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Title: The Splendid Spur

Author: Arthur T. Quiller Couch

Release Date: September, 2004 [EBook #6437]
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[This file was first posted on December 14, 2002]

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[Illustration: "I loved thee so, boy Jack."]

THE SPLENDID SPUR

BEING MEMOIRS OF THE ADVENTURES OF MR. JOHN MARVEL,
A SERVANT OF HIS LATE MAJESTY KING CHARLES I., IN THE YEARS 1642-3:
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF:

Edited in Modern English by

Q
(ARTHUR T. QUILLER COUCH)

1897




TO

EDWARD GWYNNE EARDLEY-WILMOT.

_MY DEAR EDDIE,

Whatever view a story-teller may take of his business, 'tis happy
when he can think, "This book of mine will please such and such a
friend," and may set that friend's name after the title page. For
even if to please (as some are beginning to hold) should be no part
of his aim, at least 'twill always be a reward: and (in unworthier
moods) next to a Writer I would choose to be a Lamplighter, as the
only other that gets so cordial a "God bless him!" in the long
winter evenings.

To win such a welcome at such a time from a new friend or two would
be the happiest fortune for my tale. But to you I could wish it to
speak particularly, seeing that under the coat of_ JACK MARVEL
_beats the heart of your friend_

Q.

_Torquay, August 22d_, 1889.





 INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

"Q."

A year or two ago it was observed that three writers were using the
curiously popular signature "Q." This was hardly less confusing than
that one writer should use three signatures (Grant Allen, Arbuthnot
Wilson, and Anon), but as none of the three was willing to try
another letter, they had to leave it to the public (whose decision
in such matters is final) to say who is Q to it. The public said,
Let him wear this proud letter who can win it, and for the present
at least it is in the possession of the author of "The Splendid
Spur" and "The Blue Pavilions." It would seem, too, as if it were
his "to keep," for "Q" is like the competition cups that are only
yours for a season, unless you manage to carry them three times in
succession. Mr. Quiller-Couch has been champion Q since 1890.

The interesting question is not so much, What has he done to be the
only prominent Q of these years, as Is he to be the Q of all time?
If so, he will do better work than he has yet done, though several
of his latest sketches--and one in particular--are of very uncommon
merit. Mr. Quiller-Couch is so unlike Mr. Kipling that one
immediately wants to compare them. They are both young, and they
have both shown such promise that it will be almost sad if neither
can write a book to live--as, of course, neither has done as yet. Mr.
Kipling is the more audacious, which is probably a matter of
training. He was brought up in India, where one's beard grows much
quicker than at Oxford, and where you not only become a man (and a
cynic) in a hurry, but see and hear strange things (and print them)
such as the youth of Oxford miss, or, becoming acquainted with,
would not dare insert in the local magazine of the moment. So Mr.
Kipling's first work betokened a knowledge of the world that is by
no means to be found in "Dead Man's Rock," the first book published
by Mr. Quiller-Couch. On the other hand, it cannot truly be said
that Mr. Kipling's latest work is stronger than his first, while the
other writer's growth is the most remarkable thing about him. It is
precisely the same Mr. Kipling who is now in the magazines that was
writing some years ago in India (and a rare good Mr. Kipling too),
but the Mr. Quiller-Couch of to-day is the Quiller-Couch of "Dead
Man's Rock" grown out of recognition. To compare their styles is
really to compare the men. Mr. Kipling's is the more startling, the
stronger (as yet), and the more mannered. Mark Twain, it appears,
said he reads Mr. Kipling for his style, which is really the same
thing as saying you read him for his books, though the American
seems only to have meant that he eats the beef because he likes the
salt. It is a journalistic style, aiming too constantly at sharp
effects, always succeeding in getting them. Sometimes this is
contrived at the expense of grammar, as when (a common trick with
the author) he ends a story with such a paragraph as "Which is
manifestly unfair." Mr. Quiller-Couch has never sinned in this way,
but his first style was somewhat turgid, even melodramatic, and,
compared with Mr. Kipling's, lacked distinction. From the beginning
Mr. Kipling had the genius for using the right word twice in three
times (Mr. Stevenson only misses it about once in twelve), while Mr.
Quiller-Couch not only used the wrong word, but weighted it with
adjectives. The charge, however, cannot be brought against him
to-day, for having begun by writing like a Mr. Haggard not quite
sure of himself (if one can imagine such a Mr. Haggard), and changing
to an obvious imitation of Mr. Stevenson, he seems now to have made a
style for himself. It is clear and careful, but not as yet strong
winged. Its distinctive feature is that it is curiously musical.

"Dead Man's Rock" is a capital sensational story to be read and at
once forgotten. It was followed by "The Astonishing History of Troy
Town," which was humorous, and proved that the author owed a debt to
Dickens. But it was not sufficiently humorous to be remarkable for
its humor, and it will go hand in hand with "Dead Man's Rock" to
oblivion. Until "The Splendid Spur" appeared Mr. Quiller-Couch had
done little to suggest that an artist had joined the ranks of the
story-tellers. It is not in anyway a great work, but it was among
the best dozen novels of its year, and as the production of a new
writer it was one of the most notable. About the same time was
published another historical romance of the second class (for to
nothing short of Sir Walter shall we give a first-class in this
department), "Micah Clarke," by Mr. Conan Doyle. It was as
inevitable that the two books should be compared as that he who
enjoyed the one should enjoy the other. In one respect "Micah
Clarke" is the better story. It contains one character, a soldier of
fortune, who is more memorable than any single figure in "The
Splendid Spur." This, however, is effected at a cost, for this man
is the book. It contains, indeed, two young fellows, one of them a
John Ridd, but no Diana Vernon would blow a kiss to either. Both
stories are weak in pathos, despite Joan, but there are a score of
humorous situations in "The Splendid Spur" that one could not forget
if he would--which he would not--as, for instance, where hero and
heroine are hidden in barrels in a ship, and hero cries through his
bunghole, "Wilt marry me, sweetheart?" to which heroine replies,
"Must get out of this cask first." Better still is the scene in
which Captain Billy expatiates, with a mop and a bucket, on the
merits of his crew. But the passages are for reading, not for
hearing about. Of the characters, this same Captain Billy is not the
worst, but perhaps the best is Joan, Mr. Quiller-Couch's first
successful picture of a girl. A capital eccentric figure is killed
(some good things are squandered in this book) just when we are
beginning to find him a genuine novelty. Anything that is ready to
leap into danger seems to be thought good enough for the hero of a
fighting romance, so that Jack Marvel will pass (though Delia, as is
right and proper, is worth two of him, despite her coming-on
disposition). The villain is a failure, and the plot poor.
Nevertheless there are some ingenious complications in it. Jack's
escape by means of the hangman's rope, which was to send him out of
the world in a few hours, is a fine rollicking bit of sensation.
Where Mr. Quiller-Couch and Mr. Conan Doyle both fail as compared
with the great master of romance is in the introduction of
historical figures and episodes. Scott would have been a great man
if he had written no novel but "The Abbott" (one of his second best),
and no part of "The Abbott" but the scene in which Mary signs away
her crown. Mr. Quiller-Couch almost entirely avoids such attempts,
and even Mr. Conan Doyle only dips into them timidly. There is, one
has been told, a theory that the romancist has no right to picture
history in this way. But he makes his rights when he does it as
Scott did it.

Since "The Splendid Spur," Mr. Quiller-Couch has published nothing
in book form which can be considered an advance on his best novel,
but there have appeared by him a number of short Cornish sketches,
which are perhaps best considered as experiments. They are
perilously slight, and where they are successful one remembers them
as sweet dreams or like a bar of music. All aim at this effect, so
that many should not be taken at a time, and some (as was to be
expected with such delicate work) miss their mark. It might be said
that in several of these melodies Mr. Quiller-Couch has been writing
the same thing again and again, determined to succeed absolutely, if
not this time then the next, and if not the next time then the time
after. In one case he has succeeded absolutely. "The Small People,"
is a prose "Song of the Shirt." To my mind this is a rare piece of
work, and the biggest thing for its size that has been done in
English fiction for some years.

These sketches have been called experiments. They show (as his books
scarcely show) that Mr. Quiller-Couch can feel. They suggest that he
may be able to do for Cornwall what Mr. Hardy has done for Dorset--
though the methods of the two writers are as unlike as their
counties. But that can only be if in filling his notebook with these
little comedies and tragedies Mr. Quiller-Couch is preparing for
more sustained efforts.

   "Our hope and heart is with thee
    We will stand and mark."

J. M. BARRIE.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

I. THE BOWLING-GREEN OF THE "CROWN"

II. THE YOUNG MAN IN THE CLOAK OF AMBER SATIN

III. I FIND MYSELF IN A TAVERN BRAWL; AND BARELY ESCAPE

IV. I TAKE THE ROAD

V. MY ADVENTURE AT THE "THREE CUPS"

VI. THE FLIGHT IN THE PINE WOOD

VII. I FIND A COMRADE

VIII. I LOSE THE KING'S LETTER; AND AM CARRIED TO BRISTOL

IX I BREAK OUT OF PRISON

X. CAPTAIN POTTERY AND CAPTAIN SETTLE

XI. I RIDE DOWN INTO TEMPLE; AND AM WELL TREATED THERE

XII. HOW JOAN SAVED THE ARMY OF THE WEST; AND SAW THE FIGHT ON
BRADDOCK DOWN

XIII. I BUY A LOOKING GLASS AT BODMIN FAIR; AND MEET WITH MR.
HANNIBAL TINGCOMB

XIV. I DO NO GOOD IN THE HOUSE OF GLEYS

XV. I LEAVE JOAN AND RIDE TO THE WARS

XVI. THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD HEATH

XVII. I MEET WITH A HAPPY ADVENTURE BY BURNING OF A GREEN LIGHT

XVIII. JOAN DOES ME HER LAST SERVICE

XIX THE ADVENTURE OF THE HEARSE

XX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE LEDGE; AND HOW I SHOOK HANDS WITH MY
COMRADE



THE SPLENDID SPUR.

CHAPTER I.

THE BOWLING-GREEN OF THE "CROWN."


He that has jilted the Muse, forsaking her gentle pipe to follow
the drum and trumpet, shall fruitlessly besiege her again when the
time comes to sit at home and write down his adventures. 'Tis her
revenge, as I am extremely sensible: and methinks she is the harder
to me, upon reflection how near I came to being her lifelong servant,
as you are to hear.

'Twas on November 29th, Ao. 1642--a clear, frosty day--that the King,
with the Prince of Wales (newly recovered of the measles), the
Princes Rupert and Maurice, and a great company of lords and
gentlemen, horse and foot, came marching back to us from Reading. I
was a scholar of Trinity College in Oxford at that time, and may
begin my history at three o'clock on the same afternoon, when going
(as my custom was) to Mr. Rob. Drury for my fencing lesson, I found
his lodgings empty.

They stood at the corner of Ship Street, as you turn into the Corn
Market--a low wainscoted chamber, ill-lighted but commodious. "He is
off to see the show," thought I as I looked about me; and finding an
easy cushion in the window, sat down to await him. Where presently,
being tired out (for I had been carrying a halberd all day with the
scholars' troop in Magdalen College Grove), and in despite of the
open lattice, I fell sound asleep.

It must have been an hour after that I awoke with a chill (as was
natural), and was stretching out a hand to pull the window close,
but suddenly sat down again and fell to watching instead.

The window look'd down, at the height of ten feet or so, upon a
bowling-green at the back of the "Crown" Tavern (kept by John
Davenant, in the Corn Market), and across it to a rambling wing of
the same inn; the fourth side--that to my left--being but an old
wall, with a broad sycamore growing against it. 'Twas already
twilight; and in the dark'ning house, over the green, was now one
casement brightly lit, the curtains undrawn, and within a company of
noisy drinkers round a table. They were gaming, as was easily told
by their clicking of the dice and frequent oaths: and anon the
bellow of some tipsy chorus would come across. 'Twas one of these
catches, I dare say, that woke me: only just now my eyes were bent,
not toward the singers, but on the still lawn between us.

The sycamore, I have hinted, was a broad tree, and must, in summer,
have borne a goodly load of leaves: but now, in November, these were
strewn thick over the green, and nothing left but stiff, naked
boughs. Beneath it lay a crack'd bowl or two on the rank turf, and
against the trunk a garden bench rested, I suppose for the
convenience of the players. On this a man was now seated.

He was reading in a little book; and this first jogged my curiosity:
for 'twas unnatural a man should read print at this dim hour, or, if
he had a mind to try, should choose a cold bowling-green for his
purpose. Yet he seemed to study his volume very attentively, but
with a sharp look, now and then, toward the lighted window, as if
the revellers disturb'd him. His back was partly turn'd to me; and
what with this and the growing dusk, I could but make a guess at his
face: but a plenty of silver hair fell over his fur collar, and his
shoulders were bent a great deal. I judged him between fifty and
sixty. For the rest, he wore a dark, simple suit, very straitly cut,
with an ample furr'd cloak, and a hat rather tall, after the fashion
of the last reign.

Now, why the man's behavior so engaged me, I don't know: but at the
end of half an hour I was still watching him. By this, 'twas near
dark, bitter cold, and his pretence to read mere fondness: yet he
persevered--though with longer glances at the casement above, where
the din at times was fit to wake the dead.

And now one of the dicers upsets his chair with a curse, and gets on
his feet. Looking up, I saw his features for a moment--a slight,
pretty boy, scarce above eighteen, with fair curls and flush'd
cheeks like a girl's. It made me admire to see him in this ring of
purple, villainous faces. 'Twas evident he was a young gentleman of
quality, as well by his bearing as his handsome cloak of amber satin
barr'd with black. "I think the devil's in these dice!" I heard him
crying, and a pretty hubbub all about him: but presently the drawer
enters with more wine, and he sits down quietly to a fresh game.

As soon as 'twas started, one of the crew, that had been playing but
was now dropp'd out, lounges up from his seat, and coming to the
casement pushes it open for fresh air. He was one that till now had
sat in full view--a tall bully, with a gross pimpled nose; and led
the catches in a bull's voice. The rest of the players paid no heed
to his rising; and very soon his shoulders hid them, as he lean'd
out, drawing in the cold breath.

