them espied me, and sent a shower of bolts and stones
about my head.  At the same moment my men fired, and a dozen of the
enemy fell.  This, or some command from the middle of the crowd,
brought them to a stand long enough for my men to reload and prime.
There was no howling or yelling on the part of the others, which
assured me of the presence among them of men who understood something
of discipline, I heard a low buzz of talk among them, and then Boswell
came to the front.

"Give me a hearing, you men of Belton.  We have no quarrel with you.
We want the murderer of my Lord Sheffield," he shouted.

"And the witch!" bawled and screamed a score of voices.

"And the witch," added Boswell.

"Steady, men.  Don't let him draw your fire," said I.  "There's a rush
coming.  Shoot, and retire."

The words were scarce out of my mouth, when the mob hurled a volley of
shots, stones, and bolts, very much at random, and made forward at a
run.  Again more than a dozen of them dropped under my men's fire; but
the rest continued the charge, breaking into shouts of triumph as they
saw my Beltonians run to cover.  Their shouts changed to yells and
curses, as they received a well-directed fire from the second ring, and
I hoped they would turn and run.  But they came on, more enraged than
daunted by their losses, and we were quickly engaged in a hand-to-hand
fight, in which, strange to say, I had little active share, for four of
my men gave me to understand they were my bodyguard, and they stuck to
me so closely that I could not make play with my stout ash pole.  So I
made the best use of my eyes and ears, and it was well that I was
compelled to do so, for while we were being swept to and fro, smiting
and stabbing in a wild medley, some twenty-five or thirty horsemen came
galloping along the lower road--Mulgrave men--with long muskets.

I blew my horn thrice, and the sound almost stopped the fight round the
house.  Up rose the trusty Mell and his men, and one half of them
fired.  Before the Mulgrave fellows could handle their pieces, four or
five saddles were empty and two or three horses were down.  The second
half of Mell's men fired, while their comrades were reloading, with
equal effect.  The earl's retainers were not valiant enough to await a
third volley, but fled helter-skelter the way they had come, all but
those who could neither ride nor run.  Mell followed them out of my
view, and our scrambling struggle, which had slackened for the last few
minutes, went on again fiercely.

There was a sort of method in the fighting of the Boswell party: they
tried hard to drive or draw us to the rear of the house.  Seeing this,
I and my bodyguard worked round toward the front, and as we were doing
so we heard a shot and a cry, "This way, Belton men!"  The voice was
John Drury's, I could swear.  We rushed round, and for an instant stood
as if thunderstricken, for, sure enough, there was John Drury at the
landing-place, bare-headed, his face of a death-like pallor, raising
gun to shoulder.

About fifty yards down stream were three boats filled with men.  Some
of them fired at us as we ran up to John, but did no hurt to any of us,
while his shot brought down its man.  Two of our men, who had
disengaged themselves from the hurly burly, now loaded their guns and
fired on the boats.  To my unspeakable relief, Mell and his men ran up
to our assistance, and poured such a steady fire on them as quickly
drove them out of range.

Leaving four men with John to guard against their return, the rest of
us ranged ourselves in line at a little distance from the scuffling
mass, and I shouted--

"This way, friends, and leave the rascals to us."

Most of our men obeyed promptly, and as soon as they had got out of the
throng reloaded their guns.  We were now the stronger party, about
sixty, with firearms.  The others had more men disabled than we, so
that in numbers we were nearly equal; but they were at a disadvantage
in the matter of weapons, and not a little disheartened by rough
handling and the discomfiture of the horsemen, as I gathered by the
curses which I overheard on "the mongrel curs."

So when I bade them throw down their weapons, they pitched poles,
knives, crossbows, guns to the ground.  They showed some surprise at my
picking them out one by one, bidding each go about his business, but to
take his part in carrying off their wounded men.  In this way I let go
all but Boswell and thirteen gipsy fellows, whom I had securely bound
and laid far apart one from another, Boswell I bestowed safely in an
outhouse under the watch of two guards.  My purpose in this was to
learn the truth about Jim Ulceby's death.  As soon as the prisoners had
been dealt with, I sent some of my men to Crowle to ascertain whether
Mr. and Mrs. Graves were at the vicarage; some to Sandtoft to learn how
things stood there, and particularly to inquire for Mr. Ulceby; and
some to Butterwick to glean what tidings they might of the action of
the earl with regard to his son's death.  Doctor Goel, assisted by Anna
and her maid, had attended to the half-dozen of our men whose injuries
demanded a surgeon's care, and Dame Drury, with her grumbling husband's
help, was busy supplying food and drink to our good friends.  Now I had
leisure to question John concerning the marvel of his rising from the
bed on which he had lain helpless so long.

"I know no more than you," he answered.  "I lay at the window, in a bad
humour enough that I was as useless as a log, looking out over the fen,
and I saw boats on the river.  The men you had posted at the
landing-place had disappeared--gone to join their comrades in the fray,
I suppose.  I called out, but nobody heard, and the boats drew nearer
and nearer; if they were not beaten back you would be taken unawares by
a fresh attack.  Without thinking about the wonder of it, I sprang off
my bed, rushed downstairs, took my cousin's gun, and ran out.  'Twas
the will of Heaven, a miracle on your behalf, and on mine."

I feared his strength, so suddenly restored, might as suddenly fail,
but it did not.  So far as we could see, he was hale and vigorous, and
as active as any man among us.  The doctor cheered us by saying that in
a number of such recoveries, which were well attested, the cure had
been lasting.  I spoke of my astonishment on seeing John move as if to
rise when I took Anna to his chamber.

"Now you speak of it, I remember that," said John; "and it makes my
restoration to accord with ancient precedent.  An angel was sent to
heal me.  'Tis a miracle in proper form and order."

Though he spoke so lightly, the shining in his eyes were eloquent of
feeling too deep for words.

In the course of the day, our scouts returned with the information that
the vicar of Crowle had returned to his parish; that the Dutch had
driven off the invaders of their settlement, and Mr. Ulceby would
shortly arrive; that the old earl was said to be half mad with rage and
grief, and had issued proclamation of a hundred pounds reward for my
apprehension and of severe punishment for any person who should aid or
harbour me.  As President of Council he declared me an outlaw for
having resisted the King's authority with violence, plotted against the
life of the royal commissioner, and murdered Lord Sheffield.  Orders
had been given that all ports were to be watched, and all outgoing
vessels to be searched, and these orders were being carried north,
south, east, and west with all speed.  Warrants had been issued for the
arrest of Doctor Goel, his daughter and servants.  Mr. Ulceby and his
man rode up while we held debate over these tidings.

The first thing, it seemed to me, was to send away the Beltonians, who
might be held the less blamable for protecting me and my friends, if
they could prove they had dispersed on hearing the terms of the earl's
proclamation.  With a good deal of difficulty, I prevailed on the brave
fellows to leave us.  The next question was how to convey my lady and
her father and servant to a place of safety, and Mr. Ulceby proposed
they should ride with him to Hull, where he would put them aboard one
of his own ships bound for Amsterdam; and the doctor now being free to
return to Holland, it was so agreed.  Anna besought me to go along with
them, but as I was sure that my being with them would be likely rather
to hinder their escape than to favour mine, I did not consent.  John
Drury promised to accompany them as far as Hull, and to bring me word
when they were out of Humber.  My lady would fain have had Bess go with
her, now that she had cut herself off from her own people, but Bess
would not, and said she had already engaged to render certain services
to Dame Drury, for which she was to receive food and shelter.

"But what is your intent?" asked John, turning to me.

"To hide in a retreat not far away, which is impossible of access to
any one who does not know the road, and it needs wary walking, even
when one does know it, for it winds through quaking bog and mire-pits
and hidden pools."

"You mean Lindum," said Bess.  "No one knows the way but the hermit."

"You are mistaken, Bess," I answered.  "Daft Jack knows it well, and so
do I.  I spent a week there last autumn, and promised the hermit I
would spend another with him this year.  I shall be in safety there,
and when the hue and cry is over, I will make my way to Holland."

"I think your plan is admirable," said John.  "It is the last place in
the world your enemies will think of, and if they find you are there by
any chance, they will be much at a loss to get at you.  I will remain
here in readiness to join you when it is prudent to break cover.  Has
the hermit pigeons, do you know?"

"Flocks of them."

"Then you have but to bring a few to Messic Mere, or send them by your
host, and I shall be provided with messengers in case of need.  I will
be on the water early on Wednesday, and every day after, until I see or
hear from you."

Then arose question what to do with our prisoners, and in particular
with Boswell.  On going to look into the outhouse in which he had been
confined, I found the place empty.  When the Beltonians withdrew I
forgot Boswell, and he had contrived to escape.  This hastened our
proceedings.  With so wily an enemy at liberty, and perhaps spying upon
us, it was needful to be as quick and crafty as we knew how to be.  In
dealing with the other men, we took counsel with Bess, who bade me and
John talk roughly to them of our intent to shoot them, and while we
were threatening, up came she to make intercession for them, and to
promise on their behalf that they would take no part against us, if we
spared their lives.  She swore them to this in words which the gipsies
consider most binding.  So I bade her release them at a time when I
hoped the travellers would be well on their way.  Mr. Ulceby gave up
for the present the endeavour to ascertain the truth concerning his
son's death, John Drury vowing to search out the matter on his return.

It was not easy to find horses for the party going to Hull.  Mr. Ulceby
and his man had their roadsters, and John was to take my Trueboy, who
was much too frisky after his long idleness, though John had seen to it
that he had some exercise every day, to be ridden by a novice.  Drury
had two horses, one a decent nag, on which the dame went to market, and
this we saddled for Anna.  The other was too old and heavy for our use,
but John caught a sober steed which had carried one of the Mulgrave
troopers, and induced the doctor to mount him, taking Martha on
pillion.  They trusted to doing better in Belton.

Leave-taking had to be short, and for once I was glad that so it must
be, for my love was more despondent than I had ever known her.

"To go over sea and leave you, encompassed with so many perils and
pursued by enemies so bitter and cunning and cruel, nearly breaks my
heart," said she.  "Be persuaded to come with us, Frank."

"That will I not, sweetheart, for there will be sharp watch kept for me
at the port; and if you and your father are seen with me, there will be
small hope of your gaining your country, whereas now you may be
protected by a man well known."

I tried to comfort her by reminding her how marvellously I had been
helped and delivered hitherto; but she took no cheer, saying that I had
never before been in such evil plight; again and again entreating me to
go with them, so that I was driven to be hard with her, for, indeed,
every minute of delay was dangerous.  Thus it fell that we parted
hurriedly at the last, and she rode away very sorrowful.

When she had passed out of my sight, I made haste to prepare for my
journey, Bess and the dame assisting me.  They found clothing for me in
which I looked like a marshman, and put more plaister on my face, the
better to disguise me.  I took gun, pistols, pole and knife, flint and
tinder, a pair of cleat-boards, and a good supply of powder, and
thought I had all I could need; but the dame would have me take a pasty
and a bottle of wine.

"Nay, dame," said I, "there is no occasion to carry victual for my
short journey."

"Call yourself a marshman, and don't know how short journeys turn out
to be long ones!  Many a man has rued he did not take meat and drink
with him when he set out to cross fen."

So, not to vex the kind soul, I added her provision to my load, and set
off within an hour of sunset for the hermitage of Richard Bland, who
was commonly called by the few who knew him "the Wizard" or "the
Madman" of Lindholme.




CHAPTER XXI

There is no need for me to make a long story of how I fared across the
fen to Messic Mere, and, borrowing a punt belonging to Hollings
(without the owner's leave, not daring to show myself), poled up the
river Torne to within half a mile of Wroot, and then struck northward
over the quaking bog to Lindholme.  I missed the right turn more than
once, and had some pretty tough work to do in getting on the track
again, and some narrow escapes from hidden pools and mire-pits; but I
reached Lindholme before darkness fell.

