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diff --git a/12449-h/12449-h.htm b/12449-h/12449-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e9babc --- /dev/null +++ b/12449-h/12449-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12688 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>A Reputed Changeling</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2, H3, H4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings aligned centered */ + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">A Reputed Changeling, by Charlotte M. Yonge</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Reputed Changeling, by Charlotte M. Yonge + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A Reputed Changeling + +Author: Charlotte M. Yonge + +Release Date: May 26, 2004 [eBook #12449] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A REPUTED CHANGELING*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>A REPUTED CHANGELING<br /> +or, THREE SEVENTH YEARS TWO CENTURIES AGO</h1> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p>I do not think I have here forced the hand of history except by giving +Portchester to two imaginary Rectors, and by a little injustice to her +whom Princess Anne termed ‘the brick-bat woman.’</p> +<p>The trial is not according to present rules, but precedents for its +irregularities are to be found in the doings of the seventeenth century, +notably in the trial of Spencer Cowper by the same Judge Hatsel, and +I have done my best to represent the habits of those country gentry +who were not infected by the evils of the later Stewart reigns.</p> +<p>There is some doubt as to the proper spelling of Portchester, but, +judging by analogy, the <i>t</i> ought not to be omitted.</p> +<p>C. M. YONGE. 2<i>d May</i> 1889.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I<br /> +The Experiences Of Goody Madge</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Dear Madam, think me not to blame;<br /> +Invisible the fairy came.<br /> +Your precious babe is hence conveyed,<br /> +And in its place a changeling laid.<br /> +Where are the father’s mouth and nose,<br /> +The mother’s eyes as black as sloes?<br /> +See here, a shocking awkward creature,<br /> +That speaks a fool in every feature.”</p> +<p>GAY.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“He is an ugly ill-favoured boy—just like <i>Riquet à +la Houppe</i>.”</p> +<p>“That he is! Do you not know that he is a changeling?”</p> +<p>Such were the words of two little girls walking home from a school +for young ladies kept, at the Cathedral city of Winchester, by two Frenchwomen +of quality, refugees from the persecutions preluding the Revocation +of the Edict of Nantes, and who enlivened the studies of their pupils +with the <i>Contes de Commère L’Oie</i>.</p> +<p>The first speaker was Anne Jacobina Woodford, who had recently come +with her mother, the widow of a brave naval officer, to live with her +uncle, the Prebendary then in residence. The other was Lucy Archfield, +daughter to a knight, whose home was a few miles from Portchester, Dr. +Woodford’s parish on the southern coast of Hampshire.</p> +<p>In the seventeenth century, when roads were mere ditches often impassable, +and country-houses frequently became entirely isolated in the winter, +it was usual with the wealthier county families to move into their local +capital, where some owned mansions and others hired prebendal houses, +or went into lodgings in the roomy dwellings of the superior tradesmen. +For the elders this was the season of social intercourse, for the young +people, of education.</p> +<p>The two girls, who were about eight years old, had struck up a rapid +friendship, and were walking hand in hand to the Close attended by the +nurse in charge of Mistress Lucy. This little lady wore a black +silk hood and cape, trimmed with light brown fur, and lined with pink, +while Anne Woodford, being still in mourning for her father, was wrapped +in a black cloak, unrelieved except by the white border of her round +cap, fringed by fair curls, contrasting with her brown eyes. She +was taller and had a more upright bearing of head and neck, with more +promise of beauty than her companion, who was much more countrified +and would not have been taken for the child of higher station.</p> +<p>They had traversed the graveyard of the Cathedral, and were passing +through a narrow archway known as the Slype, between the south-western +angle of the Cathedral and a heavy mass of old masonry forming part +of the garden wall of the present abode of the Archfield family, when +suddenly both children stumbled and fell, while an elfish peal of laughter +sounded behind them.</p> +<p>Lucy came down uppermost, and was scarcely hurt, but Anne had fallen +prone, striking her chin on the ground, so as to make her bite her lip, +and bruising knees and elbows severely. Nurse detected the cause +of the fall so as to avoid it herself. It was a cord fastened +across the archway, close to the ground, and another shout of derision +greeted the discovery; while Lucy, regaining her feet, beheld for a +moment a weird exulting grimace on a visage peeping over a neighbouring +headstone.</p> +<p>“It is he! it is he! The wicked imp! There’s +no peace for him! I say,” she screamed, “see if you +don’t get a sound flogging!” and she clenched her little +fist as the provoking “Ho! ho! ho!” rang farther and farther +off. “Don’t cry, Anne dear; the Dean and Chapter shall +take order with him, and he shall be soundly beaten. Are you hurt? +O nurse, her mouth is all blood.”</p> +<p>“I hope she has not broken a tooth,” said nurse, who +had been attending to the sobbing child. “Come in, my lamb, +we will wash your face, and make you well.”</p> +<p>Anne, blinded with tears, jarred, bruised, bleeding, and bewildered, +submitted to be led by kind nurse the more willingly because she knew +that her mother, together with all the quality, were at Sir Thomas Charnock’s. +They had dined at the fashionable hour of two, and were to stay till +supper-time, the elders playing at Ombre, the juniors dancing. +As a rule the ordinary clergy did not associate with the county families, +but Dr. Woodford was of good birth and a royal chaplain, and his deceased +brother had been a favourite officer of the Duke of York, and had been +so severely wounded by his side in the battle of Southwold as to be +permanently disabled. Indeed Anne Jacobina was godchild to the +Duke and his first Duchess, whose favoured attendant her mother had +been. Thus Mrs. Woodford was in great request, and though she +had not hitherto gone into company since her widowhood, she had yielded +to Lady Charnock’s entreaty that she would come and show her how +to deal with that strange new Chinese infusion, a costly packet of which +had been brought to her from town by Sir Thomas, as the Queen’s +favourite beverage, wherewith the ladies of the place were to be regaled +and astonished.</p> +<p>It had been already arranged that the two little girls should spend +the evening together, and as they entered the garden before the house +a rude voice exclaimed, “Holloa! London Nan whimpering. +Has my fine lady met a spider or a cow?” and a big rough lad of +twelve, in a college gown, spread out his arms, and danced up and down +in the doorway to bar the entrance.</p> +<p>“Don’t, Sedley,” said a sturdy but more gentlemanlike +lad of the same age, thrusting him aside. “Is she hurt? +What is it?”</p> +<p>“That spiteful imp, Peregrine Oakshott,” said Lucy passionately. +“He had a cord across the Slype to trip us up. I heard him +laughing like a hobgoblin, and saw him too, grinning over a tombstone +like the malicious elf he is.”</p> +<p>The college boy uttered a horse laugh, which made Lucy cry, “Cousin +Sedley, you are as bad!” but the other boy was saying, “Don’t +cry, Anne None-so-pretty. I’ll give it him well! Though +I’m younger, I’m bigger, and I’ll show him reason +for not meddling with my little sweetheart.”</p> +<p>“Have with you then!” shouted Sedley, ready for a fray +on whatever pretext, and off they rushed, as nurse led little Anne up +the broad shallow steps of the dark oak staircase, but Lucy stood laughing +with exultation in the intended vengeance, as her brother took down +her father’s hunting-whip.</p> +<p>“He must be wellnigh a fiend to play such wicked pranks under +the very Minster!” she said.</p> +<p>“And a rascal of a Whig, and that’s worse,” added +Charles; “but I’ll have it out of him!”</p> +<p>“Take care, Charley; if you offend him, and he does really +belong to those—those creatures”—Lucy lowered her +voice—“who knows what they might do to you?”</p> +<p>Charles laughed long and loud. “I’ll take care +of that,” he said, swinging out at the door. “Elf +or no elf, he shall learn what it is to play off his tricks on <i>my</i> +sister and my little sweetheart.”</p> +<p>Lucy betook herself to the nursery, where Anne was being comforted, +her bleeding lip washed with essence, and repaired with a pinch of beaver +from a hat, and her other bruises healed with lily leaves steeped in +strong waters.</p> +<p>“Charley is gone to serve him out!” announced Lucy as +the sovereign remedy.</p> +<p>“Oh, but perhaps he did not mean it,” Anne tried to say.</p> +<p>“Mean it? Small question of that, the cankered young +slip! Nurse, do you think those he belongs to can do Charley any +harm if he angers them?”</p> +<p>“I cannot say, missie. Only ’tis well we be not +at home, or there might be elf knots in the horses’ manes to-night. +I doubt me whether <i>that sort</i> can do much hurt here, seeing as +’tis holy ground.”</p> +<p>“But is he really a changeling? I thought there were +no such things as—”</p> +<p>“Hist, hist, Missie Anne!” cried the dame; “’tis +not good to name them.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but we are on the Minster ground, nurse,” said Lucy, +trembling a little however, looking over her shoulder, and coming closer +to the old servant.</p> +<p>“Why do they think so?” asked Anne. “Is it +because he is so ugly and mischievous and rude? Not like boys +in London.”</p> +<p>“Prithee, nurse, tell her the tale,” entreated Lucy, +who had made large eyes over it many a time before.</p> +<p>“Ay, and who should tell you all about it save me, who had +it all from Goody Madge Bulpett, as saw it all!”</p> +<p>“Goody Madge! It was she that came when poor little Kitty +was born and died,” suggested Lucy, as Anne, laying her aching +head upon nurse’s knees, prepared to listen to the story.</p> +<p>“Well, deary darlings, you see poor Madam Oakshott never had +her health since the Great Fire in London, when she was biding with +her kinsfolk to be near Major Oakshott, who had got into trouble about +some of his nonconforming doings. The poor lady had a mortal fright +before she could be got out of Gracechurch Street as was all of a blaze, +and she was so afeard of her husband being burnt as he lay in Newgate +that she could scarce be got away, and whether it was that, or that +she caught cold lying out in a tent on Highgate Hill, she has never +had a day’s health since.”</p> +<p>“And the gentleman—her husband?” asked Anne.</p> +<p>“They all broke prison, poor fellows, as they had need to do, +and the Major’s time was nearly up. He made himself busy +in saving and helping the folk in the streets; and his brother, Sir +Peregrine, who was thick with the King, and is in foreign parts now, +took the chance to speak of the poor lady’s plight and say it +would be the death of her if he could not get his discharge, and his +Majesty, bless his kind heart, gave the order at once. So they +took madam home to the Chace, but she has been but an ailing body ever +since.”</p> +<p>“But the fairy, the fairy, how did she change the babe?” +cried Anne.</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, dearie! name them not. I am coming to it +all in good time. I was telling you how the poor lady failed and +pined from that hour, and was like to die. My gossip Madge told +me how when, next Midsummer, this unlucky babe was born they had to +take him from her chamber at once because any sound of crying made her +start in her sleep, and shriek that she heard a poor child wailing who +had been left in a burning house. Moll Owens, the hind’s +wife, a comely lass, was to nurse him, and they had him at once to her +in the nursery, where was the elder child, two years old, Master Oliver, +as you know well, Mistress Lucy, a fine-grown, sturdy little Turk as +ever was.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know him,” answered Lucy; “and if his brother’s +a changeling, he is a bear! The Whig bear is what Charley calls +him.”</p> +<p>“Well, what does that child do but trot out of the nursery, +and try to scramble down the stairs.—Never tell me but that they +you wot of trained him out—not that they had power over a Christian +child, but that they might work their will on the little one. +So they must needs trip him up, so that he rolled down the stair hollering +and squalling all the way enough to bring the house down, and his poor +lady mother, she woke up in a fit. The womenfolk ran, Molly and +all, she being but a slip of a girl herself and giddy-pated, and when +they came back after quieting Master Oliver, the babe was changed.”</p> +<p>“Then they didn’t see the—”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, missie! no one never sees ’em or they couldn’t +do nothing. They cannot, if a body is looking. But what +had been as likely a child before as you would wish to handle was gone! +The poor little mouth was all of a twist, and his eyelid drooped, and +he never ceased mourn, mourn, mourn, wail, wail, wail, day and night, +and whatever food he took he never was satisfied, but pined and peaked +and dwined from day to day, so as his little legs was like knitting +pins. The lady was nigh upon death as it seemed, so that no one +took note of the child at first, but when Madge had time to look at +him, she saw how it was, as plain as plain could be, and told his father. +But men are unbelieving, my dears, and always think they know better +than them as has the best right, and Major Oakshott would hear of no +such thing, only if the boy was like to die, he must be christened. +Well, Madge knew that sometimes they flee at touch of holy water, but +no; though the thing mourned and moaned enough to curdle your blood +and screeched out when the water touched him, there he was the same +puny little canker. So when madam was better, and began to fret +over the child that was nigh upon three months old, and no bigger than +a newborn babe, Madge up and told her how it was, and the way to get +her own again.”</p> +<p>“What was that, nurse?”</p> +<p>“There be different ways, my dear. Madge always held +to breaking five and twenty eggs and have a pot boiling on a good sea-coal +fire with the poker in it red hot, and then drop the shells in one by +one, in sight of the creature in the cradle. Presently it will +up and ask whatever you are about. Then you gets the poker in +your hand as you says, “A-brewing of egg shells.” +Then it says, “I’m forty hundred years old and odd, and +yet I never heard of a-brewing of egg shells.” Then you +ups with the poker and at him to thrust it down his ugly throat, and +there’s a hissing and a whirling, and he is snatched away, and +the real darling, all plump and rosy, is put back in the cradle.”</p> +<p>“And did they?”</p> +<p>“No, my dears. Madam was that soft-hearted she could +not bring her mind to it, though they promised her not to touch him +unless he spoke. But nigh on two years later, Master Robert was +born, as fine and lusty and straight-limbed as a chrisom could be, while +the other could not walk a step, but sat himself about on the floor, +a-moaning and a-fretting with the legs of him for all the world like +the drumsticks of a fowl, and his hands like claws, and his face wizened +up like an old gaffer of a hundred, or the jackanapes that Martin Boats’n +brought from Barbary. So after a while madam saw the rights of +it, and gave consent that means should be taken as Madge and other wise +folk would have it; but he was too old by that time for the egg shells, +for he could talk, talk, and ask questions enough to drive you wild. +So they took him out under the privet hedge, Madge and her gossip Deborah +Clint, and had got his clothes off to flog him with nettles till they +changed him, when the ill-favoured elf began to squall and shriek like +a whole litter of pigs, and as ill luck would have it, the master was +within hearing, though they had watched him safe off to one of his own +’venticles, but it seems there had been warning that the justices +were on the look-out, so home he came. And behold, the thing that +never knew the use of his feet before, ups and flies at him, and lays +hold of his leg, hollering out, “Sir, father, don’t let +them,” and what not. So then it was all over with them, +as though that were not proof enow what manner of thing it was! +Madge tried to put him off with washing with yarbs being good for the +limbs, but when he saw that Deb was there, he saith, saith he, as grim +as may be, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” which +was hard, for she is but a white witch; and he stormed and raved at +them with Bible texts, and then he vowed (men are so headstrong, my +dears) that if ever he ketched them at it again, he would see Deb burnt +for a witch at the stake, and Madge hung for the murder of the child, +and he is well known to be a man of his word. So they had to leave +him to abide by his bargain, and a sore handful he has of it.”</p> +<p>Anne drew a long sigh and asked whether the real boy in fairyland +would never come back.</p> +<p>“There’s no telling, missie dear. Some say they +are bound there for ever and a day, some that they as holds ’em +are bound to bring them back for a night once in seven years, and in +the old times if they was sprinkled with holy water, and crossed, they +would stay, but there’s no such thing as holy water now, save +among the Papists, and if one knew the way to cross oneself, it would +be as much as one’s life was worth.”</p> +<p>“If Peregrine was to die,” suggested Lucy.</p> +<p>“Bless your heart, dearie, he’ll never die! When +the true one’s time comes, you’ll see, if so be you be alive +to see it, as Heaven grant, he will go off like the flame of a candle +and nothing be left in his place but a bit of a withered sting nettle. +But come, my sweetings, ’tis time I got your supper. I’ll +put some nice rosy-cheeked apples down to roast, to be soft for Mistress +Woodford’s sore mouth.”</p> +<p>Before the apples were roasted, Charles Archfield and his cousin, +the colleger Sedley Archfield, a big boy in a black cloth gown, came +in with news of having—together with the other boys, including +Oliver and Robert Oakshott—hunted Peregrine all round the Close, +but he ran like a lapwing, and when they had pinned him up in the corner +by Dr. Ken’s house, he slipped through their fingers up the ivy, +and grinned at them over the wall like the imp he was. Noll said +it was always the way, he was no more to be caught than a bit of thistledown, +but Sedley meant to call out all the college boys and hunt and bait +him down like a badger on ‘Hills.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II<br /> +High Treason</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Whate’er it be that is within his reach,<br /> +The filching trick he doth his fingers teach.”</p> +<p>Robin Badfellow.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There was often a considerable distance between children and their +parents in the seventeenth century, but Anne Woodford, as the only child +of her widowed mother, was as solace, comfort, and companion; and on +her pillow in early morning the child poured forth in grave earnest +the entire story of the changeling, asking whether he could not be “taken +to good Dr. Ken, or the Dean, or the Bishop to be ex—ex—what +is it, mother? Not whipped with nettles. Oh no! nor burnt +with red hot pokers, but have holy words said so that the right one +may come back.”</p> +<p>“My dear child, did you really believe that old nurse’s +tale?”</p> +<p>“O madam, she <i>knew</i> it. The other old woman saw +it! I always thought fairies and elves were only in tales, but +Lucy’s nurse knows it is true. And <i>he</i> is not a bit +like other lads, mamma dear. He is lean and small, and his eyes +are of different colours, look two ways at once, and his mouth goes +awry when he speaks, and he laughs just like—like a fiend. +Lucy and I call him <i>Riquet à la Houppe</i>, because he is +just like the picture in Mademoiselle’s book, with a great stubbly +bunch of hair sticking out on one side, and though he walks a little +lame, he can hop and skip like a grasshopper, faster than any of the +boys, and leap up a wall in a moment, and grin—oh most frightfully. +Have you ever seen him, mamma?”</p> +<p>“I think so. I saw a poor boy, who seemed to me to have +had a stroke of some sort when he was an infant.”</p> +<p>“But, madam, that would not make him so spiteful and malicious!”</p> +<p>“If every one is against him and treats him as a wicked mischievous +elf, it is only too likely to make him bitter and spiteful. Nay, +Anne, if you come back stuffed with old wives’ tales, I shall +not allow you to go home with Lucy Archfield.”</p> +<p>The threat silenced Anne, who was a grave and rather silent little +person, and when she mentioned it to her friend, the answer was, “Did +you tell your mother? If I had told mine, I should have been whipped +for repeating lying tales.”</p> +<p>“Oh then you don’t believe it!”</p> +<p>“It must be true, for Madge knew it. But that’s +the way always if one lets out that one knows more than they think.”</p> +<p>“It is not the way with my mother,” stoutly said Anne, +drawing up her dignified little head. And she kept her resolution, +for though a little excited by her first taste of lively youthful companionship, +she was naturally a thoughtful reticent child, with a character advanced +by companionship with her mother as an only child, through a great sorrow. +Thus she was in every respect more developed than her contemporary Lucy, +who regarded her with wonder as well as affection, and she was the object +of the boyish devotion of Charley, who often defended her from his cousin +Sedley’s endeavours to put down what he considered upstart airs +in a little nobody from London. Sedley teased and baited every +weak thing in his way, and Lucy had been his chief butt till Anne Woodford’s +unconscious dignity and more cultivated manners excited his utmost spleen.</p> +<p>Lucy might be incredulous, but she was eager to tell that when her +cousin Sedley Archfield was going back to ‘chambers,’ down +from the Close gate came the imp on his shoulders in the twilight and +twisted both legs round his neck, holding tight on in spite of plunges, +pinches, and endeavours to scrape him off against the wall, which were +frustrated or retaliated by hair pulling, choking, till just ere entering +the college gateway, where Sedley looked to get his revenge among his +fellows, he found his shoulders free, and heard “Ho! ho! ho!” +from the top of a wall close at hand. All the more was the young +people’s faith in the changeling story confirmed, and child-world +was in those days even more impenetrable to their elders than at present.</p> +<p>Changeling or no, it was certain that Peregrine Oakshott was the +plague of the Close, where his father, an ex-officer of the Parliamentary +army, had unwillingly hired a house for the winter, for the sake of +medical treatment for his wife, a sufferer from a complication of ailments. +Oakwood, his home, was about five miles from Dr. Woodford’s living +of Portchester, and as the families would thus be country neighbours, +Mrs. Woodford thought it well to begin the acquaintance at Winchester. +While knocking at the door of the house on the opposite side of the +Close, she was aware of an elfish visage peering from an upper window. +There was the queer mop of dark hair, the squinting light eyes, the +contorted grin crooking the mouth, the odd sallow face, making her quite +glad to get out of sight of the strange grimaces which grew every moment +more hideous.</p> +<p>Mrs. Oakshott sat in an arm-chair beside a large fire in a wainscotted +room, with a folding-screen shutting off the window. Her spinning-wheel +was near, but it was only too plain that ‘feeble was the hand, +and silly the thread.’ She bent her head in its wadded black +velvet hood, but excused herself from rising, as she was crippled by +rheumatic pains. She had evidently once been a pretty little person, +innocent and inane, and her face had become like that of a withered +baby, piteous in its expression of pain and weariness, but otherwise +somewhat vacant. At first, indeed, there was a look of alarm. +Perhaps she expected every visitor to come with a complaint of her unlucky +Peregrine, but when Mrs. Woodford spoke cheerfully of being her neighbour +in the country, she was evidently relieved and even gratified, prattling +in a soft plaintive tone about her sufferings and the various remedies, +ranging from woodlice rolled into natural pills, and grease off the +church bells, to diamond dust and Goa stones, since, as she said, there +was no cost to which Major Oakshott would not go for her benefit. +He had even procured for her a pound of the Queen’s new Chinese +herb, and it certainly was as nauseous as could be wished, when boiled +in milk, but she was told that was not the way it was taken at my Lady +Charnock’s. She was quite animated when Mrs. Woodford offered +to show her how to prepare it.</p> +<p>Therewith the master of the house came in, and the aspect of affairs +changed. He was a tall, dark, grave man, plainly though handsomely +dressed, and in a gentlemanly way making it evident that visits to his +wife were not welcome. He said that her health never permitted +her to go abroad, and that his poor house contained nothing that could +please a Court lady. Mrs. Oakshott shrank into herself, and became +shy and silent, and Mrs. Woodford felt constrained to take leave, courteously +conducted to the door by her unwilling host.</p> +<p>She had not taken many steps before she was startled by a sharp shower +from a squirt coming sidelong like a blow on her cheek and surprising +her into a low cry, which was heard by the Major, so that he hastened +out, exclaiming, “Madam, I trust that you are not hurt.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, sir! It is nothing—not a stone—only +water!” she said, wiping it with her handkerchief.</p> +<p>“I am grieved and ashamed at the evil pranks of my unhappy +son, but he shall suffer for it.”</p> +<p>“Nay, sir, I pray you. It was only childish mischief.”</p> +<p>He had not waited to hear her pleadings, and before she was half +across the Close he had overtaken her, dragging the cowering struggling +boy in his powerful grasp.</p> +<p>“Now, Peregrine,” he commanded, “let me instantly +hear you ask the lady’s pardon for your dastardly trick. +Or—!” and his other hand was raised for a blow.</p> +<p>“I am sure he is sorry,” said Mrs. Woodford, making a +motion to ward off the stroke, and as the queer eyes glanced up at her +in wondering inquiry, she laid her hand on the bony shoulder, saying, +“I know you did not mean to hurt me. You are sorry, are +you not?”</p> +<p>“Ay,” the boy muttered, and she saw a look of surprise +on his father’s face.</p> +<p>“There,” she said, “he has made his amends, and +surely that may suffice.”</p> +<p>“Nay, madam, it would be a weak and ungodly tenderness that +would spare to drive forth the evil spirit which possesses the child +by the use of the rod. I should fail in my duty alike to God and +man,” he added, in reply to a fresh gesture of intercession, “did +I not teach him what it is to insult a lady at mine own door.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford could only go away, heartily sorry for the boy. +From that time, however, both she and her little daughter were untouched +by his tricks, though every one else had some complaint. Peas +were shot from unknown recesses at venerable canons, mice darted out +before shrieking ladies, frogs’ clammy forms descended on the +nape of their necks, hedgehogs were curled up on their chairs, and though +Peregrine Oakshott was not often caught in the act, no mischief ever +took place that was not attributed to him; and it was popularly believed +in the Close that his father flogged him every morning for what he was +about to do, and his tutor repeated the castigation every evening for +what he had done, besides interludes at each detection.</p> +<p>Perhaps frequent usage had toughened his skin, or he had become expert +in wriggling from the full force of the blow, or else, as many believed, +the elfish nature was impervious; for he was as ready as ever for a +trick the moment he was released, like, as his brother said, the dog +Keeper, who, with a slaughtered chick hung round his neck in penance, +rushed murderously upon the rest of the brood.</p> +<p>Yet Mrs. Woodford, on her way through the Cathedral nave, was aware +of something leaning against one of the great columns, crouching together +so that the dark head, supported on the arms, rested against the pillar +which fluted the pier. The organ was pealing softly and plaintively, +and the little gray coat seemed to heave as with a sob. She stood, +impelled to offer to take him with her into the choir, but a verger, +spying him, began rating him in a tone fit for expelling a dog, “Come, +master, none of your pranks here! Be not you ashamed of yourself +to be lying in wait for godly folk on their way to prayers? If +I catch you here again the Dean shall hear of it, and you shall smart +for it.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford began, “He was only hearkening to the music,” +but she caught such a look of malignity cast upon the verger as perfectly +appalled her, and in another moment the boy had dashed, head over heels, +out at the nearest door.</p> +<p>The next report that reached her related how a cloud of lime had +suddenly descended from a broken arch of the cloister on the solemn +verger, on his way to escort the Dean to the Minster, powdering his +wig, whitening his black gown from collar to hem, and not a little endangering +his eyesight.</p> +<p>The culprit eluded all pursuit on this occasion; but Mrs. Woodford +soon after was told that the Major had caught Peregrine listening at +the little south door of the choir, had collared him, and flogged him +worse than ever, for being seduced by the sounds of the popish and idolatrous +worship, and had told all his sons that the like chastisement awaited +them if they presumed to cross the threshold of the steeple house.</p> +<p>Nevertheless the Senior Prefect of the college boys, when about to +come out of the Cathedral on Sunday morning, found his gown pinned with +a skewer so fast to the seat that he was only set free at the expense +of a rent. Public opinion decided that the deed had been done +by the imp of Oakshott, and accordingly the whole of the Wykeham scholars +set on him with hue and cry the first time they saw him outside the +Close, and hunted him as far as St. Cross, where he suddenly and utterly +vanished from their sight.</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford agreed with Anne that it was a very strange story. +For how could he have been in the Cathedral at service time when it +was well known that Major Oakshott had all his family together at his +own form of worship in his house? Anne, who had been in hopes +that her mother would be thus convinced of his supernatural powers, +looked disappointed, but she had afterwards to confess that Charles +Archfield had found out that it was his cousin Sedley Archfield who +had played the audacious trick, in revenge for a well-merited tunding +from the Prefect.</p> +<p>“And then saddled it on young Oakshott?” asked her mother.</p> +<p>“Charley says one such matter more or less makes no odds to +the Whig ape; but I cannot endure Sedley Archfield, mamma.”</p> +<p>“If he lets another lad bear the blame of his malice he cannot +indeed be a good lad.”</p> +<p>“So Charley and Lucy say,” returned Anne. “We +shall be glad to be away from Winchester, for while Peregrine Oakshott +torments slyly, Sedley Archfield loves to frighten us openly, and to +hurt us to see how much we can bear, and if Charley tries to stand up +for us, Sedley calls him a puny wench, and a milksop, and knocks him +down. But, dear madam, pray do not tell what I have said to her +ladyship, for there is no knowing what Sedley would do to us.”</p> +<p>“My little maid has not known before what boys can be!”</p> +<p>“No; but indeed Charles Archfield is quite different, almost +as if he had been bred in London. He is a very gentleman. +He never is rude to any girl, and he is courteous and gentle and kind. +He gathered walnuts for us yesterday, and cracked all mine, and I am +to make him a purse with two of the shells.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford smiled, but there was a short thrill of anxiety in +her motherly heart as her glance brought up a deeper colour into Anne’s +cheeks. There was a reserve to bring that glow, for the child +knew that if she durst say that Charles called her his little sweetheart +and wife, and that the walnut-shell purse would be kept as a token, +she should be laughed at as a silly child, perhaps forbidden to make +it, or else her uncle might hear and make a joke of it. It was +not exactly disingenuousness, but rather the first dawn of maidenly +reserve and modesty that reddened her cheek in a manner her mother did +not fail to observe.</p> +<p>Yet it was with more amusement than misgiving, for children played +at courtship like other games in mimicry of being grown up, and a baronet’s +only son was in point of fact almost as much out of the reach of a sea +captain’s daughter and clergyman’s niece as a prince of +the blood royal; and Master Archfield would probably be contracted long +before he could choose for himself, for his family were not likely to +take into account that if Captain Woodford had not been too severely +wounded to come forward after the battle of Southwold Bay he would have +been knighted. On the strength of which Anne, as her companions +sometimes said, gave herself in consequence more airs than Mistress +Lucy ever did.</p> +<p>Sedley, a poor cousin, a destitute cavalier’s orphan, who had +been placed on the foundation at Winchester College in hopes that he +might be provided for in the Church, would have been far more on her +level, and indeed Lady Archfield, a notable matchmaker, had already +hinted how suitable such a thing would be. However, the present +school character of Master Sedley, as well as her own observations, +by no means inclined Mrs. Woodford towards the boy, large limbed and +comely faced, but with a bullying, scowling air that did not augur well +for his wife or his parish.</p> +<p>Whether it were this lad’s threats, or more likely, the fact +that all the Close was on the alert, Peregrine’s exploits were +less frequent there, and began to extend to the outskirts of the city. +There were some fine yew trees on the southern borders, towards the +chalk down, with massive dark foliage upon stout ruddy branches, among +which Peregrine, armed with a fishing-rod, line, and hook, sat perched, +angling for what might be caught from unconscious passengers along a +path which led beneath.</p> +<p>From a market-woman’s basket he abstracted thus a fowl! +His “Ho! ho! ho!” startled her into looking up, and seeing +it apparently resuscitated, and hovering aloft. Full of dismay, +she hurried shrieking away to tell the story of the bewitched chick +at the market-cross among her gossips.</p> +<p>His next capture was a chop from a butcher boy’s tray, but +this involved more peril, for with a fierce oath that he would be revenged +on the Whiggish imp, the lad darted at the tree, in vain, however, for +Peregrine had dropped down on the other side, and crept unseen to another +bush, where he lay <i>perdu</i>, under the thick green branches, rod +and all, while the youth, swearing and growling, was shaking his former +refuge.</p> +<p>As soon as the coast was clear he went back to his post, and presently +was aware of three gentlemen advancing over the down, pointing, measuring, +and surveying. One was small and slight, as simply dressed as +a gentleman of the period could be; another was clad in a gay coat with +a good deal of fluttering ribbon and rich lace; the third, a tall well-made +man, had a plain walking suit, surmounted by a flowing periwig and plumed +beaver. Coming close beneath Peregrine’s tree, and standing +with their backs to it, they eagerly conversed. “Such a +cascade will drown the honours of the Versailles fountains, if only +the water can be raised to such a height. Are you sure of it, +Wren?”</p> +<p>“As certain as hydraulics can make me, sir,” and the +lesser man began drawing lines with his stick in the dust of the path +in demonstration.</p> +<p>The opportunity was irresistible, and the hook from above deftly +caught the band of the feathered hat of the taller man, slowly and steadily +drawing it up, entirely unperceived by the owner, on whose wig it had +rested, and who was bending over the dust-traced diagram in absorbed +attention. Peregrine deferred his hobgoblin laughter, for success +emboldened him farther. Detaching the hat from his hook, and depositing +it safely in a fork of the tree, he next cautiously let down his line, +and contrived to get a strong hold of one of the black locks on the +top of the wig, just as the wearer was observing, “Oliver’s +Battery, eh? A cupola with a light to be seen out at sea? +Our sailors will make another St. Christopher of you! Ha! what’s +this’”</p> +<p>For feeling as if a branch were touching the structure on his head, +he had stepped forward, thus favouring Peregrine’s manœuvres +so that the wig dangled in the air, suddenly disclosing the bare skull +of a very dark man, with such marked features that it needed not the +gentlemen’s outcry to show the boy who was the victim of his mischief.</p> +<p>“What imp is there?” cried the King, spying up into the +tree, while his attendant drew his sword, “How now?” as +Peregrine half climbed, half tumbled down, bringing hat and wig with +him, and, whether by design or accident, fell at his feet. “Will +nothing content you but royal game?” he continued laughing, as +Sir Christopher Wren helped him to resume his wig. “Why, +what a shrimp it is! a mere goblin sprite! What’s thy name, +master wag?”</p> +<p>“Peregrine Oakshott, so please you,” the boy answered, +raising himself with a face scared indeed, but retaining its queer impishness. +“Sir, I never guessed—”</p> +<p>“Young rogue! have you our licence to waylay our loyal subjects?” +demanded the King, with an affected fierceness. “Know you +not ’tis rank treason to discrown our sacred Majesty, far more +to dishevel or destroy our locks? Why! I might behead you +on the spot.” To his great amazement the boy, with an eager +face and clasped hands, exclaimed, “O sir! Oh, please your +Majesty, do so.”</p> +<p>“Do so!” exclaimed the King astounded. “Didst +hear what I said?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir! You said it was a beheading matter, and I’m +willing, sir.”</p> +<p>“Of all the petitions that ever were made to me, this is the +strangest!” exclaimed Charles. “An urchin like this +weary of life! What next? So,” with a wink to his +companions, “Peregrine Oakshott, we condemn thee for high treason +against our most sacred Majesty’s beaver and periwig, and sentence +thee to die by having thine head severed from thy body. Kneel +down, open thy collar, bare thy neck. Ay, so, lay thy neck across +that bough. Killigrew, do thy duty.”</p> +<p>To the general surprise, the boy complied with all these directions, +never flinching nor showing sign of fear, except that his lips were +set and his cheek whitened. As he knelt, with closed eyes, the +flat cold blade descended on his neck, the tension relaxed, and he sank!</p> +<p>“Hold!” cried the King. “It is gone too far! +He has surely not carried out the jest by dying on our hands.”</p> +<p>“No, no, sir,” said Wren, after a moment’s alarm, +“he has only swooned. Has any one here a flask of wine to +revive him?”</p> +<p>Several gentlemen had come up, and as Peregrine stirred, some wine +was held to his lips, and he presently asked in a faint voice, “Is +this fairyland?”</p> +<p>“Not yet, my lad,” said Charles, “whatever it may +be when Wren’s work is done.”</p> +<p>The boy opened his eyes, and as he beheld the same face, and the +too familiar sky and trees, he sighed heavily, and said, “Then +it is all the same! O sir, would you but have cut off my head +in good earnest, I might be at home again!”</p> +<p>“Home! what means the elf?”</p> +<p>“An elf! That is what they say I am—changed in +the cradle,” said Peregrine, incited to confidence by the good-natured +eyes, “and I thought if I were close on death mine own people +might take me home, and bring back the right one.”</p> +<p>“He really believes it!” exclaimed Charles much diverted. +“Tell me, good Master Elf, who is thy father, I mean not my brother +Oberon, but him of the right one, as thou sayst.