During the late racket I had forgot for a while my friend under the
sycamore, but now, looking that way, to my astonishment I saw him
risen from his bench and stealing across to the house opposite. I
say "stealing," for he kept all the way to the darker shadow of the
wall, and besides had a curious trailing motion with his left foot
as though the ankle of it had been wrung or badly hurt.

As soon as he was come beneath the window he stopped and called
softly--

"Hist!"

The bully gave a start and look'd down. I could tell by this motion
he did not look to find anyone in the bowling-green at that hour.
Indeed he had been watching the shaft of light thrown past him by
the room behind, and now moved so as to let it fall on the man that
addressed him.

The other stands close under the window, as if to avoid this, and
calls again--

"Hist!" says he, and beckons with a finger.

The man at the window still held his tongue (I suppose because those
in the room would hear him if he spoke), and so for a while the two
men studied one another in silence, as if considering their next
moves.

After a bit, however, the bully lifted a hand, and turning back into
the lighted room, walks up to one of the players, speaks a word or
two and disappears.

I sat up on the window seat, where till now I had been crouching for
fear the shaft of light should betray me, and presently (as I was
expecting) heard the latch of the back perch gently lifted, and
spied the heavy form of the bully coming softly over the grass.

Now, I would not have my readers prejudiced, and so may tell them
this was the first time in my life I had played the eavesdropper.
That I did so now I can never be glad enough, but 'tis true,
nevertheless, my conscience pricked me; and I was even making a
motion to withdraw when that occurred which would have fixed any
man's attention, whether he wish'd it or no.

The bully must have closed the door behind him but carelessly, for
hardly could he take a dozen steps when it opened again with a
scuffle, and the large house dog belonging to the "Crown" flew at
his heels with a vicious snarl and snap of the teeth.

'Twas enough to scare the coolest. But the fellow turn'd as if shot,
and before he could snap again, had gripped him fairly by the throat.
The struggle that follow'd I could barely see, but I heard the
horrible sounds of it--the hard, short breathing of the man, the
hoarse rage working in the dog's throat--and it turned me sick. The
dog--a mastiff--was fighting now to pull loose, and the pair swayed
this way and that in the dusk, panting and murderous.

I was almost shouting aloud--feeling as though 'twere my own throat
thus gripp'd--when the end came. The man had his legs planted well
apart.

I saw his shoulders heave up and bend as he tightened the pressure
of his fingers; then came a moment's dead silence, then a hideous
gurgle, and the mastiff dropped back, his hind legs trailing limp.

The bully held him so for a full minute, peering close to make sure
he was dead, and then without loosening his hold, dragged him across
the grass under my window. By the sycamore he halted, but only to
shift his hands a little; and so, swaying on his hips, sent the
carcase with a heave over the wall. I heard it drop with a thud on
the far side.

During this fierce wrestle--which must have lasted about two
minutes--the clatter and shouting of the company above had gone on
without a break; and all this while the man with the white hair had
rested quietly on one side, watching. But now he steps up to where
the bully stood mopping his face (for all the coolness of the
evening), and, with a finger between the leaves of his book, bows
very politely.

"You handled that dog, sir, choicely well," says he, in a thin voice
that seemed to have a chuckle hidden in it somewhere.

The other ceased mopping to get a good look at him.

"But sure," he went on, "'twas hard on the poor cur, that had never
heard of Captain Lucius Higgs--"

I thought the bully would have had him by the windpipe and pitched
him after the mastiff, so fiercely he turn'd at the sound of this
name. But the old gentleman skipped back quite nimbly and held up a
finger.

"I'm a man of peace. If another title suits you better--"

"Where the devil got you that name?" growled the bully, and had half
a mind to come on again, but the other put in briskly--

"I'm on a plain errand of business. No need, as you hint, to mention
names; and therefore let me present myself as Mr. Z. The residue of
the alphabet is at your service to pick and choose from."

"My name is Luke Settle," said the big man hoarsely (but whether
this was his natural voice or no I could not tell).

"Let us say 'Mr. X.' I prefer it."

The old gentleman, as he said this, popped his head on one side,
laid the forefinger of his right hand across the book, and seem'd to
be considering.

"Why did you throttle that dog a minute ago?" he asked sharply.

"Why, to save my skin," answers the fellow, a bit puzzled.

"Would you have done it for fifty pounds?"

"Aye, or half that."

"And how if it had been a _puppy_, Mr. X?"

Now all this from my hiding I had heard very clearly, for they stood
right under me in the dusk. But as the old gentleman paused to let
his question sink in, and the bully to catch the drift of it before
answering, one of the dicers above struck up to sing a catch----

    "With a hey, trolly-lolly! a leg to the Devil,
     And answer him civil, and off with your cap:
     Sing--Hey, trolly-lolly! Good-morrow, Sir Evil,
         We've finished the tap,
     And, saving your worship, we care not a rap!"

While this din continued, the stranger held up one forefinger again,
as if beseeching silence, the other remaining still between the
pages of his book.

"Pretty boys!" he said, as the noise died away; "pretty boys! 'Tis
easily seen they have a bird to pluck."

"He's none of my plucking."

"And if he were, why not? Sure you've picked a feather or two before
now in the Low Countries--hey?"

"I'll tell you what," interrupts the big man, "next time you crack
one of your death's-head jokes, over the wall you go after the dog.
What's to prevent it?"

"Why, this," answers the old fellow, cheerfully. "There's money to
be made by doing no such thing. And I don't carry it all about with
me. So, as 'tis late, we'd best talk business at once."

They moved away toward the seat under the sycamore, and now their
words reached me no longer--only the low murmur of their voices or
(to be correct) of the elder man's: for the other only spoke now and
then, to put a question, as it seemed. Presently I heard an oath
rapped out and saw the bully start up. "Hush, man!" cried the other,
and "hark-ye now--"; so he sat down again. Their very forms were
lost within the shadow. I, myself, was cold enough by this time and
had a cramp in one leg--but lay still, nevertheless. And after
awhile they stood up together, and came pacing across the bowling-
green, side by side, the older man trailing his foot painfully to
keep step. You may be sure I strain'd my ears.

"--besides the pay," the stranger was saying, "there's all you can
win of this young fool, Anthony, and all you find on the pair, which
I'll wager--"

They passed out of hearing, but turned soon, and came back again.
The big man was speaking this time.

"I'll be shot if I know what game _you're_ playing in this."

The elder chuckled softly. "I'll be shot if I mean you to," said he.

And this was the last I heard. For now there came a clattering at
the door behind me, and Mr. Robert Drury reeled in, hiccuping a
maudlin ballad about "_Tib and young Colin, one fine day, beneath
the haycock shade-a_," &c., &c., and cursing to find his fire
gone out, and all in darkness. Liquor was ever his master, and to-
day the King's health had been a fair excuse. He did not spy me, but
the roar of his ballad had startled the two men outside, and so,
while he was stumbling over chairs, and groping for a tinder-box, I
slipp'd out in the darkness, and downstairs into the street.




CHAPTER II.

THE YOUNG MAN IN THE CLOAK OF AMBER SATIN,

Guess, any of you, if these events disturbed my rest that night.
'Twas four o'clock before I dropp'd asleep in my bed in Trinity, and
my last thoughts were still busy with the words I had heard. Nor, on
the morrow, did it fair any better with me: so that, at rhetoric
lecture, our president--Dr. Ralph Kettle--took me by the ears before
the whole class. He was the fiercer upon me as being older than the
gross of my fellow-scholars, and (as he thought) the more restless
under discipline. "A tutor'd adolescence," he would say, "is a fair
grace before meat," and had his hourglass enlarged to point the
moral for us. But even a rhetoric lecture must have an end, and so,
tossing my gown to the porter, I set off at last for Magdalen Bridge,
where the new barricado was building, along the Physic Garden, in
front of East Gate.

The day was dull and low'ring, though my wits were too busy to heed
the sky; but scarcely was I past the small gate in the city wall
when a brisk shower of hail and sleet drove me to shelter in the Pig
Market ( or _Proscholium_) before the Divinity School. 'Tis an
ample vaulted passage, as I dare say you know; and here I found a
great company of people already driven by the same cause.

To describe them fully 'twould be necessary to paint the whole state
of our city in those distracted times, which I have neither wit nor
time for. But here, to-day, along with many doctors and scholars,
were walking courtiers, troopers, mountebanks, cut-purses,
astrologers, rogues and gamesters; together with many of the first
ladies and gentlemen of England, as the Prince Maurice, the lords
Andover, Digby and Colepepper, my lady Thynne, Mistress Fanshawe, Mr.
Secretary Nicholas, the famous Dr. Harvey, arm-in-arm with my lord
Falkland (whose boots were splash'd with mud, he having ridden over
from his house at Great Tew), and many such, all mix'd in this
incredible tag-rag. Mistress Fanshawe, as I remember, was playing on
a lute, which she carried always slung about her shoulders: and
close beside her, a fellow impudently puffing his specific against
the _morbus campestris_, which already had begun to invade us.

"_Who'll buy?_" he was bawling. "'_Tis from the receipt of a famous
Italian, and never yet failed man, woman, nor child, unless the heart
were clean drown'd in the disease: the lest part of it good muscadine,
and has virtue against the plague, smallpox, or surfeits!_"

I was standing before this jackanapes, when I heard a stir in the
crowd behind me, and another calling, "_Who'll buy? Who'll buy?_"

Turning, I saw a young man, very gaily dressed, moving quickly about
at the far end of the Pig Market, and behind him an old lackey, bent
double with the weight of two great baskets that he carried. The
baskets were piled with books, clothes, and gewgaws of all kinds;
and 'twas the young gentleman that hawked his wares himself. "_What
d'ye lack?_" he kept shouting, and would stop to unfold his
merchandise, holding up now a book, and now a silk doublet, and
running over their merits like any huckster--but with the merriest
conceit in the world.

And yet 'twas not this that sent my heart flying into my mouth at
the sight of him. For by his curls and womanish face, no less than
the amber cloak with the black bars, I knew him at once for the same
I had seen yesterday among the dicers.

As I stood there, drawn this way and that by many reflections, he
worked his way through the press, selling here and there a trifle
from his baskets, and at length came to a halt in front of me.

"Ha!" he cried, pulling off his plumed hat, and bowing low, "a
scholar, I perceive. Let me serve you, sir. Here is the 'History of
Saint George,'" and he picked out a thin brown quarto and held it
up; "written by Master Peter Heylin; a ripe book they tell me
(though, to be sure, I never read beyond the title), and the price
a poor two shillings."

[Illustration: "A scholar, I perceive. Let me serve you sir?"--Page
30.]

Now, all this while I was considering what to do. So, as I put my
hand in my pocket, and drew out the shillings, I said very slowly,
looking him in the eyes (but softly, so that the lackey might not
hear)----

"So thus you feed your expenses at the dice: and my shilling, no
doubt, is for Luke Settle, as well as the rest."

For the moment, under my look, he went white to the lips; then
clapped his hand to his sword, withdrew it, and answered me, red as
a turkey-cock----

"Shalt be a parson, yet, Master Scholar: but art in a damn'd hurry,
it seems."

Now, I had ever a quick temper, and as he turned on his heel, was
like to have replied and raised a brawl. My own meddling tongue had
brought the rebuff upon me: but yet my heart was hot as he walked
away.

I was standing there and looking after him, turning over in my hand
the "Life of Saint George," when my fingers were aware of a slip of
paper between the pages. Pulling it out, I saw 'twas scribbled over
with writing and figures, as follows:--

"Mr. Anthony Killigrew, his acct for Oct. 25th, MDCXLII.--_For
herrings_, 2d.; _for coffie_, 4d.; _for scowring my coat_, 6d.; _at
bowls_, 5s. 10d.; _for bleading me_, 1s. 0d.; _for ye King's speech_,
3d.; _for spic'd wine (with Marjory)_, 2s. 4d.; _for seeing ye
Rhinoceros_, 4d.; _at ye Ranter-go-round_, 6 3/4d.; _for a pair of
silver buttons_, 2s. 6d.; _for apples_, 2 1/2d.; _for ale_, 6d.; _at
ye dice_, L17 5s.; _for spic'd wine (again)_, 4s. 6d."

And so on.

As I glanced my eye down this paper, my anger oozed away, and a
great feeling of pity came over me, not only at the name of Anthony
--the name I had heard spoken in the bowling-green last night--but
also to see that monstrous item of L17 odd spent on the dice. 'Twas
such a boy, too, after all, that I was angry with, that had spent
fourpence to see the rhinoceros at a fair, and rode on the ranter-
go-round (with "Marjory," no doubt, as 'twas for her, no doubt, the
silver buttons were bought). So that, with quick forgiveness, I
hurried after him, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

He stood by the entrance, counting up his money, and drew himself up
very stiff.

"I think, sir," said I, "this paper is yours."

"I thank you," he answered, taking it, and eyeing me. "Is there
anything, besides, you wished to say?"

"A great deal, maybe, if your name be Anthony."

"Master Anthony Killigrew is my name, sir; now serving under Lord
Bernard Stewart in His Majesty's troop of guards."

"And mine is Jack Marvel," said I.

"Of the Yorkshire Marvels?"

"Why, yes; though but a shoot of that good stock, transplanted to
Cumberland, and there sadly withered."

"'Tis no matter, sir," said he politely; "I shall be proud to cross
swords with you."

"Why, bless your heart!" I cried out, full of laughter at this
childish punctilio; "d'ye think I came to fight you?"

"If not, sir"--and he grew colder than ever--"you are going a cursed
roundabout way to avoid it."

Upon this, finding no other way out of it, I began my tale at once:
but hardly had come to the meeting of the two men on the bowling-
green, when he interrupts me politely----

"I think, Master Marvel, as yours is like to be a story of some
moment, I will send this fellow back to my lodgings. He's a long-
ear'd dog that I am saving from the gallows for so long as my
conscience allows me. The shower is done, I see; so if you know of
a retir'd spot, we will talk there more at our leisure."

He dismiss'd his lackey, and stroll'd off with me to the Trinity
Grove, where, walking up and down, I told him all I had heard and
seen the night before.

"And now," said I, "can you tell me if you have any such enemy as
this white-hair'd man, with the limping gait?"

He had come to a halt, sucking in his lips and seeming to reflect--

"I know one man," he began: "but no--'tis impossible."