It is an island of gravelly limestone, surrounded by a sea of bog, soft
as sponge and full of water, on which I should not have ventured,
although I knew the course to take, but for my present peril.  For nine
months of the year, Lindholme was then as much cut off from the rest of
the world as if it had been a lonely rock in mid-ocean, for ever beaten
by stormy waves.  In the winter it was accessible by flat-bottomed
boats, and during a hard frost one might walk over, or go on skates.
The islet is about three-quarters of a mile long and an eighth of a
mile wide.  Toward the northern end it rises into a small hill, near
the foot of which there is a spring of clear, sweet water.  How it
comes to pass that there is such a spring, when all the water in the
bog around it is as brown as October ale, I do not understand.  At the
time of which I write, a grove of oaks grew north of the hill, and a
pretty thick plantation of willows and alders occupied the southern
tongue of the island.  The hermit inhabited a stud-bound house with
three rooms, roughly but curiously furnished.  A little way off stood a
row of buildings--three low hovels of stone and half a dozen wooden
huts of different sizes.  Here lived the hermit's servants--a man and
his wife and their son, a big lad of sixteen or seventeen years of age.
Here, too, were kept the hermit's farm-stock--a small bull and four
cows, a dozen sheep, and a large number of poultry.

Bland, or rather his man and boy, cultivated abut one half of the soil
of his domain with plough and spade, getting amazingly heavy crops of
corn and pulse.

The hermit was of middle stature, perhaps five feet eight inches,
strongly built, not remarkable but for his face, which was strangely
irregular, as though it had not been finished in the making.  His nose
was not to be described as Roman, or aquiline, or by any term commonly
used in speaking of that feature.  A child might make one like it in
modelling a face in clay.  His mouth was large, the lower lip hanging.
The eyebrows projected far over his eyes, which had a peculiar look,
due, as one found on close observation, to the fact that the pupil of
one was of a bluish grey and that of the other almost black.  His
abundant dark hair and great beard were streaked with silver.

Rumour assigned various causes for his lonely life, as that he had been
crossed in love; that he had been betrayed by a friend; that he had
sold himself to the devil.  I had made acquaintance with him on Messic
Mere one day, when we happened to meet as both of us were fishing for
pike, and we fell into anglers' talk.  He asked me to his house,
promising me rare sport in fowling, and he made good his word during a
week which I spent with him.  We were much too busy by day, and
sometimes by night, for discourse on anything but our sport, and, when
not so engaged, we were too sleepy for conversation, so I knew no more
of him than that he was an accomplished sportsman, and, as one saw by
his fields and barn and stacks and livestock, a good farmer, though his
way of doing things was new and strange to me.

As I now drew near the hermitage, the dogs rushed out, a mastiff and a
nondescript more like a lurcher than any breed I knew.  At first, they
came on furiously, but quickly knew me and changed their fierceness for
welcoming bark.  Bland came to his door, seeming surprised by their
friendliness to a stranger, but he too knew me as soon as I spoke, and
received me with all kindness.  He looked with some curiosity at my
plaistered face and marshman's attire, but he asked no question, making
me welcome to share his evening meal.  I judged it best to tell him I
had fled from pursuit, and that a price was set on my head, and a ban
laid on any one who might aid and harbour me.  He laughed a loud, sharp
laugh, which scarcely changed his countenance.

"You are none the less welcome for all that," said he.  "Here we defy
the mad world's law.  Eat your supper, and afterwards you shall tell me
as much as you choose."

When my host had heard the reason of my flight, he again assured me of
my welcome.

"Stay with me as long as suits you--the longer the better, so far as I
am concerned.  Now that our work of harvesting is over, I am free to
enjoy myself in your company all day long, and what sport Lindholme can
give you already know."

Thanking my cordial host, I settled down to life in Lindholme, until it
might be possible to make a dash for freedom and safety abroad.

On the Wednesday, Bland would not hear of my venturing to Messic Mere,
as I had engaged to do, but he went himself and brought John Drury to
Lindholme, and conducted him to the Mere again in the evening.

John gave me the comforting news that my lady and her father had got
away to sea without let or hindrance.  Mr. Ulceby sent me word that he
would have a vessel of some sort ready to convey me to Holland,
whenever it might be prudent for me to try to leave England.  John
feared that it would be long before I might do so, for heaven and earth
would be moved to secure my capture, and he highly commended the wisdom
of my host in disallowing me to leave my retreat.  He thought it more
than likely Boswell might have spied on me and guessed my destination.

"If so," he added, "the fellow will keep the knowledge to himself,
until he gives up hope of taking you single-handed.  He will endeavour
so to do, rather than share the reward with others.  Remember the offer
is equal for taking you 'dead or alive!'  So prithee be on thy guard,
my friend."

Some of the earl's officers had visited Belshaw, but could not learn
anything from the women, and John's cousin knew nothing.

John had called at the Crowle vicarage to assure my aunt I was in no
present danger.  There he heard news of Dick Portington, who had been
to London and the Bath with Ryther and his daughter for some time; and
it was commonly reported that Dick and Mistress Ryther were to be
married at Christmas.  So it was not probable that Dick and I should be
on the old terms of close friendship any more.

We had some talk of the defeat of King Christian at Lutter, of which
John had heard in Hull, and of the purpose of King Charles to enroll a
body of volunteers to go to the assistance of his uncle and the cause
of Protestantism.

"If we could but smuggle you out of the Isle," said John, "here might
be an opening for you."

But of smuggling me away there seemed to be no chance just now.  After
we had agreed on a plan of communication, John returned, and I resigned
myself with such composure as I could muster to a sojourn at Lindholme
for an uncertain time, which I must pass as best I could.

There was certainly plenty of such diversion as fowling affords, for at
that time the birds were more abundant all over the Isle than in these
days, and round about Lindholme more numerous than anywhere else, but
difficult to come by on account of the rottenness of the bog and the
height and thickness of the reeds.  I have seen the surface of the
ground for a couple of roods blackened with brent geese, when it was
impossible to get within shot of them, and though flocks of hoopers
(which some call whistling swans) came to feed every evening of my stay
at Lindholme, returning to the seashore every morning, the only manner
of getting a shot was to find some spot beneath their line of flight,
where the ground would bear a man's weight, and there was cover in
which to hide, and such spots were bad to find.  We often heard the
dunbirds (redheads, our marshmen call them) working all night within
half a mile of us, and might have had good sport, if we could have got
near to them in the morning twilight, when they head up together ready
to fly to their day quarters; but that could only be done when rain had
fallen so heavily that there was water sufficient to float a punt.  So,
though game was plentiful, there was occasion for judgment and skill in
taking it, which gave zest to our diversion, and the hermit and I spent
most of the day in the open air, sometimes venturing on to the bog
where he had not dared to go alone.  Of an evening we sat over the fire
awhile, he smoking his pipe and often drinking rather freely of
brandy-wine, until such time as he thought good to climb into his
hammock in the inmost room.  At such times he talked very strangely,
when he had loosened his tongue by drinking, and one of his themes was
the madness of the world.

"'Tis a mad world, Mr. Vavasour," he would say, "consider it how you
will.  The desires and pursuits of ninety-nine out of a hundred men are
so lunatical that we should die of laughing at one another, if we were
not all mad together.  One man sets his heart on acquiring twenty
thousand pounds; he might just as wisely toil to accumulate twenty
thousand red pebbles.  Nay, that would be better, for he might heap up
his pebbles without lying and cheating or harm to any of his
neighbours.  He gets no more good of his pounds than if they were
pebbles, unless you can reckon the envy of his equally foolish
associates as an advantage.  He eats no better than I, sleeps no
better, has no enjoyment which is not mine, and at last he dies,
leaving his pebbles--his pounds I mean--to be the subject of
heart-burning and wrangling among his heirs.  Another idiot is bent on
learning, which means that he loads his memory with a pack of stuff
which is mainly false, and none of it of use for any conceivable
purpose.  He reads what was written ages ago by the flatterers of some
man called great, or by those who took pleasure in defaming him, or by
those who were too cross and stupid to understand him.  He reads of
prodigies which never happened, of monsters which never existed,
speeches which were never spoken, accounts of battles derived from
persons who did not see them.  He is crammed with idle tales and fond
inventions; and other men, addicted to the same follies, give him a
cloak and a cap, and call him doctor.  And the most outrageous part of
the farce is that the men who are appointed to teach poor folk to be
chaste and just and kind, are required to be well versed in tales about
gods and goddesses, which are so full of impurity and wickedness that
no one would dare to English them for the reading of the common people.
'Tis a mad world."

Thus he would go on by the hour when the humour took him, and had it
all his own way with me, for if I put in a word of objection, he
overwhelmed me with a torrent of eloquence, or nimbly skipped off in
some new direction.

One evening he strove to show me that Daft Jack was the sanest man in
our part of the world.

"He is free from the madness of gathering money, being content to live
as the birds and beasts do, without care for the morrow, as your
religion bids you to live.  He has no wish to be talked about after he
is dead and buried, which madmen dignify by calling it desire for fame.
He has not racked his brain over books filled with lies and vain
imaginations; but he knows the whereabout and the ways of fish and
fowl, and how to find and use every herb and root which is good for
food.  His bit of orchard is well kept and tilled, and if you were to
put him down in any quarter of the world, he would know how to get a
living.  And to crown all, he accepts without murmur the name of fool,
which madmen give him."

"Not quite so," I interjected, remembering what the high and mighty
Tunstall had to suffer through calling him so.  This led to my telling
the story, which provoked the hermit to one of his queer fits of
laughter--laughter which did not pucker his face or show in his eyes,
but came from his throat like the noise from a gun.

A few days later, my host spoke freely of his own history, telling me
that his relatives had obtained possession of his estate on the
allegation of his lunacy, and had attempted to shut him up in a bedlam.
He had contrived to effect his escape with money, which sufficed to
stock his farm in a small way; but he had long lived in fear of being
seized and carried off to a madhouse.  Now he had lost the fear, having
been unmolested for some years.  So, at least, he said; but from the
vehemence with which he spoke of the matter, and from some of his
actions, I doubted whether his assurance was as perfect as he affirmed.
He sometimes made the round of the island at night, gun in hand,
preferring to go alone, and on his return, he looked with great
carefulness to the bolts and bars of the door.  That he should have
such fastenings in a place so remote and inaccessible had appeared
strange to me, but at first I set it down to force of habit.

Of the other denizens of the islet I saw little.  The man was a sturdy
fellow of a hangdog look, and spoke mumblingly, so that I could not
make out one word in a dozen.  The woman was of appalling ugliness, and
so unwomanlike as never to speak except when spoken to, and not always
then.  Their son combined the qualities of sire and dam, a lout so
clumsy and hideous that he seemed hardly human, but of immense bodily
strength.  All three gave a sullen obedience to the hermit, often
making surly answer to his commands, but appearing to go in dread of
him.  It was evident they looked on me with disfavour, though why I had
no guess, and I did not give myself the trouble to learn.

A month lagged slowly by, Bland and I spending our days mainly in
shooting, and the short time between supper and bed in converse, or,
rather, in his talking and my listening.  Toward the end of the month
he began to drink deeply, and to talk more wildly than ever.  One
evening, after I had listened with my utmost patience to his railing on
this and that folly of mankind, or what he accounted such, he turned to
the subject of love, which he reckoned the veriest madness of all,
which had been artfully turned by priests and lawmakers for their
profit, and the subjection of their fellows to the institution of
marriage; of which he said many vile and abominable things, confounding
the divine affection of the soul with the instinct that leads animals
to pair, until my gorge rose, and I cried--

"Hold!  I will not sit to listen to this foul raving."

Such fury seized him at my words as I hope I may never see again.  He
sprang to his feet, his eyes glaring, his every limb trembling.

"Dare you call me madman?" he shouted.  "You whom I have sheltered and
fed, lumpish mooncalf, unlettered bumpkin!  Out of my house, or I will
make an end of you!"

As he turned, foaming at the mouth with rage, to reach his gun, I
deemed it best to put the door between us.