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Robert Oakshott of Oakwood, sir,” said Peregrine.</p> +<p>“A sturdy squire of the country party,” said the King. +“I am much minded to secure the lad for an elfin page,” +he added aside to Killigrew. “There’s a fund of excellent +humour and drollery in those queer eyes of his! So, Sir Hobgoblin, +if you are proof against cold steel, I know not what is to be done with +you. Get you back, and devise some other mode of finding your +way home to fairyland.”</p> +<p>Peregrine said not a word of his adventure, so that the surprise +of his family was the greater when overtures were made through Sir Christopher +Wren for his appointment as a royal page.</p> +<p>“I would as soon send my son at once to be a page to Beelzebub,” +returned Major Oakshott.</p> +<p>And though Sir Christopher did not return the answer exactly in those +terms, he would not say that the Puritan Major did not judge rightly.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III<br /> +The Fairy King</h2> +<blockquote><p>“She’s turned her right and round about,<br /> + And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn,<br /> +And she sware by the moon and the stars above<br /> + That she’d gar me rue the day I was born.”</p> +<p>Old Ballad of Alison Cross.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Dr. Woodford’s parish was Portchester, where stood the fine +old royal castle at present ungarrisoned, and partly dismantled in the +recent troubles, on a chalk peninsula, a spur from Portsdown, projecting +above the alluvial flats, and even into the harbour, whose waves at +high tide laved the walls. The church and churchyard were within +the ample circuit of the fortifications, about two furlongs distant +from the main building, where rose the mighty Norman keep, above the +inner court, with a gate tower at this date, only inhabited by an old +soldier as porter with his family. A massive square tower at each +angle of the huge wall likewise defied decay.</p> +<p>It was on Midsummer eve, that nearly about sundown, Dr. Woodford +was summoned by the severe illness of the gatekeeper’s old father, +and his sister-in-law went with him to attempt what her skill could +accomplish for the old man’s relief.</p> +<p>They were detained there till the sun had long set, though the air, +saturated with his redness, was full of soft twilight, while the moon, +scarcely past the full, was just high enough to silver the quiet sea, +and throw the shadow of the battlements and towers on the sward whitened +with dew.</p> +<p>After the close atmosphere of the sickroom the freshness was welcome, +and Mrs. Woodford, once a friend of Katherine Phillips, ‘the Matchless +Orinda,’ had an eye and a soul to appreciate the beauty, and she +even murmured the lines of <i>Il Penseroso</i> as she leant on the arm +of her brother-in-law, who, in his turn, thought of Homer.</p> +<p>Suddenly, as they stood in the shadow, they were aware of a small, +slight, fantastic figure in the midst of the grass-grown court, where +there was a large green mushroom circle or fairy ring. On the +borders of this ring it paused with an air of disappointment. +Then entering it stood still, took off the hat, whose lopsided appearance +had given so strange an outline, and bowed four times in opposite directions, +when, as the face was turned towards the spectators, invisible in the +dark shadow, the lady recognised Peregrine Oakshott. She pressed +the Doctor’s arm, and they both stood still watching the boy bathing +his hand in the dew, and washing his face with it, then kneeling on +one knee, and clasping his hands, as he cried aloud in a piteous chant—</p> +<p>“Fairy mother, fairy mother! Oh, come, come and take +me home! My very life is sore to me. They all hate me! +My brothers and the servants, every one of them. And my father +and tutor say I am possessed with an evil spirit, and I am beaten daily, +and more than daily. I can never, never get a good word from living +soul! This is the second seven years, and Midsummer night! +Oh, bring the other back again! I’m weary, I’m weary! +Good elves, good elves, take me home. Fairy mother! Come, +come, come!” Shutting his eyes he seemed to be in a state +of intense expectation. Tears filled Mrs. Woodford’s eyes. +The Doctor moved forward, but no sooner did the boy become conscious +of human presence than he started up, and fled wildly towards a postern +door, but no sooner had he disappeared in the shadow than there was +a cry and a fall.</p> +<p>“Poor child!” exclaimed Dr. Woodford, “he has fallen +down the steps to the vault. It is a dangerous pitfall.”</p> +<p>They both hurried to the place, and found the boy lying on the steps +leading down to the vault, but motionless, and when they succeeded in +lifting him up, he was quite unconscious, having evidently struck his +head against the mouth of the vault.</p> +<p>“We must carry him home between us,” said Mrs. Woodford. +“That will be better than rousing Miles Gateward, and making a +coil.”</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford, however, took the entire weight, which he declared +to be very slight. “No one would think the poor child fourteen +years old,” he observed, “yet did he not speak of a second +seven?”</p> +<p>“True,” said Mrs. Woodford, “he was born after +the Great Fire of London, which, as I have good cause to know, was in +the year ’66.”</p> +<p>There was still little sign of revival about the boy when he had +been carried into the Parsonage, undressed and laid in the Doctor’s +own bed, only a few moans when he was handled, and on his thin, sharp +features there was a piteous look of sadness entirely unlike his ordinary +expression of malignant fun, and which went to the kind hearts of the +Doctor and Mrs. Woodford. After exhausting their own remedies, +as soon as the early daylight was available Dr. Woodford called up a +couple of servants, and sent one into Portsmouth for a surgeon, and +another to Oakwood to the parents.</p> +<p>The doctor was the first to arrive, though not till the morning was +well advanced. He found that three ribs were broken against the +edge of the stone step, and the head severely injured, and having had +sufficient experience in the navy to be a reasonably safe practitioner, +he did nothing worse than bleed the patient, and declared that absolute +rest was the only hope of recovery.</p> +<p>He was being regaled with cold roast pig and ale when Major Oakshott +rode up to the door. Four horses were dragging the great lumbering +coach over Portsdown hill, but he had gone on before, to thank Dr. and +Mrs. Woodford for their care of his unfortunate son, and to make preparations +for his transport home under the care of his wife’s own woman, +who was coming in the coach in the stead of the invalid lady.</p> +<p>“Nay, sir. Master Brent here has a word to say to that +matter,” replied the Doctor.</p> +<p>“Truly, sir, I have,” said the surgeon; “in his +present state it is as much as your son’s life is worth to move +him.”</p> +<p>“Be that as it may seem to man, he is in the hand of Heaven, +and he ought to be at home, whether for life or death.”</p> +<p>“For death it will assuredly be, sir, if he be jolted and shaken +along the Portsdown roads—yea, I question whether you would get +him to Oakwood alive,” said Brent, with naval roughness.</p> +<p>“Indeed, sir,” added Mrs. Woodford, “Mrs. Oakshott +may be assured of my giving him as tender care as though he were mine +own son.”</p> +<p>“I am beholden to you, madam,” said the Major; “I +know your kindliness of heart; but in good sooth, the unhappy and rebellious +lad merits chastisement rather than pity, since what should he be doing +at this distance from home, where he was shut up for his misdemeanours, +save fleeing like the Prodigal of the parable, or else planning another +of his malicious pranks, as I greatly fear, on you or your daughter, +madam. If so, he hath fallen into the pit that he made for others.”</p> +<p>The impulse was to tell what had occurred, but the surgeon’s +presence, and the dread of making all worse for the poor boy checked +both the hosts, and Mrs. Woodford only declared that since the day of +the apology he had never molested her or her little girl.</p> +<p>“Still,” said the Major, “it is not possible to +leave him in a stranger’s house, where at any moment the evil +spirit that is in him may break forth.”</p> +<p>“Come and see him, and judge,” said Dr. Woodford.</p> +<p>When the father beheld the deathly face and motionless form, stern +as he was, he was greatly shocked. His heavy tread caused a moan, +and when he said “What, Perry, how now?” there was a painful +shrinking and twitching, which the surgeon greeted as evidence of returning +animation, but which made him almost drag the Major out of the room +for fear of immediate consequences.</p> +<p>Major Oakshott, and still more the servant, who had arrived in the +coach and come upstairs, could not but be convinced that removal was +not to be thought of. The maid was, moreover, too necessary to +her mistress to be left to undertake the nursing, much to her master’s +regret, but to the joy of Mrs. Woodford, who felt certain that by far +the best chance for the poor boy was in his entire separation from all +associations with the home where he had evidently suffered so much.</p> +<p>There was, perhaps, nothing except the pageship at Court that could +have gone more against Major Oakshott’s principles than to leave +his son in the house of a prelatical minister, but alternative there +was none, and he could only express how much he was beholden to the +Dr. and Mrs. Woodford.</p> +<p>All their desire was that he would remain at a distance, for during +the long and weary watch they had to keep over the half-conscious lad, +the sound of a voice or even a horse’s tread from Oakwood occasioned +moans and restlessness. The Major rode over, or sent his sons, +or a servant daily to inquire during the first fortnight, except on +the Sundays, and on each of these the patient made a step towards improvement.</p> +<p>At first he lay in a dull, death-like stupor, only groaning if disturbed, +but by and by there was a babbling murmur of words, and soon the sound +of his brother’s loud voice at the door, demanding from the saddle +how it went to-day with Peregrine, caused a shriek of terror and such +a fit of trembling that Mrs. Woodford had to go out and make a personal +request that Oliver would never again speak under the window. +To her great relief, when the balance between life and death had decidedly +turned, the inquiries became less frequent, and could often be forestalled +by sending messengers to Oakwood.</p> +<p>The boy usually lay still all day in the darkened room, only showing +pain at light or noise, but at night he often talked and rambled a good +deal. Sometimes it was Greek or Latin, sometimes whole chapters +of Scripture, either denunciating portions or genealogies from the First +Book of Chronicles, the polysyllabic names pouring from his mouth whenever +he was particularly oppressed or suffering, so that when Mrs. Woodford +had with some difficulty made out what they were, she concluded that +they had been set as tasks of penance.</p> +<p>At other times Peregrine talked as if he absolutely believed himself +in fairyland, accepting a strawberry or cherry as elfin food, promising +a tester in Anne’s shoe when she helped to change his pillow, +or conversing in the style of Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, on intended +pranks. Often he fancied himself the lubber fiend resting at the +fire his hairy strength, and watching for cock-crow as the signal for +flinging out-of-doors. It was wonderful how in the grim and strict +Puritanical household he could have imbibed so much fairy lore, but +he must have eagerly assimilated and recollected whatever he heard, +holding them as tidings from his true kith and kin; and, indeed, when +he was running on thus, Mrs. Woodford sometimes felt a certain awe and +chill, as of the preternatural, and could hardly believe that he belonged +to ordinary human nature. Either she or the Doctor always took +the night-watch after the talking mood set in, for they could not judge +of the effect it might have on any of the servants. Indeed they +sometimes doubted whether this were not the beginning of permanent insanity, +as the delusion seemed to strengthen with symptoms of recovery.</p> +<p>“Then,” said Dr. Woodford, “Heaven help the poor +lad!”</p> +<p>For sad indeed was the lot in those days of even the most harmless +lunatic.</p> +<p>“Yet,” said the lady, “I scarcely think anything +can be worse than what he undergoes at home. When I hear the terror +and misery of his voice, I doubt whether we did him any true kindness +by hindering his father from killing him outright by the shaking of +his old coach.”</p> +<p>“Nay, sister, we strove to do our duty, though it may be we +have taken on ourselves a further charge.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /> +Imp Or No Imp</h2> +<blockquote><p>“But wist I of a woman bold<br /> + Who thrice my brow durst sign,<br /> +I might regain my mortal mould,<br /> + As fair a form as thine.”</p> +<p>SCOTT.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At last came a wakening with intelligence in the eyes. In the +summer morning light that streamed through the chinks of the shutters +Mrs. Woodford perceived the glance of inquiry, and when she brought +some cool drink, a rational though feeble voice asked those first questions, +“Who? and where?”</p> +<p>“I am Mrs. Woodford, my dear child. You remember me at +Winchester. You are at Portchester. You fell down and hurt +yourself, but you are getting better.”</p> +<p>She was grieved to see the look of utter disappointment and weariness +that overspread the features, and the boy hardly spoke again all day. +There was much drowsiness, but also depression, and more than once Mrs. +Woodford detected tears, but at other times he received her attentions +with smiles and looks of wondering gratitude, as though ordinary kindness +and solicitude were so new to him that he did not know what to make +of them, and perhaps was afraid of breaking a happy dream by saying +too much.</p> +<p>The surgeon saw him, and declared him so much better that he might +soon be taken home, recommending his sitting up for a little while as +a first stage. Peregrine, however, seemed far from being cheered, +and showed himself so unwilling to undergo the fatigue of being dressed, +even when good Dr. Woodford had brought up his own large chair—the +only approach to an easy one in the house—that the proposal was +dropped, and he was left in peace for the rest of the day.</p> +<p>In the evening Mrs. Woodford was sitting by the window, letting her +needlework drop as the light faded, and just beginning to doze, when +her repose was broken by a voice saying “Madam.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Peregrine.”</p> +<p>“Come near, I pray. Will you tell no one?”</p> +<p>“No; what is it?”</p> +<p>In so low a tone that she had to bend over him: “Do you know +how the Papists cross themselves?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I have seen the Queen’s confessor and some of the +ladies make the sign.”</p> +<p>“Dear lady, you have been very good to me! If you would +only cross me thrice, and not be afraid! They could not hurt you!”</p> +<p>“Who? What do you mean?” she asked, for fairy lore +had not become a popular study, but comprehension came when he said +in an awe-stricken voice, “You know what I am.”</p> +<p>“I know there have been old wives’ tales about you, my +poor boy, but surely you do not believe them yourself.”</p> +<p>“Ah! if you will not believe them, there is no hope. +I might have known. You were so good to me;” and he hid +his face.</p> +<p>She took his unwilling hand and said, “Be you what you will, +my poor child, I am sorry for you, for I see you are very unhappy. +Come, tell me all.”</p> +<p>“Nay, then you would be like the rest,” said Peregrine, +“and I could not bear that,” and he wrung her hand.</p> +<p>“Perhaps not,” she said gently, “for I know that +a story is afloat that you were changed in your cradle, and that there +are folk ignorant enough to believe it.”</p> +<p>“They all <i>know</i> it,” he said impressively. +“My mother and brothers and all the servants. Every soul +knows it except my father and Mr. Horncastle, and they will never hear +a word, but will have it that I am possessed with a spirit of evil that +is to be flogged out of me. Goody Madge and Moll Owens, they knew +how it was at the first, and would fain have forced them—mine +own people—to take me home, and bring the other back, but my father +found it out and hindered them.”</p> +<p>“To save your life.”</p> +<p>“Much good does my life do me! Every one hates or fears +me. No one has a word for me. Every mischance is laid on +me. When the kitchen wench broke a crock, it was because I looked +at it. If the keeper misses a deer, he swears at Master Perry! +Oliver and Robert will not let me touch a thing of theirs; they bait +me for a moon-calf, and grin when I am beaten for their doings. +Even my mother quakes and trembles when I come near, and thinks I give +her the creeps. As to my father and tutor, it is ever the rod +with them, though I can learn my tasks far better than those jolter-heads +Noll and Robin. I never heard so many kind words in all my life +as you have given me since I have been lying here!”</p> +<p>He stopped in a sort of awe, for tears fell from her eyes, and she +kissed his forehead.</p> +<p>“Will you not help me, good madam?” he entreated. +“I went down to Goody Madge, and she said there was a chance for +me every seven years. The first went by, but this is my fourteenth +year. I had a hope when the King spoke of beheading me, but he +was only in jest, as I might have known. Then methought I would +try what Midsummer night in the fairy ring would do, but that was in +vain; and now you, who could cross me if you would, will not believe. +Oh, will you not make the trial?”</p> +<p>“Alas! Peregrine, supposing I could do it in good faith, +would you become a mere tricksy sprite, a thing of the elements, and +yield up your hopes as a Christian soul, a child of God and heir of +Heaven?”</p> +<p>“My father says I am an heir of hell.”</p> +<p>“No, no, never,” she cried, shuddering at his quiet way +of saying it. “You are flesh and blood, christened, and +with the hope set before you.”</p> +<p>“The christening came too late,” he said. “O +lady, you who are so good and pitiful, let my mother get back her true +Peregrine—a straight-limbed, comely dullard, such as would be +welcome to her. She would bless and thank you, and for me, to +be a Will-of-the-wisp, or what not, would be far better than the life +I lead. Never did I know what my mother calls peace till I lay +here.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Peregrine, poor lad, your value for peace and for my poor +kindness proves that you have a human heart and are no elf.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I meant to flit about and give you good dreams, and +keep off all that could hurt or frighten you,” he said earnestly.</p> +<p>“Only the human soul could feel so, dear boy,” she answered +tenderly.</p> +<p>“And you <i>really</i> disbelieve—the other,” he +said wistfully.</p> +<p>“This is what I verily believe, my child: that there were causes +to make you weakly, and that you may have had some palsy stroke or convulsive +fit perhaps at the moment you were left alone. Such would explain +much of your oddness of face, which made the ignorant nurses deem you +changed; and thus it was only your father who, by God’s mercy, +saved you from a miserable death, to become, as I trust, a good and +true man, and servant of God.” Then answering a hopeless +groan, she added, “Yes, it is harder for you than for many. +I see that these silly servants have so nurtured you in this belief +that you have never even thought it worth while to strive for goodness, +but supposed tricksomeness and waywardness a part of your nature.”</p> +<p>“The only pleasure in life is paying folk off,” said +Peregrine, with a glitter in his eye. “It serves them right.”</p> +<p>“And thus,” she said sadly, “you have gone on hating +and spiting, deeming yourself a goblin without hope or aim; but now +you feel that you have a Christian soul you will strive with evil, you +will so love as to win love, you will pray and conquer.”</p> +<p>“My father and Mr. Horncastle pray,” said Peregrine bitterly. +“I hate it! They go on for ever, past all bearing; I <i>must</i> +do something—stand on my head, pluck some one’s stool away, +or tickle Robin with a straw, if I am birched the next moment. +That’s the goblin.”</p> +<p>“Yet you love the Minster music.”</p> +<p>“Ay! Father calls it rank Popery. I listened many +a time he never guessed, hid away in the Holy Hole, or within old Bishop +Wykeham’s little house.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Peregrine, could an imp of evil brook to lie hidden in +the Holy Hole behind the very altar?” said Mrs. Woodford. +“But I hear Nick bringing in supper, and I must leave you for +the present. God in His mercy bless you, His poor child, and lead +you in His ways.”</p> +<p>As she went Peregrine muttered, “Is that a prayer? It +is not like father’s.”</p> +<p>She was anxious to consult her brother-in-law on the strange mood +of her patient. She found that he had heard more than he had told +her of what Major Oakshott deemed the hopeless wickedness of his son, +the antics at prayers, the hatred of everything good, the spiteful tricks +that were the family torment. No doubt much was due to the boy’s +entire belief in his own elfship, and these two good people seriously +considered how to save him from himself.</p> +<p>“If we could only keep him here,” said Mrs. Woodford, +“I think we might bring him to have some faith and love in God +and man.”</p> +<p>“You could, dear sister,” said the Doctor, smiling affectionately; +“but Major Oakshott would never leave his son in our house. +He abhors our principles too much, and besides, it is too near home. +All the servants have heard rumours of this cruel fable, and would ascribe +the least misadventure to his goblin origin. I must ride over +to Oakwood and endeavour to induce his father to remove him to safe +and judicious keeping.”</p> +<p>Some days, however, elapsed before Dr. Woodford could do this, and +in the meantime the good lady did her best to infuse into her poor young +guest the sense that he had a human soul, responsible for his actions, +and with hope set before him, and that he was not a mere frolicsome +and malicious sprite, the creature of unreasoning impulse.</p> +<p>It was a matter only to be attempted by gentle hints, for though +reared in a strictly religious household, Peregrine’s ears seemed +to have been absolutely closed, partly by nursery ideas of his own exclusion +from the pale of humanity, partly by the harsh treatment that he was +continually bringing on himself. Preachings and prayers to him +only meant a time of intolerable restraint, usually ending in disgrace +and punishment; Scripture and the Westminster Catechism contained a +collection of tasks more tedious and irksome than the Latin and Greek +Grammar; Sunday was his worst day of the week, and these repugnances, +as he had been taught to believe, were so many proofs that he was a +being beyond the power of grace.</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford scrupled to leave him to any one else on this first +Sunday of his recovered consciousness, and in hopes of keeping him quiet +through fatigue, she contrived that it should be the first day of his +being dressed, and seated in the arm-chair, resting against cushions +beside the open window, whence he could watch the church-goers, Anne +in her little white cap, with her book in one hand, and a posy in the +other, tripping demurely beside her uncle, stately in gown, cassock, +and scarlet hood.</p> +<p>Peregrine could not refrain from boasting to his hostess how he had +once grimaced from outside the church window at Havant, and at the women +shrieking that the fiend was there. She would not smile, and shook +her head sadly, so that he said, “I would never do so here.”</p> +<p>“Nor anywhere, I hope.”</p> +<p>Whereupon, thinking better to please the churchwoman, he related +how, when imprisoned for popping a toad into the soup, he had escaped +over the leads, and had beaten a drum outside the barn, during a discourse +of the godly tinker, John Bunyan, tramping and rattling so that all +thought the troopers were come, and rushed out, tumbling one over the +other, while he yelled out his “Ho! ho! ho!” from the haystack +where he had hidden.</p> +<p>“When you feel how kind and loving God is,” said Mrs. +Woodford gravely, “you will not like to disturb those who are +doing Him honour.”</p> +<p>“Is He kind?” asked Peregrine. “I thought +He was all wrath and anger.”</p> +<p>She replied, “The Lord is loving unto every man, and His mercy +is over all His works.”</p> +<p>He made no answer. If he were sullen, this subsided into sleepiness, +and when he awoke he found the lady on her knees going through the service +with her Prayer-book. She encountered his wistful eyes, but no +remark was made, though on her return from fetching him some broth, +she found him peeping into her book, which he laid down hastily, as +though afraid of detection.</p> +<p>She had to go down to the Sunday dinner, where, according to good +old custom, half a dozen of the poor and aged were regaled with the +parish priest and his household. There she heard inquiries and +remarks showing how widely spread and deeply rooted was the notion of +Peregrine’s elfish extraction. If Daddy Hoskins did ask +after the poor young gentleman as if he were a human being, the three +old dames present shook their heads, and while the more bashful only +groaned, Granny Perkins demanded, “Well, now, my lady, do he eat +and sleep like other folk?”</p> +<p>“Exactly, granny, now that he’s mending in health.”</p> +<p>“And don’t he turn and writhe when there’s prayers?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford deposed to having observed no such demonstrations.</p> +<p>“Think of that now! Lauk-a-daisy! I’ve heard +tell by my nevvy Davy, as is turnspit at Oak’ood, as how when +there’s prayers and expounding by Master Horncastle, as is a godly +man, saving his Reverence’s presence, he have seen him, have Davy—Master +Perry, as they calls him, a-twisted round with his heels on the chair, +and his head where his heels should be, and a grin on his face enough +to give one a turn.”</p> +<p>“Did Davy never see a mischievous boy fidgeting at prayers?” +asked the Doctor, who was nearer than she thought. “If so, +he has been luckier than I have been.”</p> +<p>There was a laugh, out of deference to the clergyman, but the old +woman held to her point. “Begging your Reverence’s +pardon, sir, there be more in this than we knows. They says up +at Oakwood, there’s no peace in the place for the spite of him, +and when they thinks he is safe locked into his chamber, there he be +a-clogging of the spit, or changing sugar into pepper, or making the +stool break down under one. Oh, he be a strange one, sir, or summat +worse. I have heerd him myself hollaing ‘Ho! ho! ho!’ +on the downs enough to make one’s flesh creep.”</p> +<p>“I will tell you what he is, dame,” said the Doctor gravely. +“He is a poor child who had a fit in his cradle, and whom all +around have joined in driving to folly, evil, and despair through your +foolish superstitions. He is my guest, and I will have no more +said against him at my table.”</p> +<p>The village gossips might be silenced by awe of the parson, but their +opinion was unshaken; and Silas Hewlett, a weather-beaten sailor with +a wooden leg, was bold enough to answer, “Ay, ay, sir, you parsons +and gentlefolk don’t believe naught; but you’ve not seen +what I have with my own two bodily eyes—” and this of course +was the prelude to the history of an encounter with a mermaid, which +alternated with the Flying Dutchman and a combat with the Moors, as +regular entertainment at the Sunday meal.</p> +<p>When Mrs. Woodford went upstairs she was met by the servant Nicolas, +declaring that she might get whom she would to wait on that there moon-calf, +he would not go neist the spiteful thing, and exhibiting a swollen finger, +stung by a dead wasp, which Peregrine had cunningly disposed on the +edge of his empty plate.</p> +<p>She soothed the man’s wrath, and healed his wound as best she +might, ere returning to her patient, who looked at her with an impish +grin on his lips, and yet human deprecation in his eyes. Feeling +unprepared for discussion, she merely asked whether the dinner had been +relished, and sat down to her book; but there was a grave, sorrowful +expression on her countenance, and, after an interval of lying back +uneasily in his chair, he exclaimed, “It is of no use; I could +not help it. It is my nature.”</p> +<p>“It is the nature of many lads to be mischievous,” she +answered; “but grace can cure them.”</p> +<p>Therewith she began to read aloud. She had bought the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i> (the first part) from a hawker, and she was glad to have +at hand something that could hardly be condemned as frivolous or prelatical. +The spell of the marvellous book fell on Peregrine; he listened intently, +and craved ever to hear more, not being yet able to read without pain +and dizziness. He was struck by hearing that the dream of Christian’s +adventures had visited that same tinker, whose congregation his own +wicked practices had broken up.</p> +<p>“He would take me for one of the hobgoblins that beset Master +Christian.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said Mrs. Woodford, “he would say you were +Christian floundering in the Slough of Despond, and deeming yourself +one of its efts or tadpoles.”</p> +<p>He made no answer, but on the whole behaved so well that the next +day Mrs. Woodford ventured to bring her little daughter in after having +extracted a promise that there should be no tricks nor teasing, a pledge +honourably kept.</p> +<p>Anne did not like the prospect of the interview. “Oh, +ma’am, don’t leave me alone with him!” she said. +“Do you know what he did to Mistress Martha Browning, his own +cousin, you know, who lives at Emsworth with her aunt? He put +a horsehair slily round her glass of wine, and tipped it over her best +gray taffeta, and her aunt whipped her for the stain. She never +would say it was his doing, and yet he goes on teasing her the same +as ever, though his brother Oliver found it out, and thrashed him for +it: you know Oliver is to marry Mistress Martha.”</p> +<p>“My dear child, where did you hear all this?” asked Mrs. +Woodford, rather overwhelmed with this flood of gossip from her usually +quiet daughter.</p> +<p>“Lucy told me, mamma. She heard it from Sedley, who says +he does not wonder at any one serving out Martha Browning, for she is +as ugly as sin.”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, Anne! Such sayings do not become a young +maid. This poor lad has scarce known kindness. Every one’s +hand has been against him, and so his hand has been against every one. +I want my little daughter to be brave enough not to pain and anger him +by shrinking from him as if he were not like other people. We +must teach him to be happy before we can teach him to be good.”</p> +<p>“Madam, I will try,” said the child, with a great gulp; +“only if you would be pleased not to leave me alone with him the +first time!”</p> +<p>This Mrs. Woodford promised. At first the boy lay and looked +at Anne as if she were a rare curiosity brought for his examination, +and it took all her resolution, even to a heroic exertion of childish +fortitude, not to flinch under the gaze of those queer eyes. However, +Mrs. Woodford diverted the glances by producing a box of spillekins, +and in the interest of the game the children became better acquainted.</p> +<p>Over their next day’s game Mrs. Woodford left them, and Anne +became at ease since Peregrine never attempted any tricks. She +taught him to play at draughts, the elders thinking it expedient not +to doubt whether such vanities were permissible at Oakwood.</p> +<p>Soon there was such merriment between them that the kind Doctor said +it did his heart good to hear the boy’s hearty natural laugh in +lieu of the “Ho! ho! ho!” of malice or derision.</p> +<p>They were odd conversations that used to take place between that +boy and girl. The King’s offer of a pageship had oozed out +in the Oakshott family, and Peregrine greatly resented the refusal, +which he naturally attributed to his father’s Whiggery and spite +at all things agreeable, and he was fond of discussing his wrongs and +longings with Anne, who, from her childish point of view, thought the +walls of Portchester and the sluggish creek a very bad exchange for +her enjoyments at Greenwich, where she had lived during her father’s +years of broken health, after he had been disabled at Southwold by a +wound which had prevented his being knighted by the Duke of York for +his daring in the excitement of the critical moment, a fact which Mistress +Anne never forgot, though she only knew it by hearsay, as it happened +a few weeks after she was born, and her father always averred that he +was thankful to have missed the barren and expensive honour, and that +the <i>worst</i> which had come of his exploit was the royal sponsorship +to his little maid.</p> +<p>Anne had, however, been the pet of her father’s old friends, +the sea captains, had played with the little Evelyns under the yew hedges +of Says Court, had been taken to London to behold the Lord Mayor’s +show and more than one Court pageant, had been sometimes at the palaces +as the plaything of the Ladies Mary and Anne of York, had been more +than once kissed by their father, the Duke, and called a pretty little +poppet, and had even shared with them a notable game at romps with their +good-natured uncle the King, when she had actually caught him at Blind-man’s-buff!</p> +<p>Ignorant as she was of evil, her old surroundings appeared to her +delightful, and Peregrine, bred in a Puritan home, was at fourteen not +much more advanced than she was in the meaning of the vices and corruptions +that he heard inveighed against in general or scriptural terms at home, +and was only too ready to believe that all that his father proscribed +must be enchanting. Thus they built castles together about brilliant +lives at a Court of which they knew as little as of that at Timbuctoo.</p> +<p>There was another Court, however, of which Peregrine seemed to know +all the details, namely, that of King Oberon and Queen Mab. How +much was village lore picked up from Moll Owens and her kind, or how +much was the work of his own imagination, no one could tell, probably +not himself, certainly not Anne. When he appeared on intimate +terms with Hip, Nip, and Skip, and described catching Daddy Long Legs +to make a fence with his legs, or dwelt upon a terrible fight between +two armies of elves mounted on grasshoppers and crickets, and armed +with lances tipped with stings of bees and wasps, she would exclaim, +“Is it true, Perry?” and he would wink his green eye and +look at her with his yellow one till she hardly knew where she was.</p> +<p>He would tell of his putting a hornet in a sluttish maid’s +shoe, which was credible, if scarcely meriting that elfish laughter +which made his auditor shrink, but when he told of dancing over the +mud banks with a lantern, like a Will-of-the-wisp, till he lured boats +to get stranded, or horsemen to get stuck, in the hopeless mud, Anne +never questioned the possibility, but listened with wide open eyes, +and a restrained shudder, feeling as if under a spell. That mysterious +childish feeling which dreads even what common sense forbids the calmer +mind to believe, made her credit Peregrine, for the time at least, with +strange affinities to the underground folk, and kept her under a strange +fascination, half attraction, half repulsion, which made her feel as +if she must obey and follow him if he turned those eyes on her, whether +she were willing or not.</p> +<p>Nor did she ever tell her mother of these conversations. She +had been rebuked once for repeating nurse’s story of the changeling, +and again for her shrinking from him; and this was quite enough in an +essentially reserved, as well as proud and sensitive, nature, to prevent +further confidences on a subject which she knew would be treated as +a foolish fancy, bringing both herself and her companion into trouble.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V<br /> +Peregrine’s Home</h2> +<blockquote><p>“For, at a word, be it understood,<br /> +He was always for ill and never for good.”</p> +<p>SCOTT.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A week had passed since any of the family from Oakwood had come to +make inquiries after the convalescent at Portchester, when Dr. Woodford +mounted his sleek, sober-paced pad, and accompanied by a groom, rode +over to make his report and tender his counsel to Major Oakshott. +He arrived just as the great bell was clanging to summon the family +to the mid-day meal, since he had reckoned on the Squire being more +amenable as a ‘full man,’ especially towards a guest, and +he was well aware that the Major was thoroughly a gentleman in behaviour +even to those with whom he differed in politics and religion.</p> +<p>Accordingly there was a ready welcome at the door of the old red +house, which was somewhat gloomy looking, being on the north side of +the hill, and a good deal stifled with trees. In a brief interval +the Doctor found himself seated beside the pale languid lady at the +head of the long table, placed in a large hall, wainscotted with the +blackest of oak, which seemed to absorb into itself all the light from +the windows, large enough indeed but heavily mullioned, and with almost +as much of leading as of octagons and lozenges—greenish glass—in +them, while the coats of arms, repeated in upper portions and at the +intersections of beams and rafters, were not more cheerful, being sable +chevrons on an argent field. The crest, a horse shoe, was indeed +azure, but the blue of this and of the coats of the serving-men only +deepened the thunderous effect of the black. Strangely, however, +among these sad-coloured men there moved a figure entirely differently. +A negro, white turbaned, and with his blue livery of a lighter shade, +of fantastic make and relieved by a great deal of white and shining +silver, so as to have an entirely different effect.</p> +<p>He placed himself behind the chair of Dr. Woodford’s opposite +neighbour, a shrewd business-like looking gentleman, soberly but handsomely +dressed, with a certain foreign cut about his clothes, and a cravat +of rich Flemish lace. He was presented to the Doctor as Major +Oakshott’s brother, Sir Peregrine. The rest of the party +consisted of Oliver and Robert, sturdy, ruddy lads of fifteen and twelve, +and their tutor, Mr. Horncastle, an elderly man, who twenty years before +had resigned his living because he could not bring himself to accept +all the Liturgy.</p> +<p>While Sir Peregrine courteously relieved his sister-in-law of the +trouble of carving the gammon of bacon which accompanied the veal which +her husband was helping, Dr. Woodford informed her of her son’s +progress towards recovery.</p> +<p>“Ah,” she said, “I knew you had come to tell us +that he is ready to be brought home;” and her tone was fretful.</p> +<p>“We are greatly beholden to you, sir,” said the Major +from the bottom of the table. “The boy shall be fetched +home immediately.”</p> +<p>“Not so, sir, as yet, I beg of you. Neither his head +nor his side can brook the journey for at least another week, and indeed +my good sister Woodford will hardly know how to part with her patient.”</p> +<p>“She will not long be of that mind after Master Perry gets +to his feet again,” muttered the chaplain.</p> +<p>“Indeed no,” chimed in the mother. “There +will be no more peace in the house when he is come back.”</p> +<p>“I assure you, madam,” said Dr. Woodford, “that +he has been a very good child, grateful and obedient, nor have I heard +any complaints.”</p> +<p>“Your kindness, or else that of Mrs. Woodford, carries you +far, sir,” answered his host.</p> +<p>“What? Is my nephew and namesake so peevish a scapegrace?” +demanded the visitor.</p> +<p>On which anecdotes broke forth from all quarters. Peregrine +had greased the already slippery oak stairs, had exchanged Oliver’s +careful exercise for a ribald broadsheet, had filled Mr. Horncastle’s +pipe with gunpowder, and mixed snuff with the chocolate specially prepared +for the peculiar godly guest Dame Priscilla Waller. Every one +had something to adduce, even the serving-men behind the chairs; and +if Oliver and Robert did not add their quota, it was because absolute +silence at meals was the rule for nonage. However, the subject +was evidently distasteful to the father, who changed the conversation +by asking his brother questions about the young Prince of Orange and +the Grand Pensionary De Witt. For the gentleman had been acting +as English attaché to the Embassy at the Hague, whence he had +come on affairs of State to London, and after being knighted by Charles, +had newly arrived at the old home, which he had scarcely seen since +his brother’s marriage. Dr. Woodford enjoyed his conversation, +and his information on foreign politics, and the Major, though now and +then protesting, was evidently proud of his brother.