As I stood, waiting to hear more, he clapp'd his hand in mine, very
quick and friendly: "Jack," he cried;--"I'll call thee Jack--'twas
an honest good turn thou hadst in thy heart to do me, and I a surly
rogue to think of fighting--I that could make mincemeat of thee."

"I can fence a bit," answer'd I.

"Now, say no more, Jack: I love thee."

He look'd in my face, still holding my hand and smiling. Indeed,
there was something of the foreigner in his brisk graceful ways--yet
not unpleasing. I was going to say I had never seen the like--ah,
me! that both have seen and know the twin image so well.

"I think," said I, "you had better be considering what to do."

He laugh'd outright this time; and resting with his legs cross'd,
against the trunk of an elm, twirl'd an end of his long lovelocks,
and looked at me comically. Said he: "Tell me, Jack, is there aught
in me that offends thee?"

"Why, no," I answered. "I think you're a very proper young man--such
as I should loathe to see spoil'd by Master Settle's knife."

"Art not quick at friendship, Jack, but better at advising; only in
this case fortune has prevented thy good offices. Hark ye," he
lean'd forward and glanc'd to right and left, "if these twain intend
my hurt--as indeed 'twould seem--they lose their labor: for this
very night I ride from Oxford."

"And why is that?"

"I'll tell thee, Jack, tho' I deserve to be shot. I am bound with a
letter from His Majesty to the Army of the West, where I have
friends, for my father's sake--Sir Deakin Killigrew of Gleys, in
Cornwall. 'Tis a sweet country, they say, tho' I have never seen
it."

"Not seen thy father's country?"

"Why no--for he married a Frenchwoman, Jack, God rest her dear
soul!"--he lifted his hat--"and settled in that country, near
Morlaix, in Brittany, among my mother's kin; my grandfather refusing
to see or speak with him, for wedding a poor woman without his
consent. And in France was I born and bred, and came to England two
years agone; and this last July the old curmudgeon died. So that my
father, who was an only son, is even now in England returning to his
estates: and with him my only sister Delia. I shall meet them on the
way. To think of it!" (and I declare the tears sprang to his eyes):
"Delia will be a woman grown, and ah! to see dear Cornwall
together!"

Now I myself was only a child, and had been made an orphan when but
nine years old, by the smallpox that visited our home in Wastdale
Village, and carried off my father, the Vicar, and my dear mother.
Yet his simple words spoke to my heart and woke so tender a yearning
for the small stone cottage, and the bridge, and the grey fells of
Yewbarrow above it, that a mist rose in my eyes too, and I turn'd
away to hide it.

"'Tis a ticklish business," said I after a minute, "to carry the
King's letter. Not one in four of his messengers comes through, they
say. But since it keeps you from the dice----"

"That's true. To-night I make an end."

"To-night!"

"Why, yes. To-night I go for my revenge, and ride straight from the
inn door."

"Then I go with you to the 'Crown,'" I cried, very positive.

He dropp'd playing with his curl, and look'd me in the face, his
mouth twitching with a queer smile.

"And so thou shalt Jack: but why?"

"I'll give no reason," said I, and knew I was blushing.

"Then be at the corner of All Hallows' Church in Turl Street at
seven to-night. I lodge over Master Simon's, the glover, and must be
about my affairs. Jack,"--he came near and took my hand--"am sure
thou lovest me."

He nodded, with another cordial smile, and went his way up the grove,
his amber cloak flaunting like a belated butterfly under the leaf
less trees; and so pass'd out of my sight.




CHAPTER III.

I FIND MYSELF IN A TAVERN BRAWL: AND BARELY ESCAPE.


It wanted, maybe, a quarter to seven, that evening, when, passing
out at the College Gate on my way to All Hallows' Church, I saw
under the lantern there a man loitering and talking with the porter.
'Twas Master Anthony's lackey; and as I came up, he held out a note
for me.

Deare Jack

Wee goe to the "Crowne" at VI. o'clock, I having mett with Captain
Settle, who is on dewty with the horse tonite, and must to Abendonn
by IX. I looke for you---
                           Your unfayned loving
                                          A. K.

The bearer has left my servise, and his helth conserus me nott. Soe
kik him if he tarrie.

This last advice I had no time to carry out with any thoroughness:
but being put in a great dread by this change of hour, pelted off
toward the Corn Market as fast as legs could take me, which was the
undoing of a little round citizen into whom I ran full tilt at the
corner of Balliol College: who, before I could see his face in the
darkness, was tipp'd on his back in the gutter and using the most
dismal expressions. So I left him, considering that my excuses would
be unsatisfying to his present demands, and to his cooler judgment
a superfluity.

The windows of the "Crown" were cheerfully lit behind their red
blinds. A few straddling grooms and troopers talked and spat in the
brightness of the entrance, and outside in the street was a servant
leading up and down a beautiful sorrel mare, ready saddled, that was
mark'd on the near hind leg with a high white stocking. In the
passage, I met the host of the "Crown," Master John Davenant, and
sure (I thought) in what odd corners will the Muse pick up her
favorites! For this slow, loose-cheek'd vintner was no less than
father to Will Davenant, our Laureate, and had belike read no other
verse in his life but those at the bottom of his own pint-pots.

"Top of the stairs," says he, indicating my way, "and open the door
ahead of you, if y'are the young gentleman Master Killigrew spoke
of."

I had my foot on the bottom step, when from the room above comes the
crash of a table upsetting, with a noise of broken glass, chairs
thrust back, and a racket of outcries. Next moment, the door was
burst open, letting out a flood of light and curses; and down flies
a drawer, three steps at a time, with a red stain of wine trickling
down his white face.

"Murder!" he gasped out; and sitting down on a stair, fell to
mopping his face, all sick and trembling.

I was dashing past him, with the landlord at my heels, when three
men came tumbling out at the door, and downstairs. I squeezed myself
against the wall to let them pass: but Master Davenant was pitch'd
to the very foot of the stairs. And then he picked himself up and
ran out into the Corn Market, the drawer after him, and both
shouting "Watch! Watch!" at the top of their lungs; and so left the
three fellows to push by the women already gathered in the passage,
and gain the street at their ease. All this happen'd while a man
could count twenty; and in half a minute I heard the ring of steel
and was standing in the doorway.

There was now no light within but what was shed by the fire and two
tallow candles that gutter'd on the mantelshelf. The remaining
candlesticks lay in a pool of wine on the floor, amid broken glasses,
bottles, scattered coins, dice boxes and pewter pots. In the corner
to my right cower'd a potboy, with tankard dangling in his hand, and
the contents spilling into his shoes. His wide terrified eyes were
fix'd on the far end of the room, where Anthony and the brute Settle
stood, with a shattered chair between them. Their swords were
cross'd in tierce, and grating together as each sought occasion for
a lunge: which might have been fair enough but for a dog-fac'd
trooper in a frowsy black periwig, who, as I enter'd, was gathering
a handful of coins from under the fallen table, and now ran across,
sword in hand, to the Captain's aid.

'Twas Anthony that fac'd me, with his heel against the wainscoting,
and, catching my cry of alarm, he call'd out cheerfully over the
Captain's shoulder, but without lifting his eyes--

"Just in time, Jack! Take off the second cur, that's a sweet boy!"

Now I carried no sword; but seizing the tankard from the potboy's
hand, I hurl'd it at the dog-fac'd trooper. It struck him fair
between the shoulder blades; and with a yell of pain he spun round
and came toward me, his point glittering in a way that turn'd me
cold. I gave back a pace, snatch'd up a chair (that luckily had a
wooden seat) and with my back against the door, waited his charge.

'Twas in this posture that, flinging a glance across the room, I saw
the Captain's sword describe a small circle of light, and next
moment, with a sharp cry, Anthony caught at the blade, and stagger'd
against the wall, pinn'd through the chest to the wainscoting.

"Out with the lights, Dick!" bawl'd Settle, tugging out his point.
"Quick, fool--the window!"

Dick, with a back sweep of his hand, sent the candles flying off the
shelf; and, save for the flicker of the hearth, we were in darkness.
I felt, rather than saw, his rush toward me; leap'd aside; and
brought down my chair with a crash on his skull. He went down like
a ninepin, but scrambled up in a trice, and was running for the
window.

There was a shout below as the Captain thrust the lattice open:
another, and the two dark forms had clambered through the purple
square of the casement, and dropped into the bowling-green below.

By this, I had made my way across the room, and found Anthony sunk
against the wall, with his feet outstretched. There was something he
held out toward me, groping for my hand and at the same time
whispering in a thick, choking voice--

"Here, Jack, here: pocket it quick!"

'Twas a letter, and as my fingers closed on it they met a damp smear,
the meaning of which was but too plain.

"Button it--sharp--in thy breast: now feel for my sword."

"First let me tend thy hurt, dear lad."

"Nay--quickly, my sword! 'Tis pretty, Jack, to hear thee say 'dear
lad.' A cheat to die like this--could have laugh'd for years yet.
The dice were cogg'd--hast found it?"

I groped beside him, found the hilt, and held it up.

"So--'tis thine, Jack: and my mare, Molly, and the letter to take.
Say to Delia--Hark! they are on the stairs. Say to--"

With a shout the door was flung wide, and on the threshold stood the
Watch, their lanterns held high and shining in Anthony's white face,
and on the black stain where his doublet was thrown open.

In numbers they were six or eight, led by a small, wrynecked man
that held a long staff, and wore a gilt chain over his furr'd collar.
Behind, in the doorway, were huddled half a dozen women, peering:
and Master Davenant at the back of all, his great face looming over
their shoulders like a moon.

"Now, speak up, Master Short!"

"Aye, that I will--that I will: but my head is considering of
affairs," answered Master Short--he of the wryneck. "One, two,
three--" He look'd round the room, and finding but one capable of
resisting (for the potboy was by this time in a fit), clear'd his
throat, and spoke up--

"In the king's name, I arrest you all--so help me God! Now what's
the matter?"

"Murder," said I, looking up from my work of staunching Anthony's
wound.

"Then forbear, and don't do it."

"Why, Master Short, they've been forbearin' these ten minutes," a
woman's voice put in.

"Hush, and hear Master Short: he knows the law, an' all the dubious
maxims of the same."

"Aye, aye: he says forbear i' the King's name, which is to say, that
other forbearing is neither law nor grace. Now then, Master Short!"

Thus exhorted, the man of law continued--

"I charge ye as honest men to disperse!"

"Odds truth, Master Short, why you've just laid 'em under arrest!"

"H'm, true: then let 'em stay so--in the king's name--and have done
with it."

Master Short, in fact, was growing testy: but now the women push'd
by him, and, by screaming at the sight of blood, put him out of all
patience. Dragging them back by the skirts, he told me he must take
the depositions, and pull'd out pen and ink horn.

"Sirs," said I, laying poor Anthony's head softly back, "you are too
late: whilst ye were cackling my friend is dead."

"Then, young man, thou must come along."

"Come along?"

"The charge is _homocidium_, or manslaying, with or without malice
prepense--"

"But--" I look'd round. The potboy was insensible, and my eyes fell
on Master Davenant, who slowly shook his head.

"I'll say not a word," said he, stolidly: "lost twenty pound, one
time, by a lawsuit."

"Pack of fools!" I cried, driven beyond endurance. "The guilty ones
have escap'd these ten minutes. Now stop me who dares!"

And dashing my left fist on the nose of a watchman who would have
seized me, I clear'd a space with Anthony's sword, made a run for
the casement, and dropp'd out upon the bowling-green.

A pretty shout went up as I pick'd myself off the turf and rush'd
for the back door. 'Twas unbarr'd, and in a moment I found myself
tearing down the passage and out into the Corn Market, with a score
or so tumbling downstairs at my heels, and yelling to stop me.
Turning sharp to my right, I flew up Ship Street, and through the
Turl, and doubled back up the High Street, sword in hand. The people
I pass'd were too far taken aback, as I suppose, to interfere. But
a many must have join'd in the chase: for presently the street behind
me was thick with the clatter of footsteps and cries of "A thief--a
thief! Stop him!"

At Quater Voies I turn'd again, and sped down toward St. Aldate's,
thence to the left by Wild Boar Street, and into St. Mary's Lane. By
this, the shouts had grown fainter, but were still following. Now I
knew there was no possibility to get past the city gates, which were
well guarded at night. My hope reach'd no further than the chance of
outwitting the pursuit for a while longer. In the end I was sure the
potboy's evidence would clear me, and therefore began to enjoy the
fun. Even my certain expulsion from College on the morrow seem'd of
a piece with the rest of events and (prospectively) a matter for
laughter. For the struggle at the "Crown" had unhinged my wits, as
I must suppose and you must believe, if you would understand my
behavior in the next half hour.

A bright thought had struck me: and taking a fresh wind, I set off
again round the corner of Oriel College, and down Merton Street
toward Master Timothy Carter's house, my mother's cousin. This
gentleman--who was town clerk to the Mayor and Corporation of
Oxford--was also in a sense my guardian, holding it trust about L200
(which was all my inheritance), and spending the same jealously on
my education. He was a very small, precise lawyer, about sixty years
old, shaped like a pear, with a prodigious self-important manner
that came of associating with great men: and all the knowledge I had
of him was pick'd up on the rare occasions (about twice a year) that
I din'd at his table. He had early married and lost an aged shrew,
whose money had been the making of him: and had more respect for law
and authority than any three men in Oxford. So that I reflected,
with a kind of desperate hilarity, on the greeting he was like to
give me.

This kinsman of mine had a fine house at the east end of Merton
Street as you turn into Logic Lane: and I was ten yards from the
front door, and running my fastest, when suddenly I tripp'd and fell
headlong.

Before I could rise, a hand was on my shoulder, and a voice speaking
in my ear--

"Pardon, comrade. We are two of a trade, I see."

'Twas a fellow that had been lurking at the corner of the lane, and
had thrust out a leg as I pass'd. He was pricking up his ears now to
the cries of "Thief--thief!" that had already reach'd the head of
the street, and were drawing near.

"I am no thief," said I.

"Quick!" He dragged me into the shadow of the lane. "Hast a crown in
thy pocket?"

"Why?"

"Why, for a good turn. I'll fog these gentry for thee. Many thanks,
comrade," as I pull'd out the last few shillings of my pocket money.
"Now pitch thy sword over the wall here, and set thy foot on my hand.
'Tis a rich man's garden, t'other side, that I was meaning to
explore myself; but another night will serve."