At length I saw that the hermit was a madman, whose mind was possessed
with the belief that he alone, of all human creatures, had his right
wits, and the rest of the world was mad.  Some touch of his infirmity I
have seen in others, but nothing so colossal.

'Twas a keen and frosty night, the beginning of a spell of bitter
weather, as I surmised from the silence on the fen.  Many birds, which
stay on the marshes till Christmas, or later in mild winters, I had
seen in flight during the last two or three days, and many more must
have taken their departure, for there to be such extraordinary
quietude.  On the morrow it would be easy to return to Belshaw over the
frozen bog, but it would be foolhardy to venture now, for the thin
crescent of the moon was low down in the west.  I did not choose to
rouse Bland's servants to ask for anything, so I paced up and down the
hill ten or twelve times to warm myself, and then lay down in the barn,
pulling hay over me, and waited for the dawn.  When it came, I tried
Bland's door, and found it unbarred, so I stepped lightly in, and
gathered my belongings together without arousing him, or at least
without his giving any sign of being disturbed.  I had no occasion to
enter the inner room, all my property being in the outer one.  So I
turned my back on Lindholme, uncertain where to hide my head now, but
intending to take counsel with John and Bess.

When I reached Belshaw, soon after seven o'clock, for one could go
swiftly over the ground made firm by the frost, the sight of Dame
Drury's face told me bad news, for her eyes were swollen with weeping.
She broke into such crying and sobbing, when I asked what was amiss,
that she could scarcely tell me her doleful tidings.  Late last night a
troop of musketeers had surrounded the house, and some of them had
entered and laid hold of Bess, whom they had strapped behind one of
their number, and carried her off to Castle Mulgrave.  They had made no
secret of what was intended to be done with her; she was to be
"questioned" of her knowledge of my doings and present abode, as the
fellows had plainly said with many a coarse and brutal jest.  While I
sat with my head in my hand, trying to think of what I should do, John
came to me.

"Nay, be not so utterly downcast, my friend," said he.  "This is none
of Boswell's doing.  Not even he can be such an unnatural fiend as to
give up his daughter to the torment of the rack, or even to look on
while she is tortured.  He must have influence enough with the earl to
save her from that."

"You take too much for granted," I replied, "We don't know that Boswell
is in the earl's service, or that his utmost effort on her behalf would
have a feather's weight.  I can trust to no such peradventure as that."

"But you can do nothing," urged John.  "If Boswell's standing with the
earl avails nothing, what is yours?  What can you offer to induce him
to spare poor Bess?"

"Thanks, ten thousand thanks for the enlightening word," I cried,
grasping John's hand.  "I will offer him Frank Vavasour."

"But Frank Vavasour is not his own to offer.  There are the rights of a
dear lady far away to be considered."

"If I know her, John, she would not think her property in me worth a
bad farthing, if I left Bess to the torture, if I did not do all that
may be done to save her.  Give order for Trueboy to be saddled and
another horse.  Come with me to Castle Mulgrave; we can talk as we
ride."

Dame Drury brought us something to eat and drink, while the horses were
saddled, and in a few minutes we were on our way.  As we rode, I told
John how I had been driven from Lindholme, and we spoke of what was to
be the manner of procedure at the castle.  My first thought had been
that John might deal with the earl, promising to give me up on
condition of the deliverance of Bess; but he had a word to say which
changed the face of affairs.

"A week after you took refuge in Lindholme, I thought we had been
foolish not to pay better attention to the proclamation issued by the
earl.  Here it is.  You see the description is of your appearance as it
was before that villain meddled with your face, and we might have
shipped you off under the eyes of men who had that description in their
hands.  I should have ventured across to Lindholme to speak with you on
this; but feared I might lead the way for your pursuers, and waited
also for the slackening of the hue-and-cry."

"Thank Heaven for your delay.  This may mean the salvation of Bess, and
better terms for me than I had any hope of when we set off.  The earl
and those nearest him may know nothing of my mutilation.  I will take
the chance to negotiate with the earl myself.  I know him as you do
not.  If my scheme prove good, Bess will be handed over to you within
an hour.  What will come of me, remains to be seen.  You will let every
one know where I am, and stir up all the help for me that can be found,
I know right well.  Squire Stovin, Parson Graves, Mr. Ulceby, and
whomsoever else you can think of.  Here we are!  Take Trueboy.  I must
not ride up to the castle, but enter as a marshman should."

We both alighted and gripped hands.

"God give you good luck!" said John.  "I dare not gainsay you, my
friend, for you are doing what I hope I should do, if I were in your
place.  Be sure I will not rest until all is done that may be done, to
snatch you from beneath the old lion's paw."




CHAPTER XXII

The earl maintained a great retinue and a kind of military state, and
the courtyard of his castle was alive this morning with pages and
serving-men in his livery, exercising or bustling about on various
errands; but I had little fear any of them would know me, for not many
of the gentlemen of the isle chose to enter his train, nor did the
common folk relish the restraint and weariness of his service, so the
bulk of those who wore his colours were enlisted from distant parts of
the country.  My confidence was justified, no one accosting me or
taking any heed of me.  I told the porter, using the style of speaking
which matched my apparel, I had tidings for the earl of the first
importance.  He conducted me to a little room, where he bade me wait
the leisure of the steward and left me.  The door of the room stood
ajar, and I heard voices in a room opposite, one of them being
Boswell's.  Needless to say I listened with both ears.

"Oh, sir, persuade the earl to hear me for one moment--I beg for only a
moment."

"You do but waste my time.  I tell you the earl will not see you."

"Then for pity's sake, good Master Nicholas, go you to him and let him
know Vavasour is found.  He is in hiding at Lindholme.  If the earl
will order a dozen men to go with me, the murderer shall be in his
hands this afternoon.  The frost makes the bog like stone."

"His lordship shall hear this, certainly."

"And beg him to spare my girl until I bring Vavasour.  Entreat him to
be so far merciful, Master Nicholas!"

"I will let you know his lordship's pleasure," answered the steward,
and crossed the passage to the room in which I awaited him.

"And what is your business, my man?" he asked loftily, toying with his
gold chain of office.

"To give up the man that killed my Lord Sheffield and get my reward," I
answered in rustic fashion.

"And where is the man?"

"By your leave, that is for his lordship's ear."

"Art insolent, knave?  May'st take thyself off.  Thy information is
late.  We happen to have one of the murderer's familiars on the rack."

"Who knows no more than you do."

"Which chances to be all that is needful.  In a few hours we shall have
the villain."

"If I give him up to you, not else.  'Tis a fool's errand to go to
Lindholme to look for him."

"Ah! how know you that?  To be sure the doors were open.  There's a big
reward offered for the apprehension of the rascal, and a percentage is
due----"

"You shall have one pound out of every ten," I broke in.  While this
man delayed and chaffered, poor Bess might be suffering horribly.

"'Tis a bargain; follow me," he said.

He led me to the chamber in the tower which, I knew, was used for
"questioning" accused prisoners and stubborn witnesses.  Bidding me
remain outside, he entered, closing the door behind him, and in a
minute reappeared and beckoned me in.  The old earl sat wrapped in furs
on one side of the hexagonal room.  Behind him stood a man whom I took
to be a physician; in the corner, to the earl's right hand, stood
another with writing materials on a small, high table in front of him.

The rack lay at his lordship's feet, two stout fellows at each end of
it, with long staves in their hands, the ends inserted in the sockets
of the poles on which the cords are wound.  Bess was stretched by the
wrists and ankles, so that no part of her body touched the floor, with
nothing to cover her save a short smock.  On the instant she knew me,
and a hot flush came into her face; and I turned away my eyes unable to
bear the sight of her pain and shame.  For a moment the same red haze
came over my sight as I saw when Staniforth fell by my side at Thorne,
and a mad humour of smiting them that did the cruelty seized me.  But I
was brought to my senses by the thin, piping voice of the old nobleman--

"My steward informs me you pretend to know where Vavasour is to be
found."

How hard he strove to control himself!  But his voice shook with eager
desire.

"You shall have him safe within the hour, my lord, if you will give me
the reward I ask."

"You speak positively, fellow, of the capture of a man who has evaded
all pursuits for more than a month."

"He has not the ghost of a chance to escape me, my lord.  You shall
have him as fast as a bird in a cage."

"But you want a larger reward than a hundred pounds?  How much?"

"I don't want a penny, my lord.  I ask for what will cost you nothing."

"Shalt have it, whatever it is, only make thy word good," said he,
leaning forward, his eyes fixed on me.

"The boon I ask is liberty for the prisoner on the rack."

"Release her," he ordered.  "And now where is Vavasour."

"Here, my lord--I am he."

The earl rose from his seat, and sank back again, staring.  The clerk
let fall the pen with which he had been making notes.  The four men who
had lowered Bess to the floor gazed on me open-mouthed.

She was the first to speak.  "Your lordship, this is a poor fellow who
has had his head turned by trouble, and his craze is to think himself
Frank Vavasour; but his true name is Jack Unwin.  He has J.U. tattooed
on his chest."

At a sign from the earl, the men laid hands on me and bared my breast,
while the old nobleman sat choking with rage and mortification, glaring
from me to Bess, and from Bess to me.

"My lord," said I, "you have given me your word to let the prisoner go
free.  Her subsequent lie, meant to shield and save me, will not hinder
the fulfilment of your promise.  As for these marks on my breast, and
these scars on my face, the man who inflicted them is now in your
steward's room, and may be compelled to say why he made them, if that
be your pleasure.  But of a surety I am Frank Vavasour, at one time
your son Edmund's boyish friend, and familiar with everything in this
castle."

The earl rubbed his hands.  "Vavasour, assuredly," he said.  "The
matchless impudence proves the breed."

He turned to Bess, who had taken her stand in the utmost shadow she
could find.

"Get you gone, jade, before I order you a whipping."

Then he gave instructions to the steward and the scribe.

"Nicholas, bring hither the fellow Boswell, saying nothing of what has
passed here.  Fetch your book of depositions and informations,
Pennington."

Bess looked at me reproachfully as she went out, and I answered her
with a smile, glad to note she walked not amiss for one who had been
stretched on the rack.  For the minute or two, while the steward and
clerk were absent, the earl leaned back in his chair, gloating on me
like a cat on the mouse she has struck.  When they returned, he said--

"Boswell, look at this fellow, who says he is Frank Vavasour.  What
sayest thou?"

For half a second the gipsy hesitated.

"Quick, man, speak the truth, or----" and his lordship finished his
sentence by a motion of the hand toward the rack.

"It is the man, your lordship."

"Pennington, read me the description of Vavasour given in our
proclamation."

When the clerk had done so, the earl turned on Boswell.

"How comes it that you, who were in my son's service, and knew this
man, did not inform Pennington of the errors in this document?  There
is not a word here of scars on the face or marking on the breast.  What
is the meaning of this?  Subornation?"

"No, my lord.  I did not know of the scars; or if I did, I had
forgotten them."

It was amazing to me that the ready, crafty villain should bungle and
blunder so.

"Forgotten your own handiwork?" asked the earl, in the silkiest tone.

Boswell was so confounded by the question that he had nothing to say.
Before he could recover himself, the earl cried--

"Into the rack with him."

In little more than the twinkling of an eye, the men had pounced on
him, stripped him to his shirt, and tied his feet and hands.  It made
one shudder to think what long practice had made them so dexterous at
the work.  They plied their levers, until their victim was stretched,
and one heard wrists and ankle-joints crack sickeningly.

At a downward wave of the earl's hand they stayed.

"Why did you not report to my secretary the errors in this description?"

"The proclamation had been posted far and wide before I knew of it; and
I was afraid to mention the marks, lest I should be further questioned
concerning them, and I thought to take Vavasour myself."

Again the earl's hand moved, and the levers moved.

"Mercy, my lord, mercy!" groaned the gipsy.

"You kept the knowledge to yourself, at the imminent risk of the
murderer's escape, in hope to make sure of the reward."

"Yes."

"When and where did you inflict the wounds?"