</p> +<p>When grace had been pronounced by the chaplain the lady withdrew +to her parlour, the two boys, each with an obeisance and request for +permission, departed for an hour’s recreation, and Dr. Woodford +intimated that he wished for some conversation with his host respecting +the boy Peregrine.</p> +<p>“Let us discuss it here,” said Major Oakshott, turning +towards a small table set in the deep bay window, and garnished with +wine, fruit, and long slender glasses. “Good Mr. Horncastle,” +he added, as he motioned his guest to one of the four seats, “is +with me in all that concerns my children, and I desire my brother’s +counsel respecting the untoward lad with whom it has pleased Heaven +to afflict me.”</p> +<p>When the glasses had been filled with claret Dr. Woodford uttered +a diplomatic compliment on the healthful and robust appearance of the +eldest and youngest sons, and asked whether any cause had been assigned +for the difference between them and the intermediate brother.</p> +<p>“None, sir,” returned the father with a sigh, “save +the will of the Almighty to visit us for our sins with a son who has +thus far shown himself one of the marred vessels doomed to be broken +by the potter. It may be in order to humble me and prove me that +this hath been laid upon me.”</p> +<p>The chaplain groaned acquiescence, but there was vexation in the +brother’s face.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the Doctor, “it is my opinion and that +of my sister-in-law, an excellent, discreet, and devout woman, that +the poor child would give you more cause for hope if the belief had +not become fixed in his mind that he is really and truly a fairy elf—yes, +in very sooth—a changeling!”</p> +<p>All the auditors broke out into exclamations that it was impossible +that a boy of fourteen could entertain so absurd an idea, and the tutor +evidently thought it a fresh proof of depravity that he should thus +have tried to deceive his kind hosts.</p> +<p>In proof that Peregrine veritably believed it himself, Dr. Woodford +related what he had witnessed on Midsummer night, mentioning how in +delirium the boy had evidently believed himself in fairyland, and how +disappointed he had been, on regaining his senses, to find himself on +common earth; telling also of the adventure with the King, which Sir +Christopher Wren had described to him, but of which Major Oakshott was +unaware, though it explained the offer of the pageship. He was +a good deal struck by these revelations, proving misery that he had +never suspected, though, as he said, he had often pleaded, “Why +will ye revolt more and more? ye <i>will</i> be stricken more and more.”</p> +<p>“Have you ever sought his confidence?” asked the travelled +brother, a question evidently scarcely understood, for the reply was, +“I have always required of my sons to speak the truth, nor have +they failed of late years save this unfortunate Peregrine.”</p> +<p>“And,” said Sir Peregrine, “if the unlucky lad +actually supposes himself to be no human being, admonitions and chastisements +would naturally be vain.”</p> +<p>“I cannot believe it,” exclaimed the Major. “’Tis +true, as I now remember, I once came on a couple of beldames, my wife’s +nurse and another, who has since been ducked for witchcraft, and found +them about to flog the babe with nettles, and lay him in the thorn hedge +because he was a sickly child, whom, forsooth, they took to be a changeling; +but I forbade the profane folly to be ever again mentioned in my household, +nor did I ever hear thereof again.”</p> +<p>“There are a good many more things mentioned in a household, +brother, than the master is wont to hear of,” remarked Sir Peregrine.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford then begged as a personal favour for an individual examination +of the family and servants on their opinion. The master was reluctant +thus, as he expressed it, to go a-fooling, but his brother backed the +Doctor up, and further prevented a general assembly to put one another +to shame, but insisted on the witnesses being called in one by one. +Oliver, the first summoned, was beginning to be somewhat less overawed +by his father than in his earlier boyhood. To the inquiry what +he thought of his brother Peregrine, he made a tentative sort of reply, +that he was a strange fellow, who never could keep out of disgrace.</p> +<p>“That is not the question,” said his father. “I +am almost ashamed to speak it! Do you—nay, have you ever +supposed him to be a—” he really could not bring out the +word.</p> +<p>“A changeling, sir?” returned Oliver. “I +do not believe so now, knowing that it is impossible, but as a child +I always did.”</p> +<p>“Who durst possess you with so foolish and profane a falsehood?”</p> +<p>“Every one, sir. I cannot recollect the time when I did +not as entirely deem Peregrine a changeling elf as that Robin was my +own brother. He believes so himself.”</p> +<p>“You have never striven to disabuse him.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, sir, he would scarce have listened to me had I done +go; besides, to tell the truth, it has only been of late, since I have +been older, and have studied more, that I have come to perceive the +folly of it.”</p> +<p>Major Oakshott groaned, and bade him call Robert without saying wherefore. +The little fellow came in, somewhat frightened, and when asked the question +that had been put to his elder, his face lighted up, and he exclaimed, +“Oh, have they brought him back again?”</p> +<p>“Whom?”</p> +<p>“Our real brother, sir, who was carried off to fairyland!”</p> +<p>“Who told you so, Robert?”</p> +<p>He looked puzzled, and said, “Sir, they all know it. +Molly Owens, that was his foster-mother, saw the fairies bear him off +on a broomstick up the chimney.”</p> +<p>“Robert, no lying!”</p> +<p>The boy was only restrained from tears by fear of his father, and +just managed to say, “’Tis what they all say, and Perry +knows.”</p> +<p>“Knows!” muttered Major Oakshott in despair, but the +uncle, drawing Robin towards him, extracted that Perry had been seen +flying out of the loft window, when he had been locked up—Robin +had never seen it himself, but the maids had often done so. Moreover, +there was proof positive, in the mark on Oliver’s head, where +he had nearly killed himself by tumbling downstairs, being lured by +the fairies while they stole away the babe.</p> +<p>The Major could not listen with patience. “A boy of that +age to repeat such blasphemous nonsense!” he exclaimed; and Robert, +restraining with difficulty his sobs of terror, was dismissed to fetch +the butler.</p> +<p>The old Ironside who now appeared would not avouch his own disbelief +in the identity of Master Peregrine, being, as he said, a man who had +studied his Bible, listened to godly preachers, and seen the world; +but he had no hesitation in declaring that almost every other soul in +the household believed in it as firmly as in the Gospel, certainly all +the women, and probably all the men, nor was there any doubt that the +young gentleman conducted himself more like a goblin than the son of +pious Christian parents. In effect both the clergyman and the +Diplomate could not help suspecting that in other company the worthy +butler’s disavowal of all share in the superstition might have +been less absolute.</p> +<p>“After this,” said Major Oakshott with a sigh, “it +seems useless to carry the inquiry farther.”</p> +<p>“What says my sister Oakshott?” inquired Sir Peregrine. +“She! Poor soul, she is too feeble to be fretted,” +said her husband. “She has never been the same woman since +the Fire of London, and it would be vain to vex her with questions. +She would be of one mind while I spoke to her, and another while her +women were pouring their tales into her ear. Methinks I now understand +why she has always seemed to shrink from this unfortunate child, and +to fear rather than love him.”</p> +<p>“Even so, sir,” added the tutor. “Much is +explained that I never before understood. The question is how +to deal with him under this fresh light. I will, so please your +honour, assemble the family this very night, and expound to them that +such superstitions are contrary to the very word of Scripture.”</p> +<p>“Much good will that do,” muttered the knight.</p> +<p>“I should humbly suggest,” put in Dr. Woodford, “that +the best hope for the poor lad would be to place him where these foolish +tales were unknown, and he could start afresh on the same terms with +other youths.”</p> +<p>“There is no school in accordance with my principles,” +said the Squire gloomily. “Godly men who hold the faith +as I do are inhibited by the powers that be from teaching in schools.”</p> +<p>“And,” said his brother, “you hold these principles +as more important than the causing your son to be bred up a human being +instead of being pointed at and rendered hopeless as a demon.”</p> +<p>“I am bound to do so,” said the Major.</p> +<p>“Surely,” said Dr. Woodford, “some scholar might +be found, either here or in Holland, who might share your opinions, +and could receive the boy without incurring penalties for opening a +school without license.”</p> +<p>“It is a matter for prayer and consideration,” said Major +Oakshott. “Meantime, reverend sir, I thank you most heartily +for the goodness with which you have treated my untoward son, and likewise +for having opened my eyes to the root of his freakishness.”</p> +<p>The Doctor understood this as dismissal, and asked for his horse, +intimating, however, that he would gladly keep the boy till some arrangement +had been decided upon. Then he rode home to tell his sister-in-law +that he had done his best, and that he thought it a fortunate conjunction +that the travelled brother had been present.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /> +A Relapse</h2> +<blockquote><p>“A tell-tale in their company<br /> + They never could endure,<br /> +And whoso kept not secretly<br /> + Their pranks was punished sure.<br /> +It was a just and Christian deed<br /> + To pinch such black and blue;<br /> +Oh, how the commonwealth doth need<br /> + Such justices as you!”</p> +<p>BISHOP CORBETT.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Several days passed, during which there could be no doubt that Peregrine +Oakshott knew how to behave himself, not merely to grown-up people, +but to little Anne, who had entirely lost her dread of him, and accepted +him as a playfellow. He was able to join the family meals, and +sit in the pleasant garden, shaded by the walls of the old castle, as +well as by its own apple-trees, and looking out on the little bay in +front, at full tide as smooth and shining as a lake.</p> +<p>There, while Anne did her task of spinning or of white seam, Mrs. +Woodford would tell the children stories, or read to them from the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i>, a wonderful romance to both. Peregrine, still tamed +by weakness, would lie on the grass at her feet, in a tranquil bliss +such as he had never known before, and his fairy romances to Anne were +becoming mitigated, when one day a big coach came along the road from +Fareham, with two boys riding beside it, escorting Lady Archfield and +Mistress Lucy.</p> +<p>The lady was come to study Mrs. Woodford’s recipe for preserved +cherries, the young people, Charles, Lucy, and their cousin Sedley, +now at home for the summer holidays, to spend an afternoon with Mistress +Anne.</p> +<p>Great was Lady Archfield’s surprise at finding that Major Oakshott’s +cross-grained slip of a boy was still at Portchester.</p> +<p>“If you were forced to take him in for very charity when he +was hurt,” she said, “I should have thought you would have +been rid of him as soon as he could leave his bed.”</p> +<p>“The road to Oakwood is too rough for broken ribs as yet,” +said Mrs. Woodford, “nor is the poor boy ready for discipline.”</p> +<p>“Ay, I fancy that Major Oakshott is a bitter Puritan in his +own house; but no discipline could be too harsh for such a boy as that, +according to all that I hear,” said her ladyship, “nor does +he look as if much were amiss with him so far as may be judged of features +so strange and writhen.”</p> +<p>“He is nearly well, but not yet strong, and we are keeping +him here till his father has decided on what is best for him.”</p> +<p>“You even trust him with your little maid! And alone! +I wonder at you, madam.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, my lady, I have seen no harm come of it. He +is gentle and kind with Anne, and I think she softens him.”</p> +<p>Still Mrs. Woodford would gladly not have been bound to her colander +and preserving-pan in her still-room, where her guest’s housewifely +mind found great scope for inquiry and comment, lasting for nearly two +hours.</p> +<p>When at length the operations were over, and numerous little pots +of jam tied up as specimens for the Archfield family to taste at home, +the children were not in sight. No doubt, said Mrs. Woodford, +they would be playing in the castle court, and the visitor accompanied +her thither in some anxiety about broken walls and steps, but they were +not in sight, nor did calls bring them.</p> +<p>The children had gone out together, Anne feeling altogether at ease +and natural with congenial playmates. Even Sedley’s tortures +were preferable to Peregrine’s attentions, since the first were +only the tyranny of a graceless boy, the other gave her an indescribable +sense of strangeness from which these ordinary mundane comrades were +a relief and protection.</p> +<p>However, Charles and Sedley rushed off to see a young colt in which +they were interested, and Lucy, in spite of her first shrinking, found +Peregrine better company than she could have expected, when he assisted +in swinging her and Anne by turns under the old ash tree.</p> +<p>When the other two were seen approaching, the swinging girl hastily +sprang out, only too well aware what Sedley’s method of swinging +would be. Then as the boys came up followed inquiries why Peregrine +had not joined them, and jests in schoolboy taste ensued as to elf-locks +in the horses’ manes, and inquiries when he had last ridden to +a witch’s sabbath. Little Anne, in duty bound, made her +protest, but this only incited Charles to add his word to the teasing, +till Lucy joined in the laugh.</p> +<p>By and by, as they loitered along, they came to the Doctor’s +little boat, and there was a proposal to get in and rock. Lucy +refused, out of respect for her company attire, and Anne could not leave +her, so the two young ladies turned away with arms round each other’s +waists, Lucy demonstratively rejoicing to be quit of the troublesome +boys.</p> +<p>Before they had gone far an eldritch shout of laughter was responded +to by a burst of furious dismay and imprecation. The boat with +the two boys was drifting out to sea, and Peregrine capering wildly +on the shore, but in another instant he had vanished into the castle.</p> +<p>Anne had presence of mind enough to rush to the nearest fisherman’s +cottage, and send him out to bring them back, and it was at this juncture +that the two mothers arrived on the scene. There was little real +danger. A rope was thrown and caught, and after about half an +hour of watching they were safely landed, but the tide had ebbed so +far that they had to take off their shoes and stockings and wade through +the mud. They were open-mouthed against the imp who had enticed +them to rock in the boat, then in one second had cut the painter, bounded +out, and sent them adrift with his mocking ‘Ho! ho! ho!’ +Sedley Archfield clenched his fists, and gazed round wildly in search +of the goblin to chastise him soundly, and Charles was ready to rush +all over the castle in search of him.</p> +<p>“Two to one!” cried Anne, “and he so small; you +would never be so cowardly.”</p> +<p>“As if he were like an honest fellow,” said Charley. +“A goblin like that has his odds against a dozen of us.”</p> +<p>“I’d teach him, if I could but catch him,” cried +Sedley.</p> +<p>“I told you,” said Anne, “that he would be good +if you would let him alone and not plague him.”</p> +<p>“Now, Anne,” said Charles, as he sat putting on his stockings, +“how could I stand being cast off for that hobgoblin, that looks +as if he had been cut out of a root of yew with a blunt knife, and all +crooked! I that always was your sweetheart, to see you consorting +with a mis-shapen squinting Whig of a Nonconformist like that.”</p> +<p>“Nonconformist! I’ll Nonconform him indeed,” +added Sedley. “I wish I had the wringing of his neck.”</p> +<p>“Now is not that hard!” said Anne; “a poor lad +who has been very sick, and that every one baits and spurns.”</p> +<p>“Serve him right,” said Sedley; “he shall have +more of the same sauce!”</p> +<p>“I think he has cast his spell on Anne,” added Charles, +“or how can she stand up for him?”</p> +<p>“My mamma bade me be kind to him.”</p> +<p>“Kind! I would as lief be kind to a toad!” put +in Lucy.</p> +<p>“To see you kind to him makes me sick,” exclaimed Charles. +“You see what comes of it.”</p> +<p>“It did not come of my kindness, but of your unkindness,” +reasoned Anne.</p> +<p>“I told you so,” said Charles. “You would +have been best pleased if we had been carried out to sea and drowned!”</p> +<p>Anne burst into tears and disavowed any such intention, and Charles +was protesting that he would only forgive her on condition of her never +showing any kindness to Peregrine again, when a sudden shower of sand +and pebbles descended, one of them hitting Sedley pretty sharply on +the ear. The boys sprang up with a howl of imprecation and vengeance, +but no one was to be seen, only ‘Ho! ho! ho!’ resounded +from the battlements. Off they rushed headlong, but the nearest +door was in a square tower a good way off, and when they reached it +the door defied their efforts of frantic rage, whilst another shower +descended on them from above, accompanied by the usual shout. +But while they were dashing off in quest of another entrance they were +met by a servant sent to summon them to return home. Coach and +horses were at the door, and Lady Archfield was in haste to get them +away, declaring that she should not think their lives safe near that +fiendish monster. Considering that Sedley was nearly twice as +big as Peregrine, and Charles a strong well-grown lad, this was a tribute +to his preternatural powers.</p> +<p>Very unwillingly they went, and if Lady Archfield had not kept a +strict watch from her coach window, they would certainly have turned +back to revenge the pranks played on them. The last view of them +showed Sedley turning round shaking his whip and clenching his teeth +in defiance. Mrs. Woodford was greatly concerned, especially as +Peregrine could not be found and did not appear at supper.</p> +<p>“Had he run away to sea?” the usual course of refractory +lads at Portchester, but for so slight a creature only half recovered +it did not seem probable. It was more likely that he had gone +home, and that Mrs. Woodford felt as somewhat a mortifying idea. +However, on looking into his chamber, as she sought her own, she beheld +him in bed, with his face turned into the pillow, whether asleep or +feigning slumber there was no knowing.</p> +<p>Later, she heard sounds that induced her to go and look at him. +He was starting, moaning, and babbling in his sleep. But with +morning all his old nature seemed to have returned.</p> +<p>There was a hedgehog in Anne’s bowl of milk, Mrs. Woodford’s +poultry were cackling hysterically at an unfortunate kitten suspended +from an apple tree and let down and drawn up among them. The three-legged +stool of the old waiting-woman ‘toppled down headlong’ as +though by the hands of Puck, and even on Anne’s arms certain black +and blue marks of nails were discovered, and when her mother examined +her on them she only cried and begged not to be made to answer.</p> +<p>And while Dr. Woodford was dozing in his chair as usual after the +noonday dinner Mrs. Woodford actually detected a hook suspended from +a horsehair descending in the direction of his big horn spectacles, +and quietly moving across to frustrate the attempt, she unearthed Peregrine +on a chair angling from behind the window curtain.</p> +<p>She did not speak, but fixed her calm eyes on him with a look of +sad, grave disappointment as she wound up the line. In a few seconds +the boy had thrown himself at her feet, rolling as if in pain, and sobbing +out, “’Tis all of no use! Let me alone.”</p> +<p>Nevertheless he obeyed the hushing gesture of her hand, and held +his breath, as she led him out to the garden-seat, where they had spent +so many happy quiet hours. Then he flung himself down and repeated +his exclamation, half piteous, half defiant. “Leave me alone! +Leave me alone! It has me! It is all of no use.”</p> +<p>“What has you, my poor child?”</p> +<p>“The evil spirit. You will have it that I’m not +one of—one of them—so it must be as my father says, that +I am possessed—the evil spirit. I was at peace with you—so +happy—happier than ever I was before—and now—those +boys. It has me again—I could not help it—I’ve +even hurt her—Mistress Anne. Let me alone—send me +home—to be scorned, and shunned, and brow-beaten—and as +bad as ever—then at least she will be safe from me.”</p> +<p>All this came out between sobs such that Mrs. Woodford could not +attempt to speak, but she kept her hand on him, and at last she said, +when he could hear her: “Every one of us has to fight with an +evil spirit, and when we are not on our guard he is but too apt to take +advantage of us.”</p> +<p>The boy rather sullenly repeated that it was of no use to fight against +his.</p> +<p>“Indeed! Nay. Were you ever so much grieved before +at having let him have the mastery?”</p> +<p>“No—but no one ever was good to me before.”</p> +<p>“Yes; all about you lived under a cruel error, and you helped +them in it. But if you had not a better nature in you, my poor +child, you would not be happy here and thankful for what we can do for +you.”</p> +<p>“I was like some one else here,” said Peregrine, picking +a daisy to pieces, “but they stirred it all up. And at home +I shall be just the same as ever I was.”</p> +<p>She longed to tell him that there was hope of a change in his life, +but she durst not till it was more certain, so she said—</p> +<p>“There was One who came to conquer the evil spirit and the +evil nature, and to give each one of us the power to get the victory. +The harder the victory, the more glorious!” and her eyes sparkled +at the thought.</p> +<p>He caught a moment’s glow, then fell back. “For +those that are chosen,” he said.</p> +<p>“You are chosen—you were chosen by your baptism. +You have the stirrings of good within you. You can win and beat +back the evil side of you in Christ’s strength, if you will ask +for it, and go on in His might.”</p> +<p>The boy groaned. Mrs. Woodford knew that the great point with +him would be to teach him to hope and to pray, but the very name of +prayer had been rendered so distasteful to him that she scarce durst +press the subject by name, and her heart sank at the thought of sending +him home again, but she was glad to be interrupted, and said no more.</p> +<p>At night, however, she heard sounds of moaning and stifled babbling +that reminded her of his times of delirium, and going into his room +she found him tossing and groaning so that it was manifestly a kindness +to wake him; but her gentle touch occasioned a scream of terror, and +he started aside with open glassy eyes, crying, “Oh take me not!”</p> +<p>“My dear boy! It is I. Perry, do you not know me?”</p> +<p>“Oh, madam!” in infinite relief, “it is you. +I thought—I thought I was in elfland and that they were paying +me for the tithe to hell;” and he still shuddered all over.</p> +<p>“No elf—no elf, dear boy; a christened boy—God’s +child, and under His care;” and she began the 121st Psalm.</p> +<p>“Oh, but I am not under His shadow! The Evil One has +had me again! He will have me. Aren’t those his claws? +He will have me!”</p> +<p>“Never, my child, if you will cry to God for help. Say +this with me, ‘Lord, be Thou my keeper.’”</p> +<p>He did so, and grew more quiet, and she began to repeat Dr. Ken’s +evening hymn, which had become known in manuscript in Winchester. +It soothed him, and she thought he was dropping off to sleep, but no +sooner did she move than he started with “There it is again—the +black wings—the claws—” then while awake, “Say +it again! Oh, say it again. Fold me in your prayers—you +can pray.” She went back to the verse, and he became quiet, +but her next attempt to leave him caused an entreaty that she would +remain, nor could she quit him till the dawn, happily very early, was +dispelling the terrors of the night, and then, when he had himself murmured +once—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,<br /> +No powers of darkness me molest,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>he fell asleep at last, with a softer look on his pinched face. +Poor boy, would that verse be his first step to prayer and deliverance +from his own too real enemy?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /> +The Envoy</h2> +<blockquote><p>“I then did ask of her, her changeling child.”</p> +<p>Midsummer Night’s Dream.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mrs. Woodford was too good a housewife to allow herself any extra +rest on account of her vigil, and she had just put her Juneating apple-tart +into the oven when Anne rushed into the kitchen with the warning that +there was a grand gentleman getting off his horse at the gateway, and +speaking to her uncle—she thought it must be Peregrine’s +uncle.</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford was of the same opinion, and asked where Peregrine +was.</p> +<p>“Fast asleep in the window-seat of the parlour, mother! +I did not waken him, for he looked so tired.”</p> +<p>“That was right, my little maiden,” said Mrs. Woodford, +hastily washing her hands, taking off her cooking apron, letting down +her black gown from its pocket holes, and arranging her veil-like widow’s +coif, after which, in full trim for company, she sallied out to the +front door, to avert, if possible, the wakening of the boy, whom she +wished to appear to the best advantage.</p> +<p>She met in the garden her brother-in-law, and Sir Peregrine Oakshott, +on being presented to her, made such a bow as had seldom been seen in +those parts, as he politely said that he was the bearer of his brother’s +thanks for her care of his nephew.</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford explained that the boy had had so bad a night that +it would be well not to break his present sleep, and invited the guest +to walk in the garden or sit in the Doctor’s study or in the shade +of the castle wall.</p> +<p>This last was what he preferred, and there they seated themselves, +with a green slope before them down to the pale gray creek, and the +hill beyond lying in the summer sunshine.</p> +<p>“I have been long in coming hither,” said the knight, +“partly on account of letters on affairs of State, and partly +likewise because I desired to come alone, thinking that I might better +understand how it is with the lad without the presence of his father +or brothers.”</p> +<p>“I am very glad you have so done, sir.”</p> +<p>“Then, madam, I entreat of you to speak freely and tell me +your opinion of him without reserve. You need not fear offence +by speaking of the mode in which they have treated him at home. +My poor brother has meant to do his duty, but he has stood so far aloof +from his sons that he has dealt with them in ignorance, and their mother, +between sickliness and timidity, is a mere prey to the folly of her +gossips. So speak plainly, madam, I beg of you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford did speak plainly of the boy’s rooted belief +in his own elfish origin, and how when arguing against it she had found +the alternative even sadder and more hopeless, how well he comported +himself as long as he was treated as a human and rational being, but +how the taunts and jests of the young Archfields had renewed all the +mischief, to the poor fellow’s own remorse and despair.</p> +<p>Sir Peregrine listened with only a word of comment, or question now +and then, like a man of the world well used to hearing all before he +committed himself, and the description was only just ended when the +clang of the warning dinner-bell sounded and they rose; but as they +were passing the window of the dining-parlour a shriek of Anne’s +startled them all, and as they sprang forward, Mrs. Woodford first, +Peregrine’s voice was heard, “No, no, Anne, don’t +be afraid. It is for me he is come; I knew he would.”</p> +<p>Something in a strange language was heard. A black face with +round eyes and gleaming teeth might be seen bending forward. Anne +gave another shriek, but was heard crying, “No, no! Get +away, sir. He is our Lord Christ’s! He is! You +can’t! you shan’t have him.”</p> +<p>And Anne was seen standing over Peregrine, who had dropped shuddering +and nearly fainting on the floor, while she stood valiantly up warding +off the advance of him whom she took for the Prince of Darkness, and +in her excitement not at first aware of those who were come to her aid +at the window. In one second the negro was saying something which +his master answered, and sent him off. Mrs. Woodford had called +out, “Don’t be afraid, dear children. ’Tis Sir +Peregrine’s black servant”; and the Doctor, “Foolish +children! What is this nonsense?” A moment or two +more and they were in the room, Anne, all trembling, flying up to her +mother and hiding her face against her between fright and shame at not +having thought of the black servant, and the while they lifted up Peregrine, +who, as he met his kind friend’s eyes, said faintly, “Is +he gone? Was it the dream again?”</p> +<p>“It was your uncle’s blackamoor servant,” said +Mrs. Woodford. “You woke up, and no wonder you were startled. +Come with me, both of you, and make you ready for dinner.”</p> +<p>Peregrine had rather collapsed than fainted, for he was able to walk +with her hand on his shoulder, and Sir Peregrine understood her sign +and did not attempt to accost either of the children, though as the +Doctor took him to his chamber he expressed his admiration of the little +maiden.</p> +<p>“That’s the right woman,” he said, “losing +herself when there is one to guard. Nay, sir, she needs no excuse. +Such a spirit may well redeem a child’s mistake.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford had reassured the children, so that they were more +than half ashamed, though scarce willing to reappear when she had made +Peregrine wash his face and hands, smooth the hair ruffled in his nap, +freshly tying his little cravat and the ribbons on his shoes and at +his knees. To make his hair into anything but elf locks, or to +obliterate the bristly tuft that made him like Riquet, was impossible, +illness had made him additionally lean and sallow, and his keen eyes, +under their black contracted brows and dark lashes, showed all the more +the curious variation in their tints, and with an obliquity that varied +according to the state of the nerves. There was a satirical mischievous +cast in the mould of the face, though individually the features were +not amiss except for their thinness, and in fact the unpleasantness +of the expression had insensibly been softened during this last month, +and there was nothing repellent, though much that was quaint, in the +slight figure, with the indescribably one-sided air, and stature more +befitting ten than fourteen years. What would the visitor think +of him? The Doctor called to him, “Come, Peregrine, your +uncle, Sir Peregrine Oakshott, has been good enough to come over to +see you.”</p> +<p>Peregrine had been well trained enough in that bitter school of home +to make a correct bow, though his feelings were betrayed by his yellow +eye going almost out of sight.</p> +<p>“My namesake—your father will not let me say my godson,” +said Sir Peregrine smiling. “We ought to be good friends.”</p> +<p>The boy looked up. Perhaps he had never been greeted in so +human a manner before, and there was something confiding in the way +those bony fingers of his rested a moment in his uncle’s clasp.</p> +<p>“And this is your little daughter, madam, Peregrine’s +kind playmate? You may well be proud of her valour,” said +the knight, while Anne made her courtesy, which he, in the custom of +the day, returned with a kiss; and she, who had been mortally ashamed +of her terror, marvelled at his praise.</p> +<p>The pair of fowls were by this time on the table, and good manners +required silence on the part of the children, but while Sir Peregrine +explained that he had been appointed by his Majesty as Envoy to the +Elector of Brandenburg, and gave various interesting particulars of +foreign life, Mrs. Woodford saw that he was keeping a quiet watch over +his nephew’s habits at table, and she was thankful that when unmoved +by any wayward spirit of mischief they were quite beyond reproach. +Something of the refinement of his poor mother’s tastes must have +been inherited by Peregrine, for a certain daintiness of taste and habit +had probably added to his discomforts in the austere, not to say rude +simplicity imposed upon the children of the family.</p> +<p>When the meal was over the children were dismissed to the garden, +but bidden to keep within call, in case Sir Peregrine should wish to +see his nephew again. The others repaired again to the garden +seat, with wine and fruit, but the knight begged Mrs. Woodford not to +leave them.</p> +<p>“I am satisfied,” he said. “The boy shows +gentle blood and breeding. There was cause enough for fright without +cowardice, and there is not, what I was led to fear, such uncouthness +or ungainliness as should hinder me from having him with me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sir, is that your purpose?” cried the lady, almost +as eagerly as if it had been high preferment for her own child.</p> +<p>“I had thought thereon,” said the envoy. “There +is reason that he should be my charge, and my brother is like to give +a ready consent, since he is sorely perplexed what to do with this poor +untoward slip.”</p> +<p>“He would be less untoward were he happier,” said Mrs. +Woodford. “Indeed, sir, I do not think you will repent it, +if—” and she paused.</p> +<p>“What would you say, madam?”</p> +<p>“If only all your honour’s household are absolutely ignorant +of all these tales.”</p> +<p>“That can well be, madam. I have only one body-servant +with me, this unlucky blackamoor, who speaks nothing save Dutch. +I had already thought of leaving my grooms here, and returning to London +by sea, and this could well be done, and would cut off all channels +of gossiping. The boy is, the chaplain tells me, quick-witted, +and a fair scholar for his years, and I can find good schooling for +him.”</p> +<p>“When his head is able to bear it,” said Mrs. Woodford.</p> +<p>“Truly, sir,” added the Doctor, “you are doing +a good work, and I trust that the boy will requite you worthily.”</p> +<p>“I tell your reverence,” said Sir Peregrine, “crooked +stick though they term him, I had ten times rather have the dealing +with him than with those comely great lubbers his brothers! The +question now is, shall I tell him what is in store for him?”</p> +<p>“I should say,” returned Dr. Woodford, “that provided +it is certain that the intention can be carried out, nothing would be +so good for him as hope. Do you not say so, sister?”</p> +<p>“Indeed I do,” she replied. “I believe that +he would be a very different boy if he were relieved from the misery +he suffers at home and requites by mischievous pranks. I do not +say he will or can be a good lad at once, but if your honour can have +patience with him, I do believe there is that in him which can be turned +to good. If he only can believe in the better nature and higher +guidings, and pray, and not give himself up in despair.” +She had tears in her eyes.</p> +<p>“My good madam, I can believe it all,” said Sir Peregrine. +“Short of being supposed an elf, I have gone through the same, +and it was not my good father’s fault that I did not loathe the +very name of preaching or prayer. But I had a mother who knew +how to deal with me, whereas this poor child’s mother, I am sure, +believes in her secret heart that he is none of hers, though she has +enough sense not to dare to avow it. Alas! I cannot give +the boy the woman’s tending by which you have already wrought +so much,” and Mrs. Woodford remembered to have heard that his +wife had died at Rotterdam, “but I can treat him like a human +being, I hope indeed as a son; and, at any rate, there will be no one +to remind him of these old wives’ tales.”</p> +<p>“I can only say that I am heartily rejoiced,” said Mrs. +Woodford.</p> +<p>So Peregrine was summoned, and shambled up, his eyes showing that +he expected a trying interview, and, moreover, with a certain twinkle +of mischief or perverseness in their corners.</p> +<p>“Soh! my lad, we ought to be better acquainted,” said +the uncle. “D’ye know what our name means?”</p> +<p>“<i>Peregrinus</i>, a vagabond,” responded the boy.</p> +<p>“Eh! The translation may be correct, but ’tis scarce +the most complimentary. I wonder now if you, like me, were born +on a Wednesday. ‘Wednesday’s child has far to go.’”</p> +<p>“No. I was born on a Sunday, and if to see goblins and +oafs—”</p> +<p>“Nay, I read it, ‘Sunday’s child is full of grace.’”</p> +<p>Peregrine’s mouth twitched ironically, but his uncle continued, +“Look you, my boy, what say you to fulfilling the augury of your +name with me. His Majesty has ordered me off again to represent +the British name to the Elector of Brandenburg, and I have a mind to +carry you with me. What do you say?”</p> +<p>If any one expected Peregrine to be overjoyed his demeanour was disappointing. +He shuffled with his feet, and after two or three “Ehs?” +from his uncle, he mumbled, “I don’t care,” and then +shrank together, as one prepared for the stripe with the riding-whip +which such a rude answer merited: but his uncle had, as a diplomate, +learnt a good deal of patience, and he said, “Ha! don’t +care to leave home and brothers. Eh?”</p> +<p>Peregrine’s chin went down, and there was no answer; his hair +dropped over his heavy brow.</p> +<p>“See, boy, this is no jest,” said his uncle. “You +are too big to be told that ‘I’ll put you into my pocket +and carry you off.’ I am in earnest.”</p> +<p>Peregrine looked up, and with one sudden flash surveyed his uncle. +His lips trembled, but he did not speak.</p> +<p>“It is sudden,” said the knight to the other two. +“See, boy, I am not about to take you away with me now. +In a week or ten days’ time I start for London; and there we will +fit you out for Königsberg or Berlin, and I trust we shall make +a man of you, and a good man. Your tutor tells me you have excellent +parts, and I mean that you shall do me credit.”</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford could not help telling the lad that he ought to thank +his uncle, whereat he scowled; but Sir Peregrine said, “He is +not ready for that yet. Wait till he feels he has something to +thank me for.”</p> +<p>So Peregrine was dismissed, and his friends exclaimed with some wonder +and annoyance that the boy who had been willing to be decapitated to +put an end to his wretchedness, should be so reluctant to accept such +an offer, but Sir Peregrine only laughed, and said—</p> +<p>“The lad has pith in him! I like him better than if he +came like a spaniel to my foot. But I will say no more till I +fully have my brother’s consent. No one knows what crooks +there may be in folks’ minds.”</p> +<p>He took his leave, and presently Mrs. Woodford had a fresh surprise. +She found this strange boy lying flat on the grass, sobbing as if his +heart would break, and when she tried to soothe and comfort him it was +very hard to get a word from him; but at last, as she asked, “And +does it grieve you so much to leave home?” the answer was—</p> +<p>“No, no! not home!”</p> +<p>“What is it, then? What are you sorry to leave?”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>you</i> don’t know! you and Anne—the only +ones that ever were good to me—and drove away—<i>it</i>.”</p> +<p>“Nay, my dear boy. Your uncle means to be good to you.”</p> +<p>“No, no. No one ever will be like you and Anne. +Oh, let me stay with you, or they will have me at last!”</p> +<p>He was too much shaken, in his still half-recovered state, by the +events of these last days, to be reasoned with. Mrs. Woodford +was afraid he would work himself into delirium, and could only soothe +him into a calmer state. She found from Anne that the children +had some vague hopes of his being allowed to remain at Portchester, +and that this was the ground of his disappointment, since he seemed +to be attaching himself to them as the first who had ever touched his +heart or opened to him a gleam of better things.