"'Tis Master Carter's," said I; "and he's my kinsman."

"The devil!--but never mind, up with thee! Now mark a pretty piece
of play. 'Tis pity thou shouldst be across the wall and unable to
see."

He gave a great hoist: catching at the coping of the wall, I pull'd
myself up and sat astride of it.

"Good turf below--ta-ta, comrade!"

By now, the crowd was almost at the corner. Dropping about eight
feet on to good turf, as the fellow had said, I pick'd myself up and
listen'd.

"Which way went he?" call'd one, as they came near.

"Down the street!" "No: up the lane!'" "Hush!" "Up the lane, I'll be
sworn." "Here, hand the lantern!" &c., &c.

While they debated, my friend stood close on the other side of the
wall: but now I heard him dash suddenly out, and up the lane for his
life. "There he goes!" "Stop him!" the cries broke out afresh. "Stop
him, i' the king's name!" The whole pack went pelting by, shouting,
stumbling, swearing.

For two minutes or more the stragglers continued to hurry past by
ones and twos. As soon as their shouts died away, I drew freer
breath and look'd around.

I was in a small, turfed garden, well stock'd with evergreen shrubs,
at the back of a tall house that I knew for Master Carter's. But
what puzzled me was a window in the first floor, very brightly lit,
and certain sounds issuing therefrom that had no correspondence with
my kinsman's reputation.

    "It was a frog leap'd into a pool--
     Fol--de--riddle, went souse in the middle!
     Says he, This is better than moping in school.
     With a--"

"--Your Royal Highness, have some pity! What hideous folly! Oh, dear,
dear--"

    "With a fa-la-tweedle-tweedle,
     Tiddifol-iddifol-ido!"

"--Your Royal Highness, I _cannot_ sing the dreadful stuff! Think of
my grey hairs!"

"Tush! Master Carter--nonsense; 'tis choicely well sung. Come,
brother, the chorus!"

  "With a fa-la--"


And the chorus was roar'd forth, with shouts of laughter and
clinking of glasses. Then came an interval of mournful appeal, and
my kinsman's voice was again lifted----

    "He scattered the tadpoles, and set 'em agog,
     Hey! nod-noddy-all head and no body!
     Oh, mammy! Oh, minky!--"

"--O, mercy, mercy! it makes me sweat for shame."

Now meantime I had been searching about the garden, and was lucky
enough to find a tool shed, and inside of this a ladder hanging,
which now I carried across and planted beneath the window. I had a
shrewd notion of what I should find at the top, remembering now to
have heard that the Princes Rupert and Maurice were lodging with
Master Carter: but the truth beat all my fancies.

For climbing softly up and looking in, I beheld my poor kinsman
perch'd on his chair a-top of the table, in the midst of glasses,
decanters, and desserts: his wig askew, his face white, save where,
between the eyes, a medlar had hit and broken, and his glance
shifting wildly between the two princes, who in easy postures, loose
and tipsy, lounged on either side of him, and beat with their
glasses on the board.

"Bravissimo! More, Master Carter--more!"

    "O mammy, O nunky, here's cousin Jack Frog--
     With a fa-la--"

I lifted my knuckles and tapp'd on the pane; whereon Prince Maurice
starts up with an oath, and coming to the window, flings it open.

"Pardon, your Highness," said I, and pull'd myself past him into the
room, as cool as you please.

'Twas worth while to see their surprise. Prince Maurice ran back to
the table for his sword: his brother (being more thoroughly drunk)
dropped a decanter on the floor, and lay back staring in his chair.
While as for my kinsman, he sat with mouth wide and eyes starting,
as tho' I were a very ghost. In the which embarrassment I took
occasion to say, very politely--

"Good evening, nunky!"

"Who the devil is this?" gasps Prince Rupert.

"Why the fact is, your Highnesses," answered I, stepping up and
laying my sword on the table, while I pour'd out a glass, "Master
Timothy Carter here is my guardian, and has the small sum of L200 in
his possession for my use, of which I happen to-night to stand in
immediate need. So you see--" I finished the sentence by tossing off
a glass. "This is rare stuff!" I said.

"Blood and fury!" burst out Prince Rupert, fumbling for his sword,
and then gazing, drunk and helpless.

"Two hundred pound! Thou jackanapes--" began Master Carter.

"I'll let you off with fifty to-night," said I.

"Ten thousand--!"

"No, fifty. Indeed, nunky," I went on, "'tis very simple. I was at
the 'Crown' tavern--"

"At a tavern!"

"Aye, at a game of dice--"

"Dice!"

"Aye, and a young man was killed--"

"Thou shameless puppy! A man murder'd!"

"Aye, nunky; and the worst is they say 'twas I that kill'd him."

"He's mad. The boy's stark raving mad!" exclaim'd my kinsman. "To
come here in this trim!"

"Why, truly, nunky, thou art a strange one to talk of appearances.
Oh, dear!" and I burst into a wild fit of laughing, for the wine had
warm'd me up to play the comedy out. "To hear thee sing

    "'With a fa--la--tweedle--tweedle!'

and--Oh, nunky, that medlar on thy face is so funny!"

"In Heaven's name, stop!" broke in the Prince Maurice. "Am I mad, or
only drunk? Rupert, if you love me, say I am no worse than drunk."

"Lord knows," answer'd his brother. "I for one was never this way
before."

"Indeed, your Highnesses be only drunk," said I, "and able at that
to sign the order that I shall ask you for."

"An order!"

"To pass the city gates to-night."

"Oh, stop him somebody," groan'd Prince Rupert: "my head is
whirling."

"With your leave," I explain'd, pouring out another glassful: "tis
the simplest matter, and one that a child could understand. You see,
this young man was kill'd, and they charg'd me with it; so away I
ran, and the Watch after me; and therefore I wish to pass the city
gates. And as I may have far to travel, and gave my last groat to a
thief for hoisting me over Master Carter's wall--"

"A thief--my wall!" repeated Master Carter. "Oh well is thy poor
mother in her grave!"

"--Why, therefore I came for money," I wound up, sipping the wine,
and nodding to all present.

'Twas at this moment that, catching my eye, the Prince Maurice
slapp'd his leg, and leaning back, broke into peal after peal of
laughter. And in a moment his brother took the jest also; and there
we three sat and shook, and roar'd unquenchably round Master Carter,
who, staring blankly from one to another, sat gaping, as though the
last alarm were sounding in his ears.

"Oh! oh! oh! Hit me on the back, Maurice!"

"Oh! oh! I cannot--'tis killing me--Master Carter, for pity's sake,
look not so; but pay the lad his money."

"Your Highness----"

"Pay it I say; pay it: 'tis fairly won."

"Fifty pounds!"

"Every doit," said I: "I'm sick of schooling."

"Be hang'd if I do!" snapp'd Master Carter.

"Then be hang'd, sir, but all the town shall hear to-morrow of the
frog and the pool! No, sir: I am off to see the world----

    "'Says he: "This is better than moping in school!"'"

"Your Highnesses," pleaded the unhappy man, "if, to please you, I
sang that idiocy, which, for fifty years now, I had forgotten----"

"Exc'll'nt shong," says Prince Rupert, waking up; "less have't
again!"

       *       *       *       *       *

To be short, ten o'clock was striking from St. Mary's spire when,
with a prince on either side of me, and thirty guineas in my pocket
(which was all the loose gold he had), I walked forth from Master
Carter's door. To make up the deficiency, their highnesses had
insisted on furnishing me with a suit made up from the simplest in
their joint wardrobes--riding-boots, breeches, buff-coat, sash,
pistols, cloak, and feather'd hat, all of which fitted me
excellently well. By the doors of Christ Church, before we came to
the south gate, Prince Rupert, who had been staggering in his walk,
suddenly pull'd up, and leaned against the wall.

"Why--odd's my life--we've forgot a horse for him!" he cried.

"Indeed, your Highness," I answered, "if my luck holds the same, I
shall find one by the road." (How true this turned out you shall
presently hear.)

There was no difficulty at the gate, where the sentry recogniz'd the
two princes and open'd the wicket at once. Long after it had clos'd
behind me, and I stood looking back at Oxford towers, all bath'd in
the winter moonlight, I heard the two voices roaring away up the
street:

    "It was a frog leap'd into a pool--"

At length they died into silence; and, hugging the king's letter in
my breast, I stepped briskly forward on my travels.




CHAPTER IV.

I TAKE THE ROAD.


So puffed up was I by the condescension of the two princes, and my
head so busy with big thoughts, that not till I was over the bridges
and climbing the high ground beyond South Hincksey, with a shrewd
northeast wind at my back, could I spare time for a second backward
look. By this, the city lay spread at my feet, very delicate and
beautiful in a silver network, with a black clump or two to
southward, where the line of Bagley trees ran below the hill. I
pulled out the letter that Anthony had given me. In the moonlight
the brown smear of his blood was plain to see, running across the
superscription:

"_To our trusty and well beloved Sir Ralph Hopton, at our Army in
Cornwall--these._"

'Twas no more than I look'd for; yet the sight of it and the king's
red seal, quicken'd my step as I set off again. And I cared not a
straw for Dr. Kettle's wrath on the morrow.

Having no desire to fall in with any of the royal outposts that lay
around Abingdon, I fetched well away to the west, meaning to shape
my course for Faringdon, and so into the great Bath road. 'Tis not
my purpose to describe at any length my itinerary, but rather to
reserve my pen for those more moving events that overtook me later.
Only in the uncertain light I must have taken a wrong turn to the
left (I think near Besselsleigh) that led me round to the south: for,
coming about daybreak to a considerable town, I found it to be, not
Faringdon, but Wantage. There was no help for it, so I set about
enquiring for a bed. The town was full, and already astir with
preparations for cattle-fair; and neither at the "Bear" nor the
"Three Nuns" was there a bed to be had. But at length at the "Boot"
tavern--a small house, I found one just vacated by a couple of
drovers, and having cozen'd the chambermaid to allow me a clean pair
of sheets, went upstairs very drowsily, and in five minutes was
sleeping sound.

I awoke amid a clatter of voices, and beheld the room full of
womankind.

"He's waking," said one.

"Tis a pity, too, to be afflicted thus--and he such a pretty young
man!"

This came from the landlady, who stood close, her hand shaking my
shoulder roughly.

"What's amiss?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"Why, 'tis three of the afternoon."

"Then I'll get up, as soon as you retire."

"Lud! we've been trying to wake thee this hour past; but 'twas
sleep--sleep!"

"I'll get up, I tell you."

"Thought thee'd ha' slept through the bed and right through to the
floor," said the chambermaid by the door, tittering.

"Unless you pack and go, I'll step out amongst you all!"

Whereat they fled with mock squeals, calling out that the very
thought made them blush: and left me to dress.

Downstairs I found a giant's breakfast spread for me, and ate the
hole, and felt the better for it: and thereupon paid my scot,
resisting the landlady's endeavor to charge me double for the bed,
and walked out to see the town.

"Take care o' thysel'," the chambermaid bawled after me; "nor
flourish thy attainments abroad, lest they put thee in a show!"

Dark was coming on fast: and to my chagrin (for I had intended
purchasing a horse) the buying and selling of the fair were over,
the cattle-pens broken up, and the dealers gather'd round the
fiddlers, ballad singers, and gingerbread stalls. There were gaming
booths, too, driving a brisk trade at Shovel-board, All-fours, and
Costly Colors; and an eating tent, whence issued a thick reek of
cooking and loud rattle of plates. Over the entrance, I remember,
was set a notice: "_Dame Alloway from Bartholomew Fair. Here are
the best geese, and she does them as well as ever she did_." I
jostled my way along, keeping tight hold on my pockets, for fear of
cut-purses; when presently, about halfway down the street, there
arose the noise of shouting. The crowd made a rush toward it; and in
a minute I was left alone, standing before a juggler who had a sword
halfway down his throat, and had to draw it out again before he
could with any sufficiency curse the defection of his audience; but
offered to pull out a tooth for me if I wanted it.

I left him, and running after the crowd soon learn'd the cause of
this tumult.

'Twas a meagre old rascal that someone had charged with picking
pockets: and they were dragging him off to be duck'd. Now in the
heart of Wantage the little stream that runs through the town is
widen'd into a cistern about ten feet square, and five in depth,
over which hung a ducking stool for scolding wives. And since the
townspeople draw their water from this cistern, 'tis to be supposed
they do not fear the infection. A long beam on a pivot hangs out
over the pool, and to the end is a chair fasten'd; into which,
despite his kicks and screams, they now strapped this poor wretch,
whose grey locks might well have won mercy for him.

Souse! he was plunged: hauled up choking and dripping: then--just as
he found tongue to shriek--souse! again.

'Twas a dismal punishment; and this time they kept him under for a
full half minute. But as the beam was lifted again, I heard a
hullaballoo and a cry--

"The bear! the bear!"

And turning, I saw a great brown form lumbering down the street
behind, and driving the people before it like chaff.

The crowd at the brink of the pool scatter'd to right and left,
yelling. Up flew the beam of the ducking stool, reliev'd of their
weight, and down with a splash went the pickpocket at the far end.
As well for my own skin's sake as out of pity to see him drowning,
I jumped into the water. In two strokes I reach'd him, gained footing,
and with Anthony's sword cut the straps away and pull'd him up. And
there we stood, up to our necks, coughing and spluttering; while on
the deserted brink the bear sniff'd at the water and regarded us.

No doubt we appear'd contemptible enough: for after a time he turned
with a louder sniff, and went his way lazily up the street again. He
had broken out from the pit wherein, for the best part of the day,
they had baited him; yet seemed to bear little malice. For he
saunter'd about the town for an hour or two, hurting no man, but
making a clean sweep of every sweet stall in his way; and was taken
at last very easily, with his head in a treacle cask, by the bear
ward and a few dogs.

Meanwhile the pickpocket and I had scrambled out by the further bank
and wrung our clothes. He seemed to resent his treatment no more
than did the bear.

"Ben cove--'tis a good world. My thanks!"

And with this scant gratitude he was gone, leaving me to make my way
back to the sign of "The Boot," where the chambermaid led me
upstairs, and took away my clothes to dry by the fire. I determin'd
to buy a horse on the morrow, and with my guineas and the King's
letter under the pillow, dropp'd off to slumber again.