"Last August in Melwood Priory.  Mercy, my lord."

"To what end?"

"Because my Lord Sheffield desired to have him sent to the plantations
under the name and likeness of one Jim Ulceby."

The earl sat silent for what seemed a long time, Boswell moaning feebly
the while.  Then again the hand waved, the levers moved, and Boswell
shrieked in agony.

"My son gave you order to mutilate Vavasour?"

"Yes; I did all by his lordship's command.'"

"Take both prisoners away and bestow them safely in separate dungeons,"
said his lordship; "and bring me a cordial, Nicholas."

The secretary motioned to me to follow him, and two of the men came
behind me.  Pennington led the way down the winding stairs to a dungeon
lighted only by a slit in the wall, and containing no other furniture
than a stone table.

"'Tis more than a trifle cold here, Master Pennington," said I.  "Some
straw for one's feet, and a wrap for one's body, would be welcome."

"I will take my lord's pleasure on the matter," replied the secretary,
who, to do him justice, had little of the Jack-in-office in his manners.

"Pray remind him, Master Pennington, that I have saved him a hundred
pounds, which deserves acknowledgment."

I thought I saw a faint smile on the man's face as he answered--

"You take things easily for a prisoner charged with the murder of the
heir to an earldom."

"Charged with nothing as yet, and well prepared to clear myself from
any such accusation, when I am brought into court of law."

"The President of the Council has large discretion and plenary powers;
nay, has in a sense the royal prerogative," rejoined the secretary.

"Give you my word, I never heard that the King had prerogative to hang
a man without trial."

Master Pennington made me no answer to this, but withdrew, barring and
locking the door on the outside.

I know not how it was that I rose to a jesting temper, now that the
worst had come to me.  Perhaps that was the reason, or it may be my
pleasure in saving Bess from further torment raised me to a jocund
spirit, or the look I saw on the old earl's face, when he heard
Boswell's confession, put heart into me, but truly I was in better
cheer than I had been for many a day.  I knew well enough the scope of
the earl's authority, and how he might override the law in his black
vengeance, but I was nowise daunted.  I could have sung a ballad, if my
lips had not trembled with the cold.

About noon, Master Pennington entered my dungeon, accompanied by two
serving-men, who brought food and wine, and a truss of straw and
blankets.

"His lordship is liberal," said I.

"You owe your provision to the former steward," answered the secretary.
"He still has authority, though past service, and charged me to say
that his rheumatic joints forbid his coming to you, but whatever a
bedridden old man can do shall be done on your behalf."

"The kind old man!  I pray you give him thanks for me.  I owe Master
Wintringham gratitude for many a favour in bygone days."

Three times a day, good food was brought to my dungeon by a
serving-man, but the half-friendly secretary did not come again for
days, and the servitors could not, or would not, tell me news of any
kind.  My condition, so far as bodily comfort went, would have been
tolerable, but for lack of warmth.  I paced the floor, slapped my
shoulders, held boxing bouts with an invisible adversary, jumped till I
had no breath left, all to get me some heat into my body, able to think
of nothing but that I was like to die of cold.  Of nights I wrapped the
coverlets tightly round me, and burrowed in the straw, but could not
sleep for shivering.  After a while, the rigorous weather abated
somewhat, or I became hardened to it, though it was November.  But I
was now to suffer no less by thinking.  My gamesome temper had soon
left me, and I have no words for a description of the heaviness which
followed.

I knew it was in vain to revolve thoughts of escape, for watch was kept
continually, and I had no means to enlarge the long, narrow slit in the
wall that served to give me light and air.  I could do nothing but sit
wondering and waiting miserably, for such was the strange commotion in
my brain, that my prayers for deliverance brought me no hope or
consolation.

So I passed a fortnight, and then the secretary appeared again to
summon me to the presence of the earl, who lay on a couch, looking worn
and feeble, his hands trembling as if he had no control of them.
Behind his couch stood a youth, whom at first I did not know, not
having seen him since he was a child.  He was the earl's heir now, Lord
Butterwick by proper title, but in our country usage, Lord Sheffield.
He inclined his head to me, saying, "Be seated, Mr. Vavasour."'

What this courtesy might portend I could but wonder.  The secretary sat
down at a desk, and I in front of the couch, half stifled by the heat
of the chamber.

"My father wishes you to hear a sworn deposition read, and afterwards
to give your own account of the affair," said the young man.

Pennington took up a paper and read.  It described the doings at
Thorne, when my friend Staniforth was killed, but falsely.  According
to the deponent, the business began by my inciting my comrades to
attack the earl's men, myself leading the assault.  Staniforth's death
was recorded as happening in the thick of the fray.  When the secretary
had finished the reading, I told the story from beginning to end, as I
have before told it in this book.

Lord Butterwick asked me for the names of eyewitnesses, which I gave.

Another deposition was to the effect that I had been seen to go to the
cottage where Daft Jack (John Temperton he was named in the document)
lived; that the deponent had followed me, and heard me use language
tending to encourage him in a design on the life of the King's
Commissioner.  What I had said to Jack, after the event, was cunningly
perverted, and reported as having been said before the scene at the
White Hart.  Again, I gave the true account.  All the time the earl
said not a word, but kept his eyes steadily on me.  Now he turned to
his son, saying something in a voice too low for me to hear, and Lord
Butterwick replied also in a low tone, but I caught the words, "able to
bear more."  After they had spoken together in this manner, Lord
Butterwick turned again to me.

"The earl bids me request your report of the enmity between you and my
late brother."

"My lord, it began long ago in this house; as I think you will
remember, but it came to no more than flouts on his part and scornful
answers on mine, when we chanced to meet, which was not often.  But of
late it has been quickened because we were rivals for the love of
Mistress Goel, whom you know.  Once I smote him on the face, because he
slandered her, but I have done no other ill to him, save a blow with
the fist, defending Mistress Goel from his lust and violence.  God
knows I had no intent to kill him, as may be evident from my smiting
with the fist, when I had weapons at my side and in my belt, nor do I
believe the blow would have given him his death, had he not turned
aside, so that he took it below the ear.  At the time I thought him no
worse than insensible for the moment."

The earl's face grew dark while I spoke, and when I had ended, he said--

"The _peine forte et dure_ might extort a less plausible story."

"The prisoner to be laid on his back, and to have iron placed on his
breast, as much as he can bear and more, and to be fed with bad bread
and stagnant water on alternate days until he testifies truly or dies,"
murmured the secretary, as if he read from a book.

I saw no reason why I should answer, and there was a long silence.  At
last the earl asked--

"Who were present when you struck the blow?"

"Doctor Goel, his daughter, and their serving-maid."

"Where are they now?"

"As I hope and believe, in their own country."

"They fled at your suggestion?"

"Not because they feared to bear testimony for me, but having too much
reason to dread persecution themselves."

The earl's countenance darkened yet more, and his hands shook
violently.  His son bent over his couch, pleading with him, as I judged
by the tone, but did not hear what was said.

"Take away the prisoner," at length the earl commanded; and the
secretary opened the door, and called two men to conduct me again to my
dungeon.  There I remained yet another fortnight; but since I have
dilated upon my suffering there more than enough, I will say nothing
further thereon.

On the last day of November, hearing a dolorous sound of trumpeting, I
climbed on the stone table, from which I could see through my window a
little piece of the road.  Across this small space passed a number of
the earl's serving-men, two by two, in long black cloaks, with black
bands streaming from their hats; then two trumpeters in black, making
mournful music; then an esquire, mounted, and bearing a pennon or
guidon, one half black and the other white.  Next came two grooms on
foot, leading a horse covered with black caparison, the reins being
held by a gentleman on horseback.  A number of gentlemen in mourning
followed two by two, and then two trumpeters.  Was Earl Mulgrave dead
and this his funeral, I asked myself, with a thrill of hope, God
forgive me.  The next comer determined me--a rider, carrying a black
banner with the Mulgrave arms silver-embroidered.  After other
gentlemen in mourning, one passed bearing a black staff with a pair of
spurs on the end of it.  Then came another, who bore the gauntlets in
the same manner, and one carrying sword and target.  Shortly appeared a
gentleman carrying the coronet on a cushion, with two others, one
walking on either side of him.  After them, came one who bore the
mantle, helmet, wreath, and crest.  Then a number of clergymen, two by
two, and one who walked alone.  And now the pall-covered coffin was
carried shoulder-high, pall-bearers, on each side, attended by six
banners, three on the one side, and three on the other.  Another horse
was led behind his master's coffin, and the coach of state followed,
drawn by four horses, all draped in mourning fashion.  Other coaches
rolled by, and after them a long train of gentlemen on horseback passed
slowly, and I sank down to wonder what the old nobleman's death might
mean to me.  Within twenty-four hours I knew.  Master Pennington came
to my dungeon, and, briefly informing me of the late earl's death, bade
me go with him to meet the new lord of Mulgrave Castle.

He dismissed the secretary, and as soon as the door had closed behind
him, said--

"Mr. Vavasour, I am not President of Council, or in any kind of
judgeship, and therefore have no right to detain you prisoner in my
house; but as the brother of the man you killed, it is my duty to hand
you over to the rightful authorities, that you may stand your trial for
the deed."

I bowed my head.

"I am advised there is no evidence against you but your own
confession," continued the young earl.

What a fool I had been to make it, was my first thought.

"But that confession bore so much the seal of truth, and all you said
has been so strongly confirmed by the avowal of the gipsy Boswell, and
by more credible witnesses, that, considering what you have endured
from us, and, to be frank with you, considering how little creditable
to the house of Mulgrave it might be to publish what you have suffered
at our hands, although you and I may not be friends, I incline to think
we might be generous enemies."

I had no answer ready to his surprising speech, which he had either
taken some pains to prepare, or had had prepared for him.  He went on--

"Will you give me your word, Mr. Vavasour, to take your trial, if I
call upon you to do so?"

"Assuredly, my lord," I replied.

"Then you are at liberty to go whither you will.  But worthy Master
Wintringham desires much, to see you before you leave the castle."




CHAPTER XXIII

How good it was to be free!  How beautiful the country was!  Never
before had I seen how graceful is the tracery of bare boughs against
the sky, or what loveliness there is in a snowdrift, or what grandeur
in a wide white prospect.  To swing my legs, and to hear the crunch of
the snow under my feet, were pure delight, and I turned off the causey
again and again, to try the strength of the ice on the marsh, like an
urchin just let out of school.  In sheer wantonness, I threw a snowball
at a solemn heron, who stood in a place where the ice had been broken,
and laughed to see him start and flap sulkily away.  I shouted greeting
to every reed-cutter I passed within hail, and the men looked up from
their work and stared as at some wandering madman.

By the time I reached Belshaw I had sobered down a little, but sang
lustily as I walked, and the noise brought John out in no small
amazement.

"What hallooing and what stir is this to-day?" he cried, as he came to
meet me.  "Why, man alive! what is the meaning of this?  Here are we
scribbling petitions to this and that great one of the earth, sending
post-haste to Lincoln and London, and Lord knows where, and making such
pitiful dole over the pining captive as never was, and behold him as
merry as a cricket!  Hast broken prison?  Burned down Castle Mulgrave?
The answer, quick, before I burst with curiosity."

By this he had both my hands in his.

"'Tis very simple; the young earl gave me my liberty."

"And not too much for him to give thee for his earldom; though whether
he be wise to pay his debt so quickly--well, that's no matter to us."

"What is your news?" I asked.

"That you shall hear over a turf fire with a cup of mulled claret at
your lips or in your fist; not here, where we are like to freeze."

Within an hour I had heard of my friends and their efforts on my
behalf, while I had been in durance, which I need not here set down.

John dashed my spirits no little by his account of Mr. Ulceby's
affairs, who had trusted overmuch in the honour and prosperity of one
with whom he had large dealings, now become bankrupt, so that there was
fear his own business might be ruined.