</p> +<p>By the next day, however, he was in a quieter and more reasonable +state, and Mrs. Woodford was able to have a long talk with him. +She represented that the difference of opinions made it almost certain +that his father would never consent to his remaining under her roof, +and that even if this were possible, Portchester was far too much infected +with the folly from which he had suffered so much; and his uncle would +take care that no one he would meet should ever hear of it.</p> +<p>“There’s little good in that,” said the boy moodily. +“I’m a thing they’ll jibe at and bait any way.”</p> +<p>“I do not see that, if you take pains with yourself. +Your uncle said you showed blood and breeding, and when you are better +dressed, and with him, no one will dare to mock his Excellency’s +nephew. Depend upon it, Peregrine, this is the fresh start that +you need.”</p> +<p>“If you were there—”</p> +<p>“My boy, you must not ask for what is impossible. You +must learn to conquer in God’s strength, not mine.”</p> +<p>All, however, that passed may not here be narrated, and it apparently +left that wayward spirit unconvinced. Nevertheless, when on the +second day Major Oakshott himself came over with his brother, and informed +Peregrine that his uncle was good enough to undertake the charge of +him, and to see that he was bred up in godly ways in a Protestant land, +free from prelacy and superstition, the boy seemed reconciled to his +fate. Major Oakshott spoke more kindly than usual to him, being +free from fresh irritation at his misdemeanours; but even thus there +was a contrast with the gentler, more persuasive tones of the diplomatist, +and no doubt this tended to increase Peregrine’s willingness to +be thus handed over.</p> +<p>The next question was whether he should go home first, but both the +uncle and the friends were averse to his remaining there, amid the unavoidable +gossip and chatter of the household, and it was therefore decided that +he should only ride over with Dr. Woodford for an hour or two to take +leave of his mother and brothers.</p> +<p>This settled, Mrs. Woodford found him much easier to deal with. +He had really, through his midnight invocation of the fairies, obtained +an opening into a new world, and he was ready to believe that with no +one to twit him with being a changeling or worse, he could avoid perpetual +disgrace and punishment and live at peace. Nor was he unwilling +to promise Mrs. Woodford to say daily, and especially when tempted, +one or two brief collects and ejaculations which she selected to teach +him, as being as unlike as possible to the long extempore exercises +which had made him hate the very name of prayer. The Doctor gave +him a Greek Testament, as being least connected with unpleasant recollections.</p> +<p>“And,” entreated Peregrine humbly, in a low voice to +Mrs. Woodford on his last Sunday evening, “may I not have something +of yours, to lay hold of, and remember you if—when—the evil +spirit tries to lay hold of me again?”</p> +<p>She would fain have given him a prayer-book, but she knew that would +be treason to his father, and with tears in her eyes and something of +a pang, she gave him a tiny miniature of herself, which had been her +husband’s companion at sea, and hung it round his neck with the +chain of her own hair that had always held it.</p> +<p>“It will always keep my heart warm,” said Peregrine, +as he hid it under his vest. There was a shade of disappointment +on Anne’s face when he showed it to her, for she had almost deemed +it her own.</p> +<p>“Never mind, Anne,” he said; “I am coming back +a knight like my uncle to marry you, and then it will be yours again.”</p> +<p>“I—I’m not going to wed you—I have another +sweetheart,” added Anne in haste, lest he should think she scorned +him.</p> +<p>“Oh, that lubberly Charles Archfield! No fear of him. +He is promised long ago to some little babe of quality in London. +You may whistle for him. So you’d better wait for me.”</p> +<p>“It is not true. You only say it to plague me.”</p> +<p>“It’s as true as Gospel! I heard Sir Philip telling +one of the big black gowns one day in the Close, when I was sitting +up in a tree overhead, how they had fixed a marriage between his son +and his old friend’s daughter, who would have ever so many estates. +So I’d give that”—snapping his fingers—“for +your chances of being my Lady Archfield in the salt mud at Fareham.”</p> +<p>“I shall ask Lucy. It is not kind of you, Perry, when +you are just going away.”</p> +<p>“Come, come, don’t cry, Anne.”</p> +<p>“But I knew Charley ever so long first, and—”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. Maids always like straight, comely, dull fellows, +I know that. But as you can’t have Charles Archfield, I +mean to have you, Anne—for I shall look to you as the only one +as can ever make a good man of me! Ay—your mother—I’d +wed her if I could, but as I can’t, I mean to have you, Anne Woodford.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean to have you! I shall go to Court, +and marry some noble earl or gentleman! Why do you laugh and make +that face, Peregrine? you know my father was almost a knight—”</p> +<p>“Nobody is long with you without knowing that!” retorted +Peregrine; “but a miss is as good as a mile, and you will find +the earls and the lords will think so, and be fain to take the crooked +stick at last!”</p> +<p>Mistress Anne tossed her head—and Peregrine returned a grimace. +Nevertheless they parted with a kiss, and for some time the thought +of Peregrine haunted the little girl with a strange, fateful feeling, +between aversion and attraction, which wore off, as a folly of her childhood, +with her growth in years.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +The Return</h2> +<blockquote><p>“I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round +hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.”</p> +<p>Merchant of Venice.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was autumn, but in the year 1687, when again Lucy Archfield and +Anne Jacobina Woodford were pacing the broad gravel walk along the south +side of the nave of Winchester Cathedral. Lucy, in spite of her +brocade skirt and handsome gown of blue velvet tucked up over it, was +still devoid of any look of distinction, but was a round-faced, blooming, +cheerful maiden, of that ladylike thoroughly countrified type happily +frequent in English girlhood throughout all time.</p> +<p>Anne, or Jacobina, as she tried to be called, towered above her head, +and had never lost that tincture of courtly grace that early breeding +had given her, and though her skirt was of gray wool, and the upper +gown of cherry tabinet, she wore both with an air that made them seem +more choice and stylish than those of her companion, while the simple +braids and curls of her brown hair set off an unusually handsome face, +pale and clear in complexion, with regular features, fine arched eyebrows +over clear brown eyes, a short chin, and a mouth of perfect outline, +but capable of looking very resolute.</p> +<p>Altogether she looked fit for a Court atmosphere, and perhaps she +was not without hopes of it, for Dr. Woodford had become a royal chaplain +under Charles II, and was now continued in the same office; and though +this was a sinecure as regarded the present King, yet Tory and High +Church views were as much in the ascendant as they could be under a +Romanist king, and there were hopes of a canonry at Windsor or Westminster, +or even higher preferment still, if he were not reckoned too staunch +an Anglican. That Mrs. Woodford’s health had been failing +for many months past would, her sanguine daughter thought, be remedied +by being nearer the best physicians in London, which had been quitted +with regret. Meantime Lucy’s first experiences of wedding +festivities were to be heard. For the Archfield family had just +returned from celebrating the marriage of the heir. Long ago Anne +Jacobina had learnt to reckon Master Charles’s pledges of affection +among the sports and follies of childhood, and the strange sense of +disappointment and shame with which she recollected them had perhaps +added to her natural reserve, and made her feel it due to maidenly dignity +to listen with zest to the account of the bride, who was to be brought +to supper at Doctor Woodford’s that eve.</p> +<p>“She is a pretty little thing,” said Lucy, “but +my mother was much concerned to find her so mere a child, and would +not, if she had seen her, have consented to the marriage for two years +to come, except for the sake of having her in our own hands.”</p> +<p>“I thought she was sixteen.”</p> +<p>“Barely fifteen, my dear, and far younger than we were at that +age. She cried because her woman said she must leave her old doll +behind her; and when my brother declared that she should have anything +she liked, she danced about, and kissed him, and made him kiss its wooden +face with half the paint rubbed off.”</p> +<p>“He did?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! She is like a pretty fresh plaything to him, +and they go about together just like big Towzer and little Frisk at +home. He is very much amused with her, and she thinks him the +finest possession that ever came in her way.”</p> +<p>“Well, so he is.”</p> +<p>“That is true; but somehow it is scarcely like husband and +wife; and my mother fears that she may be sickly, for she is so small +and slight that it seems as if you could blow her away, and so white +that you would think she had no blood, except when a little heat brings +the purest rose colour to her cheek, and that, my lady says, betokens +weakliness. You know, of course, that she is an orphan; her father +died of a wasting consumption, and her mother not long after, when she +was a yearling babe. It was her grandfather who was my father’s +friend in the old cavalier days, and wrote to propose the contract to +my brother not long before his death, when she was but five years old. +The pity was that she was not sent to us at once, for the old lord, +her grand-uncle, never heeded or cared for her, but left her to servants, +who petted her, but understood nothing of care of her health or her +education, so that the only wonder is that she is alive or so sweet +and winning as she is. She can hardly read without spelling, and +I had to make copies for her of Alice Fitzhubert, to show her how to +sign the book. All she knew she learnt from the old steward, and +only when she liked. My father laughs and is amused, but my lady +sighs, and hopes her portion is not dearly bought.”</p> +<p>“Is not she to be a great heiress?”</p> +<p>“Not of the bulk of the lands—they go to heirs male; +but there is much besides, enough to make Charles a richer man than +our father. I wonder what you will think of her. My mother +is longing to talk her over with Mrs Woodford.”</p> +<p>“And my mother is longing to see my lady.”</p> +<p>“I fear she is still but poorly.”</p> +<p>“We think she will be much better when we get home,” +said Anne. “I am sure she is stronger, for she walked round +the Close yesterday, and was scarcely tired.”</p> +<p>“But tell me, Anne, is it true that poor Master Oliver Oakshott +is dead of smallpox?”</p> +<p>“Quite true. Poor young gentleman, he was to have married +that cousin of his mother’s, Mistress Martha Browning, living +at Emsworth. She came on a visit, and they think she brought the +infection, for she sickened at once, and though she had it favourably, +is much disfigured. Master Oliver caught it and died in three +days, and all the house were down with it. They say poor Mrs. +Oakshott forgot her ailments and went to and fro among them all. +My mother would have gone to help in their need if she had been as well +as she used to be.”</p> +<p>“How is it with the other son? He was a personable youth +enough. I saw him at the ship launch in the spring, and thought +both lads would fain have staid for the dance on board but for their +grim old father.”</p> +<p>“You saw Robert, but he is not the elder.”</p> +<p>“What? Is that shocking impish urchin whom we used to +call Riquet with the tuft, older than he?”</p> +<p>“Certainly he is. He writes from time to time to my mother, +and seems to be doing well with his uncle.”</p> +<p>“I cannot believe he would come to good. Do you remember +his sending my brother and cousin adrift in the boat?”</p> +<p>“I think that was in great part the fault of your cousin for +mocking and tormenting him.”</p> +<p>“Sedley Archfield was a bad boy! There’s no denying +that. I am afraid he had good reason for running away from college.”</p> +<p>“Have you heard of him since?”</p> +<p>“Yes; he has been serving with the Life-guards in Scotland, +and mayhap he will come home and see us. My father wishes to see +whether he is worthy to have a troop procured by money or favour for +him, and if they are recalled to the camp at November it will be an +opportunity. But see—who is coming through the Slype?”</p> +<p>“My uncle. And who is with him?”</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford advanced, and with him a small slender figure in black. +As the broad hat with sable plume was doffed with a sweep on approaching +the ladies, a dark head and peculiar countenance appeared, while the +Doctor said, “Here is an old acquaintance, young ladies, whom +I met dismounting at the White Hart, and have brought home with me.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Peregrine Oakshott!” exclaimed Anne, feeling bound +to offer in welcome a hand, which he kissed after the custom of the +day, while Lucy dropped a low and formal courtesy, and being already +close to the gate of the house occupied by her family, took her leave +till supper-time.</p> +<p>Even in the few steps before reaching home Anne was able to perceive +that a being very unlike the imp of seven years ago had returned, though +still short in stature and very slight, with long dark hair hanging +straight enough to suggest elf-locks, but his figure was well proportioned, +and had a finished air of high breeding and training. His riding +suit was point device, from the ostrich feather in his hat, to the toes +of his well made boots, and his sword knew its place, as well as did +those of the gentlemen that Anne remembered at the Duke of York’s +when she was a little child. His thin, marked face was the reverse +of handsome, but it was keen, shrewd, perhaps satirical, and the remarkable +eyes were very bright under dark eyebrows and lashes, and the thin lips, +devoid of hair, showed fine white teeth when parted by a smile of gladness—at +the meeting—though he was concerned to hear that Mrs. Woodford +had been very ill all the last spring, and had by no means regained +her former health, and even in the few words that passed it might be +gathered that Anne was far more hopeful than her uncle.</p> +<p>She did indeed look greatly changed, though her countenance was sweeter +than ever, as she rose from her seat by the fire and held out her arms +to receive the newcomer with a motherly embrace, while the expression +of joy and affection was such as could never once have seemed likely +to sit on Peregrine Oakshott’s features. They were left +together, for Anne had the final touches to put to the supper, and Dr. +Woodford was sent for to speak to one of the Cathedral staff.</p> +<p>Peregrine explained that he was on his way home, his father having +recalled him on his brother’s death, but he hoped soon to rejoin +his uncle, whose secretary he now was. They had been for the last +few months in London, and were thence to be sent on an embassy to the +young Czar of Muscovy, an expedition to which he looked forward with +eager curiosity. Mrs. Woodford hoped that all danger of infection +at Oakwood was at an end.</p> +<p>“There is none for me, madam,” he said, with a curious +writhed smile. “Did you not know that they thought they +were rid of me when I took the disease at seven years old, and lay in +the loft over the hen-house with Molly Owens to tend me? and I believe +it was thought to be fairy work that I came out of it no more unsightly +than before.”</p> +<p>“You are seeking for compliments, Peregrine; you are greatly +improved.”</p> +<p>“Crooked sticks can be pruned and trained,” he responded, +with a courteous bow.</p> +<p>“You are a travelled man. Let me see, how many countries +have you seen?”</p> +<p>“A year at Berlin and Königsberg—strange places +enough, specially the last, two among the scholars and high roofs of +Leyden, half a year at Versailles and Paris, another year at Turin, +whence back for another half year to wait on old King Louis, then to +the Hague, and the last three months at Court. Not much like buying +and selling cows, or growing wheat on the slopes, or lying out on a +cold winter’s night to shoot a few wild fowl; and I have you to +thank for it, my first and best friend!”</p> +<p>“Nay, your uncle is surely your best.”</p> +<p>“Never would he have picked up the poor crooked stick save +for you, madam. Moreover, you gave me my talisman,” and +he laid his hand on his breast; “it is your face that speaks to +me and calls me back when the elf, or whatever it is, has got the mastery +of me.”</p> +<p>Somewhat startled, Mrs. Woodford would have asked what he meant, +but that intelligence was brought that Mr. Oakshott’s man had +brought his mail, so that he had to repair to his room. Mrs. Woodford +had kept up some correspondence with him, for which his uncle’s +position as envoy afforded unusual facilities, and she knew that on +the whole he had been a very different being from what he was at home. +Once, indeed, his uncle had written to the Doctor to express his full +satisfaction in the lad, on whom he seemed to look like a son, but from +some subsequent letters she had an impression that he had got into trouble +of some sort while at the University of Leyden, and she was afraid that +she must accept the belief that the wild elfish spirit, as he called +it, was by no means extinct in him, any more, she said to herself, than +temptation is in any human creature. The question is, What is +there to contend therewith?</p> +<p>The guests were, however, about to assemble. The Doctor, in +black velvet cap and stately silken cassock, sash, and gown, sailed +down to receive them, and again greeted Peregrine, who emerged in black +velvet and satin, delicate muslin cravat and cuffs, dainty silk stockings +and rosetted shoes, in a style such as made the far taller and handsomer +Charles Archfield, in spite of gay scarlet coat, embroidered flowery +vest, rich laced cravat, and thick shining brown curls, look a mere +big schoolboy, almost bumpkin-like in contrast. However, no one +did look at anything but the little creature who could just reach to +hang upon that resplendent bridegroom’s arm. She was in +glistening white brocade, too stiff and cumbrous for so tiny a figure, +yet together with the diamonds glistening on her head and breast giving +her the likeness of a fairy queen. The whiteness was almost startling, +for the neck and arms were like pearl in tint, the hair flowing in full +curls on her shoulders was like shining flax or pale silk just unwound +from the cocoon, and the only relief of colour was the deep blue of +the eyes, the delicate tint of the lips, and the tender rosy flush that +was called up by her presentation to her hosts by stout old Sir Philip, +in plum-coloured coat and full-bottomed wig, though she did not blush +half as much as the husband of nineteen in his new character. +Indeed, had it not been for her childish prettiness, her giggle would +have been unpleasing to more than Lady Archfield, who, broad and matronly, +gave a courtesy and critical glance at Peregrine before subsiding into +a seat beside Mrs. Woodford.</p> +<p>Lucy stood among a few other young people from the Close, watching +for Anne, who came in, trim and bright, though still somewhat reddened +in face and arms from her last attentions to the supper—an elaborate +meal on such occasions, though lighter than the mid-day repast. +There were standing pies of game, lobster and oyster patties, creams, +jellies, and other confections, on which Sir Philip and his lady highly +complimented Anne, who had been engaged on them for at least a couple +of days, her mother being no longer able to assist except by advice.</p> +<p>“See, daughter Alice, you will learn one day to build up a +jelly as well as to eat it,” said Sir Philip good-humouredly, +whereat the small lady pouted a little and said—</p> +<p>“Bet lets me make shapes of the dough, but I won’t stir +the pans and get to look like a turkey-cock.”</p> +<p>“Ah, ha! and you have always done what you liked, my little +madam?”</p> +<p>“Of course, sir! and so I shall,” she answered, drawing +up her pretty little head, while Lady Archfield gave hers a boding shake.</p> +<p>“Time, and life, and wifehood teach lessons,” murmured +Mrs. Woodford in consolation, and the Doctor changed the subject by +asking Peregrine whether the ladies abroad were given to housewifery.</p> +<p>“The German dames make a great ado about their <i>Wirthschaft</i>, +as they call it,” was the reply, “but as to the result! +Pah! I know not how we should have fared had not Hans, my uncle’s +black, been an excellent cook; but it was in Paris that we were exquisitely +regaled, and our <i>maître d’hôtel</i> would discourse +on <i>ragoûts</i> and <i>entremets</i> till one felt as if his +were the first of the sciences.”</p> +<p>“So it is to a Frenchman,” growled Sir Philip. +“French and Frenchifications are all the rage nowadays, but what +will your father say to your science, my young spark?”</p> +<p>The gesture of head and shoulder that replied had certainly been +caught at Paris. Mrs. Woodford rushed into the breach, asking +about the Princess of Orange, whom she had often seen as a child.</p> +<p>“A stately and sightly dame is she, madam,” Peregrine +answered, “towering high above her little mynheer, who outwardly +excels her in naught save the length of nose, and has the manners of +a boor.”</p> +<p>“The Prince of Orange is the hope of the country,” said +Sir Philip severely.</p> +<p>Peregrine’s face wore a queer satirical look, which provoked +Sir Philip into saying, “Speak up, sir! what d’ye mean? +We don’t understand French grins here.”</p> +<p>“Nor does he, nor French courtesies either,” said Peregrine.</p> +<p>“So much the better!” exclaimed the baronet.</p> +<p>Here the little clear voice broke in, “O Mr. Oakshott, if I +had but known you were coming, you might have brought me a French doll +in the latest fashion.”</p> +<p>“I should have been most happy, madam,” returned Peregrine; +“but unfortunately I am six months from Paris, and besides, his +honour might object lest a French doll should contaminate the Dutch +puppets.”</p> +<p>“But oh, sir, is it true that French dolls have real hair that +will curl?”</p> +<p>“Don’t be foolish,” muttered Charles impatiently; +and she drew up her head and made an indescribably droll <i>moue</i> +of disgust at him.</p> +<p>Supper ended, the party broke up into old and young, the two elder +gentlemen sadly discussing politics over their tall glasses of wine, +the matrons talking over the wedding and Lady Archfield’s stay +in London at the parlour fire, and the young folk in a window, waiting +for the fiddler and a few more of the young people who were to join +them in the dance.</p> +<p>The Archfield ladies had kissed the hand of the Queen, and agreed +with Peregrine in admiration of her beauty and grace, though they did +not go so far as he did, especially when he declared that her eyes were +as soft as Mistress Anne’s, and nearly of the same exquisite brown, +which made the damsel blush and experience a revival of the old feeling +of her childhood, as if he put her under a spell.</p> +<p>He went on to say that he had had the good fortune to pick up and +restore to Queen Mary Beatrice a gold and coral rosary which she had +dropped on her way to St. James’s Palace from Whitehall. +She thanked him graciously, letting him kiss her hand, and asking him +if he were of the true Church. “Imagine my father’s +feelings,” he added, “when she said, ‘Ah! but you +will be ere long; I give it you as a pledge.’”</p> +<p>He produced the rosary, handing it first to Anne, who admired the +beautiful filigree work, but it was almost snatched from her by Mrs. +Archfield, who wound it twice on her tiny wrist, tried to get it over +her head, and did everything but ask for it, till her husband, turning +round, said roughly, “Give it back, madam. We want no Popish +toys here.”</p> +<p>Lucy put in a hasty question whether Master Oakshott had seen much +sport, and this led to a spirited description of the homely earnest +of wild boar hunting under the great Elector of Brandenburg, in contrast +with the splendours of <i>la chasse aux sangliers</i> at Fontainebleau +with the green and gold uniforms, the fanfares on the curled horns, +the ladies in their coaches, forced to attend whether ill or well, the +very boars themselves too well bred not to conform to the sport of the +great idol of France. And again, he showed the diamond sleeve +buttons, the trophies of a sort of bazaar held at Marly, where the stalls +were kept by the Dauphin, Monsieur, the Duke of Maine, Madame de Maintenon, +and the rest, where the purchases were winnings at Ombre, made not with +coin but with nominal sums, and other games at cards, and all was given +away that was not purchased. And again the levees, when the King’s +wig was handed through the curtains on a stick. Peregrine’s +profane mimicry of the stately march of Louis Quatorze, and the cringing +obeisances of his courtiers, together with their strutting majesty towards +their own inferiors, convulsed all with merriment; and the bride shrieked +out, “Do it again! Oh, I shall die of laughing!”</p> +<p>It was very girlish, with a silvery ring, but the elder ladies looked +round, and the bridegroom muttered ‘Mountebank.’</p> +<p>The fiddler arrived at that moment, and the young people paired off, +the young couple naturally together, and Peregrine, to the surprise +and perhaps discomfiture of more than one visitor, securing Anne’s +hand. The young lady pupils of Madame knew their steps, and Lucy +danced correctly, Anne with an easy, stately grace, Charles Archfield +performed his <i>devoir</i> seriously, his little wife frisked with +childish glee, evidently quite untaught, but Peregrine’s light +narrow feet sprang, pointed themselves, and bounded with trained agility, +set off by the tight blackness of his suit. He was like one of +the grotesque figures shaped in black paper, or as Sir Philip, looking +in from the dining-parlour, observed, “like a light-heeled French +fop.”</p> +<p>As a rule partners retained one another all the evening, but little +Mrs. Archfield knew no etiquette, and maybe her husband had pushed and +pulled her into place a little more authoritatively than she quite approved, +for she shook him off, and turning round to Peregrine exclaimed—</p> +<p>“Now, I will dance with you! You do leap and hop so high +and trippingly! Never mind her; she is only a parson’s niece!”</p> +<p>“Madam!” exclaimed Charles, in a tone of surprised displeasure; +but she only nodded archly at him, and said, “I must dance with +him; he can jump so high.”</p> +<p>“Let her have her way,” whispered Lucy, “she is +but a child, and it will be better not to make a pother.”</p> +<p>He yielded, though with visible annoyance, asking Anne if she would +put up with a poor deserted swain, and as he led her off muttering, +“That fellow’s friskiness is like to be taken out of him +at Oakwood.”</p> +<p>Meanwhile the small creature had taken possession of her chosen partner, +who, so far as size went, was far better suited to her than any of the +other men present. They were dancing something original and unpremeditated, +with twirls and springs, sweeps and bends, bounds and footings, just +as the little lady’s fancy prompted, perhaps guided in some degree +by her partner’s experience of national dances. White and +black, they figured about, she with floating sheeny hair and glistening +robes, he trim and tight and jetty, like fairy and imp! It was +so droll and pretty that talkers and dancers alike paused to watch them +in a strange fascination, till at last, quite breathless and pink as +a moss rosebud, Alice dropped upon a chair near her husband. He +stood grim, stiff, and vexed, all the more because Peregrine had taken +her fan and was using it so as to make it wave like butterfly’s +wings, while poor Charles looked, as the Doctor whispered to his father, +far more inclined to lay it about her ears.</p> +<p>Sir Philip laughed heartily, for both he and the Doctor had been +so much entranced and amused as to be far more diverted at the lad’s +discomfiture than scandalised at the bride’s escapade, which they +viewed as child’s play.</p> +<p>Perhaps, however, he was somewhat comforted by her later observation, +“He is as ugly as Old Nick, and looks like always laughing at +you; but I wish you could dance like him, Mr. Archfield, only then you +wouldn’t be my dear old great big husband, or so beautiful to +look at. Oh, yes, to be sure, he is nothing but a skipjack such +as one makes out of a chicken bone!”</p> +<p>And Anne meanwhile was exclaiming to her mother, “Oh, madam! +how could they do such a thing? How could they make poor Charley +marry that foolish ill-mannered little creature?”</p> +<p>“Hush, daughter, you must drop that childish name,” said +Mrs. Woodford gravely.</p> +<p>Anne blushed. “I forgot, madam, but I am so sorry for +him.”</p> +<p>“There is no reason for uneasiness, my dear. She is a +mere child, and under such hands as Lady Archfield she is sure to improve. +It is far better that she should be so young, as it will be the more +easy to mould her.”</p> +<p>“I hope there is any stuff in her to be moulded,” sighed +the maiden.</p> +<p>“My dear child,” returned her mother, “I cannot +permit you to talk in this manner. Yes, I know Mr. Archfield has +been as a brother to you, but even his sister ought not to allow herself +to discuss or dwell on what she deems the shortcomings of his wife.”</p> +<p>The mother in her prudence had silenced the girl; but none the less +did each fall asleep with a sad and foreboding heart. She knew +her child to be good and well principled, but those early days of notice +and petting from the young Princesses of the House of York had never +faded from the childish mind, and although Anne was dutiful, cheerful, +and outwardly contented, the mother often suspected that over the spinning-wheel +or embroidery frame she indulged in day dreams of heroism, promotion, +and grandeur, which might either fade away in a happy life of domestic +duty or become temptations.</p> +<p>Before going away next morning Peregrine entreated that Mistress +Anne might have the Queen’s rosary, but her mother decidedly refused. +“It ought to be an heirloom in your family,” said she.</p> +<p>He threw up his hands with one of his strange gestures.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /> +On His Travels</h2> +<blockquote><p>“For Satan finds some mischief still<br /> +For idle hands to do.”</p> +<p>ISAAC WATTS.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Peregrine went off in good spirits, promising a visit on his return +to London, of which he seemed to have no doubt; but no more was heard +of him for ten days. At the end of that time the Portsmouth carrier +conveyed the following note to Winchester:—</p> +<blockquote><p>HONOURED AND REVEREND SIR—Seven years since your +arguments and intercession induced my father to consent to what I hoped +had been the rescue of me, body and soul. I know not whether to +ask of your goodness to make the same endeavour again. My father +declares that nothing shall induce him again to let me go abroad with +my uncle, and persists in declaring that the compact has been broken +by our visits to Papist lands, nor will aught that I can say persuade +him that the Muscovite abhors the Pope quite as much as he can. +He likewise deems that having unfortunately become his heir, I must +needs remain at home to thin the timber and watch the ploughmen; and +when I have besought him to let me yield my place to Robert he replies +that I am playing the part of Esau. I have written to my uncle, +who has been a true father to me, and would be loth to part from me +for his own sake as well as mine but I know not whether he will be able +to prevail; and I entreat of you, reverend sir, to add your persuasions, +for I well know that it would be my perdition to remain bound where +I am.</p> +<p>Commend me to Mrs. Woodford and Mistress Anne. I trust that +the former is in better health.—I remain, reverend sir, Your humble +servant to command, PEREGRINE OAKSHOTT.</p> +<p>Given at Oakwood House,<br /> +This 10th of October 1687.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This was very bad news, but Dr. Woodford knew not how to interfere; +moreover, being in course at the Cathedral, he could not absent himself +long enough for an expedition to Oakwood, through wintry roads in short +days. He could only write an encouraging letter to the poor lad, +and likewise one to Mr. Horncastle, who under the Indulgence had a chapel +of his own. The Doctor had kept up the acquaintance formed by +Peregrine’s accident, and had come to regard him with much esteem, +and as likely to exercise a wholesome influence upon his patron. +Nothing more was heard for a week, and then came another visitor to +the Doctor’s door, Sir Peregrine himself, on his way down, at +considerable inconvenience, to endeavour to prevail with his brother +to allow him to retain his nephew in his suite.</p> +<p>“Surely,” he said, “my brother had enough of camps +in his youth to understand that his son will be none the worse squire +for having gone a little beyond Hampshire bogs, and learnt what the +world is made of.”</p> +<p>“I cannot tell,” said Dr. Woodford; “I have my +fears that he thinks the less known of the world the better.”</p> +<p>“That might answer with a heavy clod of a lad such as the poor +youth who is gone, and such as, for his own sake and my brother’s, +I trust the younger one is, <i>fruges consumere natus</i>; but as for +this boy, dulness and vacancy are precisely what would be the ruin of +him. Let my brother keep Master Robert at home, and give him Oakwood; +I will provide for Perry as I always promised to do.”</p> +<p>“If he is wise he will accept the offer,” said Dr. Woodford; +“but ’tis hard to be wise for others.”</p> +<p>“Nothing harder, sir. I would that I had gone home with +Perry, but mine audience of his Majesty was fixed for the ensuing week, +and my brother’s summons was peremptory.”</p> +<p>“I trust your honour will prevail,” said Mrs. Woodford +gently. “You have effected a mighty change in the poor boy, +and I can well believe that he is as a son to you.”</p> +<p>“Well, madam, yes—as sons go,” said the knight +in a somewhat disappointing tone.</p> +<p>She looked at him anxiously, and ventured to murmur a hope so very +like an inquiry, and so full of solicitous hope, that it actually unlocked +the envoy’s reserve, and he said, “Ah, madam, you have been +the best mother that the poor youth has ever had! I will speak +freely to you, for should I fail in overcoming my brother’s prejudices, +you will be able to do more for him than any one else, and I know you +will be absolutely secret.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford sighed, with forebodings of not long being able to +aid any one in this world, but still she listened with earnest interest +and sympathy.</p> +<p>“Yes, madam, you implanted in him that which yet may conquer +his strange nature. Your name is as it were a charm to conjure +up his better spirit.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” she said, “I never durst hope, that +he could be tamed and under control all at once, but—” and +she paused.</p> +<p>“He has improved—vastly improved,” said the uncle. +“Indeed, when first I took him with me, while he was still weak, +and moreover much overcome by sea-sickness, while all was strange to +him, and he was relieved by not finding himself treated as an outcast, +I verily thought him meeker than other urchins, and that the outcry +against him was unmerited. But no sooner had we got to Berlin, +and while I was as yet too busy to provide either masters or occupations +for my young gentleman, than he did indeed make me feel that I had charge +of a young imp, and that if I did not watch the better, it might be +a case of war with his Spanish Majesty. For would you believe +it, his envoy’s gardens joined ours, and what must my young master +do, but sit atop of our wall, making grimaces at the dons and donnas +as they paced the walks, and pelting them from time to time with walnuts. +Well, I was mindful of your counsel, and did not flog him, nor let my +chaplain do so, though I know the good man’s fingers itched to +be at him; but I reasoned with him on the harm he was doing me, and +would you believe it, the poor lad burst into tears, and implored me +to give him something to do, to save him from his own spirit. +I set him to write out and translate a long roll of Latin despatches +sent up by that pedant Court in Hungary, and I declare to you I had +no more trouble with him till next he was left idle. I gave him +tutors, and he studied with fervour, and made progress at which they +were amazed. He learnt the High Dutch faster than any other of +my people, and could soon jabber away in it with the best of the Elector’s +folk, and I began to think I had a nephew who would do me no small credit. +I sent him to perfect his studies at Leyden, but shall I confess it +to you? it was to find that no master nor discipline could keep him +out of the riotings and quarrels of the worse sort of students. +Nay, I found him laid by with a rapier thrust in the side from a duel, +for no better cause than biting his thumb at a Scots law student in +chapel, his apology being that to sit through a Dutch sermon drove him +crazy. ’Tis not that he is not trustworthy. Find employment +for the restless demon that is in him, and all is well with him; moreover, +he is full of wit and humour, and beguiles a long journey or tedious +evening at an inn better than any comrade I ever knew, extracting mirth +from all around, even the very discomforts, and searching to the quick +all that is to be seen. But if left to himself, the restless demon +that preys on him is sure to set him to something incalculable. +At Turin it set him to scraping acquaintance with a Capuchin friar, +a dirty rogue whom I would have kept on the opposite side of the street. +That was his graver mood; but what more must he do, but borrow or steal, +I know not how, the ghastly robes of the Confraternity of Death—the +white garb and peaked cap with two holes for the eyes, wherewith men +of all degrees disguise themselves while doing the pious work of bearing +the dead to the grave. None suspected him, for the disguise is +complete, and a duke may walk unknown beside a water-carrier, bearing +the corpse of a cobbler. All would have been well, but that at +the very brink of the grave the boy’s fiend—’tis his +own word—impelled him to break forth into his wild “Ho! +ho! ho!” with an eldritch shriek, and slipping out of his cerements, +dash off headlong over the wall of the cemetery. He was not followed. +I believe the poor body belonged to a fellow whose salvation was more +than doubtful in spite of all the priests could do, and that the bearers +really took him for the foul fiend. It was not till a week or +two after that the ring of his voice and laugh caused him to be recognised +by one of the Duke of Savoy’s gentlemen, happily a prudent man, +loth to cause a tumult against one of my suite, and he told me all privately +in warning. Ay, and when I spoke to Peregrine, I found him thoroughly +penitent at having insulted the dead; he had been unhappy ever since, +and had actually bestowed his last pocket-piece on the widow. +He made handsome apologies in good Italian, which he had picked up as +fast as the German, to the gentleman, who promised that it should go +no farther, and kept his word. It was the solemnity, Peregrine +assured me, that brought back all the intolerableness of the preachings +at home, and awoke the same demon.”</p> +<p>“How long ago was this, sir?”</p> +<p>“About eighteen months.”</p> +<p>“And has all been well since?”</p> +<p>“Fairly well. He has had fuller and more responsible +work to do for me, his turn for languages making him a most valuable +secretary; and in the French Court, really the most perilous of all +to a young man’s virtue, he behaved himself well. It is +not debauchery that he has a taste for, but he must be doing something, +and if wholesome occupations do not stay his appetite, he will be doing +mischief. He brought on himself a very serious rebuke from the +Prince of Orange, churlishly and roughly given, I allow, but fully merited, +for making grimaces at his acquaintance among the young officers at +a military inspection. Heaven help the lad if he be left with +his father, whose most lively notion of innocent sport is scratching +the heads of his hogs!”