My powers of sleep must have been nois'd abroad by the hostess: for
next morning at the breakfast ordinary, the dealers and drovers laid
down knife and fork to stare as I enter'd. After a while one or two
lounged out and brought in others to look: so that soon I was in a
ring of stupid faces, all gazing like so many cows.

For a while I affected to eat undisturbed: but lost patience at last
and addressed a red-headed gazer----

"If you take me for a show, you ought to pay."

"That's fair," said the fellow, and laid a groat on the board. This
came near to putting me in a passion, but his face was serious.
"'Tis a real pleasure," he added heartily, "to look on one so
gifted."

"If any of you," I said, "could sell me a horse----"

At once there was a clamor, all bidding in one breath for my custom.
So finishing my breakfast, I walked out with them to the tavern yard,
where I had my pick among the sorriest-looking dozen of nags in
England, and finally bought from the red-haired man, for five pounds,
bridle, saddle, and a flea-bitten grey that seem'd more honestly
raw-boned than the rest. And the owner wept tears at the parting
with his beast, and thereby added a pang to the fraud he had already
put upon me. And I rode from the tavern door suspecting laughter in
the eyes of every passer-by.

The day ('twas drawing near noon as I started) was cold and clear,
with a coating of rime over the fields: and my horse's feet rang
cheerfully on the frozen road. His pace was of the soberest: but, as
I was no skilful rider, this suited me rather than not. Only it was
galling to be told so, as happened before I had gone three miles.

'Twas my friend the pickpocket: and he sat before a fire of dry
sticks a little way back from the road. His scanty hair, stiff as a
badger's, now stood upright around his batter'd cap, and he look'd
at me over the bushes, with his hook'd nose thrust forward like a
bird's beak.

"Bien lightmans, comrade--good day! 'Tis a good world; so stop and
dine."

I pull'd up my grey.

"Glad you find it so," I answered; "you had a nigh chance to compare
it with the next, last night."

"Shan't do so well i' the next, I fear," he said with a twinkle:
"but I owe thee something, and here's a hedgehog that in five
minutes'll be baked to a turn. 'Tis a good world, and the better
that no man can count on it. Last night my dripping duds helped me
to a cant tale, and got me a silver penny from a man of religion.
Good's in the worst; and life's like hunting the squirrel--a man
gets much good exercise thereat, but seldom what he hunts for."

"That's as good morality as Aristotle's," said I.

"'Tis better for _me_, because 'tis mine." While I tether'd my
horse he blew at the embers, wherein lay a good-sized ball of clay,
baking. After a while he look'd up with red cheeks. "They were so
fast set on drowning me," he continued with a wink, "they couldn't
spare time to look i' my pocket--the ruffin cly them!"

He pull'd the clay ball out of the fire, crack'd it, and lo! inside
was a hedgehog cook'd, the spikes sticking in the clay, and coming
away with it. So he divided the flesh with his knife, and upon a
slice of bread from his wallet it made very delicate eating: tho' I
doubt if I enjoyed it as much as did my comrade, who swore over and
over that the world was good, and as the wintry sun broke out, and
the hot ashes warm'd his knees, began to chatter at a great pace.

"Why, sir, but for the pretty uncertainty of things I'd as lief die
here as I sit----"

He broke off at the sound of wheels, and a coach with two
postillions spun past us on the road.

I had just time to catch a glimpse of a figure huddled in the corner,
and a sweet pretty girl with chestnut curls seated beside it, behind
the glass. After the coach came a heavy broad-shoulder'd servant
riding on a stout grey; who flung us a sharp glance as he went by,
and at twenty yards' distance turn'd again to look.

"That's luck," observed the pickpocket, as the travelers disappear'd
down the highway: "Tomorrow, with a slice of it, I might be riding
in such a coach as that, and have the hydropsy, to boot. Good lack!
when I was ta'en prisoner by the Turks a-sailing i' the _Mary_ of
London, and sold for a slave at Algiers, I escap'd, after two months,
with Eli Sprat, a Gravesend man, in a small open boat. Well, we sail'd
three days and nights, and all the time there was a small sea bird
following, flying round and round us, and calling two notes that
sounded for all the world like 'Wind'ard! Wind'ard!' So at last says
Eli, ''Tis heaven's voice bidding us ply to wind'ard.' And so we did,
and on the fourth day made Marseilles; and who should be first to meet
Eli on the quay but a Frenchwoman he had married five years before,
and left. And the jade had him clapp'd in the pillory, alongside of a
cheating fishmonger with a collar of stinking smelts, that turn'd poor
Eli's stomach completely. Now there's somewhat to set against the
story of Whittington next time 'tis told you."

I was now for bidding the old rascal good-bye. But he offer'd to go
with me as far as Hungerford, where we should turn into the Bath
road. At first I was shy of accepting, by reason of his coat,
wherein patches of blue, orange-tawny and flame-color quite overlaid
the parent black: but closed with him upon his promise to teach me
the horsemanship that I so sadly lacked. And by time we enter'd
Hungerford town I was advanced so far, and bestrode my old grey so
easily, that in gratitude I offer'd him supper and bed at an inn, if
he would but buy a new coat: to which he agreed, saying that the
world was good.

By this, the day was clouded over and the rain coming down apace. So
that as soon as my comrade was decently array'd at the first
slopshop we came to, 'twas high time to seek an inn. We found
quarters at "The Horn," and sought the travelers' room, and a fire
to dry ourselves.

In this room, at the window, were two men who look'd lazily up at
our entrance. They were playing at a game, which was no other than
to race two snails up a pane of glass and wager which should prove
the faster.

"A wet day!" said my comrade, cheerfully.

The pair regarded him. "I'll lay you a crown it clears within the
hour!" said one.

"And I another," put in the other; and with that they went back to
their sport.

Drawing near, I myself was soon as eager as they in watching the
snails, when my companion drew my notice to a piece of writing on
the window over which they were crawling. 'Twas a set of verses
scribbled there, that must have been scratch'd with a diamond: and
to my surprise--for I had not guess'd him a scholar--he read them
out for my benefit. Thus the writing ran, for I copied it later:

"_Master Ephraim Tucker_, his dying councell to wayfardingers; to seek
_The Splendid Spur_.

    "Not on the necks of prince or hound,
       Nor on a woman's finger twin'd,
     May gold from the deriding ground
       Keep sacred that we sacred bind
           Only the heel
           Of splendid steel
     Shall stand secure on sliding fate,
     When golden navies weep their freight.

    "The scarlet hat, the laurell'd stave
       Are measures, not the springs, of worth;
     In a wife's lap, as in a grave,
       Man's airy notions mix with earth.
           Seek other spur
           Bravely to stir
     The dust in this loud world, and tread
     Alp-high among the whisp'ring dead.

    "_Trust in thyself_,--then spur amain:
       So shall Charybdis wear a grace,
     Grim Aetna laugh, the Lybian plain
       Take roses to her shrivell'd face.
           This orb--this round
           Of sight and sound--
     Count it the lists that God hath built
     For haughty hearts to ride a-tilt.

"FINIS-Master Tucker's Farewell."

"And a very pretty moral on four gentlemen that pass their afternoon
a setting snails to race!"

At these words, spoken in a delicate foreign voice we all started
round: and saw a young lady standing behind us.

Now that she was the one who had passed us in the coach I saw at
once. But describe her--to be plain--I cannot, having tried a many
times. So let me say only that she was the prettiest creature on
God's earth (which, I hope, will satisfy her); that she had chestnut
curls and a mouth made for laughing; that she wore a kirtle and
bodice of grey silk taffety, with a gold pomander-box hung on a
chain about her neck; and held out a drinking glass toward us with
a Frenchified grace.

"Gentlemen, my father is sick, and will taste no water but what is
freshly drawn. I ask you not to brave Charybdis or Aetna, but to step
out into the rainy yard and draw me a glassful from the pump there:
for our servant is abroad in the town."

To my deep disgust, before I could find a word, that villainous old
pickpocket had caught the glass from her hand and reached the door.
But I ran after; and out into the yard we stepp'd together, where I
pump'd while he held the glass to the spout, flinging away the
contents time after time, till the bubbles on the brim, and the film
on the outside, were to his liking.

'Twas he, too, that gain'd the thanks on our return.

"Mistress," said he with a bow, "my young friend is raw, but has a
good will. Confess, now, for his edification--for he is bound on a
long journey westward, where, they tell me, the maidens grow
comeliest--that looks avail naught with womankind beside a dashing
manner."

The young gentlewoman laughed, shaking her curls.

"I'll give him in that case three better counsels yet: first (for by
his habit I see he is on the King's side), let him take a circuit
from this place to the south, for the road between Marlboro' and
Bristol is, they tell me, all held by the rebels; next, let him
avoid all women, even tho' they ask but an innocent cup of water;
and lastly, let him shun thee, unless thy face lie more than thy
tongue. Shall I say more?"

"Why, no--perhaps better not," replied the old rogue hastily, but
laughing all the same. "That's a clever lass," he added, as the door
shut behind her.

And, indeed, I was fain, next morning, to agree to this. For,
awaking, I found my friend (who had shar'd a room with me) already
up and gone, and discovered the reason in a sheet of writing pinn'd
to my clothes----

"Young Sir,--I convict myself of ingratitude: but habit is hard to
break. So I have made off with the half of thy guineas and thy horse.
The residue, and the letter thou bearest, I leave. 'Tis a good world,
and experience should be bought early. This golden lesson I leave in
return for the guineas. Believe me, 'tis of more worth. Read over
those verses on the windowpane before starting, digest them, and
trust me, thy obliged,

"Peter, The Jackman.

"Raise not thy hand so often to thy breast: 'tis a sure index of
hidden valuables."

Be sure I was wroth enough: nor did the calm interest of the two
snail owners appease me, when at breakfast I told them a part of the
story. But I thought I read sympathy in the low price at which one
of them offer'd me his horse. 'Twas a tall black brute, very strong
in the loins, and I bought him at once out of my shrunken stock of
guineas. At ten o'clock, I set out, not along the Bath road, but
bearing to the south, as the young gentlewoman had counselled. I
began to hold a high opinion of her advice.

By twelve o'clock I was back at the inn door, clamoring to see the
man that sold me the horse, which had gone dead lame after the
second mile.

"Dear heart!" cried the landlord; "they are gone, the both, this
hour and a half. But they are coming again within the fortnight; and
I'm expressly to report if you return'd, as they had a wager about
it."

I turn'd away, pondering. Two days on the road had put me sadly out
of conceit with myself. For mile upon mile I trudged, dragging the
horse after me by the bridle, till my arms felt as if coming from
their sockets. I would have turn'd the brute loose, and thought
myself well quit of him, had it not been for the saddle and bridle
he carried.

       *       *       *       *       *

'Twas about five in the evening, and I still laboring along, when,
over the low hedge to my right, a man on a sorrel mare leap'd easily
as a swallow, and alighted some ten paces or less in front of me;
where he dismounted and stood barring my path. The muzzle of his
pistol was in my face before I could lay hand to my own.

"Good evening!" said I.

"You have money about you, doubtless," growled the man curtly, and
in a voice that made me start. For by his voice and figure in the
dusk I knew him for Captain Settle: and in the sorrel with the high
white stocking I recognized the mare, Molly, that poor Anthony
Killigrew had given me almost with his last breath.

The bully did not know me, having but seen me for an instant at "The
Crown," and then in very different attire.

"I have but a few poor coins," I answer'd.

"Then hand 'em over."

"Be shot if I do!" said I in a passion; and pulling out a handful
from my pocket, I dash'd them down in the road.

For a moment the Captain took his pistol from my face, and stooped
to clutch at the golden coins as they trickled and ran to right and
left. The next, I had struck out with my right fist, and down he
went staggering. His pistol dropped out of his hand and exploded
between my feet. I rush'd to Molly, caught her bridle, and leap'd on
her back. 'Twas a near thing, for the Captain was rushing toward us.
But at the call of my voice the mare gave a bound and turn'd: and
down the road I was borne, light as a feather.

A bullet whizz'd past my ear: I heard the Captain's curse mingle
with the report: and then was out of range, and galloping through
the dusk.




CHAPTER V.

MY ADVENTURE AT THE "THREE CUPS."


Secure of pursuit, and full of delight in the mare's easy motion, I
must have travelled a good six miles before the moon rose. In the
frosty sky her rays sparkled cheerfully, and by them I saw on the
holsters the silver demi-bear that I knew to be the crest of the
Killigrews, having the fellow to it engraved on my sword-hilt. So
now I was certain 'twas Molly that I bestrode: and took occasion of
the light to explore the holsters and saddle flap.

Poor Anthony's pistols were gone--filched, no doubt, by the Captain:
but you may guess my satisfaction, when on thrusting my hand deeper,
I touched a heap of coins, and found them to be gold.

'Twas certainly a rare bargain I had driven with Captain Settle. For
the five or six gold pieces I scatter'd on the road, I had won close
on thirty guineas, as I counted in the moonlight; not to speak of
this incomparable Molly. And I began to whistle gleefully, and taste
the joke over again and laugh to myself, as we cantered along with
the north wind at our backs.

All the same, I had no relish for riding thus till morning. For the
night was chill enough to search my very bones after the heat of the
late gallop: and, moreover, I knew nothing of the road, which at
this hour was quite deserted. So that, coming at length to a tall
hill with a black ridge of pine wood standing up against the moon
like a fish's fin, I was glad enough to note below it, and at some
distance from the trees, a window brightly lit; and pushed forward
in hope of entertainment.

The building was an inn, though a sorry one. Nor, save for the
lighted window, did it wear any grace of hospitality, but thrust out
a bare shoulder upon the road, and a sign that creaked overhead and
look'd for all the world like a gallows. Round this shoulder of the
house, and into the main yard (that turn'd churlishly toward the
hillside), the wind howled like a beast in pain. I climb'd off Molly,
and pressing my hat down on my head, struck a loud rat-tat on the
door.

Curiously, it opened at once; and I saw a couple of men in the
lighted passage.

"Heard the mare's heels on the road, Cap--. Hillo! What in the
fiend's name is this?"

Said I: "If you are he that keeps this house, I want two things of
you--first, a civil tongue, and next a bed."

"Ye'll get neither, then."

"Your sign says that you keep an inn."

"Aye--the 'Three Cups': but we're full."

"Your manner of speech proves that to be a lie."