"Whatever be the upshot," said he, "there can be no present question of
your entering his service, and, so far as you are concerned, I am
content it should be so.  As well cage a swallow, or try to keep salmon
in a pond, as to pen you in a counting-house.  We must cast about for
some likelier means to push your fortune.  What say you to offering our
swords to the King of Sweden in his war against the Poles?  I have
acquaintance with some of his officers, who would be more than willing
to take two such soldiers of fortune."

"You would go?"

"That would I gladly.  And we are comrades, not to be parted, until you
are Benedick, the married man."

I took a little time to think before I gave answer, for I doubted
whether my small store of valuables would sell for as much as would
provide a soldier's outfit and pay my passage to Sweden.  Then I had my
horse's keep to think on.  He had been stabled, fed, and exercised at
Belshaw this long time.

"That cloudy brow says you lack the wherewithal, I suppose.  Surely, I
need not say 'my purse, my person, my extremest means, lie open to your
occasions.'  And while I have lain here, my money has grown to a heap
that will take some spending.  'Tis a kindness to help me, for a sort
of miserliness has been creeping on me of late."

I laughed at this, but John would have it that 'twas no laughing matter.

"As soon as a heap of gold is big enough to hide one of Satan's imps,
there he lurks like a wood-louse under a stone, and whenever you go to
take a piece, he whispers, 'Don't minish the pile, but make it bigger;
dear brother devil, do.'  And he can find fifty diabolical reasons why
you should."

After more talk of this kind, we fell into serious debate, of which the
conclusion was, that we should enter the Swedish army with what speed
we might; so, leaving John to do what was necessary, I rode to Crowle,
rejoicing to be again astride my gallant Trueboy, who gave every sign a
horse can make that he was as well pleased as I.

How my good aunt received me, I lack words to describe.  She threw
herself into my arms, clasped my neck, and then held me off to look at
my face, and wept and laughed and wept again, and in spite of her
sobbing and choking, spoke faster than I ever heard her do before or
since.

"My poor, dear Frank, to think you were alive and well, or at least
alive, while I was breaking my heart over your death!  And the money I
wasted in mourning!  Not that I grudge it, now you are safe and sound.
And Graves spoke so beautifully of you in his sermon, so much more
hopeful you were in heaven than one expected from him, that I cried
like a child in church!  And all the time you were in the hands of
tormentors!  And of all men in the world, that addle-pated Canon Fell
must be here, when you came, seeking a friend in need!  Never again
does the man cross the threshold of my house.  And you were thrust into
a vile prison among thieves and murderers.  Well, we must be thankful
you didn't die of gaol-fever.  'Reckon every misery you miss as a
mercy,' Graves often says; but you have missed few, I am sure.  How I
want to see the dear, good man who delivered you!  And now, they tell
me, he is likely to come to want; truly the ways of Providence are
strange, and not all the sermons in the world will convince me they are
not.  And Lord Sheffield had a hand in the mangling of your dear face.
I shall never believe in man again.  But, Frank, how did you escape?  I
had clean forgotten in the joy of seeing you.  How have you got out of
Castle Mulgrave?  Perhaps they are pursuing you, while I am gabbling
like the foolish old woman I am."

"Not so, auntie.  The young earl set me free this morning."

"God bless him!  This morning, did you say?  And now it is near
supper-time.  You must be starving."

The kind soul did not stay to listen to my protestations, but flew to
her kitchen to hasten supper.

Over that meal, which we had by our two selves, the vicar being away at
a meeting of clergymen, my aunt told me the contents of a letter which
she had received from my father, or part of the contents.  The letter
she did not show me.  He wrote from Amsterdam, whence he purposed to go
to Venice and the East, saying that a Dutch gentleman, with whom he had
made acquaintance, and who had done him service with the Stadtholder,
turned out to be Doctor Goel, and the doctor had informed him I was
still alive, and of all he knew concerning my affairs, which did not go
further than that I was in hiding.  My father took shame to himself for
having been so easily deceived as to my death, and wrote remorsefully
of my mischance and suffering, and bade my aunt convey to me his
forgiveness.

I thought his letter somewhat less than fatherly, even in my aunt's
account, but I said nothing.  She read my silence.

"Bear in mind, Frank, that your father has been hurt in the tenderest
part of him--his pride.  All his life he has been looked up to as the
chief man in the Isle, barring the nobility, and he was confident of
carrying all before him against Vermuijden and the King himself.  And
he has utterly failed.  To such a man as he is, that is tenfold more
bitter than death.  Doubtless, he thinks he would have won the day, if
you had fallen in with his plans."

My aunt desired a full relation of my adventures, and asked many
questions, so that it was late when I retired.  (She sat up to wait the
coming of her husband.)  I found a cheerful fire in my bedroom, and
some hot elderberry wine ready for my drinking, which was better stuff
than some I have paid for as wine of Oporto.  And then I crept to bed,
a feather-bed, with abundant covering, such as I had not lain in for
many weeks, and fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

My aunt made great outcry against my going soldiering in foreign
service.  She had a score of plans for me which she thought better than
pursuit of fortune through cannon smoke and the perils of war; and, in
her anxiety to keep me at home, declared I might become barrister, or
physician, or clerk in holy orders; and when I showed some wonder at
her new estimation of my talents, she was constrained to defend her
opinion by disparaging the parts and learning necessary to lawyers,
doctors, and divines.  She dared to say one might become a sergeant by
dint of brazen face and ready tongue; or win repute as doctor by saying
little, and shaking one's head wisely.  And she even made bold to say
that, in her judgment, the less Greek and Latin a clergyman had the
better.  To such arguments I could find no answer, save that I knew I
was fit for nothing but to be a plain country gentleman, and since that
was denied me, to turn soldier.

We had plenty of leisure to discuss the matter, for it was not until
after Christmas that John heard from his Swedish friends, assuring us
of welcome.  In the meantime I had little to do.  I wrote a long letter
to my love, who replied, agreeing with me, though sorrowfully, that
soldiership was my best occupation.

Mr. Ulceby's affairs were in so much confusion, as he told me, when I
paid him a visit, that he knew not in the least how they would turn
out; and all I could understand, from the account he gave me, was that
two or three thousand pounds would straighten them.  It was great
comfort to him that no man doubted his integrity, or even much impugned
his prudence; for many other merchants had fully trusted the man by
whom he had been deceived.  John Drury had given him no small
consolation, finding where and when his son had died; learning from the
labourer's wife, who nursed him, that the young man had spoken of his
sin against his father with shame and penitence.

"So, I confidently trust," said the good old man, "that the Father in
heaven is not less forgiving than the unworthy one on earth."

In this time of waiting, I took opportunity to see my friend Dick
Portington, and found him at first somewhat dry and cold; but he came
by degrees to a more cordial manner, and at last let me into the secret
of the change which had come over him.

"Hast no grudge against me, Frank?"

"What grudge can I have against thee?  It passes my wit to guess."

"For one thing, I am to be master of thy inheritance."

"It comes to thee, I suppose, as the dower of thy bride?  What offence
can that be to me?"

"Thou might'st have had it, if the lady could have been brought to
favour thy suit.  Can'st be friendly with thy rival?"

"Can give thee joy of thy success, man, and dance at thy wedding, if I
am invited, and not too far away to come to it."

After that we were on the old terms for the while, and had good sport
together among the half-duck and mussel-duck which abounded at
Tudworth.  Dick did me the kindness to take Luke into his service for
the time, who had come to me at the vicarage in hope to be employed;
but there was no work for him, and I had no right to burden the vicar
with another idler's maintenance.

When, at length, John received letters from Sweden, I went to take
farewell of Bess, who remained with her father and grandmother in a
cottage on the east of Belton; the rest of the tribe having gone, as
was their custom at this time of the year, to Nottingham.  When I
entered the house, the grandmother, looking fearfully old and wrinkled,
was cowering over the fire, and Bess sat opposite her, doing some kind
of sewing.  The aged crone turned her head, and, seeing me, began to
laugh, jabbering in her gipsy tongue, as if to bid me welcome, and
would have risen, but Bess gently forced her back into her seat.  This
mightily incensed the old woman, and she chattered and screamed in
anger at Bess, beckoning me to come nearer.  As I stood, unable to
comprehend all this, Bess said to me--

"Go outside, and I will come to you when she is pacified."

In a little time she appeared.

"Poor Grannie takes you for her husband, who left her in her youth, and
went back to his own people."

"His own people?" I echoed.

"He was a gentile who joined our tribe and took the name of Boswell.
What his name was, or whence he came, I know not, for Grannie had grown
feeble in mind with age, before I heard anything of the story; but my
father has brooded on it for years, and persuaded himself that his
father was some one of note and wealth, and the marriage lawful, and he
himself the heir by right to an estate.  He has some papers and
trinkets by which he sets great store, as proofs of his notion.  'Tis
his belief that if he had money wherewith to fee lawyers, he might oust
some man now in wrongful possession of his place and property."

"Is this all you know, Bess?"

"All, except Grannie's name for her faithless husband.  She calls him
'Harry.'"

While Bess was speaking I recalled to mind a tale of my grandfather
Henry Vavasour, which Mr. Butharwick had told me; how he had left home
to wander with the gipsies for some years, a very mad-cap, full of
pranks, and returned to his proper station on his father's death.
Could it be that the gipsy-girl and I were cousins, and she, perchance,
by right the mistress of Temple Belwood?  I knew that my likeness to my
grandfather had struck some who knew him.  Was the old woman not
altogether crazy, but only forgetful of the lapse of time?

"Suppose your father's fancy should be true, Bess, and you the heiress
of some rich man, or noble of the land."

Bess laughed.  "I give no credent ear to the dream; and if it should
come true, the gentile might remain undisturbed for me.  I love the
tent--even now I choke for air inside cottage walls."

"But a mansion, Bess, a house like Temple, say."

"So much the more a prison, room within room, and the life a slavery to
bells and striking clocks, a dull round of doing the same thing at the
same hour.  I suffocate to think of it."

"There are comforts and conveniencies, Bess."

"You think them so because custom makes them necessary.  You shut
yourselves in a stuffy chamber and heap blankets and sheets on you, for
it is bedtime, whether you are drowsy or not; whether the night be
dull, or more splendid than the day.  To rest, when you are weary, on
sweet smelling heather, lulled by the still noises of the night, the
wind in the grass, the cries of night-birds, the faint sound of moving
water--is not to your liking.  How should it be, when you have not
tried it?  Or to roam, the night through, under a sky shining with
stars, when the trees have donned their robes of lovely mist, and the
creatures which are afraid of man are abroad, the beasts and birds and
creeping and flying things that love the dark, hold stillness of the
night; what do you know of this, you who are never out in the dusk,
except to kill, or to hurry from this house to that?"

"Not so delightsome in midwinter, methinks."

"If there is anything on earth more gay and glorious than a ramble by
night, when there is a moon, and a nor'west wind blows, bringing snow
showers, followed by calm spells, during which the heaven is clear, and
the world is wrapped in whiteness and light, I don't know of it."

"But do you never wish for some better shelter than the tent on these
same winter nights, when the frost bites shrewdly?  You cannot always
be wandering by moonlight."

"Better shelter there is none.  You gentiles have coddled yourselves in
hot, close rooms, so that the wholesome cold, which should strengthen
you, gives you wheezy lungs and rheumatic diseases."

"'Tis good hearing that a tent is so healthy, for I shall soon have no
better dwelling.  Am going for a soldier."

"To France?"

"No; such war as Buckingham may make will be no schooling in the
military art, or give promotion to those who deserve it.  Drury and I
are bound for Sweden the day after to-morrow, and I came to say
good-bye."

Bess's face took on its look of musing, her eyes gazing into the
distance.  Then with perplexity in her face, she said--

"It is strange I have had no forewarning of this."

"What mean you?  You don't in sober truth believe in the gift of
prophecy, which your tribe pretend to!"

"I don't believe in it: I have it.  We who live in Nature's bosom, and
do not corrupt soul or body, hear and see what you house-dwellers
cannot.  Perhaps the spirits of the dead whisper to us, I know not; but
we see pictures, and hear voices, and dream dreams, that warn us of
things to come.  Why should it be incredible to you?  Did not your lady
see you in peril?  By that token I knew her heart and nature."