</p> +<p>Nothing could be said in answer save earnest wishes that the knight +might persuade his brother. Mrs. Woodford wished her brother-in-law +to go with him to add force to his remonstrance; but on the whole it +was thought better to leave the family to themselves, Dr. Woodford only +writing to Major Oakshott, as well as to the youth himself.</p> +<p>The result was anxiously watched for, and in another week, earlier +in the day than Mrs. Woodford was able to leave her room, Sir Peregrine’s +horses stopped at the door, and as Anne ascertained by a peep from the +window, he was only accompanied by his servants.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said to the Doctor in his vexation, “one +would really think that by force of eating Southdown mutton my poor +brother had acquired the brains of one of his own rams! I declare +’tis a piteous sight to see a man resolute on ruining his son +and breaking his own heart all for conscience sake!”</p> +<p>“Say you so, sir! I had hoped that the sight of what +you have made of your nephew might have had some effect.”</p> +<p>“All the effect it has produced is to make him more determined +to take him from me. The Hampshire mind abhors foreign breeding, +and the old Cromwellian spirit thinks good manners sprung from the world, +and wit from the Evil One!”</p> +<p>“I can quite believe that Peregrine’s courtly airs are +not welcomed here; I could see what our good neighbour, Sir Philip Archfield, +thought of them; but whereas no power on earth could make the young +gentleman a steady-going clownish youth after his father’s heart, +methought he might prefer his present polish to impishness.”</p> +<p>“So I told him, but I might as well have talked to the horse +block. It is his duty, quotha, to breed his heir up in godly simplicity!”</p> +<p>“Simplicity is all very well to begin with, but once flown, +it cannot be restored.”</p> +<p>“And that is what my brother cannot see. Well, my poor +boy must be left to his fate. There is no help for it, and all +I can hope is that you, sir, and the ladies, will stand his friend, +and do what may lie in your power to make him patient and render his +life less intolerable.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, sir, we will do what we can; I wish that I could hope +that it would be of much service.”</p> +<p>“My brother has more respect for your advice than perhaps you +suppose; and to you, madam, the poor lad looks with earnest gratitude. +Nay, even his mother reaps the benefit of the respect with which you +have inspired him. Peregrine treats her with a gentleness and +attention such as she never knew before from her bear cubs. Poor +soul! I think she likes it, though it somewhat perplexes her, +and she thinks it all French manners. There is one more favour, +your reverence, which I scarce dare lay before you. You have seen +my black boy Hans?”</p> +<p>“He was with you at Oakwood seven years ago.”</p> +<p>“Even so. I bought the poor fellow when a mere child +from a Dutch skipper who had used him scurvily, and he has grown up +as faithful as a very spaniel, and mightily useful too, not only as +body servant, but he can cook as well as any French <i>maître +d’hôtel</i>, froth chocolate, and make the best coffee I +ever tasted; is as honest as the day, and, I believe, would lay down +his life for Peregrine or me. I shall be cruelly at a loss without +him, but a physician I met in London tells me it would be no better +than murder to take the poor rogue to so cold a country as Muscovy. +I would leave him to wait on Perry, but they will not hear of it at +Oakwood. My sister-in-law wellnigh had a fit every time she looked +at him when I was there before, and I found, moreover, that even when +I was at hand, the servants jeered at the poor blackamoor, gave him +his meals apart, and only the refuse of their own, so that he would +fare but ill if I left him to their mercy. I had thought of offering +him to Mr. Evelyn of Says Court, who would no doubt use him well, but +it was Peregrine who suggested that if you of your goodness would receive +the poor fellow, they could sometimes meet, and that would cheer his +heart, and he really is far from a useless knave, but is worth two of +any serving-men I ever saw.”</p> +<p>To take an additional man-servant was by no means such a great proposal +as it would be in most houses at present. Men swarmed in much +larger proportion than maids in all families of condition, and the Doctor +was wealthy enough for one—more or less—to make little difference, +but the question was asked as to what wages Hans should receive.</p> +<p>The knight laughed. “Wages, poor lad, what should he +do with them? He is but a slave, I tell you. Meat, clothes, +and fire, that is all he needs, and I will so deal with him that he +will serve you in all faithfulness and obedience. He can speak +English enough to know what you bid him do, but not enough for chatter +with the servants.”</p> +<p>So the agreement was made, and poor Hans was to be sent down by the +Portsmouth coach together with Peregrine’s luggage.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X<br /> +The Menagerie</h2> +<blockquote><p>“The head remains unchanged within,<br /> + Nor altered much the face,<br /> +It still retains its native grin,<br /> + And all its old grimace.</p> +<p>“Men with contempt the brute surveyed,<br /> + Nor would a name bestow,<br /> +But women liked the motley beast,<br /> + And called the thing a beau.”</p> +<p>The Monkies, MERRICK.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Woodford family did not long remain at Winchester. Anne +declared the cold to be harming her mother, and became very anxious +to bring her to the milder sea breezes of Portchester, and though Mrs. +Woodford had little expectation that any place would make much difference +to her, she was willing to return to the quiet and repose of her home +under the castle walls beside the tranquil sea.</p> +<p>Thus they travelled back, as soon as the Doctor’s Residence +was ended, plodding through the heavy chalk roads as well as the big +horses could drag the cumbrous coach up and down the hills, only halting +for much needed rest at Sir Philip Archfield’s red house, round +three sides of a quadrangle, the fourth with a low wall backed by a +row of poplar trees, looking out on the alternate mud and sluggish waters +of Fareham creek, but with a beautiful garden behind the house.</p> +<p>The welcome was hearty. Lady Archfield at once conducted Mrs. +Woodford to her own bedroom, where she was to rest and be served apart, +and Anne disrobed her of her wraps, covered her upon the bed, and at +her hostess’s desire was explaining what refreshment would best +suit her, when there was a shrill voice at the door: “I want Mistress +Anne! I want to show her my clothes and jewels.”</p> +<p>“Coming, child, she is coming when she has attended to her +mother,” responded the lady. “White wine, or red, +did you say, Anne, and a little ginger?”</p> +<p>“Is she never coming?” was again the call; and Lady Archfield +muttering, “Was there ever such an impatient poppet?” released +Anne, who was instantly pounced upon by young Mrs. Archfield. +Linking her arm into that of her visitor, and thrusting Lucy into the +background, the little heiress proceeded to her own wainscotted bedroom, +bare according to modern views, but very luxurious according to those +of the seventeenth century, and with the toilette apparatus, scanty +indeed, but of solid silver, and with a lavish amount of perfumery. +Her ‘own woman’ was in waiting to display and refold the +whole wedding wardrobe, brocade, satin, taffetas, cambric, Valenciennes, +and point d’Alençon. Anne had to admire each in detail, +and then to give full meed to the whole casket of jewels, numerous and +dazzling as befitted a constellation of heirlooms upon one small head. +They were beautiful, but it was wearisome to repeat ‘Vastly pretty!’ +‘How exquisite!’ ‘That becomes you very well,’ +almost mechanically, when Lucy was standing about all the time, longing +to exchange the girlish confidences that were burning to come forth. +‘Young Madam,’ as every one called her in those times when +Christian names were at a discount, seemed to be jealous of attention +to any one else, and the instant she saw the guest attempt to converse +with her sister-in-law peremptorily interrupted, almost as if affronted.</p> +<p>Perhaps if Anne had enjoyed freedom of speech with Lucy she would +not have learnt as much as did her mother, for the young are often more +scrupulous as to confidences than their seniors, who view them as still +children, and freely discuss their affairs among themselves.</p> +<p>So Lady Archfield poured out her troubles: how her daughter-in-law +refused employment, and disdained instruction in needlework, housewifery, +or any domestic art, how she jangled the spinnet, but would not learn +music, and was unoccupied, fretful, and exacting, a burthen to herself +and every one else, and treating Lucy as the slave of her whims and +humours. As to such discipline as mothers-in-law were wont to +exercise upon young wives, the least restraint or contradiction provoked +such a tempest of passion as to shake the tiny, delicate frame to a +degree that alarmed the good old matron for the consequences. +Her health was a continual difficulty, for her constitution was very +frail, every imprudence cost her suffering, and yet any check to her +impulses as to food, exertion, or encountering weather was met by a +spoilt child’s resentment. Moreover, her young husband, +and even his father, always thought the ladies were hard upon her, and +would not have her vexed; and as their presence always brightened and +restrained her, they never understood the full amount of her petulance +and waywardness, and when they found her out of spirits, or out of temper, +they charged all on her ailments or on want of consideration from her +mother and sister-in-law.</p> +<p>Poor Lady Archfield, it was trying for her that her husband should +be nearly as blind as his son. The young husband was wonderfully +tender, indulgent, and patient with the little creature, but it would +not be easy to say whether the affection were not a good deal like that +for his dog or his horse, as something absolutely his own, with which +no one else had a right to interfere. It was a relief to the family +that she always wanted to be out of doors with him whenever the weather +permitted, nay, often when it was far from suitable to so fragile a +being; but if she came home aching and crying ever so much with chill +or fatigue, even if she had to keep her bed afterwards, she was equally +determined to rush out as soon as she was up again, and as angry as +ever at remonstrance.</p> +<p>Charles was gone to try a horse; and as the remains of the effects +of her last imprudence had prevented her accompanying him, the arrival +of the guests had been a welcome diversion to the monotony of the morning.</p> +<p>He was, however, at home again by the time the dinner-bell summoned +the younger ladies from the inspection of the trinkets and the gentlemen +from the live stock, all to sit round the heavy oaken table draped with +the whitest of napery, spun by Lady Archfield in her maiden days, and +loaded with substantial joints, succeeded by delicacies manufactured +by herself and Lucy.</p> +<p>As to the horse, Charles was fairly satisfied, but ‘that fellow, +young Oakshott, had been after him, and had the refusal.’</p> +<p>“Don’t you be outbid, Mr. Archfield,” exclaimed +the wife. “What is the matter of a few guineas to us?”</p> +<p>“Little fear,” replied Charles. “The old +Major is scarcely like to pay down twenty gold caroluses, but if he +should, the bay is his.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but why not offer thirty?” she cried.</p> +<p>Charles laughed. “That would be a scurvy trick, sweetheart, +and if Peregrine be a crooked stick, we need not be crooked too.”</p> +<p>“I was about to ask,” said the Doctor, “whether +you had heard aught of that same young gentleman.”</p> +<p>“I have seen him where I never desire to see him again,” +said Sir Philip, “riding as though he would be the death of the +poor hounds.”</p> +<p>“Nick Huntsman swears that he bewitches them,” said Charles, +“for they always lose the scent when he is in the field, but I +believe ’tis the wry looks of him that throw them all out.”</p> +<p>“And I say,” cried the inconsistent bride, “that +’tis all jealousy that puts the gentlemen beside themselves, because +none of them can dance, nor make a bow, nor hand a cup of chocolate, +nor open a gate on horseback like him.”</p> +<p>“What does a man on horseback want with opening gates?” +exclaimed Charles.</p> +<p>“That’s your manners, sir,” said young Madam with +a laugh. “What’s the poor lady to do while her cavalier +flies over and leaves her in the lurch?”</p> +<p>Her husband did not like the general laugh, and muttered, “You +know what I mean well enough.”</p> +<p>“Yes, so do I! To fumble at the fastening till your poor +beast can bear it no longer and swerves aside, and I sit waiting a good +half hour before you bring down your pride enough to alight and open +it.”</p> +<p>“All because you <i>would</i> send Will home for your mask.”</p> +<p>“You would like to have had my poor little face one blister +with the glare of sun and sea.”</p> +<p>“Blisters don’t come at this time of the year.”</p> +<p>“No, nor to those who have no complexion to lose,” she +cried, with a triumphant look at the two maidens, who certainly had +not the lilies nor the roses that she believed herself to have, though, +in truth, her imprudences had left her paler and less pretty than at +Winchester.</p> +<p>If this were the style of the matrimonial conversations, Anne again +grieved for her old playfellow, and she perceived that Lucy looked uncomfortable; +but there was no getting a moment’s private conversation with +her before the coach was brought round again for the completion of the +journey. All that neighbourhood had a very bad reputation as the +haunt of lawless characters, prone to violence; and though among mere +smugglers there was little danger of an attack on persons well known +like the Woodford family, they were often joined by far more desperate +men from the seaport, so that it was never desirable to be out of doors +after dark.</p> +<p>The journey proved to have been too much for Mrs. Woodford’s +strength, and for some days she was so ill that Anne never left the +house; but she rallied again, and on coming downstairs became very anxious +that her daughter should not be more confined by attendance than was +wholesome, and insisted on every opportunity of change or amusement +being taken.</p> +<p>One day as Anne was in the garden she was surprised by Peregrine +dashing up on horseback.</p> +<p>“You would not take the Queen’s rosary before,” +he said. “You must now, to save it. My father has +smelt it out. He says it is teraphim! Micah—Rachel, +what not, are quoted against it. He would have smashed it into +fragments, but that Martha Browning said it would be a pretty bracelet. +I’d sooner see it smashed than on her red fist. To think +of her giving in to such vanities! But he said she might have +it, only to be new strung. When he was gone she said, ‘I +don’t really want the thing, but it was hard you should lose the +Queen’s keepsake. Can you bestow it safely?’ +I said I could, and brought it hither. Keep it, Anne, I pray.”</p> +<p>Anne hesitated, and referred it to her mother upstairs.</p> +<p>“Tell him,” she said, “that we will keep it in +trust for him as a royal gift.”</p> +<p>Peregrine was disappointed, but had to be content.</p> +<p>A Dutch vessel from the East Indies had brought home sundry strange +animals, which were exhibited at the Jolly Mariner at Portsmouth, and +thus announced on a bill printed on execrable paper, brought out to +Portchester by some of the market people:—</p> +<p>“An Ellefante twice the Bignesse of an Ocks, the Trunke or +Probosces whereof can pick up a Needle or roote up an Ellum Tree. +Also the Royale Tyger, the same as has slaine and devoured seven yonge +Gentoo babes, three men, and two women at the township at Chuttergong, +nie to Bombay, in the Eastern Indies. Also the sacred Ape, worshipped +by the heathen of the Indies, the Dancing Serpent which weareth Spectacles, +and whose Bite is instantly mortal, with other rare Fish, Fowle, Idols +and the like. All to be seene at the Charge of one Groat per head.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford declared herself to be extremely desirous that her +daughter should see and bring home an account of all these marvels, +and though Anne had no great inclination to face the tiger with the +formidable appetite, she could not refuse to accompany her uncle.</p> +<p>The Jolly Mariner stood in one of the foulest and narrowest of the +streets of the unsavoury seaport, and Dr. Woodford sighed, and fumed, +and wished for a good pipe of tobacco more than once as he hesitated +to try to force a way for his niece through the throng round the entrance +to the stable-yard of the Jolly Mariner, apparently too rough to pay +respect to gown and cassock. Anne clung to his arm, ready to give +up the struggle, but a voice said, “Allow me, sir. Mistress +Anne, deign to take my arm.”</p> +<p>It was Peregrine Oakshott with his brother Robert, and she could +hardly tell how in a few seconds she had been squeezed through the crowd, +and stood in the inn-yard, in a comparatively free space, for a groat +was a prohibitory charge to the vulgar.</p> +<p>“Peregrine! Master Oakshott!” They heard +an exclamation of pleasure, at which Peregrine shrugged his shoulders +and looked expressively at Anne, before turning to receive the salutations +of an elderly gentleman and a tall young woman, very plainly but handsomely +clad in mourning deeper than his own. She was of a tall, gaunt, +angular figure, and a face that never could have been handsome, and +now bore evident traces of smallpox in redness and pits.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford knew the guardian Mr. Browning, and his ward Mistress +Martha and Mistress Anne Jacobina were presented to one another. +The former gave a good-humoured smile, as if perfectly unconscious of +her own want of beauty, and declared she had hoped to meet all the rest +here, especially Mistress Anne Woodford, of whom she had heard so much. +There was just a little patronage about the tone which repelled the +proud spirit that was in Anne, and in spite of the ordinary dread and +repulsion she felt for Peregrine, she was naughty enough to have the +feeling of a successful beauty when Peregrine most manifestly turned +away from the heiress in her silk and velvet to do the honours of the +exhibition to the parson’s niece.</p> +<p>The elephant was fastened by the leg to a post, which perhaps he +could have pulled up, had he thought it worth his while, but he was +well contented to wave his trunk about and extend its clever finger +to receive contributions of cakes and apples, and he was too well amused +to resort to any strong measures. The tiger, to Anne’s relief, +proved to be only a stuffed specimen. Peregrine, who had seen +a good many foreign animals in Holland, where the Dutch captains were +in the habit of bringing curiosities home for the delectation of their +families in their <i>Lusthausen</i>, was a very amusing companion, having +much to tell about bird and beast, while Robert stood staring with open +mouth. The long-legged secretary and the beautiful doves were, +however, only stuffed, but Anne was much entertained at second hand +with the relation of the numerous objects, which on the word of a Leyden +merchant had been known to disappear in the former bird’s capacious +crop, and with stories of the graceful dancing of the cobra, though +she was not sorry that the present specimen was only visible in a bottle +of arrack, where his spectacled hood was scarcely apparent. Presently +a well known shrill young voice was heard. “Yes, yes, I +know I shall swoon at that terrible tiger! Oh, don’t! +I can’t come any farther.”</p> +<p>“Why, you would come, madam,” said Charles.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes! but—oh, there’s a two-tailed monster! +I know it is the tiger! It is moving! I shall die if you +take me any farther.”</p> +<p>“Plague upon your folly, madam! It is only the elephant,” +said a gruffer, rude voice.</p> +<p>“Oh, it is dreadful! ’Tis like a mountain! +I can’t! Oh no, I can’t!”</p> +<p>“Come, madam, you have brought us thus far, you must come on, +and not make fools of us all,” said Charles’s voice. +“There’s nothing to hurt you.”</p> +<p>Anne, understanding the distress and perplexity, here turned back +to the passage into the court, and began persuasively to explain to +little Mrs. Archfield that the tiger was dead, and only a skin, and +that the elephant was the mildest of beasts, till she coaxed forward +that small personage, who had of course never really intended to turn +back, supported and guarded as she was by her husband, and likewise +by a tall, glittering figure in big boots and a handsome scarlet uniform +and white feather who claimed her attention as he strode into the court. +“Ha! Mistress Anne and the Doctor on my life. What, +don’t you know me?”</p> +<p>“Master Sedley Archfield!” said the Doctor; “welcome +home, sir! ’Tis a meeting of old acquaintance. You +and this gentleman are both so much altered that it is no wonder if +you do not recognise one another at once.”</p> +<p>“No fear of Mr. Perry Oakshott not being recognised,” +said Sedley Archfield, holding out his hand, but with a certain sneer +in his rough voice that brought Peregrine’s eyebrows together. +“Kenspeckle enough, as the fools of Whigs say in Scotland.”</p> +<p>“Are you long from Scotland, sir?” asked Dr. Woodford, +by way of preventing personalities.</p> +<p>“Oh ay, sir; these six months and more. There’s +not much more sport to be had since the fools of Cameronians have been +pretty well got under, and ’tis no loss to be at Hounslow.”</p> +<p>“And oh, what a fright!” exclaimed Mrs. Archfield, catching +sight of the heiress. “Keep her away! She makes me +ill.”</p> +<p>They were glad to divert her attention to feeding the elephant, and +she was coquetting a little about making up her mind to approach even +the defunct tiger, while she insisted on having the number of his victims +counted over to her. Anne asked for Lucy, to whom she wanted to +show the pigeons, but was answered that, “my lady wanted Lucy +at home over some matter of jellies and blancmanges.”</p> +<p>Charles shrugged his shoulders a little and Sedley grumbled to Anne. +“The little vixen sets her heart on cates that she won’t +lay a finger to make, and poor Lucy is like to be no better than a cook-maid, +while they won’t cross her, for fear of her tantrums.”</p> +<p>At that instant piercing screams, shriek upon shriek, rang through +the court, and turning hastily round, Anne beheld a little monkey perched +on Mrs. Archfield’s head, having apparently leapt thither from +the pole to which it was chained.</p> +<p>The keeper was not in sight, being in fact employed over a sale of +some commodities within. There was a general springing to the +rescue. Charles tried to take the creature off, Sedley tugged +at the chain fastened to a belt round its body, but the monkey held +tight by the curls on the lady’s forehead with its hands, and +crossed its legs round her neck, clasping the hands so that the effect +of the attempts of her husband and his cousin was only to throttle her, +so that she could no longer scream and was almost in a fit, when on +Peregrine holding out a nut and speaking coaxingly in Dutch, the monkey +unloosed its hold, and with another bound was on his arm. He stood +caressing and feeding it, talking to it in the same tongue, while it +made little squeaks and chatterings, evidently delighted, though its +mournful old man’s visage still had the same piteous expression. +There was something most grotesque and almost weird in the sight of +Peregrine’s queer figure toying with its odd hands which seemed +to be in black gloves, and the strange language he talked to it added +to the uncanny effect. Even the Doctor felt it as he stood watching, +and would have muttered ‘Birds of a feather,’ but that the +words were spoken more gruffly and plainly by Sedley Archfield, who +said something about the Devil and his dam, which the good Doctor did +not choose to hear, and only said to Peregrine, “You know how +to deal with the jackanapes.”</p> +<p>“I have seen some at Leyden, sir. This is a pretty little +beast.”</p> +<p>Pretty! There was a recoil in horror, for the creature looked +to the crowd demoniacal. Something the same was the sensation +of Charles, who, assisted by Anne and Martha, had been rather carrying +than leading his wife into the inn parlour, where she immediately had +a fit of hysterics—vapours, as they called it—bringing all +the women of the inn about her, while Martha and Anne soothed her as +best they could, and he was reduced to helplessly leaning out at the +bay window.</p> +<p>When the sobs and cries subsided, under cold water and essences without +and strong waters within, and the little lady in Martha’s strong +arms, between the matronly coaxing of the fat hostess and the kind soothings +of the two young ladies, had been restored to something of equanimity, +Mistress Martha laid her down and said with the utmost good humour and +placidity to the young husband, “Now I’ll go, sir. +She is better now, but the sight of my face might set her off again.”</p> +<p>“Oh, do not say so, madam. We are infinitely obliged. +Let her thank you.”</p> +<p>But Martha shook her hand and laughed, turning to leave the room, +so that he was fain to give her his arm and escort her back to her guardian.</p> +<p>Then ensued a scream. “Where’s he going? +Mr. Archfield, don’t leave me.”</p> +<p>“He is only taking Mistress Browning back to her guardian,” +said Anne.</p> +<p>“Eh? oh, how can he? A hideous fright!” she cried.</p> +<p>To say the truth, she was rather pleased to have had such a dreadful +adventure, and to have made such a commotion, though she protested that +she must go home directly, and could never bear the sight of those dreadful +monsters again, or she should die on the spot.</p> +<p>“But,” said she, when the coach was at the door, and +Anne had restored her dress to its dainty gaiety, “I must thank +Master Peregrine for taking off that horrible jackanapes.”</p> +<p>“Small thanks to him,” said Charles crossly. “I +wager it was all his doing out of mere spite.”</p> +<p>“He is too good a beau ever to spite <i>me</i>,” said +Mrs. Alice, her head a little on one side.</p> +<p>“Then to show off what he could do with the beast—Satan’s +imp, like himself.”</p> +<p>“No, no, Mr. Archfield,” pleaded Anne, “that was +impossible; I saw him myself. He was with that sailor-looking +man measuring the height of the secretary bird.”</p> +<p>“I believe you are always looking after him,” grumbled +Charles. “I can’t guess what all the women see in +him to be always gazing after him.”</p> +<p>“Because he is so charmingly ugly,” laughed the young +wife, tripping out in utter forgetfulness that she was to die if she +went near the beasts again. She met Peregrine half way across +the yard with outstretched hands, exclaiming—</p> +<p>“O Mr. Oakshott! it was so good in you to take away that nasty +beast.”</p> +<p>“I am glad, madam, to have been of use,” said Peregrine, +bowing and smiling, a smile that might explain something of his fascination. +“The poor brute was only drawn, as all of our kind are. +He wanted to see so sweet a lady nearer. He is quite harmless. +Will you stroke him? See, there he sits, gazing after you. +Will you give him a cake and make friends?”</p> +<p>“No, no, madam, it cannot be; it is too much,” grumbled +Charles; and though Alice had backed at first, perhaps for the pleasure +of teasing him, or for that of being the centre of observation, actually, +with all manner of pretty airs and graces, she let herself be led forward, +lay a timid hand on the monkey’s head, and put a cake in its black +fingers, while all the time Peregrine held it fast and talked Dutch +to it; and Charles Archfield hardly contained his rage, though Anne +endeavoured to argue the impossibility of Peregrine’s having incited +the attack; and Sedley blustered that they ought to interfere and make +the fellow know the reason why. However, Charles had sense enough +to know that though he might exhale his vexation in grumbling, he had +no valid cause for quarrelling with young Oakshott, so he contented +himself with black looks and grudging thanks, as he was obliged to let +Peregrine hand his wife into her carriage amid her nods and becks and +wreathed smiles.</p> +<p>They would have taken Dr. Woodford and his niece home in the coach, +but Anne had an errand in the town, and preferred to return by boat. +She wanted some oranges and Turkey figs to allay her mother’s +constant thirst, and Peregrine begged permission to accompany them, +saying that he knew where to find the best and cheapest. Accordingly +he took them to a tiny cellar, in an alley by the boat camber, where +the Portugal oranges certainly looked riper and were cheaper than any +that Anne had found before; but there seemed to be an odd sort of understanding +between Peregrine and the withered old weather-beaten sailor who sold +them, such as rather puzzled the Doctor.</p> +<p>“I hope these are not contraband,” he said to Peregrine, +when the oranges had been packed in the basket of the servant who followed +them.</p> +<p>Peregrine shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“Living is hard, sir. Ask no questions.”</p> +<p>The Doctor looked tempted to turn back with the fruit, but such doubts +were viewed as ultra scruples, and would hardly have been entertained +even by a magistrate such as Sir Philip Archfield.</p> +<p>It was not a time for questions, and Peregrine remained with them +till they embarked at the point, asking to be commended to Mrs. Woodford, +and hoping soon to come and see both her and poor Hans, he left them.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /> +Proposals</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Hear me, ye venerable core,<br /> + As counsel for poor mortals,<br /> +That frequent pass douce Wisdom’s door<br /> + For glaikit Folly’s portals;<br /> +I for their thoughtless, careless sakes<br /> + Would here propose defences,<br /> +Their doucie tricks, their black mistakes,<br /> + Their failings and mischances.”</p> +<p>BURNS.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For seven years Anne Woodford had kept Lucy Archfield’s birthday +with her, and there was no refusing now, though there was more and more +unwillingness to leave Mrs. Woodford, whose declining state became so +increasingly apparent that even the loving daughter could no longer +be blind to it.</p> +<p>The coach was sent over to fetch Mistress Anne to Fareham, and the +invalid was left, comfortably installed in her easy-chair by the parlour +fire, with a little table by her side, holding a hand-bell, a divided +orange, a glass of toast and water, and the Bible and Prayer-book, wherein +lay her chief studies, together with a little needlework, which still +amused her feeble hands. The Doctor, divided between his parish, +his study, and his garden, had promised to look in from time to time.</p> +<p>Presently, however, the door was gently tapped, and on her call “Come +in,” Hans, all one grin, admitted Peregrine Oakshott, bowing low +in his foreign, courteous manner, and entreating her to excuse his intrusion, +“For truly, madam, in your goodness is my only hope.”</p> +<p>Then he knelt on one knee and kissed the hand she held out to him, +while desiring him to speak freely to her.</p> +<p>“Nay, madam, I fear I shall startle you, when I lay before +you the only chance that can aid me to overcome the demon that is in +me.”</p> +<p>“My poor—”</p> +<p>“Call me your boy, as when I was here seven years ago. +Let me sit at your feet as then and listen to me.”</p> +<p>“Indeed I will, my dear boy,” and she laid her hand on +his dark head. “Tell me all that is in your heart.”</p> +<p>“Ah, dear lady, that is not soon done! You and Mistress +Anne, as you well know, first awoke me from my firm belief that I was +none other than an elf, and yet there have since been times when I have +doubted whether it were not indeed the truth.”</p> +<p>“Nay, Peregrine, at years of discretion you should have outgrown +old wives’ tales.”</p> +<p>“Better be an elf at once—a soulless creature of the +elements—than the sport of an evil spirit doomed to perdition,” +he bitterly exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Hush, hush! You know not what you are saying!”</p> +<p>“I know it too well, madam! There are times when I long +and wish after goodness—nay, when Heaven seems open to me—and +I resolve and strive after a perfect life; but again comes the wild, +passionate dragging, as it were, into all that at other moments I most +loathe and abhor, and I become no more my own master. Ah!”</p> +<p>There was misery in his voice, and he clutched the long hair on each +side of his face with his hands.</p> +<p>“St. Paul felt the same,” said Mrs. Woodford gently.</p> +<p>“‘Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?’ +Ay, ay! how many times have I not groaned that forth! And so, +if that Father at Turin were right, I am but as Paul was when he was +Saul. Madam, is it not possible that I was never truly baptized?” +he cried eagerly.</p> +<p>“Impossible, Peregrine. Was not Mr. Horncastle chaplain +when you were born? Yes; and I have heard my brother say that +both he and your father held the same views as the Church upon baptism.”</p> +<p>“So I thought; but Father Geronimo says that at the best it +was but heretical baptism, and belike hastily and ineffectually performed.”</p> +<p>“Put that aside, Peregrine. It is only a temptation and +allurement.”</p> +<p>“It is an allurement you know not how strong,” said the +poor youth. “Could I only bring myself to believe all that +Father Geronimo does, and fall down before his Madonnas and saints, +then could I hope for a new nature, and scourge away the old”—he +set his teeth as he spoke—“till naught remains of the elf +or demon, be it what it will.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Peregrine, scourging will not do it, but grace will, and +that grace is indeed yours, as is proved by these higher aspirations.”</p> +<p>“I tell you, madam, that if I live on as I am doing now, grace +will be utterly stifled, if it ever abode in me at all. Every +hour that I live, pent in by intolerable forms and immeasurable dulness, +the maddening temper gains on me! Nay, I have had to rush out +at night and swear a dozen round oaths before I could compose myself +to sit down to the endless supper. Ah, I shock you, madam! but +that’s not the worst I am driven to do.”</p> +<p>“Nor the way to bring the better spirit, my poor youth. +Oh, that you would pray instead of swearing!”</p> +<p>“I cannot pray at Oakwood. My father and Mr. Horncastle +drive away all the prayers that ever were in me, and I mean nothing, +even though I keep my word to you.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you do that. While I know you are doing so, +I shall still believe the better angel will triumph.”</p> +<p>“How can aught triumph but hatred and disgust where I am pinned +down? Listen, madam, and hear if good spirits have any chance. +We break our fast, ere the sun is up, on chunks of yesterday’s +half-dressed beef and mutton. If I am seen seeking for a morsel +not half raw, I am rated for dainty French tastes; and the same with +the sour smallest of beer. I know now what always made me ill-tempered +as a child, and I avoid it, but at the expense of sneers on my French +breeding, even though my drink be fair water; for wine, look you, is +a sinful expense, save for after dinner, and frothed chocolate for a +man is an invention of Satan. The meal is sauced either with blame +of me, messages from the farm-folk, or Bob’s exploits in the chase. +Then my father goes his rounds on the farm, and would fain have me with +him to stand knee-deep in mire watching the plough, or feeling each +greasy and odorous old sheep in turn to see if it be ready for the knife, +or gloating over the bullocks or swine, or exchanging auguries with +Thomas Vokes on this or that crop. Faugh! And I am told +I shall never be good for a country gentleman if I contemn such matters! +I say I have no mind to be a country gentleman, whereby I am told of +Esau till I am sick of his very name.”</p> +<p>“But surely you have not always to follow on this round?”</p> +<p>“Oh no! I may go out birding with Bob, who is about as +lively as an old jackass, or meet the country boobies for a hunt, and +be pointed at as the Frenchman, and left to ride alone; or there’s +mine own chamber, when the maids do not see fit to turn me out with +their pails and besoms, as they do at least twice a week—I sit +there in my cloak and furs (by the way, I am chidden for an effeminate +fop if ever I am seen in them). I would give myself to books, +as my uncle counselled, but what think you? By ill hap Bob, coming +in to ask some question, found me studying the <i>Divina Commedia</i> +of Dante Alighieri, and hit upon one of the engravings representing +the torments of purgatory. What must he do but report it, and +immediately a hue and cry arises that I am being corrupted with Popish +books. In vain do I tell them that their admirable John Milton, +the only poet save Sternhold and Hopkins that my father deems not absolute +pagan, knew, loved, and borrowed from Dante. All my books are +turned over as ruthlessly as ever Don Quixote’s by the curate +and the barber, and whatever Mr. Horncastle’s erudition cannot +vouch for is summarily handed over to the kitchen wench to light the +fires. The best of it is that they have left me my classics, as +though old Terence and Lucan were lesser heathens than the great Florentine. +However, I have bribed the young maid, and rescued my Dante and Boiardo +with small damage, but I dare not read them save with door locked.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford could scarcely shake her head at the disobedience, +and she asked if there were really no other varieties.</p> +<p>“Such as fencing with that lubber Robert, and trying to bend +his stiff limbs to the noble art of <i>l’escrime</i>. But +that is after dinner work. There is the mountain of half-raw flesh +to be consumed first, and then my father, with Mr. Horncastle and Bob +discuss on what they call the news—happy if a poor rogue has been +caught by Tom Constable stealing faggots. ’Tis argument +for a week—almost equal to the price of a fat mutton at Portsmouth. +My father and the minister nod in due time over their ale-cup, and Bob +and I go our ways till dark, or till the house bell rings for prayers +and exposition. Well, dear good lady, I will not grieve you by +telling you how often they make me wish to be again the imp devoid of +every shred of self-respect, and too much inured to flogging to heed +what my antics might bring on me.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you have that shred of self respect; I hope indeed +it is some higher respect.”</p> +<p>“Well, I can never believe that Heaven meant to be served by +mortal dullness. Seven years have only made old Horncastle blow +his horn to the same note, only more drearily.”</p> +<p>“I can see indeed that it is a great trial to one used to the +life of foreign Courts and to interest in great affairs like you, my +poor Peregrine; but what can I say but to entreat you to be patient, +try to find interest, and endeavour to win your father’s confidence +so that he may accord you more liberty? Did I not hear that your +attention made your mother’s life happier?”</p> +<p>Peregrine laughed. “My mother! She has never seen +aught but boorishness all her life, and any departure therefrom seems +to her unnatural. I believe she is as much afraid of my courtesy +as ever she was of my mischief, and that in her secret heart she still +believes me a changeling. No, Madam Woodford, there is but one +way to save me from the frenzy that comes over me.”</p> +<p>“Your father has already been entreated to let you join your +uncle.”</p> +<p>“I know it—I know it; but if it were impossible before, +that discovery of Dante has made it <i>impossibilissimo</i>, as the +Italian would say, to deal with him now. There is a better way. +Give me the good angel who has always counteracted the evil one. +Give me Mistress Anne!”</p> +<p>“Anne, my Anne!” exclaimed Mrs. Woodford in dismay. +“O Peregrine, it cannot be!”</p> +<p>“I knew that would be your first word,” said Peregrine, +“but verily, madam, I would not ask it but that I know that I +should be another man with her by my side, and that she would have nothing +to fear from the evil that dies at her approach.