I liked the fellow's voice so little that 'tis odds I would have
re-mounted Molly and ridden away; but at this instant there floated
down the stairs and out through the drink-smelling passage a sound
that made me jump. 'Twas a girl's voice singing----

    "Hey nonni--nonni--no!
     Men are fools that wish to die!
     Is't not fine to laugh and sing
     When the hells of death do ring----"

There was no doubt upon it. The voice belonged to the young
gentlewoman I had met at Hungerford. I turned sharply toward the
landlord, and was met by another surprise. The second man, that till
now had stood well back in the shadow, was peering forward, and
devouring Molly with his gaze. 'Twas hard to read his features, but
then and there I would have wagered my life he was no other than
Luke Settle's comrade, Black Dick.

My mind was made up. "I'll not ride a step further, to-night," said
I.

"Then bide there and freeze," answer'd the landlord.

He was for slamming the door in my face, when the other caught him
by the arm and, pulling him a little back, whisper'd a word or two.
I guess'd what this meant, but resolved not to draw back; and
presently the landlord's voice began again, betwixt surly and
polite----

"Have ye too high a stomach to lie on straw?"

"Oho!" thought I to myself, "then I am to be kept for the mare's
sake, but not admitted to the house:" and said aloud that I could
put up with a straw bed.

"Because there's the stable loft at your service. As ye hear" (and
in fact the singing still went on, only now I heard a man's voice
joining in the catch) "our house is full of company. But straw is
clean bedding, and the mare I'll help to put in stall."

"Agreed," I said, "on one condition--that you send out a maid to me
with a cup of mulled sack: for this cold eats me alive."

To this he consented: and stepping back into a side room with the
other fellow, returned in a minute alone, and carrying a lantern
which, in spite of the moon, was needed to guide a stranger across
that ruinous yard. The flare, as we pick'd our way along, fell for
a moment on an open cart shed and, within, on the gilt panels of a
coach that I recogniz'd. In the stable, that stood at the far end of
the court, I was surprised to find half a dozen horses standing,
ready saddled, and munching their fill of oats. They were ungroom'd,
and one or two in a lather of sweat that on such a night was hard to
account for. But I asked no questions, and my companion vouchsafed
no talk, though twice I caught him regarding me curiously as I
unbridled the mare in the only vacant stall. Not a word pass'd as he
took the lantern off the peg again, and led the way up a ramshackle
ladder to the loft above. He was a fat, lumbering fellow, and made
the old timbers creak. At the top he set down the light, and pointed
to a heap of straw in the corner.

"Yon's your bed," he growled; and before I could answer, was picking
his way down the ladder again.

I look'd about, and shiver'd. The eaves of my bedchamber were scarce
on speaking terms with the walls, and through a score of crannies at
least the wind poured and whistled, so that after shifting my truss
of straw a dozen times I found myself still the centre of a whirl of
draught. The candle-flame, too, was puffed this way and that inside
the horn sheath. I was losing patience when I heard footsteps below;
the ladder creak'd, and the red hair and broad shoulders of a
chambermaid rose into view. She carried a steaming mug in her hand,
and mutter'd all the while in no very choice talk.

The wench had a kind face, tho'; and a pair of eyes that did her
more credit than her tongue.

"And what's to be my reward for this, I want to know?" she panted
out, resting her left palm on her hip.

"Why, a groat or two," said I, "when it comes to the reckoning."

"Lud!" she cried, "what a dull young man!"

"Dull?"

"Aye--to make me ask for a kiss in so many words:" and with the back
of her left hand she wiped her mouth for it frankly, while she held
out the mug in her right.

"Oh!" I said, "I beg your pardon, but my wits are frozen up, I think.
There's two, for interest: and another if you tell me whom your
master entertains to-night, that I must be content with this crib."

She took the kisses with composure and said---

"Well--to begin, there's the gentlefolk that came this afternoon
with their own carriage and heathenish French servant: a cranky old
grandee and a daughter with more airs than a peacock: Sir Something-
or-other Killigew--Lord bless the boy!"

For I had dropp'd the mug and split the hot sack all about the straw,
where it trickled away with a fragrance reproachfully delicious.

"Now I beg your pardon a hundred times: but the chill is in my bones
worse than the ague;" and huddling my shoulders up, I counterfeited
a shivering fit with a truthfulness that surpris'd myself.

"Poor lad!"

"--And 'tis first hot and then cold all down my spine."

"There, now!"

"-And goose flesh and flushes all over my body."

"Dear heart-and to pass the night in this grave of a place!"

"--And by morning I shall be in a high fever: and oh! I feel I shall
die of it!"

"Don't--don't!" The honest girl's eyes were full of tears. "I wonder,
now--" she began: and I waited, eager for her next words. "Sure,
master's at cards in the parlor, and 'll be drunk by midnight. Shalt
pass the night by the kitchen fire, if only thou make no noise."

"But your mistress--what will she say?"

"Is in heaven these two years: and out of master's speaking distance
forever. So blow out the light and follow me gently."

Still feigning to shiver, I follow'd her down the ladder, and
through the stable into the open. The wind by this time had brought
up some heavy clouds, and mass'd them about the moon: but 'twas
freezing hard, nevertheless. The girl took me by the hand to guide
me: for, save from the one bright window in the upper floor, there
was no light at all in the yard. Clearly, she was in dread of her
master's anger, for we stole across like ghosts, and once or twice
she whisper'd a warning when my toe kick'd against a loose cobble.
But just as I seem'd to be walking into a stone wall, she put out
her hand, I heard the click of a latch, and stood in a dark, narrow
passage.

The passage led to a second door that open'd on a wide, stone-pav'd
kitchen, lit by a cheerful fire, whereon a kettle hissed and bubbled
as the vapor lifted the cover. Close by the chimney corner was a
sort of trap, or buttery hatch, for pushing the hot dishes
conveniently into the parlor on the other side of the wall. Besides
this, for furniture, the room held a broad deal table, an oak
dresser, a linen press, a rack with hams and strings of onions
depending from it, a settle and a chair or two, with (for
decoration) a dozen or so of ballad sheets stuck among the dish
covers along the wall.

"Sit," whisper'd the girl, "and make no noise, while I brew a rack-
punch for the men-folk in the parlor." She jerked her thumb toward
the buttery hatch, where I had already caught the mur-mer of voices.

I took up a chair softly, and set it down between the hatch and the
fireplace, so that while warming my knees I could catch any word
spoken more than ordinary loud on the other side of the wall. The
chambermaid stirr'd the fire briskly, and moved about singing as she
fetch'd down bottles and glasses from the dresser----

    "Lament ye maids an' darters
       For constant Sarah Ann,
     Who hang'd hersel' in her garters
       All for the love o' man,
     All for the--"

She was pausing, bottle in hand, to take the high note: but hush'd
suddenly at the sound of the voices singing in the room upstairs---

    "Vivre en tout cas
     C'est le grand soulas
     Des honnetes gens!"

"That's the foreigners," said the chambermaid, and went on with her
ditty----

    "All for the love of a souljer
     Who christening name was Jan."

A volley of oaths sounded through the buttery hatch.

"--And that's the true-born Englishmen, as you may tell by their
speech. 'Tis pretty company the master keeps, these days."

She was continuing her song, when I held up a finger for silence. In
fact, through the hatch my ear had caught a sentence that set me
listening for more with a still heart.

"D--n the Captain," the landlord's gruff voice was saying; "I warn'd
'n agen this fancy business when sober, cool-handed work was
toward."

"Settle's way from his cradle," growl'd another; "and times enough
I've told 'n: 'Cap'n,' says I, 'there's no sense o' proportions
about ye.' A master mind, sirs, but 'a 'll be hang'd for a hen-roost,
so sure as my name's Bill Widdicomb."

"Ugly words-what a creeping influence has that same mention o'
hanging!" piped a thinner voice.

"Hold thy complaints, Old Mortification," put in a speaker that I
recogniz'd for Black Dick; "sure the pretty maid upstairs is tender
game. Hark how they sing!"

And indeed the threatened folk upstairs were singing their catch
very choicely, with a girl's clear voice to lead them---

    "Comment dit papa
      --Margoton, ma mie?"

"Heathen language, to be sure," said the thin voice again, as the
chorus ceased: "thinks I to mysel' 'they be but Papisters,' an' my
doubting mind is mightily reconcil'd to manslaughter."

"I don't like beginning 'ithout the Cap'n," observed Black Dick:
"though I doubt something has miscarried. Else, how did that young
spark ride in upon the mare?"

"An' that's what thy question should ha' been, Dick, with a pistol
to his skull."

"He'll keep till the morrow."

"We'll give Settle half-an-hour more," said the landlord: "Mary!" he
push'd open the hatch, so that I had barely time to duck my head out
of view, "fetch in the punch, girl. How did'st leave the young man
i' the loft?'

"Asleep, or nearly," answer'd Mary--

    "Who hang'd hersel' in her gar-ters,
     All for the love o' man--"

"--Anon, anon, master: wait only till I get the kettle on the boil."

The hatch was slipp'd to again. I stood up and made a step toward
the girl.

"How many are they?" I ask'd, jerking a finger in the direction of
the parlor.

"A dozen all but one."

"Where is the foreign guests' room?"

"Left hand, on the first landing."

"The staircase?"

"Just outside the door."

"Then sing--go on singing for your life."

"But--"

"Sing!"

"Dear heart, they'll murder thee! Oh! for pity's sake, let go my
wrist---

    "'Lament, ye maids an' darters--'"

I stole to the door and peep'd out. A lantern hung in the passage,
and showed the staircase directly in front of me. I stay'd for a
moment to pull off my boots, and, holding them in my left hand,
crept up the stairs. In the kitchen, the girl was singing and
clattering the glasses together. Behind the door, at the head of the
stairs, I heard voices talking. I slipp'd on my boots again and
tapp'd on the panel.

"Come in!"

Let me try to describe that on which my eyes rested as I push'd the
door wide. 'Twas a long room, wainscoted half up the wall in some
dark wood, and in daytime lit by one window only, which now was hung
with red curtains. By the fireplace, where a brisk wood fire was
crackling, lean'd the young gentlewoman I had met at Hungerford, who,
as she now turn'd her eyes upon me, ceas'd fingering the guitar or
mandoline that she held against her waist, and raised her pretty
head not without curiosity.

But 'twas on the table in the centre of the chamber that my gaze
settled; and on two men beside it, of whom I must speak more
particularly.

The elder, who sat in a high-back'd chair, was a little, frail,
deform'd gentleman of about fifty, dress'd very richly in dark
velvet and furs, and wore on his head a velvet skullcap, round which
his white hair stuck up like a ferret's. But the oddest thing about
him was a complexion that any maid of sixteen would give her ears
for--of a pink and white so transparent that it seem'd a soft light
must be glowing beneath his skin. On either cheek bone this delicate
coloring centred in a deeper flush. This is as much as I need say
about his appearance, except that his eyes were very bright and
sharp, and his chin stuck out like a vicious mule's.

The table before him was cover'd with bottles and flasks, in the
middle of which stood a silver lamp burning, and over it a silver
saucepan that sent up a rare fragrance as the liquid within it
simmer'd and bubbled. So eager was the old gentleman in watching the
progress of his mixture, that he merely glanc'd up at my entrance,
and then, holding up a hand for silence, turn'd his eyes on the
saucepan again.

The second man was the broad-shouldered lackey I had seen riding
behind the coach: and now stood over the saucepan with a twisted
flask in his hand, from which he pour'd a red syrup very gingerly,
drop by drop, with the tail of his eye turn'd on his master's face,
that he might know when to cease.

Now it may be that my entrance upset this experiment in strong
drinks. At any rate, I had scarce come to a stand about three paces
inside the door, when the little old gentleman bounces up in a fury,
kicks over his chair, hurls the nearest bottles to right and left,
and sends the silver saucepan spinning across the table to my very
feet, where it scalded me clean through the boot, and made me hop
for pain.

"Spoil'd--spoil'd!" he scream'd: "drench'd in filthy liquor, when it
should have breath'd but a taste!"

And, to my amazement, he sprang on the strapping servant like a
wild-cat, and began to beat, cuff, and belabor him with all the
strength of his puny limbs.

'Twas like a scene out of Bedlam. Yet all the while the girl lean'd
quietly against the mantelshelf, and softly touched the strings of
her instrument; while the servant took the rain of blows and slaps
as though 'twere a summer shower, grinning all over his face, and
making no resistance at all.

Then, as I stood dumb with perplexity, the old gentleman let go his
hold of the fellow's hair, and, dropping on the floor, began to roll
about in a fit of coughing, the like of which no man can imagine.
'Twas hideous. He bark'd, and writhed, and bark'd again, till the
disorder seem'd to search and rack every innermost inch of his small
frame. And in the intervals of coughing his exclamations were
terrible to listen to.

"He's dying!" I cried; and ran forward to help.

The servant pick'd up the chair, and together we set him in it. By
degrees the violence of the cough abated, and he lay back, livid in
the face, with his eyes closed, and his hands clutching the knobs of
the chair. I turn'd to the girl. She had neither spoken nor stirr'd,
but now came forward, and calmly ask'd my business.

"I think," said I, "that your name is Killigrew?"

"I am Delia Killigrew, and this is my father, Sir Deakin."

"Now on his way to visit his estates in Cornwall?"

She nodded.

"Then I have to warn you that your lives are in danger." And, gently
as possible, I told her what I had seen and heard downstairs. In the
middle of my tale, the servant stepp'd to the door, and return'd
quietly. There was no lock on the inside. After a minute he went
across, and drew the red curtains. The window had a grating within,
of iron bars as thick as a man's thumb, strongly clamp'd in the
stonework, and not four inches apart. Clearly, he was a man of few
words; for, returning, he merely pull'd out his sword, and waited
for the end of my tale.

The girl, also, did not interrupt me, but listen'd in silence. As I
ceas'd, she said----

"Is this all you know?"

"No," answer'd I, "it is not. But the rest I promise to tell you if
we escape from this place alive. Will this content you?"

She turn'd to the servant, who nodded. Whereupon she held out her
hand very cordially.