"And you deal in all honesty when you promise rich husbands to farmers'
daughters, and astound them by knowing what the kitchen wench told you?"

Bess laughed merrily.

"What harm is done by giving them pleasant dreams?  But of your affairs
now?  Are you taking no steps against my father?"

"I have taken none."

"Then in kindness to me, do not.  He is a broken man, and has not
recovered the full use of his limbs, since he was racked by the old
earl.  He was overcome by your giving up yourself to save me, for he
loves me in his fashion, and he made a clean breast to the young lord
of all the practice against you."

"If I bore him malice never so much, it should be thrown to the wind
for your sake, Bess, to whom I owe more than can be repaid."

"When you come back from the wars with honour and riches, you may repay
any service the gipsy girl has done you a thousandfold."

"How?"

"By using voice and influence to protect a persecuted people."

"I never heard of your folk being persecuted in the Isle."

"No; the cruel laws do not trouble us in this corner of the land, but
this very year, twenty of our men were burned in Haddington, and as
many women hanged."

"Had they been sheep-stealing?"

"Their only crime was their gipsy blood.  They were condemned 'for
being Egyptians.'  And just now we are being harried in Durham and in
Yorkshire.  You don't know your law, justice of the peace that you
would have been, if you had come to be squire of Temple."

"In truth, I don't, if this be law.  Are you sure on't?"

"I have seen a woman of our own tribe flogged along the streets, half
naked, with her baby at her breast, sheltering its little body from the
lash of the scourge with her bare and bleeding arms, and, after the
flogging, she was branded in the cheek with a hot iron 'for being an
Egyptian.'"

"Why do your people abide in England, then?"

"Because it is worse for them elsewhere."

"If ever I come to be in any kind of authority, things shall be so far
better in England as one man can make them, that I swear."

"God be with you, your Shield and Preserver, and bring you home again
to your own country, able and willing to keep your vow."

So we clasped hands and parted.




CHAPTER XXIV

A letter from Anna awaited me on my return to the vicarage, from which
I copy as much as it is fit for other eyes than mine to see.

"An armourer in Amsterdam has made himself a name and great gain by a
shirt of mail, which is said to be verily pistol proof, and, at the
same time, more light and flexible than any heretofore made.  I have
sent one for you, and one for your friend, and trust they will come to
hand in time, and prove as useful as our military friends say they are.
It will be great joy to me, if the idle gew-gaws with which they were
bought have been converted into stout and serviceable covering for the
breast of my reckless soldier and his comrade.  I try to persuade
myself that danger flees from those who court it, for well I know you
will ever be in the forefront of battle, when you anywise may.  But for
my sake, pray remember that there is a soldierly prudence.

"We have been here at the Hague for some weeks, my father having been
called in to consult with the Stadtholder's physician; but in a few
days we go to Leyden, where a professorship has been found for my
father.  Strangely enough, my father has made acquaintance with yours,
who had some business with the Stadtholder, and they fell into a mutual
liking, before either knew the other's name.  If they had but met in
Axholme, how many evils might have been averted!  Mr. Vavasour is about
to go on some secret embassy to the East, at the instance of friends,
who are in authority at Venice.  Doubtless you know more of these
Italian gentlemen.  He spent more than an hour with us in our lodging,
and made me think him a great and magnanimous man, who might have done
the state much service, if he had been more highly placed.  But he has
sorely lacked woman's counsel to remind him of the near duty and the
plain, homely wisdom which women have by instinct.  Be you warned in
time, my Frank.  Your father has ruined his estate for want of a
housewife's wit!

"You will be pleased to know that his leave-taking with me had a touch
of fatherliness....

"There is high dispute among the natural philosophers at Leyden whether
it be true that some trees produce flowers but no fruit, and others
fruit without flowers.  My father bids me ask your answer to these
questions following: Do oaks and beeches bear no flowers?  Do the elm,
poplar, and box bear neither flower nor fruit?  He is reconciled to
having you as a son-in-law, partly by the quickness and sureness with
which you see and observe!  Said he to me but yesterday, 'If Frank were
here, I believe I could prove that fruit is preceded by blossom far
more often than has been supposed.'  Yes; he called you 'Frank.'  How I
wish you were here, instead of preparing for Sweden and all the chances
and horrors of the battlefield!  Is it utterly impossible for you to
come here before you join the army of King Gustavus?"

When I had read and re-read my letter, and while I was giving my aunt
the news it contained, and the messages for herself, Dick Portington
came in to bid me to a supper the next evening at the White Hart, where
a number of old friends would meet, to wish me a good voyage, and drink
to our next merry meeting.  Although I had no great inclining to a
banquet on the last evening before my departure, I could not bring my
mind to offend my well-wishers by a refusal.

Dame Hind outdid herself in the provision she made for the feast, which
was spread in the "court-room," the same in which Commissioner Tunstall
had trouble with the wasps.  Squire Stovin presided, whose ancestor was
chief of the bowmen in the army of the Conqueror at Senlac Field.  He
was accounted one of the wisest and boldest gentlemen of the Isle.
With him was his son George, a little older than I, and a good comrade.
There were present also Squire Mell of Belton, and his son, who had
stood by me at Belshaw, and Dick Portington and his father, the Squire
of Tudworth, and some other gentlemen (twelve or more) whose names have
not appeared in my pages, besides a few men of humbler condition, among
them being Daft Jack and my man Luke.

Over supper the talk at our table ran on the affairs of the nation; the
seizure of our ships by the Duke of Epernon, and the coming war with
France; the mystery of the policy of the King, or rather of the Duke of
Buckingham.  Some one voiced the opinion that the favourite had deep
designs, incomprehensible to the vulgar.  Squire Stovin laughed in
contempt.

"Say 'contradictory to all the adages of common folk' and I am with
you.  'You cannot have your cake and eat your cake,' runs the saw;
Buckingham thinks he can.  He believes the sky will rain potatoes, if
he wishes it.  He rules England just as much as the weathercock on my
barn rules the wind."

"We may hope for better days, think you not," asked Squire Mell, "since
the judges have at last taken a stand, and declared the new loan
illegal?"

"I see not much promise in that, since the King's answer is to dismiss
Sir Randal Carew from his Chief Justiceship," replied Stovin.  "That is
as high-handed a piece of tyranny as the sale of our land over our
heads to the Dutchman; and the country takes it as tamely as we have
ta'en the loss of our property and our rights."

"There are more than fifty gentlemen of the county committed to prison
for refusing to pay the money demanded," said one.

"Ten of them had been appointed commissioners to collect the loan,"
said another.

"I heard a rumour the other day," said a third, "that the Earl of
Lincoln is to be sent to the Tower."

"These are not times for our young men to be enlisting for foreign
service; there will be civil war in England before we are much older,"
declared Squire Portington.

"There's not much sign of it yet," growled Stovin.  "We are too
white-livered for 't.  But 'tis no bad thing some of our lads should
learn how to win battles under a master of the art."

"Vavasour and Drury will be apt pupils, I warrant," said the younger
Mell.  "He is a good captain who knows how to get the victory when he
is outnumbered three to one, and the enemy has horsemen and he footmen
only.  How the Mulgrave men fled at Belshaw!"

"Nay, the chief credit for that must be put down to thee," I replied.

"The Mulgrave men are not likely to be the tools of oppression in
future," remarked Squire Mell.  "The young earl is reducing the number
of his train.  And I have it on good authority that he has put the case
of the Isle Commoners to my Lord Scrope in a new light.  He is a just
young man, and judicious beyond his years."

"The guest of the evening has reason to think so," some one said.

"Owes Frank for his coronet," another shouted.

"His earldom came to him by the judgment of the Almighty," answered
Mell, gravely.  "We know Vavasour had no intent to kill Lord Sheffield
on the best of testimony--that of Frank himself, who would not lie to
save his neck."

"'A speaks as straight as 'a hits and shoots," cried a voice from the
other table.

"For my part," continued Mell, "I applaud the earl's courage in
despising misconstruction."

"What is the meaning of the uproar below?" asked Portington, as we all
listened to a noise of voices in anger and alarm, which came through
the side door, just opened for the carrying out of the remnants of
supper.

At the same moment, a servant rushed into the room, almost breathless.

"Would your honour condescend to come to give order what's to be done
with a murthering villain?" she panted toward Squire Stovin.

A dozen men hurried forward, but the squire called out--

"Order, gentlemen.  Be so good as to remain until I have seen what's
the matter.  Portington, Drury, Vavasour, follow me."

At first we could scarcely see, the change being great from the light
of many wax candles to the dimness of the few tallow dips in tin
sconces of the common room of the inn; but shortly we discerned a
fellow held down on a chair by two men, Host Hind standing over him
with a stout cudgel in his hand, and a group of labourers and the like,
who had been disturbed at their potations, as was plain by an
overturned table, and a quantity of liquor spilled on the floor, and
the shards of a broken jug.  Briefly told, the matter stood thus: the
man now on the chair had come, wrapped in a horseman's long cloak, and
wearing a big beard; had called for Schiedam, and sat drinking by
himself.  A wandering <DW36> who played a pipe had entertained the
company with the tricks of a Barbary ape, which made the round of the
room after the performance, holding out a box for the gifts of the
liberal.  When the man in the cloak took no heed of him, the animal had
pulled at his beard, which came off in his paw, whereupon the man had
struck the beast, and the beast had instantly fastened his teeth in the
man's hand.  A scuffle followed, the stranger beating and trying to
shake off the ape, its owner endeavouring to save the animal from the
heavy blows which the stranger dealt on its head, and the company
making confusion worse by crowding on the queer combatants.  As soon as
the ape had been struck down, the stranger had kicked it furiously, and
also its owner the <DW36>, which stirred the ire of the spectators,
who seized him, calling him a brutish villain.  In struggling with
them, the man had lost his cloak, revealing pistols in his belt, one of
which he had pulled out, threatening to shoot.  Host Hind had rapped
him over the knuckles with his cudgel, called on two stout fellows to
hold him, and sent a servant to Justice Stovin.

"Hold up your head, and let me have a closer sight of you; you and I
have met before, or I am grossly mistaken."

So saying, the Squire took a candle from the wall, and passed it before
the man's face, and I saw it was Vliet.

"Let every man in the room go elsewhere for a few minutes, barring the
landlord and the gentlemen who accompanied me."

When the order had been obeyed, the Squire bade Hind to pinion the
prisoner.  Vliet looked at me with murderous eyes, but sullenly
submitted.

"Now I have saved you from being made dogs' meat," said the Squire.
"If the honest fellows in the house knew you were the Sebastian Vliet
who escaped from arrest on the charge of attempted murder, and guessed
you were lurking here, disguised, expecting that it would be easy to
shoot a man, merry with wine, and thinking no evil, they would tear you
limb from limb--small blame to them.  Do you understand me?"

"If you permit," said John to the Squire, "I will be your interpreter."

Squire Stovin nodded, and there ensued some interchange of speech
between the two.

"You have said much more than I did," quoth the Squire.

"I added a word of advice about the ape's bite, for which I received
some choice Dutch blasphemy."

"What was the advice?"

"To allow me to apply a white-hot poker to the wound.  The bite of an
ape is a nasty thing."

"And what was the reply?" asked Dick.

"Stripped of the cursing, it was to the effect that my gentleman could
make better use of a hot poker than to burn himself with it.  Excuse me
from repeating the precise terms: they were not in the best taste."

"Give him to understand that he will be removed to the lock-up, where
he will be strongly guarded, and committed to Lincoln to-morrow."

"And you will give order that his hurt be looked to, will you not,
Squire?" I put in.

"Why, in Heaven's name, should I concern myself about his rascally
carcase?  Why you should, God only knows."