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Peregrine! you think so now; but no man can be sure of +himself with any mere human care. Besides, my child is not of +degree to match with you. Your father would justly be angered +if we took advantage of your attachment to us to encourage you in an +inclination he could never approve.”</p> +<p>“I tell you, madam—yes, I must tell you all—my +madness and my ruin will be completed if I am left to my father’s +will. I know what is hanging over me. He is only waiting +till I am of age—at Midsummer, and the year of mourning is over +for poor Oliver—I am sure no one mourns for him more heartily +than I—to bind me to Martha Browning. If she would only +bring the plague, or something worse than smallpox, to put an end to +it at once!”</p> +<p>“But that would make any such scheme all the more impossible.”</p> +<p>“Listen, madam; do but hear me. Even as children the +very sight of Martha Browning’s solemn face”—Peregrine +drew his countenance down into a portentous length—“her +horror at the slightest word or sport, her stiff broomstick carriage, +all impelled me to the most impish tricks. And now—letting +alone that pock-marks have seamed her grim face till she is as ugly +as Alecto—she is a Precisian of the Precisians. I declare +our household is in her eyes sinfully free! If she can hammer +out a text of Scripture, and write her name in characters as big and +gawky as herself, ’tis as far as her education has carried her, +save in pickling, preserving, stitchery, and clear starching, the only +arts not sinful in her eyes. If I am to have a broomstick, I had +rather ride off on one at once to the Witches’ Sabbath on the +Wartburg than be tied to one for life.”</p> +<p>“I should think she would scarce accept you.”</p> +<p>“There’s no such hope. She has been bred up to +regard one of us as her lot, and she would accept me without a murmur +if I were Beelzebub himself, horns and tail and all! Why, she +ogles me with her gooseberry eyes already, and treats me as a chattel +of her own.”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, Peregrine! I cannot have you talk thus. +If your father had such designs, it would be unworthy of us to favour +you in crossing them.”</p> +<p>“Nay, madam, he hath never expressed them as yet. Only +my mother and brother both refer to his purpose, and if I could show +myself contracted to a young lady of good birth and education, he cannot +gainsay; it might yet save me from what I will not and cannot endure. +Not that such is by any means my chief and only motive. I have +loved Mistress Anne with all my heart ever since she shone upon me like +a being from a better world when I lay sick here. She has the +same power of hushing the wild goblin within me as you have, madam. +I am another man with her, as I am with you. It is my only hope! +Give me that hope, and I shall be able to endure patiently.—Ah! +what have I done? Have I said too much?”</p> +<p>He had talked longer and more eagerly than would have been good for +the invalid even if the topic had been less agitating, and the emotion +caused by this unexpected complication, consternation at the difficulties +she foresaw, and the present difficulty of framing a reply, were altogether +too much for Mrs. Woodford. She turned deadly white, and gasped +for breath, so that Peregrine, in terror, dashed off in search of the +maids, exclaiming that their mistress was in a swoon.</p> +<p>The Doctor came out of his study much distressed, and in Anne’s +absence the household was almost helpless in giving the succours in +which she had always been the foremost. Peregrine lingered about +in remorse and despair, offering to fetch her or to go for the doctor, +and finally took the latter course, thereto impelled by the angry words +of the old cook, an enemy of his in former days.</p> +<p>“No better? no, sir, nor ’tis not your fault if ever +she be. You’ve been and frought her nigh to death with your +terrifying ways.”</p> +<p>Peregrine was Hampshire man enough to know that to terrify only meant +to tease, but he was in no mood to justify himself to old Patience, +so he galloped off to Portsmouth, and only returned with the doctor +to hear that Madam Woodford was in bed, and her daughter with her. +She was somewhat better, but still very ill, and it was plain that this +was no moment for pressing his suit even had it not been time for him +to return home. Going to fetch the doctor might be accepted as +a valid reason for missing the evening exhortation and prayer, but there +were mistrustful looks that galled him.</p> +<p>Anne’s return was more beneficial to Mrs. Woodford than the +doctor’s visit, and the girl was still too ignorant of all that +her mother’s attacks of spasms and subsequent weakness implied +to be as much alarmed as to depress her hopes. Yet Mrs. Woodford, +lying awake in the night, detected that her daughter was restless and +unhappy, and asked what ailed her, and how the visit had gone off.</p> +<p>“You do not wish me to speak of such things, madam,” +was the answer.</p> +<p>“Tell me all that is in your heart, my child.”</p> +<p>It all came out with the vehemence of a reserved nature when the +flood is loosed. ‘Young Madam’ had been more than +usually peevish and exacting, jealous perhaps at Lucy’s being +the heroine of the day, and fretful over a cold which confined her to +the house, how she worried and harassed all around her with her whims, +megrims and complaints could only too well be imagined, and how the +entire pleasure of the day was destroyed. Lucy was never allowed +a minute’s conversation with her friend without being interrupted +by a whine and complaints of unkindness and neglect.</p> +<p>Lady Archfield’s ill-usage, as the young wife was pleased to +call every kind of restriction, was the favourite theme next to the +daughter-in law’s own finery, her ailments, and her notions of +the treatment befitting her.</p> +<p>And young Mr. Archfield himself, while handing his old friend out +to the carriage that had fetched her, could not help confiding to her +that he was nearly beside himself. His mother meant to be kind, +but expected too much from one so brought up, and his wife—what +could be done for her? She made herself miserable here, and every +one else likewise. Yet even if his father would consent, she was +utterly unfit to be mistress of a house of her own; and poor Charles +could only utter imprecations on the guardians who could have had no +idea how a young woman ought to be brought up. It was worse than +an ill-trained hound.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford heard what she extracted from her daughter with grief +and alarm, and not only for her friends.</p> +<p>“Indeed, my dear child,” she said, “you must prevent +such confidences. They are very dangerous things respecting married +people.”</p> +<p>“It was all in a few moments, mamma, and I could not stop him. +He is so unhappy;” and Anne’s voice revealed tears.</p> +<p>“The more reason why you should avoid hearing what he will +soon be very sorry you have heard. Were he not a mere lad himself, +it would be as inexcusable as it is imprudent thus to speak of the troubles +and annoyances that often beset the first year of wedded life. +I am sorry for the poor youth, who means no harm nor disloyalty, and +is only treating you as his old companion and playmate; but he has no +right thus to talk of his wife, above all to a young maiden too inexperienced +to counsel him, and if he should attempt to do so again, promise me, +my daughter, that you will silence him—if by no other means, by +telling him so.”</p> +<p>“I promise!” said Anne, choking back her tears and lifting +her head. “I am sure I never want to go to Fareham again +while that Lieutenant Sedley Archfield is there. If those be army +manners, they are what I cannot endure. He is altogether mean +and hateful, above all when he scoffs at Master Oakshott.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid a great many do so, child, and that he often gives +some occasion,” put in Mrs. Woodford, a little uneasy that this +should be the offence.</p> +<p>“He is better than Sedley Archfield, be he what he will, madam,” +said the girl. “He never pays those compliments, those insolent +disgusting compliments, such as he—that Sedley, I mean—when +he found me alone in the hall, and I had to keep him at bay from trying +to kiss me, only Mr. Archfield—Charley—came down the stairs +before he was aware, and called out, ‘I will thank you to behave +yourself to a lady in my father’s house.’ And then +he, Sedley, sneered ‘The Parson’s niece!’ with such +a laugh, mother, I shall never get it out of my ears. As if I +were not as well born as he!”</p> +<p>“That is not quite the way to take it, my child. I had +rather you stood on your maidenly dignity and discretion than on your +birth. I trust he will soon be away.”</p> +<p>“I fear he will not, mamma, for I heard say the troop are coming +down to be under the Duke of Berwick at Portsmouth.”</p> +<p>“Then, dear daughter, it is the less mishap that you should +be thus closely confined by loving attendance on me. Now, goodnight. +Compose yourself to sleep, and think no more of these troubles.”</p> +<p>Nevertheless mother and daughter lay long awake, side by side, that +night; the daughter in all the flutter of nerves induced by offended +yet flattered feeling—hating the compliment, yet feeling that +it was a compliment to the features that she was beginning to value. +She was substantially a good, well-principled maiden, modest and discreet, +with much dignified reserve, yet it was impossible that she should not +have seen heads turned to look at her in Portsmouth, and know that she +was admired above her contemporaries, so that even if it brought her +inconvenience it was agreeable. Besides, her heart was beating +with pity for the Archfields. The elder ones might have only themselves +to blame, but it was very hard for poor Charles to have been blindly +coupled to a being who did not know how to value him, still harder that +there should be blame for a confidence where neither meant any harm—blame +that made her blush on her pillow with indignant shame.</p> +<p>Perhaps Mrs. Woodford divined these thoughts, for she too meditated +deeply on the perils of her fair young daughter, and in the morning +could not leave her room. In the course of the day she heard that +Master Peregrine Oakshott had been to inquire for her, and was not surprised +when her brother-in-law sought an interview with her. The gulf +between the hierarchy and squirearchy was sufficient for a marriage +to be thought a <i>mesalliance</i>, and it was with a smile at the folly +as well as with a certain displeased pity that Dr. Woodford mentioned +the proposal so vehemently pressed upon him by Peregrine Oakshott for +his niece’s hand.</p> +<p>“Poor boy!” said Mrs. Woodford, “it is a great +misfortune. You forbade him of course to speak of such a thing.”</p> +<p>“I told him that I could not imagine how he could think us +capable of entertaining any such proposal without his father’s +consent. He seems to have hoped that to pledge himself to us might +extort sanction from his father, not seeing that it would be a highly +improper measure, and would only incense the Major.”</p> +<p>“All the more that the Major wishes to pass on Mistress Martha +Browning to him, poor fellow.”</p> +<p>“He did not tell me so.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford related what he had said to her, and the Doctor could +not but observe: “The poor Major! his whole treatment of that +unfortunate youth is as if he were resolved to drive him to distraction. +But even if the Major were ever so willing, I doubt whether Master Peregrine +be the husband you would choose for our little maid.”</p> +<p>“Assuredly not, poor fellow! though if she loved him as he +loves her—which happily she does not—I should scarce dare +to stand in the way, lest she should be the appointed instrument for +his good.”</p> +<p>“He assured me that he had never directly addressed her.”</p> +<p>“No, and I trust he never will. Not that she is ever +like to love him, although she does not shrink from him quite as much +as others do. Yet there is a strain of ambition in my child’s +nature that might make her seek the elevation. But, my good brother, +for this and other reasons we must find another home for my poor child +when I am gone. Nay, brother, do not look at me thus; you know +as well as I do that I can scarcely look to see the spring come in, +and I would fain take this opportunity of speaking to you concerning +my dear daughter. No one can be a kinder father to her than you, +and I would most gladly leave her to cheer and tend you, but as things +stand around us she can scarce remain here without a mother’s +watchfulness. She is guarded now by her strict attendance on my +infirmity, but when I am gone how will it be?”</p> +<p>“She is as good and discreet a maiden as parent could wish.”</p> +<p>“Good and discreet as far as her knowledge and experience go, +but that is not enough. On the one hand, there is a certain wild +temper about that young Master Oakshott such as makes me never know +what he might attempt if, as he says, his father should drive him to +desperation, and this is a lonely place, with the sea close at hand.”</p> +<p>“Lady Archfield would gladly take charge of her.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford here related what Anne had said of Sedley’s insolence, +but this the Doctor thought little of, not quite believing in the regiment +coming into the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Woodford most unwillingly was +forced to mention her further unwillingness that her daughter should +be made a party to the troubles caused by the silly young wife of her +old playfellow.</p> +<p>“What more?” said the Doctor, holding up his hands. +“I never thought a discreet young maid could be such a care, but +I suppose that is the price we pay for her good looks. Three of +them, eh? What is it that you propose?”</p> +<p>“I should like to place her in the household of some godly +and kindly lady, who would watch over her and probably provide for her +marriage. That, as you know, was my own course, and I was very +happy in Lady Sandwich’s family, till I made the acquaintance +of your dear and honoured brother, and my greater happiness began. +The first day that I am able I will write to some of my earlier friends, +such as Mrs. Evelyn and Mrs. Pepys, and again there is Mistress Eleanor +Wall, who, I hear, is married to Sir Theophilus Oglethorpe, and who +might accept my daughter for my sake. She is a warm, loving, open-hearted +creature of Irish blood, and would certainly be kind to her.”</p> +<p>There was no indignity in such a plan. Most ladies of rank +or quality entertained one or more young women of the clerical or professional +classes as companions, governesses, or ladies’ maids, as the case +might be. They were not classed with the servants, but had their +share of the society and amusements of the house, and a fair chance +of marriage in their own degree, though the comfort of their situation +varied a good deal according to the amiability of their mistress, from +that of a confidential friend to a white slave and <i>souffre douleur.</i></p> +<p>Dr. Woodford had no cause to object except his own loss of his niece’s +society and return to bachelor life, after the eight years of companionship +which he had enjoyed; but such complications as were induced by the +presence of an attractive young girl were, as he allowed, beyond him, +and he acquiesced with a sigh in the judgment of the mother, whom he +had always esteemed so highly.</p> +<p>The letters were written, and in due time received kind replies. +Mrs. Evelyn proposed that the young gentlewoman should come and stay +with her till some situation should offer itself, and Lady Oglethorpe, +a warm-hearted Irishwoman, deeply attached to the Queen, declared her +intention of speaking to the King or the Princess Anne on the first +opportunity of the daughter of the brave Captain Woodford. There +might very possibly be a nursery appointment to be had either at the +Cockpit or at Whitehall in the course of the year.</p> +<p>This was much more than Mrs. Woodford had desired. She had +far rather have placed her daughter immediately under some kind matronly +lady in a private household; but she knew that her good friend was always +eager to promise to the utmost of her possible power. She did +not talk much of this to her daughter, only telling her that the kind +ladies had promised to befriend her, and find a situation for her; and +Anne was too much shocked to find her mother actually making such arrangements +to enter upon any inquiries. The perception that her mother was +looking forward to passing away so soon entirely overset her; she would +not think about it, would not admit the bare idea of the loss. +Only there lurked at the bottom of her heart the feeling that when the +crash had come, and desolation had over taken her, it would be more +dreary at Portchester than anywhere else; and there might be infinite +possibilities beyond for the King’s godchild, almost a knight’s +daughter.</p> +<p>The next time that Mrs. Woodford heard that Major Oakshott was at +the door inquiring for her health, she begged as a favour that he would +come and see her.</p> +<p>The good gentleman came upstairs treading gently in his heavy boots, +as one accustomed to an invalid chamber.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to see you thus, madam,” he said, as she +held out her wasted hand and thanked him. “Did you desire +spiritual consolations? There are times when our needs pass far +beyond prescribed forms and ordinances.”</p> +<p>“I am thankful for the prayers of good men,” said Mrs. +Woodford; “but for truth’s sake I must tell you that this +was not foremost in my mind when I begged for this favour.”</p> +<p>He was evidently disappointed, for he was producing from his pocket +the little stout black-bound Bible, which, by a dent in one of the lids, +bore witness of having been with him in his campaigns; and perhaps half-diplomatically, +as well as with a yearning for oneness of spirit, she gratified him +by requesting him to read and pray.</p> +<p>With all his rigidity he was too truly pious a man for his ministrations +to contain anything in which, Churchwoman as she was, she could not +join with all her heart, and feel comforting; but ere he was about to +rise from his knees she said, “One prayer for your son, sir.”</p> +<p>A few fervent words were spoken on behalf of the wandering sheep, +while tears glistened in the old man’s eyes, and fell fast from +those of the lady, and then he said, “Ah, madam! have I not wrestled +in prayer for my poor boy?”</p> +<p>“I am sure you have, sir. I know you have a deep fatherly +love for him, and therefore I sent to speak to you as a dying woman.”</p> +<p>“And I will gladly hear you, for you have always been good +to him, and, as I confess, have done him more good—if good can +be called the apparent improvement in one unregenerate—than any +other.”</p> +<p>“Except his uncle,” said Mrs. Woodford. “I +fear it is vain to say that I think the best hope of his becoming a +good and valuable man, a comfort and not a sorrow to yourself, would +be to let him even now rejoin Sir Peregrine.”</p> +<p>“That cannot be, madam. My brother has not kept to the +understanding on which I entrusted the lad to him, but has carried him +into worldly and debauched company, such as has made the sober and godly +habits of his home distasteful to him, and has further taken him into +Popish lands, where he has become infected with their abominations to +a greater extent than I can yet fathom.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Woodford sighed and felt hopeless. “I see your view +of the matter, sir. Yet may I suggest that it is hard for a young +man to find wholesome occupation such as may guard him from temptation +on an estate where the master is active and sufficient like yourself?”</p> +<p>“Protection from temptation must come from within, madam,” +replied the Major; “but I so far agree with you that in due time, +when he has attained his twenty-first year, I trust he will be wedded +to his cousin, a virtuous and pious young maiden, and will have the +management of her property, which is larger than my own.”</p> +<p>“But if—if—sir, the marriage were distasteful to +him, could it be for the happiness and welfare of either?”</p> +<p>“The boy has been complaining to you? Nay, madam, I blame +you not. You have ever been the boy’s best friend according +to knowledge; but he ought to know that his honour and mine are engaged. +It is true that Mistress Martha is not a Court beauty, such as his eyes +have unhappily learnt to admire, but I am acting verily for his true +good. ‘Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain.’”</p> +<p>“Most true, sir; but let me say one more word. I fear, +I greatly fear, that all young spirits brook not compulsion.”</p> +<p>“That means, they will not bow their stiff necks to the yoke.”</p> +<p>“Ah, sir! but on the other hand, ‘Fathers, provoke not +your children to wrath.’ Forgive me, sir; I spoke but out +of true affection to your son, and the fear that what may seem to him +severity may not drive him to some extremity that might grieve you.”</p> +<p>“No forgiveness is needed, madam. I thank you for your +interest in him, and for your plain speaking according to your lights. +I can but act according to those vouchsafed unto me.”</p> +<p>“And we both agree in praying for his true good,” said +Mrs. Woodford.</p> +<p>And with a mutual blessing they parted, Mrs. Woodford deeply sorry +for both father and son, for whom she had done what she could.</p> +<p>It was her last interview with any one outside the house. Another +attack of spasms brought the end, during the east winds of March, so +suddenly as to leave no time for farewells or last words. When +she was laid to rest in the little churchyard within the castle walls, +no one showed such overwhelming tokens of grief as Peregrine Oakshott, +who lingered about the grave after the Doctor had taken his niece home, +and was found lying upon it late in the evening, exhausted with weeping.</p> +<p>Yet Sedley Archfield, whose regiment had, after all, been sent to +Portsmouth, reported that he had spent the very next afternoon at a +cock-fight, ending in a carouse with various naval and military officers +at a tavern, not drinking, but contributing to the mirth by foreign +songs, tricks, and jests.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /> +The One Hope</h2> +<blockquote><p> “There’s some fearful tie<br /> +Between me and that spirit world, which God<br /> +Brands with His terrors on my troubled mind.”</p> +<p>KINGSLEY.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The final blow had fallen upon Anne Woodford so suddenly that for +the first few days she moved about as one in a dream. Lady Archfield +came to her on the first day, and showed her motherly kindness, and +Lucy was with her as much as was possible under the exactions of young +Madam, who was just sufficiently unwell to resent attention being paid +to any other living creature. She further developed a jealousy +of Lucy’s affection for any other friend such as led to a squabble +between her and her husband, and made her mother-in-law unwillingly +acquiesce in the expediency of Anne’s being farther off.</p> +<p>And indeed Anne herself felt so utterly forlorn and desolate that +an impatience of the place came over her. She was indeed fond +of her uncle, but he was much absorbed in his studies, his parish, and +in anxious correspondence on the state of the Church, and was scarcely +a companion to her, and without her mother to engross her love and attention, +and cut off from the Archfields as she now was, there was little to +counterbalance the restless feeling that London and the precincts of +the Court were her natural element. So she wrote her letters according +to her mother’s desire, and waited anxiously for the replies, +feeling as if anything would be preferable to her present unhappiness +and solitude.</p> +<p>The answers came in due time. Mrs. Evelyn promised to try to +find a virtuous and godly lady who would be willing to receive Mistress +Anne Woodford into her family, and Lady Oglethorpe wrote with vaguer +promises of high preferment, which excited Anne’s imagination +during those lonely hours that she had to spend while her strict mourning, +after the custom of the time, secluded her from all visitors.</p> +<p>Meantime, in that anxious spring of 1688, when the Church of England +was looking to her defences, the Doctor could not be much at home, and +when he had time to listen to private affairs, he heard reports which +did not please him of Peregrine Oakshott. That the young men in +the county all abhorred his fine foreign airs was no serious evil, though +it might be suspected that his sharp ironical tongue had quite as much +to do with their dislike as his greater refinement of manner.</p> +<p>His father was reported to be very seriously displeased with him, +for he openly expressed contempt of the precise ways of the household, +and absented himself in a manner that could scarcely be attributed to +aught but the licentious indulgences of the time; and as he seldom mingled +in the amusements of the young country gentlemen, it was only too probable +that he found a lower grade of companions in Portsmouth. Moreover +his talk, random though it might be, offended all the Whig opinions +of his father. He talked with the dogmatism of the traveller of +the glories of Louis XIV, and broadly avowed his views that the grandeur +of the nation was best established under a king who asked no questions +of people or Parliament, ‘that senseless set of chattering pies,’ +as he was reported to have called the House of Commons.</p> +<p>He sang the praises of the gracious and graceful Queen Mary Beatrice, +and derided ‘the dried-up Orange stick,’ as he called the +hope of the Protestants; nor did he scruple to pronounce Popery the +faith of chivalrous gentlemen, far preferable to the whining of sullen +Whiggery. No one could tell how far all this was genuine opinion, +or simply delight in contradiction, especially of his father, who was +in a constant state of irritation at the son whom he could so little +manage.</p> +<p>And in the height of the wrath of the whole of the magistracy at +the expulsion of their lord-lieutenant, the Earl of Gainsborough, and +the substitution of the young Duke of Berwick, what must Peregrine do +but argue in high praise of that youth, whom he had several times seen +and admired. And when not a gentleman in the neighbourhood chose +to greet the intruder when he arrived as governor of Portsmouth, Peregrine +actually rode in to see him, and dined with him. Words cannot +express the Major’s anger and shame at such consorting with a +person, whom alike, on account of parentage, religion, and education, +he regarded as a son of perdition. Yet Peregrine would only coolly +reply that he knew many a Protestant who would hardly compare favourably +with young Berwick.</p> +<p>It was an anxious period that spring of 1688. The order to +read the King’s Declaration of Indulgence from the pulpit had +come as a thunder-clap upon the clergy. The English Church had +only known rest for twenty-eight years, and now, by this unconstitutional +assumption of prerogative, she seemed about to be given up to be the +prey of Romanists on the one hand and Nonconformists on the other; though +for the present the latter were so persuaded that the Indulgence was +merely a disguised advance of Rome that they were not at all grateful, +expecting, as Mr. Horncastle observed, only to be the last devoured, +and he was as much determined as was Dr. Woodford not to announce it +from his pulpit, whatever might be the consequence; the latter thus +resigning all hopes of promotion.</p> +<p>News letters, public and private, were eagerly scanned. Though +the diocesan, Bishop Mew, took no active part in the petition called +a libel, being an extremely aged man, the imprisonment of Ken, so deeply +endeared to Hampshire hearts when Canon of Winchester and Rector of +Brighstone, and with the Bloody Assize and the execution of Alice Lisle +fresh in men’s memories, there could not but be extreme anxiety.</p> +<p>In the midst arrived the tidings that a son had been born to the +king—a son instantly baptized by a Roman Catholic priest, and +no doubt destined by James to rivet the fetters of Rome upon the kingdom, +destroying at once the hope of his elder sister’s accession. +Loyal Churchmen like the Archfields still hoped, recollecting how many +infants had been born in the royal family only to die; but at Oakwood +the Major and his chaplain shook their heads, and spoke of warming pans, +to the vehement displeasure of Peregrine, who was sure to respond that +the Queen was an angel, and that the Whigs credited every one with their +own sly tricks.</p> +<p>The Major groaned, and things seemed to have reached a pass very +like open enmity between father and son, though Peregrine still lived +at home, and reports were rife that the year of mourning for his brother +being expired, he was, as soon as he came of age, to be married to Mistress +Martha Browning, and have an establishment of his own at Emsworth.</p> +<p>Under these circumstances, it was with much satisfaction that Dr. +Woodford said to his niece: “Child, here is an excellent offer +for you. Lady Russell, who you know has returned to live at Stratton, +has heard you mentioned by Lady Mildmay. She has just married +her eldest daughter, and needs a companion to the other, and has been +told of you as able to speak French and Italian, and otherwise well +trained. What! do you not relish the proposal?”</p> +<p>“Why, sir, would not my entering such a house do you harm at +Court, and lessen your chance of preferment?”</p> +<p>“Think not of <i>that</i>, my child.”</p> +<p>“Besides,” added Anne, “since Lady Oglethorpe has +written, it would not be fitting to engage myself elsewhere before hearing +from her again.”</p> +<p>“You think so, Anne. Lady Russell’s would be a +far safer, better home for you than the Court.”</p> +<p>Anne knew it, but the thought of that widowed home depressed her. +It might, she thought, be as dull as Oakwood, and there would be infinite +chances of preferment at Court. What she said, however, was: “It +was by my mother’s wish that I applied to Lady Oglethorpe.”</p> +<p>“That is true, child. Yet I cannot but believe that if +she had known of Lady Russell’s offer, she would gladly and thankfully +have accepted it.”</p> +<p>So said the secret voice within the girl herself, but she did not +yet yield to it. “Perhaps she would, sir,” she answered, +“if the other proposal were not made. ’Tis a Whig +household though.”</p> +<p>“A Whig household is a safer one than a Popish one,” +answered the Doctor. “Lady Russell is, by all they tell +me, a very saint upon earth.”</p> +<p>Shall it be owned? Anne thought of Oakwood, and was not attracted +towards a saint upon earth. “How soon was the answer to +be given?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I believe she would wish you to meet her at Winchester next +week, when, if you pleased her, you might return with her to Stratton.”</p> +<p>The Doctor hoped that Lady Oglethorpe’s application might fail, +but before the week was over she forwarded the definite appointment +of Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford as one of the rockers of his Royal +Highness the Prince of Wales, his Majesty having been graciously pleased +to remember her father’s services and his own sponsorship. +“If your friends consider the office somewhat beneath you,” +wrote Lady Oglethorpe, “it is still open to you to decline it.”</p> +<p>“Oh no; I would certainly not decline it!” cried Anne. +“I could not possibly do so; could I, sir?”</p> +<p>“Lady Oglethorpe says you might,” returned the Doctor; +“and for my part, niece, I should prefer the office of a <i>gouvernante</i> +to that of a rocker.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but it is to a Prince!” said Anne. “It +is the way to something further.”</p> +<p>“And what may that something further be? That is the +question,” said her uncle. “I will not control you, +my child, for the application to this Court lady was by the wish of +your good mother, who knew her well, but I own that I should be far +more at rest on your account if you were in a place of less temptation.”</p> +<p>“The Court is very different from what it was in the last King’s +time,” pleaded Anne.</p> +<p>“In some degree it may be; but on the other hand, the influence +which may have purified it is of the religion that I fear may be a seduction.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, never, uncle; nothing could make me a Papist.”</p> +<p>“Do not be over confident, Anne. Those who run into temptation +are apt to be left to themselves.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, sir, I cannot think that the course my mother shaped +for me can be a running into temptation.”</p> +<p>“Well, Anne, as I say, I cannot withstand you, since it was +your mother who requested Lady Oglethorpe’s patronage for you, +though I tell you sincerely that I believe that had the two courses +been set before her she would have chosen the safer and more private +one.</p> +<p>“Nay but, dear sir,” still pleaded the maiden, “what +would become of your chances of preferment if it were known that you +had placed me with Lord Russell’s widow in preference to the Queen?”</p> +<p>“Let not that weigh with you one moment, child. I believe +that no staunch friend of our Protestant Church will be preferred by +his Majesty; nay, while the Archbishop and my saintly friend of Bath +and Wells are persecuted, I should be ashamed to think of promotion. +Spurn the thought from you, child.”</p> +<p>“Nay, ’twas only love for you, dear uncle.”</p> +<p>“I know it, child. I am not displeased, only think it +over, and pray over it, since the post will not go out until to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Anne did think, but not quite as her uncle intended. The remembrance +of the good-natured young Princesses, the large stately rooms, the brilliant +dresses, the radiance of wax lights, had floated before her eyes ever +since her removal from Chelsea to the quieter regions of Winchester, +and she had longed to get back to them. She really loved her uncle, +and whatever he might say, she longed to push his advancement, and thought +his unselfish abnegation the greater reason for working for him; and +in spite of knowing well that it was only a dull back-stair appointment, +she could look to the notice of Princess Anne, when once within her +reach, and further, with the confidence of youth, believed that she +had that within her which would make her way upwards, and enable her +to confer promotion, honour, and dignity, on all her friends. +Her uncle should be a Bishop, Charles a Peer (fancy his wife being under +obligations to the parson’s niece!), Lucy should have a perfect +husband, and an appointment should be found for poor Peregrine which +his father could not gainsay. It was her bounden duty not to throw +away such advantages; besides loyalty to her Royal godfather could not +permit his offer to be rejected, and her mother, when writing to Lady +Oglethorpe, must surely have had some such expectation. Nor should +she be entirely cut off from her uncle, who was a Royal chaplain; and +this was some consolation to the good Doctor when he found her purpose +fixed, and made arrangements for her to travel up to town in company +with Lady Worsley of Gatcombe, whom she was to meet at Southampton on +the 1st of July.</p> +<p>Meantime the Doctor did his best to arm his niece against the allurements +to Romanism that he feared would be held out. Lady Oglethorpe +and other friends had assured him of the matronly care of Lady Powys +and Lady Strickland to guard their department from all evil; but he +did fear these religious influences and Anne, resolute to resist all, +perhaps not afraid of the conflict, was willing to arm herself for defence, +and listened readily. She was no less anxious to provide for her +uncle’s comfort in his absence, and many small matters of housewifery +that had stood over for some time were now to be purchased, as well +as a few needments for her own outfit, although much was left for the +counsel of her patroness in the matter of garments.</p> +<p>Accordingly her uncle rode in with her to Portsmouth on a shopping +expedition, and as the streets of the seaport were scarcely safe for +a young woman without an escort, he carried a little book in his pocket +wherewith he beguiled the time that she spent in the selection of his +frying-pans, fire-irons, and the like, and her own gloves and kerchiefs. +They dined at the ‘ordinary’ at the inn, and there Dr. Woodford +met his great friends Mr. Stanbury of Botley, and Mr. Worsley of Gatcombe, +in the Isle of Wight, who both, like him, were opposed to the reading +of the Declaration of Indulgence, as unconstitutional, and deeply anxious +as to the fate of the greatly beloved Bishop of Bath and Wells. +It was inevitable that they should fall into deep and earnest council +together, and when dinner was over they agreed to adjourn to the house +of a friend learned in ecclesiastical law to hunt up the rights of the +case, leaving Anne to await them in a private room at the Spotted Dog, +shown to her by the landlady.</p> +<p>Anne well knew what such a meeting betided, and with a certain prevision, +had armed herself with some knotting, wherewith she sat down in a bay +window overlooking the street, whence she could see market-women going +home with empty baskets, pigs being reluctantly driven down to provision +ships in the harbour, barrels of biscuit, salt meat, or beer, being +rolled down for the same purpose, sailors in loose knee-breeches, and +soldiers in tall peaked caps and cross-belts, and officers of each service +moving in different directions. She sat there day-dreaming, feeling +secure in her loneliness, and presently saw a slight figure, daintily +clad in gray and black, who catching her eye made an eager gesture, +doffing his plumed hat and bowing low to her. She returned his +salute, and thought he passed on, but in another minute she was startled +to find him at her side, exclaiming: “This is the occasion I have +longed and sought for, Mistress Anne; I bless and thank the fates.”</p> +<p>“I am glad to see you once more before I depart,” said +Anne, holding out her hand as frankly as she could to the old playfellow +whom she always thought ill-treated, but whom she could never meet without +a certain shudder.</p> +<p>“Then it is true?” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Yes; I am to go up with Lady Worsley from Southampton next +week.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” he cried, “but must that be?” and she +felt his strange power, so that she drew into herself and said haughtily—</p> +<p>“My dear mother wished me to be with her friends, nor can the +King’s appointment be neglected, though of course I am extremely +grieved to go.”</p> +<p>“And you are dazzled with all these gewgaws of Court life, +no doubt?”</p> +<p>“I shall not be much in the way of gewgaws just yet,” +said Anne drily. “It will be dull enough in some back room +of Whitehall or St. James’s.”</p> +<p>“Say you so. You will wish yourself back—you, the +lady of my heart—mine own good angel! Hear me. Say +but the word, and your home will be mine, to say nothing of your own +most devoted servant.”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, sir! I cannot hear this,” said Anne, +anxiously glancing down the street in hopes of seeing her uncle approaching.</p> +<p>“Nay, but listen! This is my only hope—my only +chance—I must speak—you doom me to you know not what if +you will not hear me!”</p> +<p>“Indeed, sir, I neither will nor ought!”</p> +<p>“Ought! Ought! Ought you not to save a fellow-creature +from distraction and destruction? One who has loved and looked +to you ever since you and that saint your mother lifted me out of the +misery of my childhood.”</p> +<p>Then as she looked softened he went on: “You, you are my one +hope. No one else can lift me out of the reach of the demon that +has beset me even since I was born.”</p> +<p>“That is profane,” she said, the more severe for the +growing attraction of repulsion.</p> +<p>“What do I care? It is true! What was I till you +and your mother took pity on the wild imp? My old nurse said a +change would come to me every seven years. That blessed change +came just seven years ago. Give me what will make a more blessed—a +more saving change—or there will be one as much for the worse.”</p> +<p>“But—I could not. No! you must see for yourself +that I could not—even if I would,” she faltered, really +pitying now, and unwilling to give more pain than she could help.</p> +<p>“Could not? It should be possible. I know how to +bring it about. Give me but your promise, and I will make you +mine—ay, and I will make myself as worthy of you as man can be +of saint-like maid.”