"Sir, listen: we are travelers bound for Cornwall, as you know, and
have some small possessions, that will poorly reward the greed of
these violent men. Nevertheless, we should be hurrying on our
journey did we not await my brother Anthony, who was to have ridden
from Oxford to join us here, but has been delayed, doubtless on the
King's business----"

She broke off, as I started: for below I heard the main door open,
and Captain Settle's voice in the passage. The arch villain had
return'd.

"Mistress Delia," I said hurriedly, "the twelfth man has enter'd the
house, and unless we consider our plans at once, all's up with us."

"Tush!" said the old gentleman in the chair, who (it seems) had
heard all, and now sat up brisk as ever. "I, for my part shall mix
another glass, and leave it all to Jacques. Come, sit by me, sir,
and you shall see some pretty play. Why, Jacques is the neatest
rogue with a small sword in all France!"

"Sir," I put in, "they are a round dozen in all, and your life at
present is not worth a penny's purchase."

"That's a lie! 'Tis worth this bowl before me, that, with or without
you, I mean to empty. What a fool thing is youth! Sir, you must be
a dying man like myself to taste life properly." And, as I am a
truthful man, he struck up quavering merrily--

    "Hey, nonni--nonni--no!
     Men are fools that wish to die!
     Is't not fine to laugh and sing
     When the bells of death do ring?
     Is't not fine to drown in wine,
     And turn upon the toe,
     And sing, hey--nonni--no?
     Hey, nonni--nonni--"

"--Come and sit, sir, nor spoil sport. You are too raw, I'll wager,
to be of any help; and boggling I detest."

"Indeed, sir," I broke in, now thoroughly anger'd, "I can use the
small sword as well as another."

"Tush! Try him, Jacques."

Jacques, still wearing a stolid face, brought his weapon to the
guard. Stung to the quick, I wheel'd round, and made a lunge or two,
that he put aside as easily as though I were a babe. And then--I
know not how it happened, but my sword slipp'd like ice out of my
grasp, and went flying across the room. Jacques, sedately as on a
matter of business, stepp'd to pick it up, while the old gentleman
chuckled.

I was hot and asham'd, and a score of bitter words sprang to my
tongue-tip, when the Frenchman, as he rose from stooping, caught my
eye, and beckon'd me across to him.

He was white as death, and pointed to the hilt of my sword and the
demi-bear engrav'd thereon.

"He is dead," I whisper'd: "hush!--turn your face aside--killed by
those same dogs that are now below."

I heard a sob in the true fellow's throat. But on the instant it was
drown'd by the sound of a door opening and the tramp of feet on the
stairs.




CHAPTER VI.

THE FLIGHT IN THE PINE WOOD.


By the sound of their steps I guess'd one or two of these dozen
rascals to be pretty far gone in drink, and afterward found this to
be the case. I look'd round. Sir Deakin had pick'd up the lamp and
was mixing his bowl of punch, humming to himself without the least
concern----

    "Vivre en tout cas
     C'est le grand soulas"--

with a glance at his daughter's face, that was white to the lips,
but firmly set.

"Hand me the nutmeg yonder," he said, and then, "why, daughter,
what's this?--a trembling hand?"

And all the while the footsteps were coming up.

There was a loud knock on the door.

"Come in!" call'd Sir Deakin.

At this, Jacques, who stood ready for battle by the entrance,
wheeled round, shot a look at his master, and dropping his point,
made a sign to me to do the same. The door was thrust rudely open,
and Captain Settle, his hat cock'd over one eye, and sham
drunkenness in his gait, lurched into the room, with the whole
villainous crew behind him, huddled on the threshold. Jacques and
I stepp'd quietly back, so as to cover the girl.

[Illustration: The door was thrust rudely open.--Page 88.]

"Would you mind waiting a moment?" inquir'd Sir Deakin, without
looking up, but rubbing the nutmeg calmly up and down the grater: "a
fraction too much, and the whole punch will be spoil'd."

It took the Captain aback, and he came to a stand, eyeing us, who
look'd back at him without saying a word. And this discomposed him
still further.

There was a minute during which the two parties could hear each
other's breathing. Sir Deakin set down the nutmeg, wiped his thin
white fingers on a napkin, and address'd the Captain sweetly--

"Before asking your business, sir, I would beg you and your company
to taste this liquor, which, in the court of France"--the old
gentleman took a sip from the mixing ladle--"has had the extreme
honor to be pronounced divine." He smack'd his lips, and rising to
his feet, let his right hand rest on the silver foot of the lamp as
he bowed to the Captain.

Captain Settle's bravado was plainly oozing away before this polite
audacity: and seeing Sir Deakin taste the punch, he pull'd off his
cap in a shamefaced manner and sat down by the table with a word of
thanks.

"Come in, sirs--come in!" call'd the old gentleman; "and follow your
friend's example. 'Twill be a compliment to make me mix another bowl
when this is finish'd." He stepped around the table to welcome them,
still resting his hand on the lamp, as if for steadiness. I saw his
eye twinkle as they shuffled in and stood around the chair where the
Captain was seated.

"Jacques, bring glasses from the cupboard yonder! And, Delia, fetch
up some chairs for our guests--no, sirs, pray do not move!"

He had waved his hand lightly to the door as he turned to us: and in
an instant the intention as well as the bright success of this
comedy flash'd upon me. There was now no one between us and the
stairs, and as for Sir Deakin himself, he had already taken the step
of putting the table's width between him and his guests.

I touch'd the girl's arm, and we made as if to fetch a couple of
chairs that stood against the wainscot by the door. As we did so,
Sir Deakin push'd the punch bowl forward under the Captain's nose.

"Smell, sir," he cried airily, "and report to your friends on the
foretaste."

Settle's nose hung over the steaming compound. With a swift pass of
the hand, the old gentleman caught up the lamp and had shaken a drop
of burning oil into the bowl. A great blaze leap'd to the ceiling.
There was a howl--a scream of pain; and as I push'd Mistress Delia
through the doorway and out to the head of the stairs, I caught a
backward glimpse of Sir Deakin rushing after us, with one of the
stoutest among the robbers at his heels.

"Downstairs, for your life!" I whisper'd to the girl, and turning,
as her father tumbled past me, let his pursuer run on my sword, as
on a spit. At the same instant, another blade pass'd through the
fellow transversely, and Jacques stood beside me, with his back to
the lintel.

As we pull'd our swords out and the man dropp'd, I had a brief view
into the room, where now the blazing liquid ran off the table in a
stream. Settle, stamping with agony, had his palms press'd against
his scorch'd eyelids. The fat landlord, in trying to beat out the
flames, had increased them by upsetting two bottles of aqua vitae,
and was dancing about with three fingers in his mouth. The rest
stood for the most part dumbfounder'd: but Black Dick had his pistol
lifted.

Jacques and I sprang out for the landing and round the doorway.
Between the flash and the report I felt a sudden scrape, as of a
red-hot wire, across my left thigh and just above the knee.

"Tenez, camarade," said Jacques' voice in my ear; "a moi la porte--a
vous le maitre, la-bas:" and he pointed down the staircase, where,
by the glare of the conflagration that beat past us, I saw the
figures of Sir Deakin and his daughter standing.

"But how can you keep the door against a dozen?"

The Frenchman shrugg'd his shoulders with a smile---

"Mais-comme ca!"

For at this moment came a rush of footsteps within the room. I saw
a fat paunch thrusting past us, a quiet pass of steel, and the
landlord was wallowing on his face across the threshold. Jacques'
teeth snapp'd together as he stood ready for another victim: and as
the fellows within the room tumbled back, he motion'd me to leave
him.

I sprang from his side, and catching the rail of the staircase,
reach'd the foot in a couple of bounds.

"Hurry!" I cried, and caught the old baronet by the hand. His
daughter took the other, and between us we hurried him across the
passage for the kitchen door.

Within, the chambermaid was on her knees by the settle, her face and
apron of the same hue. I saw she was incapable of helping, and
hasten'd across the stone floor, and out toward the back entrance.

A stream of icy wind blew in our faces as we stepp'd over the
threshold. The girl and I bent our heads to it, and stumbling,
tripping, and panting, pull'd Sir Deakin with us out into the cold
air.

The yard was no longer dark. In the room above someone had push'd
the casement open, letting in the wind: and by this 'twas very
evident the room was on fire. Indeed, the curtains had caught, and
as we ran, a pennon of flame shot out over our heads, licking the
thatch. In the glare of it the outbuildings and the yard gate stood
clearly out from the night. I heard the trampling of feet, the sound
of Settle's voice shouting an order, and then a dismal yell and
clash of steel as we flung open the gate.

"Jacques!" scream'd the old gentleman: "my poor Jacques! Those dogs
will mangle him with their cut and thrust--"

'Twas very singular and sad, but as if in answer to Sir Deakin's cry,
we heard the brave fellow's voice; and a famous shout it must have
been to reach us over the roaring of the flames--

"Mon maitre-mon maitre!" he call'd twice, and then "Sauve toi!" in
a fainter voice, yet clear. And after that only a racket of shouts
and outcries reach'd us. Without doubt the villains had overpower'd
and slain this brave servant. In spite of our peril (for they would
be after us at once),'twas all we could do to drag the old man from
the gate and up the road: and as he went he wept like a child.

After about fifty yards, we turn'd in at a gate, and began to cut
across a field: for I hop'd thus not only to baffle pursuit for a
while, but also to gain the wood that we saw dimly ahead. It reach'd
to the top of the hill, and I knew not how far beyond: and as I was
reflecting that there lay our chance of safety, I heard the inn door
below burst open with loud cries, and the sound of footsteps running
up the road after us.

Moreover, to complete our fix, the clouds that had been scurrying
across the moon's face, now for a minute left a clear interval of
sky about her: so that right in our course there lay a great patch
brilliantly lit, whereon our figures could be spied at once by
anyone glancing into the field. Also, it grew evident that Sir
Deakin's late agility was but a short and sudden triumph of will
over body: for his poor crooked legs began to trail and lag sadly.
So turning sharp about, we struck for the hedge's shadow, and there
pull'd him down in a dry ditch, and lay with a hand on his mouth to
stifle his ejaculations, while we ourselves held our breathing.

The runners came up the road, pausing for a moment by the gate. I
heard it creak, and saw two or three dark forms enter the field--the
remainder tearing on up the road with a great clatter of boots.

"Alas, my poor Jacques!" moan'd Sir Deakin: "and to be butcher'd so,
that never in his days kill'd a man but as if he lov'd him!"

"Sir," I whisper'd harshly, "if you keep this noise I must gag you."
And with that he was silent for awhile.

There was a thick tangle of brambles in the ditch where we lay: and
to this we owe our lives. For one of the men, coming our way, pass'd
within two yards of us, with the flat of his sword beating the
growth over our heads.

"Reu-ben! Reuben Gedges!" call'd a voice by the gate.

The fellow turn'd; and peeping between the bramble twigs, I saw the
moonlight glittering on his blade. A narrow, light-hair'd man he was,
with a weak chin: and since then I have paid him out for the fright
he gave us.

"What's the coil?" he shouted back.

"The stable roofs ablaze--for the Lord's sake come and save the
hosses!"

He strode back, and in a minute the field was clear. Creeping out
with caution, I grew aware of two mournful facts: first, that the
stable was indeed afire, as I perceiv'd by standing on tiptoe and
looking over the hedge; and second, that my knee was hurt by Black
Dick's bullet. The muscles had stiffened while we were crouching,
and now pain'd me badly. Yet I kept it to myself as we started off
again to run.

But at the stile that, at the top of the field, led into the woods,
I pull'd up--

"Sorry I am to say it, but you must go on without me."

"O--oh!" cried the girl.

"'Tis for your safety. See, I leave a trail of blood behind me, so
that when day rises they will track us easily."

And sure enough, even by the moon, 'twas easy to trace the dark
spots on the grass and earth beside the stile. My left boot, too,
was full of blood.

She was silent for awhile. Down in the valley we could hear the
screams of the poor horses. The light of the flames lit up the pine
trunks about us to a bright scarlet.

"Sir, you hold our gratitude cheaply."

She unwound the kerchief from her neck, and making me sit on the
stile, bound up my knee skillfully, twisting a short stick in the
bandage to stop the bleeding.

I thank'd her, and we hurried on into the depths of the wood,
treading silently on the deep carpet of pine needles. The ground
rose steeply all the way: and all the way, tho' the light grew
feebler, the roar and outcries in the valley follow'd us.

Toward the hill's summit the trees were sparser. Looking upward, I
saw that the sky had grown thickly overcast. We cross'd the ridge,
and after a minute or so were in thick cover again.

'Twas here that Sir Deakin's strength gave out. Almost without
warning, he sank down between our hands, and in a second was taken
with that hateful cough, that once already this night had frightened
me for his life.

"Ah, ah!" he groaned, between the spasms, "I'm not fit--I'm not fit
for it!" and was taken again, and roll'd about barking, so that I
fear'd the sound would bring all Settle's gang on our heels. "I'm
not fit for it!" he repeated, as the cough left him, and he lay back
helpless, among the pine needles.

Now, I understood his words to bear on his unfitness for death, and
judg'd them very decent and properly spoken: and took occasion to
hint this in my attempts to console him.

"Why, bless the boy!" he cried, sitting up and staring, "for what
d'ye think I'm unsuited?"

"Why, to die, sir--to be sure!"

"Holy Mother!" he regarded me with surprise, contempt and pity, all
together: "was ever such a dunderhead! If ever man were fit to die,
I am he--and that's just my reasonable complaint. Heart alive! 'tis
unfit to _live_ I am, tied to this absurd body!"

I suppose my attitude express'd my lack of comprehension, for he
lifted a finger and went on--

"Tell me--can you eat beef, and drink beer, and enjoy them?"

"Why, yes."

"And fight--hey? and kiss a pretty girl, and be glad you've done it?
Dear, dear, how I do hate a fool and a fool's pity! Lift me up and
carry me a step. This night's work has kill'd me: I feel it in my
lungs. 'Tis a pity, too; for I was just beginning to enjoy it."

I lifted him as I would a babe, and off we set again, my teeth
shutting tight on the pain of my hurt. And presently, coming to a
little dingle, about half a mile down the hillside, well hid with
dead bracken and blackberry bushes, I consulted with the girl. The
place was well shelter'd from the wind that rock'd the treetops, and
I fear'd to go much further, for we might come on open country at
any moment and so double our peril. It seem'd best, therefore, to
lay the old gentleman snugly in the bottom of this dingle and wait
for day. And with my buff-coat, and a heap of dried leaves, I made
him fairly easy, reserving my cloak to wrap about Mistress Delia's
fair neck and shoulders. But against this at first she protested.