I certainly did not know; but, nevertheless, a sort of pity had filled
me for the wretched man, who had lost so much; love, above all, health,
as his bloated face and body showed, his money, as I suspected from his
threadbare garments, and every remnant of gentility and self-respect,
as he proved by look and word and tone.  Poor soldier of fortune though
I was, I had infinite wealth in comparison.

"Well, be it so," said the Squire.  "I will send for Tankersley."

Then Vliet burst out into a torrent of oaths in English, and the Squire
bade John and me return to our friends, while he took measures for the
safe custody of the prisoner.  When we had satisfied the curiosity of
our friends, and the Squire reappeared, the festivities went on again.
After the King's health had been drunk, the Squire wishing him "wiser
counsellors," my old friend made a speech about me, in which he said
far more than it would be decent for me to write, even if I could
remember it all.  But some of his words dealt with the state of things
in the Isle, and are, in my judgment, well worthy of remembrance.

"There have been Vavasours at Temple Belwood more than two hundred
years, and most of them gentlemen of a public mind, but none more so
than our 'solicitor,' Thomas Vavasour.  He has lost his patrimony in
defending our rights and properties.  In all likelihood, he would not
have relinquished his estate, but for his belief that his son was dead,
and right sure I am that every gentleman in the Isle would have done
what in his power lay, to retain the honourable family of Vavasour in
its rightful seat.  I may say that I, for one, endeavoured to persuade
our solicitor to accept contributions from the Isle Commoners, towards
the expenditure needful to maintain our cause, and I think it an error
in judgment that he declined, but it was the error of a proud and
generous man, and, moreover, of a man who had confidence in the
administration of law in this country.  His confidence was so far
justified, that the highest court of law in the land decided in his
favour, as it was bound to do.  Mr. Vavasour did not expect that law
and justice would be overridden by royal prerogative.  No man expected
that.  We have fallen on evil times, when a man's property may be taken
from him by a stronger than he, on the plea that the stronger man can
make a better use of it than the rightful owner.  You may by and by
have Charles and Cornelius walking into your grounds.  They see a lake.
Says Cornelius to Charles, 'I should like to fill up that lake, and
grow potatoes there.'  'Says Charles to Cornelius, 'Give me so much,
and you may.'  And in spite of law and equity and reason, because
Charles and Cornelius are giants, and you are a man of ordinary size,
they do as they please.  And they have the impudence to call themselves
benefactors for growing potatoes where no potatoes grew before!  But I
crave pardon, gentlemen, for threshing this old straw over again.  I
will add but this: We have learned to our cost that the Dutchman's
plans are as bad as his title.  So the men of the south of the Isle
have learned, and those who live on the border of the West Riding.  I
am sure the outfall will be choked up in a few years.  The whole
business is wrong, and will end in the ruin of the projectors, and then
the inhabitants of the Isle may regain their rights.  We are not likely
to receive amends for our losses, I fear.  One of our losses is the
banishment of our solicitor and of his son, our guest."

The remainder of the Squire's speech was given to commendation of me,
and good wishes for my future prosperity.  The health was drunk with
cheering enough to shake the rafters, which was renewed, when I made
the best reply I could to the kind things said by the Squire, and
shouted from end to end of the tables.

Then the younger Mell called on us in a pleasant vein of talk to drink
the health of John Drury; and John made a speech, full of merry quips
and jests, that set us all laughing and put formality to rout.

While tongues were wagging of blithesome days in the forest, now no
more to be enjoyed, of salmon-spearing in Trent, of otter hunts in Don,
of duck-shooting on the meres, and the like sports and pastimes of the
Isle, the wine flowing freely, and every other man blowing a cloud of
tobacco-smoke from his lips, the landlord came to whisper in my ear
that some one, whose name I did not catch, begged to have a word with
me.

"Speak up, mine host," said I.  "Who is it?"

"'Tis lawyer Gibberd from Hatfield, on pressing business, he says.  And
pressing it must be to bring such as he out on this bitter night.  His
feet were frozen to the stirrups, and his face and hands were awmost
dead, but we've rubbed 'em well with snow.  Says he's been well-high
flayed out of his wits by highwaymen.  He's been to the vicarage, and
they sent him on here."

Before Hind had ended, nearly every one in the room was listening; and
when I rose to go with him, wondering what this Gibberd, whose name I
did not remember having heard, could want with me, Squire Stovin said--

"We have had one queer fish here this evening.  By your leave,
Vavasour, I will see whether the man is Gibberd."

I bowed and sat down, and the Squire went out, the younger Mell
attending him.  They returned shortly, bringing an elderly man with
them, who blinked and coughed and trembled, as he took the chair placed
for him.

"Fill a cup of brandy-wine for Mr. Gibberd," ordered the Squire.
"Drink it off, man, and then tell Vavasour your news."

When the man of law had quaffed his drink, and coughed again, he began--

"You will pardon my intrusion on this festive occasion, and at this
late hour, urgent business being my excuse.  Indeed, if it had not been
of a most pressing nature, I should not have faced the rigour of the
weather, and the perils of the road, for I am by habit a home-keeping
man, and not accustomed to be abroad after dark, especially at this
time of the year.  But as I chanced to hear, quite by accident, of your
intention to leave the country to-morrow, though I was not fully
assured of the truth of the information, I thought myself in duty bound
to use the utmost haste and diligence in acquainting you with facts of
the utmost consequence, being, in a sense, your professional adviser,
at least for the immediate present, and as I hope and trust in the
future also."

"Poor man! the frost has touched his brain," said Dick.

"But not his tongue," laughed John.

"If you can come to the point, I shall be obliged, Mr. Gibberd," said I.

Mr. Gibberd coughed, helped himself to a little more liquor, and
continued--

"I had the honour to be the legal adviser of the late Mr. Staniforth,
who died yesterday, very suddenly at the last, poor gentleman, though
in my experience it is always sudden.  Perhaps I should more correctly
say 'observation,' but no matter.  Of late, Mr. Staniforth has found
comfort in making several testamentary dispositions of his property;
since the death of his much-lamented son, he has done so often----"

"Let's have an end to this prolixity, man," thundered Squire Stovin.
"You made poor old Staniforth's last will and testament?  Is that what
you mean?"

"I did."

"And he has left something to Mr. Frank Vavasour, eh?"

"He has left to Mr. Frank Vavasour, on condition of his taking the name
of Staniforth, his house known as Staniforth Hall, his----"

"Cut it short, Mr. Gibberd; spare us the language of the law," said I.

"Everything he had is yours, Mr. Vavasour; his property in Staniforth,
Sykehouse, Fishlake, Cowick, Baln, and Pollington; his money out on
mortgage----"

Dick jumped up.  "Fill your cups, gentlemen.  Here's to Frank
Vavasour-Staniforth, or Staniforth-Vavasour, wishing him joy of his
inheritance, and then three times three."

What an uproar the good fellows made!  And when they had finished the
three times three, some one shouted "One more!" and then another called
for "Just a little one," and another for "A good one to end up with."

And so they went on, until they had made themselves hoarse and dry.
Luke came and stood behind my chair.

"Ye can't do bout a bodysarvant now, Measter Frank.  'Tis my place.  No
running your head again' cannon bullets i' forrin parts, now.  When be
we agoin' to Holland?"

John gripped my hand, saying, "I suppose Providence makes no mistakes,
but I could wish this stroke had not come just now.  I hoped to see you
a colonel at least, but Mistress Goel will forbid it."

"The first thing to be done," I answered, "is to go to the help of that
worthy man in Hull."

"To-morrow, early," he answered heartily.

While this passed, the room was full of clamour of talk and laughter,
which grew louder every moment, until Squire Stovin's great voice
called for order.

"Gentlemen," said he, "this has been a trying time for our guest.  I
never heard that coming in to fortune killed a man, but this sudden
change in our friend's affairs is something of a shock.  If you will
accept my ruling, we will drink a parting cup, and go home.  Frank
shall invite us to a merry meeting as soon as he finds it convenient."

To this all agreed, and at length, after much handshaking, John and I
walked together to the vicarage.

"You, too, will renounce the Swedish project," said I.

"Nay," he answered; "if I don't go abroad, I shall turn gipsy."




THE END




NOVELS BY WILLIAM J. LOCKE


Jaffery

Crown 8vo. 6s.

_Press Opinions_

"'Jaffery' is certainly a novel on which the sun should shine.  Mr.
Locke has never written a better story than it contains, nor has he
ever written anything in which there glowed more brightly his faith in
human character....  It adds to the author's reputation without
altering its character."--_Standard_.

"'Jaffery' will strengthen the hold Mr. Locke has on his great
following.  It is a better book than any of the last two or three he
has given us.  It has the advantage of telling a story.  If 'Jaffery'
does not 'boom' even as Adrian Boldero's stolen novel 'The Diamond
Gate' 'boomed,' then will the effect of the war on fiction be greater
than we deemed or have found it."--_Daily Chronicle_.

"The story is full of interest and incident, it has both pathos and
humour, and all those romantic qualities always associated with Mr.
Locke's work, and is written with all that characteristic charm of
manner and joyous love of life which make his novels so
welcome."--_Globe_.

"In 'Jaffery' Mr. Locke has given us one of the most engaging of his
many engaging novels....  Presented wittily, gracefully, and with a
fine romantical good humour, they enliven the world of fiction and of
fact amazingly."--_Observer_.

"With 'Jaffery' one may forget everything else.  The book bubbles over
with the gaiety of life.  Good-humoured, kindly natured, with its
pleasant literary flavour and scintillating wit, it is a true Locke
story of the first class."--_Truth_.

"Mr. Locke has added another humorous portrait to his already large
gallery of fantastic creations....  Ras Fendihook is a miniature
masterpiece, and we are forced to believe in Barbara, the shrewdly kind
wife of the raisonneur."--_Times_.


Simon the Jester

Crown 8vo, 6s; also Popular Edition, Cloth, Crown 8vo, 1s net.

_Press Opinions_

W. L. COURTNEY in _The Daily Telegraph_.--"You will not put down the
book until you have read the last page.  The story is not the main part
of Mr. Locke's book.  It is the style, the quality of the writing, the
atmosphere of the novel, the easy pervasive charm ... which makes us
feel once more the stirring pulses and eager blood of deathless
romance."

_Morning Post_.--"We thoroughly recommend 'Simon the Jester,' and can
promise an enjoyable time in the company of the miscellaneous
assortment of people from all ranks and classes who dance through its
pages to Mr. Locke's many tunes."

_Standard_.--"It is much the best of his sentimental stories, without
forgetting for an instant the illiterate Carlotta and the gushing
Paragot; the writing of it has a style, a grace, that owes something to
the immortal author of 'Sylvestre Bonnard' and 'M. Bergeret a Paris'."


The Beloved Vagabond

Crown 8vo, 6s; also Popular Edition, Cloth, Crown 8vo, 1s net.

_Press Opinions_

_Morning Post_.--"It would not be surprising if 'Beloved Vagabond'
became the favourite novel of the season....  This fantastic and
enlivening book."

_Truth_.--"Certainly it is the most brilliant piece of work Mr. Locke
has done."

_Daily Telegraph_.--"Mr. Locke, who has a happy gift for
characterisation, and who writes in the easy cultured style of the
scholar, has been quite successful in delineating his hero."

_Liverpool Courier_.--"'The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne' was emphatically
the book of a year.  It was irresistible.  'The Beloved Vagabond' is in
many respects a better book.  Mr. Locke is an artist in method and in
style.  English so distinguished and so unaffected as he employs is a
refreshment to the reader, and the spirit of the tale, with its
beautiful, touching and mellow humanity, its wisdom and its poetry, is
deeply impressive.  It is a memorable book."

_Globe_.--"Mr. Locke's novel abounds in delightful dialogue."


The Glory of Clementina Wing

Crown 8vo, 1s; also Popular Edition, Cloth, Crown 8vo, 1s net.

_Press Opinions_

_Times_.--"Mr. Locke is a master of many spells."

_Daily Telegraph_.--"Mr. Locke may feel assured that both Clementina
and Quixtus will become favourites with his readers, and that neither
the rough idiosyncracies of Clementina, nor the amiable fatuity of Dr.
Quixtus, will readily pass into the limbo of forgotten things."