</p> +<p>“No—no! This is very wrong—you are pledged +already—”</p> +<p>“No such thing—believe no such tale. My promise +has never been given to that grim hag of my father’s choice—no, +nor should be forced from me by the rack. Look you here. +Let me take this hand, call in the woman of the house, give me your +word, and my father will own his power to bind me to Martha is at an +end.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no! It would be a sin—never. Besides—” +said Anne, holding her hands tightly clasped behind her in alarm, lest +against her will she should let them be seized, and trying to find words +to tell him how little she felt disposed to trust her heart and herself +to one whom she might indeed pity, but with a sort of shrinking as from +something not quite human. Perhaps he dreaded her ‘besides’—for +he cut her short.</p> +<p>“It would save ten thousand greater sins. See, here are +two ways before us. Either give me your word, your precious word, +go silent to London, leave me to struggle it out with my father and +your uncle and follow you. Hope and trust will be enough to bear +me through the battle without, and within deafen the demon of my nature, +and render me patient of my intolerable life till I have conquered and +can bring you home.”</p> +<p>Her tongue faltered as she tried to say such a secret unsanctioned +engagement would be treachery, but he cut off the words.</p> +<p>“You have not heard me out. There is another way. +I know those who will aid me. We can meet in early dawn, be wedded +in one of these churches in all secrecy and haste, and I would carry +you at once to my uncle, who, as you well know, would welcome you as +a daughter. Or, better still, we would to those fair lands I have +scarce seen, but where I could make my way with sword or pen with you +to inspire me. I have the means. My uncle left this with +me. Speak! It is death or life to me.”</p> +<p>This last proposal was thoroughly alarming, and Anne retreated, drawing +herself to her full height, and speaking with the dignity that concealed +considerable terror.</p> +<p>“No, indeed, sir. You ought to know better than to utter +such proposals. One who can make such schemes can certainly obtain +no respect nor regard from the lady he addresses. Let me pass”—for +she was penned up in the bay window—“I shall seek the landlady +till my uncle returns.”</p> +<p>“Nay, Mistress Anne, do not fear me. Do not drive me +to utter despair. Oh, pardon me! Nothing but utter desperation +could drive me to have thus spoken; but how can I help using every effort +to win her whose very look and presence is bliss! Nothing else +soothes and calms me; nothing else so silences the demon and wakens +the better part of my nature. Have you no pity upon a miserable +wretch, who will be dragged down to his doom without your helping hand?”</p> +<p>He flung himself on his knee before her, and tried to grasp her hand.</p> +<p>“Indeed, I am sorry for you, Master Oakshott,” said Anne, +compassionate, but still retreating as far as the window would let her; +“but you are mistaken. If this power be in me, which I cannot +quite believe—yes, I see what you want to say, but if I did what +I know to be wrong, I should lose it at once; God’s grace can +save you without me.”</p> +<p>“I will not ask you to do what you call wrong; no, nor to transgress +any of the ties you respect, you, whose home is so unlike mine; only +tell me that I may have hope, that if I deserve you, I may win you; +that you could grant me—wretched me—a share of your affection.”</p> +<p>This was hardest of all; mingled pity and repugnance, truth and compassion +strove within the maiden as well as the strange influence of those extraordinary +eyes. She was almost as much afraid of herself as of her suitor. +At last she managed to say, “I am very sorry for you; I grieve +from my heart for your troubles; I should be very glad to hear of your +welfare and anything good of you, but—”</p> +<p>“But, but—I see—it is mere frenzy in me to think +the blighted elf can aspire to be aught but loathsome to any lady—only, +at least, tell me you love no one else.”</p> +<p>“No, certainly not,” she said, as if his eyes drew it +forcibly from her.</p> +<p>“Then you cannot hinder me from making you my guiding star—hoping +that if yet I can—”</p> +<p>“There’s my uncle!” exclaimed Anne, in a tone of +infinite relief. “Stand up, Mr. Oakshott, compose yourself. +Of course I cannot hinder your thinking about me, if it will do you +any good, but there are better things to think about which would conquer +evil and make you happy more effectually.”</p> +<p>He snatched her hand and kissed it, nor did she withhold it, since +she really pitied him, and knew that her uncle was near, and all would +soon be over.</p> +<p>Peregrine dashed away by another door as Dr. Woodford’s foot +was on the stairs. “I have ordered the horses,” he +began. “They told me young Oakshott was here.”</p> +<p>“He was, but he is gone;” and she could not quite conceal +her agitation.</p> +<p>“Crimson cheeks, my young mistress? Ah, the foolish fellow! +You do not care for him, I trust?”</p> +<p>“No, indeed, poor fellow. What, did you know, sir?”</p> +<p>“Know. Yes, truly—and your mother likewise, Anne. +It was one cause of her wishing to send you to safer keeping than mine +seems to be. My young spark made his proposals to us both, though +we would not disturb your mind therewith, not knowing how he would have +dealt with his father, nor viewing him, for all he is heir to Oakwood, +as a desirable match in himself. I am glad to see you have sense +and discretion to be of the same mind, my maid.”</p> +<p>“I cannot but grieve for his sad condition, sir,” replied +Anne, “but as for anything more—it would make me shudder +to think of it—he is still too like Robin Goodfellow.”</p> +<p>“That’s my good girl,” said her uncle. “And +do you know, child, there are the best hopes for the Bishops. +There’s a gentleman come down but now from London, who says ’twas +like a triumph as the Bishops sat in their barge on the way to the Tower; +crowds swarming along the banks, begging for their blessing, and they +waving it with tears in their eyes. The King will be a mere madman +if he dares to touch a hair of their heads. Well, when I was a +lad, Bishops were sent to the Tower by the people; I little thought +to live to see them sent thither by the King.”</p> +<p>All the way home Dr. Woodford talked of the trial, beginning perhaps +to regret that his niece must go to the very focus of Roman influence +in England, where there seemed to be little scruple as to the mode of +conversion. Would it be possible to alter her destination? was +his thought, when he rose the next day, but loyalty stood in the way, +and that very afternoon another event happened which made it evident +that the poor girl must leave Portchester as soon as possible.</p> +<p>She had gone out with him to take leave of some old cottagers in +the village, and he finding himself detained to minister to a case of +unexpected illness, allowed her to go home alone for about a quarter +of a mile along the white sunny road at the foot of Portsdown, with +the castle full in view at one end, and the cottage where he was at +the other. Many a time previously had she trodden it alone, but +she had not reckoned on two officers coming swaggering from a cross +road down the hill, one of them Sedley Archfield, who immediately called +out, “Ha, ha! my pretty maid, no wench goes by without paying +toll;” and they spread their arms across the road so as to arrest +her.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Anne, drawing herself up with dignity, “you +mistake—”</p> +<p>“Not a whit, my dear; no exemption here;” and there was +a horse laugh, and an endeavour to seize her, as she stepped back, feeling +that in quietness lay her best chance of repelling them, adding—</p> +<p>“My uncle is close by.”</p> +<p>“The more cause for haste;” and they began to close upon +her. But at that moment Peregrine Oakshott, leaping from his horse, +was among them, with the cry—</p> +<p>“Dastards! insulting a lady.”</p> +<p>“Lady, forsooth! the parson’s niece.”</p> +<p>In a few seconds—very long seconds to her—her flying +feet had brought her back to the cottage, where she burst in with—“Pardon, +pardon, sir; come quick; there are swords drawn; there will be bloodshed +if you do not come.”</p> +<p>He obeyed the summons without further query, for when all men wore +swords the neighbourhood of a garrison were only too liable to such +encounters outside. There was no need for her to gasp out more; +from the very cottage door he could see the need of haste, for the swords +were actually flashing, and the two young men in position to fight. +Anne shook her head, unable to do more than sign her thanks to the good +woman of the cottage, who offered her a seat. She leant against +the door, and watched as her uncle, sending his voice before him, called +on them to desist.</p> +<p>There was a start, then each drew back and held down his weapon, +but with a menacing gesture on one side, a shrug of the shoulders on +the other, which impelled the Doctor to use double speed in the fear +that the parting might be with a challenge reserved.</p> +<p>He was in time to stand warning, and arguing that if he pardoned +the slighting words and condoned the insult to his niece, no one had +a right to exact vengeance; and in truth, whatever were his arguments, +he so dealt with the two young men as to force them into shaking hands +before they separated, though with a contemptuous look on either side—a +scowl from Sedley, a sneer from Peregrine, boding ill for the future, +and making him sigh.</p> +<p>“Ah! sister, sister, you judged aright. Would that I +could have sent the maid sooner away rather than that all this ill blood +should have been bred. Yet I may only be sending her to greater +temptation and danger. But she is a good maiden; God bless her +and keep her here and there, now and for evermore, as I trust He keepeth +our good Dr. Ken in this sore strait. The trial may even now be +over. Ah, my child, here you are! Frightened were you by +that rude fellow? Nay, I believe you were almost equally terrified +by him who came to the rescue. You will soon be out of their reach, +my dear.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that is one great comfort in going,” sighed Anne. +One comfort—yes—though she would not have stayed had the +choice been given her now. And shall the thought be told that +flashed over her and coloured her cheeks with a sort of shame yet of +pleasure, “I surely must have power over men! I know mother +would say it is a terrible danger one way, and a great gift another. +I will not misuse it; but what will it bring me? Or am I only +a rustic beauty after all, who will be nobody elsewhere?”</p> +<p>Still heartily she wished that her rescuer had been any one else +in the wide world. It was almost uncanny that he should have sprung +out of the earth at such a moment.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +The Bonfire</h2> +<blockquote><p>“From Eddystone to Berwick bounds,<br /> + From Lynn to Milford Bay,<br /> +That time of slumber was as<br /> + Bright and busy as the day;<br /> +For swift to east and swift to west<br /> + The fiery herald sped,<br /> +High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone:<br /> + It shone on Beachy Head.”</p> +<p>MACAULAY.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Doctor Woodford and his niece had not long reached their own door +when the clatter of a horse’s hoofs was heard, and Charles Archfield +was seen, waving his hat and shouting ‘Hurrah!’ before he +came near enough to speak,</p> +<p>“Good news, I see!” said the Doctor.</p> +<p>“Good news indeed! Not guilty! Express rode from +Westminster Hall with the news at ten o’clock this morning. +All acquitted. Expresses could hardly get away for the hurrahing +of the people. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” cried the young +man, throwing up his hat, while Doctor Woodford, taking off his own, +gave graver, deeper thanks that justice was yet in England, that these +noble and honoured confessors were safe, and that the King had been +saved from further injustice and violence to the Church.</p> +<p>“We are to have a bonfire on Portsdown hill,” added Charles. +“They will be all round the country, in the Island, and everywhere. +My father is rid one way to spread the tidings, and give orders. +I’m going on into Portsmouth, to see after tar barrels. +You’ll be there, sir, and you, Anne?” There was a +moment’s hesitation after the day’s encounters, but he added, +“My mother is going, and my little Madam, and Lucy. They +will call for you in the coach if you will be at Ryder’s cottage +at nine o’clock. It will not be dark enough to light up +till ten, so there will be time to get a noble pile ready. Come, +Anne, ’tis Lucy’s last chance of seeing you—so strange +as you have made yourself of late.”</p> +<p>This plea decided Anne, who had been on the point of declaring that +she should have an excellent view from the top of the keep. However, +not only did she long to see Lucy again, but the enthusiasm was contagious, +and there was an attraction in the centre of popular rejoicing that +drew both her and her uncle, nor could there be a doubt of her being +sufficiently protected when among the Archfield ladies. So the +arrangement was accepted, and then there was the cry—</p> +<p>“Hark! the Havant bells! Ay! and the Cosham! Portsmouth +is pealing out. That’s Alverstoke. They know it there. +A salute! Another.”</p> +<p>“Scarce loyal from the King’s ships,” said the +Doctor, smiling.</p> +<p>“Nay, ’tis only loyalty to rejoice that the King can’t +make a fool of himself. So my father says,” rejoined Charles.</p> +<p>And that seemed to be the mood of all England. When Anne and +her uncle set forth in the summer sunset light the great hill above +them was dark with the multitudes thronging around the huge pyre rising +in the midst. They rested for some minutes at the cottage indicated +before the arrival of Sir Philip, who rode up accompanying the coach +in which his three ladies were seated, and which was quite large enough +to receive Dr. Woodford and Mistress Anne. Charles was in the +throng, in the midst of most of the younger gentlemen of the neighbourhood, +and a good many of the naval and military officers, directing the arrangement +of the pile.</p> +<p>What a scene it was, as seen even from the windows of the coach where +the ladies remained, for the multitude of sailors, soldiers, town and +village people, though all unanimous, were far too tumultuous for them +to venture beyond their open door, especially as little Mrs. Archfield +was very far from well, and nothing but her eagerness for amusement +could have brought her hither, and of course she could not be left. +Probably she knew as little of the real bearings of the case or the +cause of rejoicing as did the boys who pervaded everything with their +squibs, and were only restrained from firing them in the faces of the +horses by wholesome fear of the big whips of the coachman and outriders +who stood at the horses’ heads.</p> +<p>It was hardly yet dark when the match was put to the shavings, and +to the sound of the loud ‘Hurrahs!’ and cries of ‘Long +live the Bishops!’ ‘Down with the Pope!’ the +flame kindled, crackled, and leapt up, while a responsive fire was seen +on St. Catherine’s Down in the Isle of Wight, and northward, eastward, +westward, on every available point, each new light greeted by fresh +acclamations, as it shone out against the summer night sky, while the +ships in the harbour showed their lights, reflected in the sea, as the +sky grew darker. Then came a procession of sailors and other rough +folk, bearing between poles a chair with a stuffed figure with a kind +of tiara, followed by others with scarlet hats and capes, and with reiterated +shouts of ‘Down with the Pope!’ these were hurled into the +fire with deafening hurrahs, their more gorgeous trappings being cleverly +twitched off at the last moment, as part of the properties for the 5th +of November.</p> +<p>Little Mrs. Archfield clapped her hands and screamed with delight +as each fresh blaze shot up, and chattered with all her might, sometimes +about some lace and perfumes which she wanted Anne to procure for her +in London at the sign of the Flower Pot, sometimes grumbling at her +husband having gone off to the midst of the party closest to the fire, +“Just like Mr. Archfield, always leaving her to herself,” +but generally very well amused, especially when a group of gentlemen, +officers, and county neighbours gathered round the open door talking +to the ladies within.</p> +<p>Peregrine was there with his hands in his pockets, and a queer ironical +smile writhing his features. He was asked if his father and brother +were present.</p> +<p>“Not my father,” he replied. “He has a logical +mind. Martha is up here with her guardian, and I am keeping out +of her way, and my brother is full in the thick of the fray. A +bonfire is a bonfire to most folks, were it to roast their grandsire!”</p> +<p>“Oh, fie, Mr. Oakshott, how you do talk!” laughed Mrs. +Archfield.</p> +<p>“Nay, but you rejoice in the escape of the good Bishops,” +put in Lucy.</p> +<p>“For what?” asked Peregrine. “For refusing +to say live and let live?”</p> +<p>“Not against letting <i>live</i>, but against saying so unconstitutionally, +my young friend,” said Dr. Woodford, “or tyrannising over +our consciences.”</p> +<p>Generally Peregrine was more respectful to Dr. Woodford than to any +one else; but there seemed to be a reckless bitterness about him on +that night, and he said, “I marvel with what face those same Eight +Reverend Seigniors will preach against the French King.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” thrust in Sedley Archfield, “I am not to +hear opprobrious epithets applied to the Bishops.”</p> +<p>“What was the opprobrium?” lazily demanded Peregrine, +and in spite of his unpopularity, the laugh was with him. Sedley +grew more angry.</p> +<p>“You likened them to the French King—”</p> +<p>“The most splendid monarch in Europe,” said Peregrine +coolly.</p> +<p>“A Frenchman!” quoth one of the young squires with withering +contempt.</p> +<p>“He has that ill fortune, sir,” said Peregrine. +“Mayhap he would be sensible of the disadvantage, if he evened +himself with some of my reasonable countrymen.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean that for an insult, sir?” exclaimed Sedley +Archfield, striding forward.</p> +<p>“As you please,” said Peregrine. “To me it +had the sound of compliment.”</p> +<p>“Oh la! they’ll fight,” cried Mrs. Archfield. +“Don’t let them! Where’s the Doctor? Where’s +Sir Philip?”</p> +<p>“Hush, my dear,” said Lady Archfield; “these gentlemen +would not fall out close to us.”</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford was out of sight, having been drawn into controversy +with a fellow-clergyman on the limits of toleration. Anne looked +anxiously for him, but with provoking coolness Peregrine presently said, +“There’s no crowd near, and if you will step out, the fires +on the farther hills are to be seen well from the knoll hard by.”</p> +<p>He spoke chiefly to Anne, but even if she had not a kind of shrinking +from trusting herself with him in this strange wild scene, she would +have been prevented by Mrs. Archfield’s eager cry—</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ll come, let me come! I’m so weary +of sitting here. Thank you, Master Oakshott.”</p> +<p>Lady Archfield’s remonstrance was lost as Peregrine helped +the little lady out, and there was nothing for it but to follow her, +as close as might be, as she hung on her cavalier’s arm chattering, +and now and then giving little screams of delight or alarm. Lady +Archfield and her daughter each was instantly squired, but Mistress +Woodford, a nobody, was left to keep as near them as she could, and +gaze at the sparks of light of the beacons in the distance, thinking +how changed the morrow would be to her.</p> +<p>Presently a figure approached, and Charles Archfield’s voice +said, “Is that you, Anne? Did I hear my wife’s voice?”</p> +<p>“Yes, she is there.”</p> +<p>“And with that imp of evil! I would his own folk had +him!” muttered Charles, dashing forward with “How now, madam? +you were not to leave the coach!”</p> +<p>She laughed exultingly. “Ha, sir! see what comes of leaving +me to better cavaliers, while you run after your fire! I should +have seen nothing but for Master Oakshott.”</p> +<p>“Come with me now,” said Charles; “you ought not +to be standing here in the dew.”</p> +<p>“Ha, ha! what a jealous master,” she said; but she put +her arm into his, saying with a courtesy, “Thank you, Master Oakshott, +lords must be obeyed. I should have been still buried in the old +coach but for you.”</p> +<p>Peregrine fell back to Anne. “That blaze is at St. Helen’s,” +he began. “That—what! will you not wait a moment?”</p> +<p>“No, no! They will want to be going home.”</p> +<p>“And have you forgotten that it is only just over Midsummer? +This is the week of my third seventh—the moment for change. +O Anne! make it a change for the better. Say the word, and the +die will be cast. All is ready! Come!”</p> +<p>He tried to take her hand, but the vehemence of his words, spoken +under his breath, terrified her, and with a hasty “No, no! you +know not what you talk of,” she hastened after her friends, and +was glad to find herself in the safe haven of the interior of the coach.</p> +<p>Ere long they drove down the hill, and at the place of parting were +set down, the last words in Anne’s ears being Mrs. Archfield’s +injunctions not to forget the orange flower-water at the sign of the +Flower Pot, drowning Lucy’s tearful farewells.</p> +<p>As they walked away in the moonlight a figure was seen in the distance.</p> +<p>“Is that Peregrine Oakshott?” asked the Doctor. +“That young man is in a desperate mood, ready to put a quarrel +on any one. I hope no harm will come of it.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +Gathering Mouse-Ear</h2> +<blockquote><p>“I heard the groans, I marked the tears,<br /> + I saw the wound his bosom bore.”</p> +<p>SCOTT.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>After such an evening it was not easy to fall asleep, and Anne tossed +about, heated, restless, and uneasy, feeling that to remain at home +was impossible, yet less satisfied about her future prospects, and doubtful +whether she had not done herself harm by attending last night’s +rejoicings, and hoping that nothing would happen to reveal her presence +there.</p> +<p>She was glad that the night was not longer, and resolved to take +advantage of the early morning to fulfil a commission of Lady Oglethorpe, +whose elder children, Lewis and Theophilus, had the whooping-cough. +Mouse-ear, namely, the little sulphur-coloured hawk-weed, was, and still +is, accounted a specific, and Anne had been requested to bring a supply—a +thing easily done, since it grew plentifully in the court of the castle.</p> +<p>She dressed herself in haste, made some of her preparations for the +journey, and let herself out of the house, going first for one last +look at her mother’s green grave in the dewy churchyard, and gathering +from it a daisy, which she put into her bosom, then in the fair morning +freshness, and exhilaration of the rising sun, crossing the wide tilt-yard, +among haycocks waiting to be tossed, and arriving at the court within, +filling her basket between the churchyard and the gateway tower and +keep, when standing up for a moment she was extremely startled to see +Peregrine Oakshott’s unmistakable figure entering at the postern +of the court.</p> +<p>With vague fears of his intentions, and instinctive terror of meeting +him alone, heightened by that dread of his power, she flew in at the +great bailey tower door, hoping that he had not seen her, but tolerably +secure that even if he had, and should pursue her, she was sufficiently +superior in knowledge of the stairs and passages to baffle him, and +make her way along the battlements to the tower at the corner of the +court nearest the parsonage, where there was a turret stair by which +she could escape.</p> +<p>Up the broken stairs she went, shutting behind her every available +door in the chambers and passages, but not as quickly as she wished, +since attention to her feet was needful in the ruinous state of steps +and walls. Through those massive walls she could hear nothing +distinctly, but she fancied voices and a cry, making her seek more intricate +windings, nor did she dare to look out till she had gained a thick screen +of bushy ivy at the corner of the turret, where a little door opened +on the broad summit of the battlemented wall.</p> +<p>Then, what horror was it that she beheld? Or was it a dream? +She even passed her hands over her face and looked again. Peregrine +and Charles, yes, it was Charles Archfield, were fighting with swords +in the court beneath. She gave a shriek, in a wild hope of parting +them, but at that instant she saw Peregrine fall, and with the impulse +of rushing to aid she hurried down, impeded however by stumbles, and +by the doors, she herself had shut, and when she emerged, she saw only +Charles, standing like one dazed and white as death.</p> +<p>“O Mr Archfield! where is he? What have you done?” +The young man pointed to the opening of the vault. Then, speaking +with an effort, “He was quite dead; my sword went through him. +He forced it on me—he was pursuing you. I withstood him—and—”</p> +<p>He gasped heavily as the words came one by one. She trembled +exceedingly, and would have looked into the vault, with, “Are +you quite sure?” but he grasped her hand and withheld her.</p> +<p>“Only too sure! Yes, I have done it! It could not +be helped. I would give myself up at once, but, Anne, there is +my wife. They tell me any shock would kill her as she is now. +I should be double murderer. Will you keep the secret, Anne, always +my friend? And ’twas for you.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, indeed, I will not betray you. I go away in +two hours,” said Anne; and he caught her hand. “But +oh!” and she pointed to the blood on the grass, then with sudden +thought, “Heap the hay over it,” running to fill her arms +with the lately-cut grass.</p> +<p>He mechanically did the same, and then they stood for a moment, awe-stricken.</p> +<p>“God forgive me!” said the poor young man. “How +to hide it I hardly know, but for <i>her</i> sake, ah—’twas +that brought me here. She could not rest last night till I had +promised to be here early enough in the morning to give you a piece +of sarcenet to be matched in London. Where is it? Ah! +I forget. It seems to be ages ago that she was insisting that +I should ride over so as to be in time.”</p> +<p>“Lucy must write,” said Anne, “O Charley! wipe +that dreadful sword, look like yourself. I am going in a couple +of hours. There is no fear of me! but oh! that you should have +done such a thing! and through me!”</p> +<p>“Hush! hush! don’t talk. I must be gone ere folks +are about. My horse is outside.” He wrung her hand +and kissed it, forgetting to give her the pattern, and Anne, still stunned, +walked back to the parsonage, her one thought how to control herself +so as to guard Charles’s secret.</p> +<p>It must be remembered that in the generation succeeding that which +had fought a long civil war, and when duels were common assertions of +honour and self-respect among young gentlemen, homicide was not so exceptional +and heinous an offence in ordinary eyes as when a higher value has come +to be set on life, and acts of violence are far less frequent.</p> +<p>Charles had drawn his sword in fair fight, and in her own defence, +and thus it was natural that Anne Woodford should think of his deed, +certainly with a shudder, but with more of pity than of horror, and +with gratitude that made her feel bound to do her utmost to guard him +from the consequences; also there was a sense of relief, and perhaps +a feeling as if the victim were scarcely a human creature like others. +It never occurred to her till some time after to recollect it would +have had an unpleasant sound that she had been the occasion of such +an ‘unseemly brawl’ between two young men, one of them a +married man. When the thought occurred to her it made the blood +rash hotly to her cheeks.</p> +<p>It was well for her that the pain of leaving home and the bustle +of preparation concealed that she had suffered a great shock, and accounted +for her not being able to taste any breakfast beyond a draught of milk. +Her ears were intent all the time to perceive any token whether the +haymakers had come into the court and had discovered any trace of the +ghastly thing in the vault, and she hardly heard the kind words of her +uncle or the coaxings of his old housekeeper. She dreaded especially +the sight of Hans, so fondly attached to his master’s nephew, +and it was with a sense of infinite relief—instead of the tender +grief otherwise natural—that she was seated in the boat for Portsmouth, +and her uncle believing her to be crying, left her undisturbed till +she had composed herself to wear the front that she knew was needful, +however her heart might throb beneath it, and as their boat threaded +its way through the ships, even then numerous, she looked wistfully +up at the tall tower of the castle, with earnest prayers for the living, +and a longing she durst not utter, to ask her uncle whether it were +right to pray for the poor strange, struggling soul, always so cruelly +misunderstood, and now so summarily dismissed from the world of trial.</p> +<p>Yet presently there was a revulsion of feeling as she was roused +from her meditations by the coxswain’s answer to her uncle, who +had asked what was a smart, swift little smack, which after receiving +something from a boat, began stretching her wings and making all sail +for the Isle of Wight.</p> +<p>The men looked significant and hesitated.</p> +<p>“Smugglers, eh? Traders in French brandy?” asked +the Doctor.</p> +<p>“Well, your reverence, so they says. They be a rough +lot out there by at the back of the Island.”</p> +<p>“There would be small harm in letting a poor man get a drink +of spirits cheap to warm his heart,” said one of the other men; +“but they say as how ’tis a very nest of ’em out there, +and that’s how no one can ever pitch on the highwaymen, such as +robbed Farmer Vine t’other day a coming home from market.”</p> +<p>“They do say,” added the other, “that there’s +them as ought to know better that is thick with them. There’s +that young master up at Oakwood—that crooked slip as they used +to say was a changeling—gets out o’ window o’ nights +and sails with them.”</p> +<p>“He has nought to do with the robberies, they say,” added +the coxswain; “but I could tell of many a young spark who has +gone out with the fair traders for the sport’s sake, and because +gentle folk don’t know what to do with their time.”</p> +<p>“And they do say the young chap is kept uncommon tight at home.”</p> +<p>Here the sight of a vessel of war coming in changed the topic, but +it had given Anne something more to think of. Peregrine had spoken +of means arranged for making her his own. Could that smuggling +yacht have anything to do with them? He could hardly have reckoned +on meeting her alone in the morning, but he might have attempted to +find her thus—or failing that, he might have run down the boat. +If so, she had a great deliverance to be thankful for, and Charles’s +timely appearance had been a great blessing. But Peregrine! poor +Peregrine! it became doubly terrible that he should have perished on +the eve of such a deed. It was cruel to entertain such thoughts +of the dead, yet it was equally impossible not to feel comfort in being +rid for ever of one who had certainly justified the vague alarm which +he had always excited in her. She could not grieve for him now +that the first shock was over, but she must suppress all tokens of her +extreme anxiety on account of Charles Archfield.</p> +<p>Thus she was landed at Portsmouth, and walked up the street to the +Spotted Dog, where Lady Worsley was taking an early noonchine before +starting for London, having crossed from the little fishing village +of Ryde. Here Anne parted with her uncle, who promised an early +letter, though she could hardly restrain a shudder at the thought of +the tidings that it might contain.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV<br /> +News From Fareham</h2> +<blockquote><p>“My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its +mystery.<br /> +Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history.”</p> +<p>JEAN INGELOW.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Lady Worsley was a handsome, commanding old dame, who soon made her +charge feel the social gulf between a county magnate and a clergyman’s +niece. She decidedly thought that Mistress Anne Jacobina held +her head too high for her position, and was, moreover, conceited of +an unfortunate amount of good looks.</p> +<p>Therefore the good lady did her best to repress these dangerous tendencies +by making the girl sit on the back seat with two maids, and uttering +long lectures on humility, modesty, and discretion which made the blood +of the sea-captain’s daughter boil with indignation.</p> +<p>Yet she always carried with her the dread of being pursued and called +upon to accuse Charles Archfield of Peregrine’s death. It +was a perpetual cloud, dispersed, indeed, for a time by the events of +the day, but returning at night, when not only was the combat acted +over again, but when she fell asleep it was only to be pursued by Peregrine +through endless vaulted dens of darkness, or, what was far worse, to +be trying to hide a stream of blood that could never be stanched.</p> +<p>It was no wonder that she looked pale in the morning, and felt so +tired and dejected as to make her sensible that she was cast loose from +home and friends when no one troubled her with remarks or inquiries +such as she could hardly have answered. However, when, on the +evening of the second day’s journey, Anne was set down at Sir +Theophilus Oglethorpe’s house at Westminster, she met with a very +different reception.</p> +<p>Lady Oglethorpe, a handsome, warm-hearted Irish woman, met her at +once in the hall with outstretched hands, and a kiss on each cheek.</p> +<p>“Come in, my dear, my poor orphan, the daughter of one who +was very dear to me! Ah, how you have grown! I could never +have thought this was the little Anne I recollect. You shall come +up to your chamber at once, and rest you, and make ready for supper, +by the time Sir Theophilus comes in from attending the King.”</p> +<p>Anne found herself installed in a fresh-smelling wainscotted room, +where a glass of wine and some cake was ready for her, and where she +made herself ready, feeling exhilarated in spirits as she performed +her toilette, putting on her black evening dress, and refreshing the +curls of her brown hair. It was a simple dress of deep mourning, +but it became her well, and the two or three gentlemen who had come +in to supper with Sir Theophilus evidently admired her greatly, and +complimented her on having a situation at Court, which was all that +Lady Oglethorpe mentioned.</p> +<p>“Child,” she said afterwards, when they were in private, +“if I had known what you looked like I would have sought a different +position for you. But, there, to get one’s foot—were +it but the toe of one’s shoe—in at Court is the great point +after all, the rest must come after. I warrant me you are well +educated too. Can you speak French?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, madam, and Italian, and dance and play on the spinnet. +I was with two French ladies at Winchester every winter who taught such +things.”</p> +<p>“Well, well, mayhap we may get you promoted to a sub-governess’s +place—though your religion is against you. You are not a +Catholic—eh?”</p> +<p>“No, your ladyship.”</p> +<p>“That’s the only road to favour nowadays, though for +the name of the thing they may have a Protestant or two. You are +the King’s godchild too, so he will expect it the more from you. +However, we may find a better path. You have not left your heart +in the country, eh?”</p> +<p>Anne blushed and denied it.</p> +<p>“You will be mewed up close enough in the nursery,” ran +on Lady Oglethorpe. “Lady Powys keeps close discipline there, +and I expect she will be disconcerted to see how fine a fish I have +brought to her net; but we will see—we will see how matters go. +But, my dear, have you no coloured clothes? There is no appearing +in the Royal household in private mourning. It might daunt the +Prince’s spirits in his cradle!” and she laughed, though +Anne felt much annoyed at thus disregarding her mother, as well as at +the heavy expense. However, there was no help for it; the gowns +and laces hidden in the bottom of her mails were disinterred, and the +former were for the most part condemned, so that she had to submit to +a fresh outfit, in which Lady Oglethorpe heartily interested herself, +but which drained the purse that the Canon had amply supplied.</p> +<p>These arrangements were not complete when the first letter from home +arrived, and was opened with a beating heart, and furtive glances as +of one who feared to see the contents, but they were by no means what +she expected.</p> +<blockquote><p>I hope you have arrived safely in London, and that you +are not displeased with your first taste of life in a Court. Neither +town nor country is exempt from sorrow and death. I was summoned +only on the second day after your departure to share in the sorrows +at Archfield, where the poor young wife died early on Friday morning, +leaving a living infant, a son, who, I hope, may prove a blessing to +them, if he is spared, which can scarcely be expected. The poor +young man, and indeed all the family, are in the utmost distress, and +truly there were circumstances that render the event more than usually +deplorable, and for which he blames himself exceedingly, even to despair. +It appears that the poor young gentlewoman wished to add some trifle +to the numerous commissions with which she was entrusting you on the +night of the bonfire, and that she could not be pacified except by her +husband undertaking to ride over to give the patterns and the orders +to you before your setting forth. You said nothing of having seen +him—nor do I see how it was possible that you could have done +so, seeing that you only left your chamber just before the breakfast +that you never tasted, my poor child. He never returned till long +after noon, and what with fretting after him, and disappointment, that +happened which Lady Archfield had always apprehended, and the poor fragile +young creature worked herself into a state which ended before midnight +in the birth of a puny babe, and her own death shortly after. +She wanted two months of completing her sixteenth year, and was of so +frail a constitution that Dr. Brown had never much hope of her surviving +the birth of her child. It was a cruel thing to marry her thus +early, ungrown in body or mind, but she had no one to care for her before +she was brought hither. The blame, as I tell Sir Philip, and would +fain persuade poor Charles, is really with those who bred her up so +uncontrolled as to be the victim of her humours; but the unhappy youth +will listen to no consolation. He calls himself a murderer, shuts +himself up, and for the most part will see and speak to no one, but +if forced by his father’s command to unlock his chamber door, +returns at once to sit with his head hidden in his arms crossed upon +the table, and if father, mother, or sister strive to rouse him and +obtain answer from him, he will only murmur forth, “I should only +make it worse if I did.” It is piteous to see a youth so +utterly overcome, and truly I think his condition is a greater distress +to our good friends than the loss of the poor young wife. They +asked him what name he would have given to his child, but all the answer +they could get was, “As you will, only not mine;” and in +the enforced absence of my brother of Fareham I baptized him Philip. +The funeral will take place to-morrow, and Sir Philip proposes immediately +after to take his son to Oxford, and there endeavour to find a tutor +of mature age and of prudence, with whom he may either study at New +College or be sent on the grand tour. It is the only notion that +the poor lad has seemed willing to entertain, as if to get away from +his misery, and I cannot but think it well for him. He is not +yet twenty, and may, as it were, begin life again the wiser and the +better man for his present extreme sorrow. Lady Archfield is greatly +wrapped up in the care of the babe, who, I fear, is in danger of being +killed by overcare, if by nothing else, though truly all is in the hands +of God. I have scarce quitted the afflicted family since I was +summoned to them on Friday, since Sir Philip has no one else on whom +to depend for comfort or counsel; and if I can obtain the services of +Mr. Ellis from Portsmouth for a few Sundays, I shall ride with him to +Oxford to assist in the choice of a tutor to go abroad with Mr. Archfield.