"For how are you to manage?" she ask'd.

"I shall tramp up and down, and keep watch," answer'd I, strewing a
couch for her beside her father: "and 'tis but fair exchange for the
kerchief you gave me from your own throat."

At last I persuaded her, and she crept close to her father, and
under the edge of the buff-coat for warmth. There was abundance of
dry bracken in the dingle, and with this and some handfuls of pine
needles, I cover'd them over, and left them to find what sleep they
might.

For two hours and more after this, I hobbled to and fro near them,
as well as my wound would allow, looking up at the sky through the
pine tops, and listening to the sobbing of the wind. Now and then I
would swing my arms for warmth, and breathe on my fingers, that were
sorely benumb'd; and all the while kept my ears on the alert, but
heard nothing.

'Twas, as I said, something over two hours after, that I felt a soft
cold touch, and then another, like kisses on my forehead. I put up
my hand, and looked up again at the sky. As I did so, the girl gave
a long sigh, and awoke from her doze---

"Sure, I must have dropp'd asleep," she said, opening her eyes, and
spying my shadow above her: "has aught happened?"

"Aye," replied I, "something is happening that will wipe out our
traces and my bloody track."

"And what is that?"

"Snow: see, 'tis falling fast."

She bent over, and listen'd to her father's breathing.

"'Twill kill him," she said simply.

I pull'd some more fronds of the bracken to cover them both. She
thank'd me, and offer'd to relieve me in my watch: which I refus'd.
And indeed, by lying down I should have caught my death, very likely.

The big flakes drifted down between the pines: till, as the moon
paled, the ground about me was carpeted all in white, with the
foliage black as ink above it. Time after time, as I tramp'd to and
fro, I paus'd to brush the fresh-forming heap from the sleepers'
coverlet, and shake it gently from the tresses of the girl's hair.
The old man's face was covered completely by the buff-coat: but his
breathing was calm and regular as any child's.

Day dawn'd. Awaking Mistress Delia, I ask'd her to keep watch for a
time, while I went off to explore. She crept out from her bed with
a little shiver of disgust.

"Run about," I advis'd, "and keep the blood stirring."

She nodded: and looking back, as I strode down the hill, I saw her
moving about quickly, swinging her arms, and only pausing to wave a
hand to me for goodspeed.

*    *    *    *    *

'Twas an hour before I return'd: and plenty I had to tell. Only at
the entrance to the dingle the words failed from off my tongue. The
old gentleman lay as he had lain throughout the night. But the
bracken had been toss'd aside, and the girl was kneeling over him.
I drew near, my step not arousing her. Sir Deakin's face was pale and
calm: but on the snow that had gather'd by his head, lay a red
streak of blood. 'Twas from his lungs, and he was quite dead.




CHAPTER VII.

I FIND A COMRADE.

But I must go back a little and tell you what befell in my
expedition.

I had scarce trudged out of sight of my friends, down the hill, when
it struck me that my footprints in the snow were in the last degree
dangerous to them, and might lead Settle and his crew straight to
the dingle. Here was a fix. I stood for some minutes nonpluss'd,
when above the stillness of the wood (for the wind had dropp'd) a
faint sound as of running water caught my ear, and help'd me to an
idea.

The sound seem'd to come from my left. Turning aside I made across
the hill toward it, and after two hundred paces or so came on a tiny
brook, not two feet across, that gush'd down the slope with a quite
considerable chatter and impatience. The bed of it was mainly earth,
with here and there a large stone or root to catch the toe: so that,
as I stepped into the water and began to thread my way down between
the banks of snow, 'twas necessary to look carefully to my steps.

Here and there the brook fetch'd a leap down a sharper declivity, or
shot over a hanging stone: but, save for the wetting I took in these
places, my progress was easy enough. I must have waded in this
manner for half a mile, keeping the least possible noise, when at an
angle ahead I spied a clearing among the pines, and to the right of
the stream, on the very verge, a hut of logs standing, with a wood
rick behind it.

'Twas a low building, but somewhat long, and I guess'd it to be, in
summer time, a habitation for the woodcutters. But what surpris'd me
was to hear a dull, moaning noise, very regular and disquieting,
that sounded from the interior of the hut. I listen'd, and hit on
the explication. 'Twas the sound of snoring.

Drawing nearer with caution, I noticed, in that end of the hut which
stood over the stream, a gap, or window hole. The sound issued
through this like the whirring of a dozen looms. "He must be an
astonishing fellow," thought I, "that can snore in this fashion.
I'll have a peep before I wake him." I waded down till I stood under
the sill, put both hands upon it, and pulling myself up quiet as a
mouse, stuck my face in at the window--and then very nearly sat back
into the brook for fright.

For I had gazed straight down into the upturn'd faces of Captain
Settle and his gang.

How long I stood there, with the water rushing past my ankles and my
body turning from cold to hot, and back again, I cannot tell you.
But 'twas until, hearing no pause in the sleepers' chorus, I found
courage for another peep: and that must have been some time.

There were but six rascals beside the Captain (so that Jacques must
have died hard, thought I), and such a raffle of arms and legs and
swollen up-turn'd faces as they made I defy you to picture. For they
were pack'd close as herrings; and the hut was fill'd up with their
horses, ready saddled, and rubbing shoulder to loin, so narrow was
the room. It needed the open window to give them air: and even so,
'twas not over-fresh inside.

I had no mind to stay: but before leaving found myself in the way of
playing these villains a pretty trick. To right and left of the
window, above their heads, extended two rude shelves that now were
heap'd with what I conjectured to be the spoils of the larder of the
"Three Cups." Holding my breath and thrusting my head and shoulders
into the room, I ran my hand along and was quickly possess'd of a
boil'd ham, two capons, a loaf, the half of a cold pie, and a basket
holding three dozen eggs. All these prizes I filched one by one,
with infinite caution.

I was gently pulling the basket through the window hole, when I
heard one of the crew yawn and stretch himself in his sleep. So,
determining to risk no more, I quietly pack'd the basket, slung it
on my right arm, and with the ham grasp'd by the knuckle in my left,
made my way up the stream.

'Twas thus laden that I enter'd the dingle, and came on the sad
sight therein. I set down the ham as a thing to be asham'd of, and
bar'd my head. The girl lifted her face, and turning, all white and
tragical, saw me.

"My father is dead, sir."

I stoop'd and pil'd a heap of fresh snow over the blood stains.
There was no intent in this but to hide the pity that chok'd me. She
had still to hear about her brother, Anthony. Turning, as by a
sudden thought, I took her hand. She look'd into my eyes, and her
own filled with tears. 'Twas the human touch that loosen'd their
flow, I think: and sinking down again beside her father, she wept
her fill.

"Mistress Killigrew," I said, as soon as the first violence of her
tears was abated, "I have still some news that is ill hearing. Your
enemies are encamp'd in the woods, about a half mile below this"--
and with that I told my story.

"They have done their worst, sir."

"No."

She looked at me with a question on her lip.

Said I, "you must believe me yet a short while without questioning."

Considering for a moment, she nodded. "You have a right, sir, to be
trusted, tho' I know not so much as your name. Then we must stay
close in hiding?" she added very sensibly, tho' with the last word
her voice trail'd off, and she began again to weep.

But in time, having cover'd the dead baronet's body with sprays of
the wither'd bracken, I drew her to a little distance and prevail'd
on her to nibble a crust of the loaf. Now, all this while, it must
be remembered, I was in my shirt sleeves, and the weather bitter
cold. Which at length her sorrow allow'd her to notice.

"Why, you are shivering, sore!" she said, and running, drew my
buff-coat from her father's body, and held it out to me.

"Indeed," I answer'd, "I was thinking of another expedition to warm
my blood." And promising to be back in half an hour, I follow'd down
my former tracks toward the stream.

Within twenty minutes I was back, running and well-nigh shouting
with joy.

"Come!" I cried to her, "come and see for yourself!"

What had happen'd was this:--Wading cautiously down the brook, I had
cause suddenly to prick up my ears and come to a halt. 'Twas the
muffled tramp of hoofs that I heard, and creeping a bit further, I
caught a glimpse, beyond the hut, of a horse and rider disappearing
down the woods. He was the last of the party, as I guess'd from the
sound of voices and jingling of bits further down the slope.
Advancing on the hut with more boldness, I found it deserted. I
scrambled up on the bank and round to the entrance. The snow before
it was trampled and sullied by the footmarks of men and horses: and
as I noted this, came Settle's voice calling up the slope----

"Jerry--Jerry Toy!"

A nearer voice hail'd in answer.

"Where's Reuben?"

"Coming, Captain--close behind!"

"Curse him for a loitering idiot! We've wasted time enough, as
'tis," called back the Captain. "How in thunder is a man to find the
road out of this cursed wood?"

"Straight on, Cap'n--you can't miss it," shouted another voice, not
two gunshots below.

A volcano of oaths pour'd up from Settle. I did not wait for the end
of them: but ran back for Mistress Delia.

Together we descended to the hut. By this time the voices had faded
away in distance. Yet to make sure that the rascals had really
departed, we follow'd their tracks for some way, beside the stream;
and suddenly came to a halt with cries of joyful surprise.

The brook had led us to a point where, over a stony fall veil'd with
brown bracken, it plunged into a narrow ravine. Standing on the lip,
where the water took a smoother glide before leaping, we saw the
line of the ravine mark'd by a rift in the pines, and through this
a slice of the country that lay below. 'Twas a level plain, well
watered, and dotted here and there with houses. A range of wooded
hills clos'd the view, and toward them a broad road wound gently,
till the eye lost it at their base. All this was plain enough, in
spite of the snow that cover'd the landscape. For the sun had burst
out above, and the few flakes that still fell looked black against
his brilliance and the dazzling country below.

But what caus'd our joy was to see, along the road, a small
cavalcade moving away from us, with many bright glances of light and
color, as their steel caps and sashes took the sunshine--a pretty
sight, and the prettier because it meant our present deliverance.

The girl beside me gave a cry of delight, then sigh'd; and after a
minute began to walk back toward the hut: where I left her, and ran
up hill for the basket and ham. On my return, I found her examining
a heap of rusty tools that, it seem'd, she had found on a shelf of
the building. 'Twas no light help to the good fellowship that
afterward united us, that from the first I could read her thoughts
often without words; and for this reason, that her eyes were as
candid as the noonday.

So now I answer'd her aloud---

"This afternoon we may venture down to the plain, where no doubt we
shall find a clergyman to sell us a patch of holy ground--"

"Holy ground?" She look'd at me awhile and shook her head. "I am not
of your religion," she said.

"And your father?"

"I think no man ever discovered my father's religion. Perhaps there
was none to discover: but he was no bad father" she steadied her
voice and went on:--"He would prefer the hillside to your 'holy
ground.'"

So, an hour later, I delv'd his grave in the frosty earth, close by
the spot where he lay. Somehow, I shiver'd all the while, and had a
cruel shooting pain in my wound that was like to have mastered me
before the task was ended. But I managed to lower the body softly
into the hole and to cover it reverently from sight: and afterward
stood leaning on my spade and feeling very light in the head, while
the girl knelt and pray'd for her father's soul.

And the picture of her as she knelt is the last I remember, till I
open'd my eyes, and was amazed to find myself on my back, and
staring up at darkness.

"What has happen'd?"

"I think you are very ill," said a voice: "can you lean on me, and
reach the hut?"

"Why, yes: that is, I think so. Why is everything dark?"

"The sun has been down for hours. You have been in a swoon first,
and then talk'd--oh, such nonsense! Shame on me, to let you catch
this chill!"

She help'd me to my feet and steadied me: and how we reached the hut
I cannot tell you. It took more than one weary hour, as I now know;
but, at the time, hours and minutes were one to me.

In that hut I lay four nights and four days, between ague fit and
fever. And that is all the account I can give of the time, save that,
on the second day, the girl left me alone in the hut and descended
to the plain, where, after asking at many cottages for a physician,
she was forced to be content with an old woman reputed to be
amazingly well skill'd in herbs and medicines; whom, after a day's
trial, she turn'd out of doors. On the fourth day, fearing for my
life, she made another descent, and coming to a wayside tavern,
purchased a pint of aqua vitae, carried it back, and mix'd a potion
that threw me into a profuse sweat. The same evening I sat up, a
sound man.

Indeed, so thoroughly was I recover'd that, waking early next
morning, and finding my sweet nurse asleep from sheer weariness, in
a corner of the hut, I stagger'd up from my bed of dried bracken,
and out into the pure air. Rare it was to stand and drink it in like
wine. A footstep arous'd me. 'Twas Mistress Delia: and turning, I
held out my hand.

"Now this is famous," said she: "a day or two will see you as good
a man as ever."

"A day or two? To-morrow at latest, I shall make trial to start." I
noted a sudden change on her face, and added: "Indeed, you must hear
my reasons before setting me down for an ingrate;" and told her of
the King's letter that I carried. "I hoped that for a while our ways
might lie together," said I; and broke off, for she was looking me
earnestly in the face.

"Sir, as you know, my brother Anthony was to have met me--nay, for
pity's sake, turn not your face away! I have guess'd--the sword you
carry--I mark'd it. Sir, be merciful, and tell me!"

I led her a little aside to the foot of a tall pine; and there, tho'
it rung my heart, told her all; and left her to wrestle with this
final sorrow. She was so tender a thing to be stricken thus, that I
who had dealt the blow crept back to the hut, covering my eyes. In
an hour's time I look'd out. She was gone.

At nightfall she return'd, white with grief and fatigue; yet I was
glad to see her eyes red and swol'n with weeping. Throughout our
supper she kept silence; but when 'twas over, look'd up and spoke in
a steady tone----

"Sir, I have a favor to ask, and must risk being held importunate--"

"From you to me," I put in, "all talk of favors had best be
dropp'd."

"No--listen. If ever it befel you to lose father or mother or dearly
loved friend, you will know how the anguish stuns--Oh sir! to-day
the sun seem'd fallen out of heaven, and I a blind creature left
groping in the void. Indeed, sir, 'tis no wonder: I had a father,
brother, and servant ready to die for me--three hearts to love and
lean on: and to-day they are gone."

I would have