MR. JAMES DOUGLAS, _Star_.--"The best novel Mr. Locke has written since
he produced his masterpiece, 'The Beloved Vagabond.'  Into it he has
poured all his powers ... the story is a real story with a real plot,
real human beings, real human emotions, and a real development of
character.  The story holds you from start to finish.  You cannot lay
it down.  And over that story there is a perpetual play of that airy
humour and fantastic gaiety with which Mr. Locke alone among living
novelists knows how to enchant his readers."

_Daily Chronicle_.--"The tale is a very good thing indeed, one worthy
and truly characteristic of an author who is reaping a golden harvest
of appreciation, well deserved.  'The Glory of Clementina Wing' is very
enjoyable.  It runs trippingly throughout, and in characterisation,
style, and dialogue deserves the laurels."

_Globe_.--"Clementina is a real triumph for Mr. Locke.  He has
certainly never drawn a more living character, or one whose charm is
more certain.  It is not necessary to emphasise the individuality of
Mr. Locke's style and treatment.  His latest effort is
characteristically felicitous and unconventional in outlook, and
possesses much of the poetry of virile romance....  A delightful work."

_Sunday Times_.--"With that style of his that is at once so fastidious
and so charming, so illusive and so easy, Mr. Locke sets out the tale
of his Quixtus's misfortunes, and in the meantime paints a very
engaging portrait of this student-solicitor."

_Observer_.--"Mr. Locke's best ... Clementina Wing and Dr. Quixtus are
the two most adorable characters that Mr. Locke has ever brought
together in holy wedlock....  The phrases are Locke's most debonairly
witty."

_Eye-Witness_.--"A very soothing, charming, and sparkling piece of
work."

_Truth_.--"Of all adventures into the realms of fantastic fiction there
is none quite so daring, certainly none so much at home, as Mr. Locke.
The novel will add to its writer's reputation."

_Evening Times_.--"In this work Mr. Locke gets back to the
irresponsible joyousness of 'The Beloved Vagabond,' and he will add by
it countless numbers to his host of admirers.  In no book of his do we
have more admirable characterisation of eccentric persons...."


The Joyous Adventures of Aristide Pujol

With Illustrations by ALIC BALL.  Crown 8vo, 6s; also Popular Edition
Cloth, Crown 8vo, 1s net.

_Press Opinions_

_Pall Mall Gazette_.--"At all times he is the best of company, and he
will rank among the best and most charming of Mr. Locke's creations.
'The Joyous Adventures' will add greatly to the author's fame, for rare
indeed is literary work of such colour and vivacity."

_Clarion_.--"It is a grand book this.  A jolly, delightful book, for
though a tear gleams here and there, the great characteristic of the
book is laughter.  A most audacious book, a most enchanting book, and
such a perfectly fascinating hero."

_Globe_.--"'Aristide Pujol' is one of Mr. Locke's happiest creations."

_Bystander_.--"I could say much more about this engaging and delicious
and fairy-hearted book had I room, but, as I have already said,
criticism is not wanted.  Aristide Pujol will make friends wherever he
goes."

_Outlook_.--"It leaves us the richer for a friend."

_Tatler_.--"For a really humorous, whimsical story let me recommend
'The Joyous Adventures of Aristide Pujol.'  It will even put a
pessimist in exceeding good humour with himself and the world at large.
We have laughed and we have cried, and most of us will, I fancy, have
found a new friend."

_Sketch_.--"The oft-repeated word 'brilliant' seems still the one word
possible."

_Scotsman_.--"The book is one of Mr. Locke's best."

_Sunday Times_.--"Any novel reader with any taste for the fantastic
will revel in these truly 'Joyous Adventures'."

_Vanity Fair_.--"Written with rare distinction and charm 'The
Adventures of Aristide Pujol' have an _allure_ and a fascination all
their own; they are quite the best work Mr. Locke has done since he
described the wanderings of another Frenchman, Paragot, 'the beloved
vagabond'."

_Onlooker_.--"Here we have this delightful writer at his brightest."

_Birmingham Daily Post_.--"A wholly delightful creation."

_Court Journal_.--"One of the cheeriest, brightest, and most delightful
books of the season."

_Academy_.--"Aristide Pujol is a creation of genius."

_Referee_.--"Aristide Pujol indeed is irresistible."


      *      *      *      *      *


BY A. NEIL LYONS

Kitchener Chaps

Cloth, Crown 8vo, 1s net.

_Press Opinions_

_Times_.--"Mr. Neil Lyons writes as the friend and observer of the new
army....  Mr. Lyons ... is a master of cockney humour....  As to nearly
everything that Mr. Lyons' 'cockneys' say we have an instinctive
feeling that it is exactly right."

_Morning Post_.--"It is, on the one side, an antidote to the
sentimental and mawkish, and on another a supplement to what may be
called the purely professional soldier tale.  It should be widely read."

_Outlook_.--"A writer who in such times as these sets out to make us
laugh--and succeeds in his amiable intent--deserves praise."

_Sunday Times_.--"Here you will say is the very man to take down the
talk of the humbler members of Lord Kitchener's Armies, and you will be
right.  You will laugh heartily over ... 'Kitchener Chaps.'"

_Evening Standard_.--"These stories are excellently conceived and
artistically executed.  There is no sense of anti-climax about them ...
for side-shaking merriment the veracious history of 'Private Blood'
will not soon be forgotten."

_Daily Express_.--"Mr. Neil Lyons' sketches of the recruits in the new
army are splendid humorous and human pen pictures, almost the first
genuine literature that the war has produced."

_Tatler_.--"And when you have finished it and read many of the sketches
a second time, as you will want to do, send it anywhere, where there is
a soldier."


Arthur's.

The Romance of a Coffee Stall

Crown 8vo, Cloth, 1s net; also Library Edition, Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Press Opinions_

_Times_.--"Very pretty comedy ... not only a very entertaining and
amusing work, but a very kindly and tolerant work also.  At the back of
it is understanding and love of life, and that most admirable frame of
mind for an artist, the live-and-let-live temperament."

_Morning Post_.--"An outspoken and withal a kindly work, allowing a
power of clear observation, and an interesting and unusual milieu in
which to display it."

_Manchester Guardian_.--"'Arthur's' can cordially be recommended....
Mr. Lyons seems to have the animating gift as well as the seeing eye,
and a kindly humour in selection and treatment brings out the light and
warmth of the stall rather than its flare and smell."

_Daily Chronicle_.--"Arthur and his cronies will live among the
Londoners of fiction beside the bargees of Mr. Jacobs and the inmates
of 'No. 5 John Street.'"


Sixpenny Pieces

Third Edition, Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Press Opinions_

_Evening Standard_.--"'Sixpenny Pieces' is as good as 'Arthur's.' ...
For a book full of laughter and tears and bits innumerable that one
feels impelled to read aloud, 'Sixpenny Pieces' would be very hard
indeed to beat."

_Standard_.--"It is a book that no one can afford to neglect.  Both as
literature and as life its appeal is irresistible."

_Morning Post_.--"Mr. Neil Lyons is a shrewd, penetrating, and
sympathetic observer of the lives of the poor.  Two of the most
delightful characters we have met in fiction."

_Pall Mall Gazette_.--"It is pure, fast, sheer life, salted with a
sense of humour; and the reader is sure of being lured as cunningly
from sixpenny bit to sixpenny bit."


Cottage Pie

A Country Spread

Third Edition, Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Times_.--"Marked with the humour and grip with which Mr. Lyons
visualizes an episode, and by his remarkable power of transcribing the
talk of the less educated classes of the community."


Clara

Some Scattered Chapters in the Life of a Hussy

Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Pall Mall Gazette_.--"It is doubtful whether since Dickens anyone has
caught so exactly, and presented to us so artistically as Mr. Lyons,
the sharp shrewd wit and the rich though acrid humour of the London
gutter."


Simple Simon.

His Adventures in the Thistle Patch

With 8 Illustrations by G. E. Peto.  Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Outlook_.--"A rollicking sense of fun, an almost unbearable
seriousness, a keen observation, a kind heart, and a genius entirely
his own are among Mr. Neil Lyons' assets for writing."


Moby Lane and Thereabouts

A Sussex Confection

Crown 8vo, 6s.


      *      *      *      *      *



BY FORD MADOX HUEFFER

The Good Soldier

Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Press Opinions_

_Daily News and Leader_.--"And when one has come to the end of this
beautiful and moving story, it is worth while reading the book over
again simply to observe the wonders of its technique ... indeed this is
a much, much better book than any of us deserve."

_Observer_.--"So absorbing that one has the puerile itch to look at the
end....  There are not three people in England who could have told it,
or two who could have told it just that way."

_Globe_.--"This book is going to add enormously to Mr. Hueffer's
reputation as a novelist.  It is ... an amazingly clever psychological
study ... it is a novel that is going to be read."

_Daily Telegraph_.--"There is the excellent writing, the play of
imagination, the delicate attention to character that holds the mind in
all his best work."

_Sunday Times_.--"Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer is a literary artist with a
big future before him ... it is extremely effective and magnificently
true."

_Outlook_.--"This novel ... is amazingly well written."

_Truth_.--"The story is told with such astonishing artfully artless
naturalness that it absorbs you from the first page to the last."

_Evening Standard_.--"It is ... among the very best he has turned out
yet ... of Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer's many new veins, this would seem one
of the richest."


      *      *      *      *      *


Love-Birds in the Coco-Nuts

By PETER BLUNDELL.

Author of "The Finger of Mr. Blee."

Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Press Opinions_

_Daily Telegraph_.--"It is pleasant indeed at a time of severe trial,
such as the present, to be able to take up a book that shall compel
relaxation of a thoroughly healthy kind, that shall in our hours off
duty provide such entertainment as is the most delightful and
refreshing diversion, ... Ferdinard Fernandez ... is one of the most
humorous people whom we have encountered in recent fiction....  To all
who seek fresh and hearty amusement Mr. Peter Blundell's new story may
be confidently commended."

_Morning Post_.--"The story ... is not merely amusing ... it appeals to
the imagination and the feelings in other ways."

SIDNEY DARK in the _Daily Express_.--"This is a delightfully amusing
book, the story of life somewhere or other in the Malay Peninsula, with
irresistible light comedy in almost every chapter."

_Pall Mall Gazette_.--"Mr. Blundell continues to prove himself as true
in his humour as he is surprising in his inventiveness....  The book
has an exuberance of good humour."

_Evening Standard_.--"'Love-birds in the Coco-nuts' is an extraordinary
book, about extraordinary people....  The author has real originality,
a style and humour all his own, and a background for his story
practically untouched by novelists."

_Scotsman_.--"The story is managed with a rare ability....  The book
cannot but be enjoyed by any reader who likes a new and natural touch
of irresponsible humour."


      *      *      *      *      *


OTHER NEW NOVELS

Mrs. Barnet-Robes

By Mrs. C. S. PEEL, author of the "Hat-Shop."  Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Outlook_.--"With insight and tenderness and courage, Mrs. Peel has
written one of the most charming and at the same time most living of
stories....  It is stamped with truth and is very beautifully told."


The Titan

By THEODORE DREISER.  Crown 8vo, 6s.

WILLIAM J. LOCKE in the _Pall Mall Gazette_.--"It is a memorable book,
written by one saturated with knowledge of his own national life."


The Auction Mart

By SYDNEY TREMAYNE.  Crown 8vo, 6s.

_Sunday Times_.--"Mr. Sydney Tremayne is a newcomer among English
novelists, but it is a sure and certain thing that he has come to
stay....  He has wit, humour, and the knack of telling a story.  He
should go far."


The Jealous Goddess

By MADGE MEARS.  Crown 8vo, 6s.


Merry-Andrew

By KEBLE HOWARD.  Crown 8vo, 6s.



JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD, W.











End of Project Gutenberg's The MS. in a Red Box, by John Arthur Hamilton

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