</p> +<p>One interruption however I had, namely, from Major Oakshott, who +came in great perturbation to ask what was the last I had seen of his +son Peregrine. It appears that the unfortunate young man never +returned home after the bonfire on Portsdown Hill, where his brother +Robert lost sight of him, and after waiting as long as he durst, returned +home alone. It has become known that after parting with us high +words passed between him and Lieutenant Sedley Archfield, insomuch that +after the unhappy fashion of these times, blood was demanded, and early +in the morning Sedley sent the friend who was to act as second to bear +the challenge to young Oakshott. You can conceive the reception +that he was likely to receive at Oakwood; but it was then discovered +that Peregrine had not been in his bed all night, nor had any one seen +or heard of him. Sedley boasts loudly that the youngster has fled +the country for fear of him, and truly things have that appearance, +although to my mind Peregrine was far from wanting in spirit or courage. +But, as he had not received the cartel, he might not have deemed his +honour engaged to await it, and I incline to the belief that he is on +his way to his uncle in Muscovy, driven thereto by his dread of the +marriage with the gentlewoman whom he holds in so much aversion. +I have striven to console his father by the assurance that such tidings +of him will surely arrive in due time, but the Major is bitterly grieved, +and is galled by the accusation of cowardice. “He could +not even be true to his own maxims of worldly honour,” says the +poor gentleman. “So true it is that only by grace we stand +fast.” The which is true enough, but the poor gentleman +unwittingly did his best to make grace unacceptable in his son’s +eyes. I trust soon to hear again of you, my dear child. +I rejoice that Lady Oglethorpe is so good to you, and I hope that in +the palace you will guard first your faith and then your discretion. +And so praying always for your welfare, alike spiritual and temporal.—Your +loving uncle, JNO. WOODFORD.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Truly it was well that Anne had secluded herself to read this letter.</p> +<p>So the actual cause for which poor Charles Archfield had entreated +silence was at an end. The very evil he had apprehended had come +to pass, and she could well understand how, on his return in a horror-stricken, +distracted state of mind, the childish petulance of his wife had worried +him into loss of temper, so that he hardly knew what he said. +And what must not his agony of remorse be? She could scarcely +imagine how he had avoided confessing all as a mere relief to his mind, +but then she reflected that when he called himself a murderer the words +were taken in another sense, and no questions asked, nor would he be +willing to add such grief and shame to his parents’ present burthen, +especially as no suspicion existed.</p> +<p>That Peregrine’s fate had not been discovered greatly relieved +her. She believed the vault to go down to a considerable depth +after a first platform of stone near the opening, and it was generally +avoided as the haunt of hobgoblins, fairies, or evil beings, so that +no one was likely to be in its immediate neighbourhood after the hay +was carried, so that there might have been nothing to attract any one +to the near neighbourhood and thus lead to the discovery. If not +made by this time, Charles would be far away, and there was nothing +to connect him with the deed. No one save herself had even known +of his having been near the castle that morning. How strange that +the only persons aware of that terrible secret should be so far separated +from one another that they could exchange no confidences; and each was +compelled to absolute silence. For as long as no one else was +suspected, Anne felt her part must be not to betray Charles, though +the bare possibility of the accusation of another was agony to her.</p> +<p>She wrote her condolences in due form to Fareham, and in due time +was answered by Lucy Archfield. The letter was full of details +about the infant, who seemed to absorb her and her mother, and to be +as likely to live as any child of those days ever was—and it was +in his favour that his grandmother and her old nurse had better notions +of management than most of her contemporaries. In spite of all +that Lucy said of her brother’s overwhelming grief, and the melancholy +of thus parting with him, there was a strain of cheerfulness throughout +the letter, betraying that the poor young wife of less than a year was +no very great loss to the peace and comfort of the family. The +letter ended with—</p> +<blockquote><p>There is a report that Sir Peregrine Oakshott is dead +in Muscovy. Nothing has been heard of that unfortunate young man +at Oakwood. If he be gone in quest of his uncle, I wonder what +will become of him? However, nurse will have it that this being +the third seventh year of his life, the fairies have carried off their +changeling—you remember how she told us the story of his being +changed as an infant, when we were children at Winchester; she believes +it as much as ever, and never let little Philip out of her sight before +he was baptized. I ask her, if the changeling be gone, where is +the true Peregrine? but she only wags her head in answer.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A day or two later Anne heard from her uncle from Oxford. He +was extremely grieved at the condition of his beloved <i>alma mater</i>, +with a Roman Catholic Master reigning at University College, a doctor +from the Sorbonne and Fellows to match, inflicted by military force +on Magdalen, whose lawful children had been ejected with a violence +beyond anything that the colleges had suffered even in the time of the +Rebellion. If things went on as they were, he pronounced Oxford +would be no better than a Popish seminary: and he had the more readily +induced his old friend to consent to Charles’s desire not to remain +there as a student, but to go abroad with Mr. Fellowes, one of the expelled +fellows of Magdalen, a clergyman of mature age, but a man of the world, +who had already acted as a travelling tutor. Considering that +the young widower was not yet twenty, and that all his wife’s +wealth would be in his hands, also that his cousin Sedley formed a dangerous +link with the questionable diversions of the garrison at Portsmouth, +both father and friend felt that it was well that he should be out of +reach, and have other occupations for the present.</p> +<p>Change of scene had, Dr. Woodford said, brightened the poor youth, +and he was showing more interest in passing events, but probably he +would never again be the light-hearted boy they used to know.</p> +<p>Anne could well believe it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +A Royal Nursery</h2> +<blockquote><p>“The duty that I owe unto your Majesty<br /> +I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.”</p> +<p>King Richard III.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was not till the Queen had moved from St. James’s, where +her son had been born, to take up her abode at Whitehall, that Lady +Oglethorpe was considered to be disinfected from her children’s +whooping-cough, and could conduct Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford to +her new situation.</p> +<p>Anne remembered the place from times past, as she followed the lady +up the broad stairs to the state rooms, where the child was daily carried +for inspection by the nation to whom, it was assumed, he was so welcome, +but who, on the contrary, regarded him with the utmost dislike and suspicion.</p> +<p>Whitehall was, in those days, free to all the world, and though sentries +in the Life-guards’ uniform with huge grenadier caps were posted +here and there, every one walked up and down. Members of Parliament +and fine gentlemen in embroidered coats and flowing wigs came to exchange +news; country cousins came to stare and wonder, some to admire, some +to whisper their disbelief in the Prince’s identity; clergy in +gown, cassock, and bands came to win what they could in a losing cause; +and one or two other clergy, who were looked at askance, whose dress +had a foreign air, and whose tonsure could be detected as they threaded +their way with quick, gliding steps to the King’s closet.</p> +<p>Lady Oglethorpe, as one to the manner born, made her way through +the midst of this throng in the magnificent gallery, and Anne followed +her closely, conscious of words of admiration and inquiries who she +was. Into the Prince’s presence chamber, in fact his day-nursery, +they came, and a sweet and gentle-looking lady met them, and embraced +Lady Oglethorpe, who made known Mistress Woodford to Lady Strickland, +of Sizergh, the second governess, as the fourth rocker who had been +appointed.</p> +<p>“You are welcome, Miss Woodford,” said the lady, looking +at Anne’s high, handsome head and well-bred action in courtesying, +with a shade of surprise. “You are young, but I trust you +are discreet. There is much need thereof.”</p> +<p>Following to a kind of alcove, raised by a step or two, Anne found +herself before a half-circle of ladies and gentlemen round a chair of +state, in front of which stood a nurse, with an infant in her arms, +holding him to be caressed and inspected by the lady on the throne. +Her beautiful soft dark eyes and hair, and an ivory complexion, with +her dignified and graceful bearing, her long, slender throat and exquisite +figure, were not so much concealed as enhanced by the simple mob cap +and ‘night-gown,’ as it was then the fashion to call a morning +wrapper, which she wore, and Anne’s first impression was that +no wonder Peregrine raved about her. Poor Peregrine! that very +thought came like a stab, as, after courtesying low, she stood at the +end of the long room—silent, and observing.</p> +<p>A few gentlemen waited by the opposite door, but not coming far into +the apartment, and Lady Oglethorpe was announced by one of them. +The space was so great that Anne could not hear the words, and she only +saw the gracious smile and greeting as Lady Oglethorpe knelt and kissed +the Queen’s hand. After a long conversation between the +mothers, during which Lady Oglethorpe was accommodated with a cushion, +Anne was beckoned forward, and was named to the Queen, who honoured +her with an inclination of the head and a few low murmured words.</p> +<p>Then there was an announcement of ‘His Majesty,’ and +Anne, following the general example of standing back with low obeisances, +beheld the tall active figure and dark heavy countenance of her Royal +godfather, under his great black, heavily-curled wig. He returned +Lady Oglethorpe’s greeting, and his face lighted up with a pleasant +smile that greatly changed the expression as he took his child into +his arms for a few moments; but the little one began to cry, whereupon +he was carried off, and the King began to consult Lady Oglethorpe upon +the water-gruel on which the poor little Prince was being reared, and +of which she emphatically disapproved.</p> +<p>Before he left the room, however, Lady Oglethorpe took care to present +to him his god-daughter, Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford, and very low +was the girl’s obeisance before him, but with far more fright +and shyness than before the sweet-faced Queen.</p> +<p>“Oh ay!” he said, “I remember honest Will Woodford. +He did good service at Southwold. I wish he had left a son like +him. Have you a brother, young mistress?”</p> +<p>“No, please your Majesty, I am an only child.”</p> +<p>“More’s the pity,” he said kindly, and with a smile +brightening his heavy features. “’Tis too good a breed +to die out. You are Catholic?”</p> +<p>“I am bred in the English Church, so please your Majesty.”</p> +<p>His Majesty was evidently less pleased than before, but he only said, +“Ha! and my godchild! We must amend that,” and waved +her aside.</p> +<p>The royal interview over, the newcomer was presented to the State +Governess, the Countess of Powys, a fair and gracious matron, who was, +however, almost as far removed from her as the Queen. Then she +was called on to take a solemn oath before the Master of the Household, +of dutiful loyalty to the Prince.</p> +<p>Mrs. Labadie was head nurse as well as being wife to the King’s +French valet. She was a kindly, portly Englishwoman, who seemed +wrapped up in her charge, and she greeted her new subordinate in a friendly +way, which, however, seemed strange in one who at home would have been +of an inferior degree, expressed hopes of her steadiness and discretion, +and called to Miss Dunord to show Miss Woodford her chamber. The +abbreviation Miss sounded familiar and unsuitable, but it had just come +into use for younger spinsters, though officially they were still termed +Mistress.</p> +<p>Mistress or Miss Dunord was sallow and gray-eyed, somewhat older +than Anne, and looking thoroughly French, though her English was perfect. +She was entirely dressed in blue and white, and had a rosary and cross +at her girdle. “This way,” she said, tripping up a +steep wooden stair. “We sleep above. ’Tis a +huge, awkward place. Her Majesty calls it the biggest and most +uncomfortable palace she ever was in.”</p> +<p>Opening a heavy door, she showed a room of considerable size, hung +with faded frayed tapestry, and containing two huge bedsteads, with +four heavy posts, and canopies of wood, as near boxes as could well +be. Privacy was a luxury not ordinarily coveted, and the arrangement +did not surprise Anne, though she could have wished that on that summer +day curtains and tapestry had been less fusty. Two young women +were busy over a dress spread on one of the beds, and with French ease +and grace the guide said, “Here is our new colleague, Miss Jacobina +Woodford. Let me present Miss Hester Bridgeman and Miss Jane Humphreys.”</p> +<p>“Miss Woodford is welcome,” said Miss Bridgeman, a keen, +brown, lively, somewhat anxious-looking person, courtesying and holding +out her hand, and her example was followed by Jane Humphreys, a stout, +rosy, commonplace girl.</p> +<p>“Oh! I am glad,” this last cried. “Now +I shall have a bedfellow.”</p> +<p>This Anne was the less sorry for, as she saw that the bed of the +other two was furnished with a holy water stoup and a little shrine +with a waxen Madonna. There was only one looking-glass among the +four, and not much apparatus either for washing or the toilet, but Miss +Bridgeman believed that they would soon go to Richmond, where things +would be more comfortable. Then she turned to consult Miss Dunord +on her endeavour to improve the trimmings of a dress of Miss Humphreys.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know you are always in Our Lady’s colours, Pauline, +but you have a pretty taste, and can convince Jane that rose colour +and scarlet cannot go together.”</p> +<p>“My father chose the ribbons,” said Jane, as if that +were unanswerable.</p> +<p>“City taste,” said Miss Bridgeman.</p> +<p>“They are pretty, very pretty with anything else,” observed +Pauline, with more tact. “See, now, with your white embroidered +petticoat and the gray train they are ravishing—and the scarlet +coat will enliven the black.”</p> +<p>There was further a little murmur about what a Mr. Hopkins admired, +but it was lost in the arrival of Miss Woodford’s mails.</p> +<p>They clustered round, as eager as a set of schoolgirls, over Anne’s +dresses. Happily even the extreme of fashion had not then become +ungraceful.</p> +<p>“Her Majesty will not have the loose drapery that folks used +to wear,” said Hester Bridgeman.</p> +<p>“No,” said Pauline; “it was all very well for those +who could dispose it with an artless negligence, but for some I could +name, it was as though they had tumbled it on with a hay-fork and had +their hair tousled by being tickled in the hay.”</p> +<p>“Now we have the tight bodice with plenty of muslin and lace, +the gown open below to show the petticoat,” said Hester; “and +to my mind it is more decorous.”</p> +<p>“Decorum was not the vogue then,” laughed Pauline, “perhaps +it will be now. Oh, what lovely lace! real Flanders, on my word! +Where did you get it, Miss Woodford?”</p> +<p>“It was my mother’s.”</p> +<p>“And this? Why, ’tis old French point, you should +hang it to your sleeves.”</p> +<p>“My Lady Archfield gave it to me in case I should need it.”</p> +<p>“Ah! I see you have good friends and are a person of +some condition,” put in Hester Bridgeman. “I shall +be happy to consort with you. Let us—”</p> +<p>Anne courtesied, and at the moment a bell was heard, Pauline at once +crossed herself and fell on her knees before the small shrine with a +figure of the Blessed Virgin, and Hester, breaking off her words, followed +her example; but Jane Humphreys stood twisting the corner of her apron.</p> +<p>In a very short time, almost before Anne had recovered from her bewilderment, +the other two were up and chattering again.</p> +<p>“You are not a Catholic?” demanded Miss Bridgeman.</p> +<p>“I was bred in the Church,” said Anne.</p> +<p>“And you the King’s godchild!” exclaimed Pauline. +“But we shall soon amend that and make a convert of you like Miss +Bridgeman there.”</p> +<p>Anne shook her head, but was glad to ask, “And what means the +bell that is ringing now?”</p> +<p>“That is the supper bell. It rings just after the Angelus,” +said Hester. “No, it is not ours. The great folks, +Lady Powys, Lady Strickland, and the rest sup first. We have the +dishes after them, with Nurses Labadie and Royer and the rest—no +bad ones either. They are allowed five dishes and two bottles +of wine apiece, and they always leave plenty for us, and it is served +hot too.”</p> +<p>The preparations for going down to the second table now absorbed +the party.</p> +<p>As Hester said, the fare at this second table was not to be despised. +It was a formal meal shared with the two nurses and the two pages of +the backstairs. Not the lads usually associated with the term, +but men of mature age, and of gentle, though not noble, birth and breeding; +and there were likewise the attendants of the King and Queen of the +same grade, such as Mr. Labadie, the King’s valet, some English, +but besides these, Dusian, the Queen’s French page, and Signer +and Signora Turini, who had come with her from Modena, Père Giverlai, +her confessor, and another priest. Père Giverlai said grace, +and the conversation went on briskly between the elders, the younger +ones being supposed to hold their peace.</p> +<p>Their dishes went in reversion to the inferior class of servants, +laundress, sempstress, chambermaids, and the like, who had much more +liberty than their betters, and not such a lack of occupation as Anne +soon perceived that she should suffer from.</p> +<p>There was, however, a great muster of all the Prince’s establishment, +who stood round, as many as could, with little garments in their hands, +while he was solemnly undressed and laid in his richly inlaid and carved +cradle—over which Père Giverlai pronounced a Latin benediction.</p> +<p>The nursery establishment was then released, except one of the nurses, +who was to sleep or wake on a couch by his side, and one of the rockers. +These damsels had, two at a time, to divide the night between them, +one being always at hand to keep the food warm, touch the rocker at +need with her foot, or call up the nurse on duty if the child awoke, +but not presume herself to handle his little Royal Highness.</p> +<p>It was the night when Mistresses Dunord and Bridgeman were due, and +Anne followed Jane Humphreys to her room, asking a little about the +duties of the morrow.</p> +<p>“We must be dressed before seven,” said the girl. +“One of us will be left on duty while the others go to Mass. +I am glad you are a Protestant, Miss Woodford, for the Catholics put +everything on me that they can.”</p> +<p>“We must do our best to help and strengthen each other,” +said Anne.</p> +<p>“It is very hard,” said Jane; “and the priests +are always at me! I would change as Hester Bridgeman has done, +but that I know it would break my grand-dame’s heart. My +father might not care so much, if I got advancement, but I believe it +would kill my grandmother.”</p> +<p>“Advancement! oh, but faith comes first,” exclaimed Anne, +recalling the warning.</p> +<p>“Hester says one religion is as good as another to get to Heaven +by,” murmured Jane.</p> +<p>“Not if we deny our own for the world’s sake,” +said Anne. “Is the chapel here a Popish one?”</p> +<p>“No; the Queen has an Oratory, but the Popish chapel is at +St. James’s—across the Park. The Protestant one is +here at Whitehall, and there are daily prayers at nine o’clock, +and on Sunday music with three fiddlers, and my grandmother says it +might almost as well be Popish at once.”</p> +<p>“Did your grandmother bring you up?”</p> +<p>“Yes. My mother died when I was seven years old, and +my grandmother bred us all up. You should hear her talk of the +good old times before the Kings came back and there were no Bishops +and no book prayers—but my father says we must swim with the stream, +or he would not have got any custom at his coffee-house.”</p> +<p>“Is that his calling?”</p> +<p>“Ay! No one has a better set of guests than in the Golden +Lamb. The place is full. The great Dr. Hammond sees his +patients there, and it is all one buzz of the wits. It was because +of that that my Lord Sunderland made interest, and got me here. +How did you come?”</p> +<p>Anne briefly explained, and Jane broke out—</p> +<p>“Then you will be my friend, and we will tell each other all +our secrets. You are a Protestant too. You will be mine, +and not Bridgeman’s or Dunord’s—I hate them.”</p> +<p>In point of fact Anne did not feel much attracted by the proffer +of friendship, and she certainly did not intend to tell Jane Humphreys +all her secrets, nor to vow enmity to the other colleagues, but she +gravely answered that she trusted they would be friends and help to +maintain one another’s faith. She was relieved that Miss +Bridgeman here came in to take her first turn of rest till she was to +be called up at one o’clock.</p> +<p>As Jane Humphreys had predicted, Mrs. Royer and Anne alone were left +in charge of the nursling while every one went to morning Mass. +Then followed breakfast and the levee of his Royal Highness, lasting +as on the previous day till dinner-time; and the afternoon was as before, +except that the day was fine enough for the child to be carried out +with all his attendants behind him to take the air in the private gardens.</p> +<p>If this was to be the whole course of life at the palace, Anne began +to feel that she had made a great mistake. She was by no means +attracted by her companions, though Miss Bridgeman decided that she +must know persons of condition, and made overtures of friendship, to +be sealed by calling one another Oriana and Portia. She did not +approve of such common names as Princess Anne and Lady Churchill used—Mrs. +Morley and Mrs. Freeman! They must have something better than +what was used by the Cockpit folks, and she was sure that her dear Portia +would soon be of the only true faith.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII<br /> +Machinations</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Baby born to woe.”</p> +<p>F. T. PALGRAVE.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When Anne Woodford began to wake from the constant thought of the +grief and horror she had left at Portchester, and to feel more alive +to her surroundings and less as if they were a kind of dream, in which +she only mechanically took her part, one thing impressed itself on her +gradually, and that was disappointment. If the previous shock +had not blunted all her hopes and aspirations, perhaps she would have +felt it sooner and more keenly; but she could not help realising that +she had put herself into an inferior position whence there did not seem +to be the promotion she had once anticipated. Her companion rockers +were of an inferior grade to herself. Jane Humphreys was a harmless +but silly girl, not much wiser, though less spoilt, than poor little +Madam, and full of Cockney vulgarities. Education was unfashionable +just then, and though Hester Bridgeman was bettor born and bred, being +the daughter of an attorney in the city, she was not much better instructed, +and had no pursuits except that of her own advantage. Pauline +Dunord was by far the best of the three, but she seemed to live a life +apart, taking very little interest in her companions or anything around +her except her devotions and the bringing them over to her Church. +The nursery was quite a separate establishment; there was no mingling +with the guests of royalty, who were only seen in excited peeps from +the window, or when solemnly introduced to the presence chamber to pay +their respects to the Prince. As to books, the only secular one +that Anne saw while at Whitehall was an odd volume of <i>Parthenissa</i>. +The late King’s summary of the Roman controversy was to be had +in plenty, and nothing was more evident than that the only road to favour +or promotion was in being thereby convinced.</p> +<p>“Don’t throw it down as if it were a hot chestnut,” +said her Oriana. “That’s what they all do at first, +but they come to it at last.”</p> +<p>Anne made no answer, but a pang smote her as she thought of her uncle’s +warnings. Yet surely she might hope for other modes of prospering, +she who was certainly by far the best looking and best educated of all +the four, not that this served her much in her present company, and +those of higher rank did not notice her at all. Princess Anne +would surely recollect her, and then she might be safe in a Protestant +household, where her uncle would be happy about her.</p> +<p>The Princess had been at Bath when first she arrived, but at the +end of a week preparations were made at the Cockpit, a sort of appendage +to Whitehall, where the Prince and Princess of Denmark lived, and in +due time there was a visit to the nursery. Standing in full ceremony +behind Lady Powys, Anne saw the plump face and form she recollected +in the florid bloom of a young matron, not without a certain royal dignity +in the pose of the head, though in grace and beauty far surpassed by +the tall, elegant figure and face of Lady Churchill, whose bright blue +eyes seemed to be taking in everything everywhere. Anne’s +heart began to beat high at the sight of a once familiar face, and with +hopes of a really kind word from one who as an elder girl had made much +of the pretty little plaything. The Princess Anne’s countenance +was, however, less good-natured than usual; her mouth was made up to +a sullen expression, and when her brother was shown to her she did not +hold out her arms to him nor vouchsafe a kiss.</p> +<p>The Queen looked at her wistfully, asking—</p> +<p>“Is he not like the King?”</p> +<p>“Humph!” returned Princess Anne, “I see no likeness +to any living soul of our family.”</p> +<p>“Nay, but see his little nails,” said the Queen, spreading +the tiny hand over her finger. “See how like your father’s +they are framed! My treasure, you can clasp me!”</p> +<p>“My brother, Edgar! He was the beauty,” said the +Princess. “<i>He</i> was exactly like my father; but there’s +no judging of anything so puny as this!”</p> +<p>“He was very suffering last week, the poor little angel,” +said the mother sadly; “but they say this water-gruel is very +nourishing, and not so heavy as milk.”</p> +<p>“It does not look as if it agreed with him,” said the +Princess. “Poor little mammet! Did I hear that you +had the little Woodford here? Is that you, girl?”</p> +<p>Anne courtesied herself forward.</p> +<p>“Ay, I remember you. I never forget a face, and you have +grown up fair enough. Where’s your mother?”</p> +<p>“I lost her last February, so please your Royal Highness.”</p> +<p>“Oh! She was a good woman. Why did she not send +you to me? Well, well! Come to my toilette to-morrow.”</p> +<p>So Princess Anne swept away in her rich blue brocade. Her behest +was obeyed, of course, though it was evidently displeasing to the nursery +authorities, and Lady Strickland gave a warning to be discreet and to +avoid gossip with the Cockpit folks.</p> +<p>Anne could not but be excited. Perhaps the Princess would ask +for her, and take her into the number of her own attendants, where she +would no longer be in a Romish household, and would certainly be in +a higher position. Why, she remembered that very Lady Churchill +as Sarah Jennings in no better a position than she could justly aspire +to. Her coming to Court would thus be truly justified.</p> +<p>The Princess sat in a silken wrapper, called a night-gown, in her +chamber, which had a richly-curtained bed in the alcove, and a toilet-table +with a splendid Venetian mirror, and a good deal of silver sparkling +on it, while a strange mixture of perfumes came from the various boxes +and bottles. Ladies and tirewomen stood in attendance; a little +black boy in a turban and gold-embroidered dress held a salver with +her chocolate cup; a cockatoo soliloquised in low whispers in the window; +a monkey was chained to a pole at a safe distance from him; a French +friseur was manipulating the Princess’s profuse brown hair with +his tongs; and a needy-looking, pale thin man, in a semi-clerical suit, +was half-reading, half-declaiming a poem, in which ‘Fair Anna’ +seemed mixed up with Juno, Ceres, and other classical folk, but to which +she was evidently paying very little attention.</p> +<p>“Ah! there you are, little one. Thank you, Master—what’s +name; that is enough. ’Tis a fine poem, but I never can +remember which is which of all your gods and goddesses. Oh yes, +I accept the dedication. Give him a couple of guineas, Ellis; +it will serve him for board and lodging for a fortnight, poor wretch!” +Then, after giving a smooth, well-shaped white hand to be kissed, and +inviting her visitor to a cushion at her feet, she began a long series +of questions, kindly ones at first, though of the minute gossiping kind, +and extending to the Archfields, for poor young Madam had been of the +rank about which royalty knew everything in those days. The inquiries +were extremely minute, and the comments what from any one else, Anne +would have thought vulgar, especially in the presence of the hairdresser, +but her namesake observed her blush and hesitation, and said, “Oh, +never mind a creature like that. He is French, besides, and does +not understand a word we say.”</p> +<p>Anne, looking over the Princess’s head, feared that she saw +a twinkle in the man’s eye, and could only look down and try to +ignore him through the catechism that ensued, on when she came to Whitehall, +on the Prince of Wales’s health, the management of him, and all +the circumstances connected with his birth.</p> +<p>Very glad was Anne that she knew nothing, and had not picked up any +information as to what had happened before she came to the palace. +As to the present, Lady Strickland’s warning and her own sense +of honour kept her reticent to a degree that evidently vexed the Princess, +for she dropped her caressing manner, and sent her away with a not very +kind, “You may go now; you will be turning Papist next, and what +would your poor mother say?”</p> +<p>And as Anne departed in backward fashion she heard Lady Churchill +say, “You will make nothing of her. She is sharper than +she affects, and a proud minx! I see it in her carriage.”</p> +<p>The visit had only dashed a few hopes and done her harm with her +immediate surroundings, who always disliked and distrusted intercourse +with the other establishment.</p> +<p>However, in another day the nursery was moved to Richmond. +This was a welcome move to Anne, who had spent her early childhood near +enough to be sometimes taken thither, and to know the Park well, so +that there was a home feeling in the sight of the outline of the trees +and the scenery of the neighbourhood. The Queen intended going +to Bath, so that the establishment was only that of the Prince, and +the life was much quieter on the whole; but there was no gratifying +any yearning for country walks, for it was not safe nor perhaps decorous +for one young woman to be out alone in a park open to the public and +haunted by soldiers from Hounslow—nor could either of her fellow-rockers +understand her preference for a secluded path through the woods. +Miss Dunord never went out at all, except on duty, when the Prince was +carried along the walks in the garden, and the other two infinitely +preferred the open spaces, where tables were set under the horse-chestnut +trees for parties who boated down from London to eat curds and whey, +sometimes bringing a fiddler so as to dance under the trees.</p> +<p>Jane Humphreys especially was always looking out for acquaintances, +and once, with a cry of joy, a stout, homely-looking young woman started +up, exclaiming, “Sister Jane!” and flew into her arms. +Upon which Miss Woodford was introduced to ‘My sister Coles’ +and her husband, and had to sit down under a tree and share the festivities, +while there was an overflow of inquiries and intelligence, domestic +and otherwise. Certainly these were persons whom she would not +have treated as equals at home.</p> +<p>Besides, it was all very well to hear of the good old grandmother’s +rheumatics, and of little Tommy’s teething, and even to see Jane +hang her head and be teased about remembering Mr. Hopkins; nor was it +wonderful to hear lamentations over the extreme dulness of the life +where one never saw a creature to speak to who was not as old as the +hills; but when it came to inquiries as minute as the Princess’s +about the Prince of Wales, Anne thought the full details lavishly poured +out scarcely consistent with loyalty to their oaths of service and Lady +Strickland’s warning, and she told Jane so.</p> +<p>She was answered, “Oh la! what harm can it do? You are +such a proud peat! Grand-dame and sister like to know all about +His Royal Highness.”</p> +<p>This was true; but Anne was far more uncomfortable two or three days +later. The Prince was ailing, so much so that Lady Powys had sent +an express for the Queen, who had not yet started for Bath, when Anne +and Jane, being relieved from duty by the other pair, went out for a +stroll.</p> +<p>“Oh la!” presently exclaimed Jane, “if that is +not Colonel Sands, the Princess’s equerry. I do declare +he is coming to speak to us, though he is one of the Cockpit folks.”</p> +<p>He was a very fine gentleman indeed, all scarlet and gold, and no +wonder Jane was flattered and startled, so that she jerked her fan violently +up and down as he accosted her with a wave of his cocked hat, saying +that he was rejoiced to meet these two fair ladies, having been sent +by the Princess of Denmark to inquire for the health of the Prince. +She was very anxious to know more than could be learnt by formal inquiry, +he said, and he was happy to have met the young gentlewomen who could +gratify him.</p> +<p>The term ‘gentlewoman’ highly flattered Miss Humphreys, +who blushed and bridled, and exclaimed, “Oh la, sir!” but +Anne thought it needful to say gravely—</p> +<p>“We are in trust, sir, and have no right to speak of what passes +within the royal household.”</p> +<p>“Madam, I admire your discretion, but to the—(a-hem)—sister +of the—(a-hem)—Prince of Wales it is surely uncalled for.”</p> +<p>“Miss Woodford is so precise,” said Jane Humphreys, with +a giggle; “I do not know what harm can come of saying that His +Royal Highness peaks and pines just as he did before.”</p> +<p>“He is none the better for country air then?”</p> +<p>“Oh no? except that he cries louder. Such a time as we +had last night! Mrs. Royer never slept a wink all the time I was +there, but walked about with him all night. You had the best of +it, Miss Woodford.”</p> +<p>“He slept while I was there,” said Anne briefly, not +thinking it needful to state that the tired nurse had handed the child +over to her, and that he had fallen asleep in her arms. She tried +to put an end to the conversation by going indoors, but she was vexed +to find that, instead of following her closely, Miss Humphreys was still +lingering with the equerry.</p> +<p>Anne found the household in commotion. Pauline met her, weeping +bitterly, and saying the Prince had had a fit, and all hope was over, +and in the rockers’ room, she found Hester Bridgeman exclaiming +that her occupation was gone. Water-gruel, she had no doubt, had +been the death of the Prince. The Queen was come, and wellnigh +distracted. She had sent out in quest of a wet-nurse, but it was +too late; he was going the way of all Her Majesty’s children.</p> +<p>Going down again together the two girls presently had to stand aside +as the poor Queen, seeing and hearing nothing, came towards her own +room with her handkerchief over her face. They pressed each other’s +hands awe-stricken, and went on to the nursery. There Mrs. Labadie +was kneeling over the cradle, her hood hanging over her face, crying +bitterly over the poor little child, who had a blue look about his face, +and seemed at the last gasp, his features contorted by a convulsion.</p> +<p>At that moment Jane Humphreys was seen gently opening the door and +letting in Colonel Sands, who moved as quietly as possible, to give +a furtive look at the dying child. His researches were cut short, +however. Lady Strickland, usually the gentlest of women, darted +out and demanded what he was doing in her nursery.</p> +<p>He attempted to stammer some excuse about Princess Anne, but Lady +Strickland only answered by standing pointing to the door and he was +forced to retreat in a very undignified fashion.</p> +<p>“Who brought him?” she demanded, when the door was shut. +“Those Cockpit folk are not to come prying here, hap what may!”</p> +<p>Miss Humphreys had sped away for fear of questions being asked, and +attention was diverted by Mrs. Royer arriving with a stout, healthy-looking +young woman in a thick home-spun cloth petticoat, no stockings, and +old shoes, but with a clean white cap on her head—a tilemaker’s +wife who had been captured in the village.</p> +<p>No sooner was the suffering, half-starved child delivered over to +her than he became serene and contented. The water-gruel regime +was over, and he began to thrive from that time. Even when later +in the afternoon the King himself brought in Colonel Sands, whom in +the joy of his heart he had asked to dine with him, the babe lay tranquilly +on the cradle, waving his little hands and looking happy.</p> +<p>The intrusion seemed to have been forgotten, but that afternoon Anne, +who had been sent on a message to one of the Queen’s ladies, more +than suspected that she saw Jane in a deep recess of a window in confabulation +with the Colonel. And when they were alone at bed-time the girl +said—</p> +<p>“Is it not droll? The Colonel cannot believe that ’tis +the same child. He has been joking and teasing me to declare that +we have a dead Prince hidden somewhere, and that the King showed him +the brick-bat woman’s child.”</p> +<p>“How can you prattle in that mischievous way—after what +Lady Strickland said, too? You do not know what harm you may do!”</p> +<p>“Oh lack, it was all a jest!”</p> +<p>“I am not so sure that it was.”</p> +<p>“But you will not tell of me, dear friend, you will not. +I never saw Lady Strickland like that; I did not know she could be in +such a rage.”</p> +<p>“No wonder, when a fellow like that came peeping and prying +like a raven to see whether the poor babe was still breathing,” +cried Anne indignantly. “How could you bring him in?”</p> +<p>“Fellow indeed! Why he is a colonel in the Life-guards, +and the Princess’s equerry; and who has a right to know about +the child if not his own sister—or half-sister?”</p> +<p>“She is not a very loving sister,” replied Anne. +“You know well, Jane, how many would not be sorry to make out +that it is as that man would fain have you say.”</p> +<p>“Well, I told him it was no such thing, and laughed the very +notion to scorn.”</p> +<p>“It were better not to talk with him at all.”</p> +<p>“But you will not speak of it. If I were turned away +my father would beat me. Nay, I know not what he might not do +to me. You will not tell, dear darling Portia, and I will love +you for ever.”</p> +<p>“I have no call to tell,” said Anne coldly, but she was +disgusted and weary, and moreover not at all sure that she, as the other +Protestant rocker, and having been in the Park on that same day, was +not credited with some of the mischievous gossip that had passed.</p> +<p>“There, Portia, that is what you get by walking with that stupid +Humphreys,” said Oriana. “She knows no better than +to blab to any one who will be at the trouble to seem sweet upon her, +though she may get nothing by it.”</p> +<p>“Would it be better if she did?” asked Anne.</p> +<p>“Oh well, we must all look out for ourselves, and I am sure +there is no knowing what may come next. But I hear we are to move +to Windsor as soon as the child is strong enough, so as to be farther +out of reach of the Cockpit tongues.”</p> +<p>This proved to be true, but the Prince and his suite were not lodged +in the Castle itself, a house in the cloisters being thought more suitable, +and here the Queen visited her child daily, for since that last alarm +she could not bear to be long absent from him. Such emissaries +as Colonel Sands did not again appear, but after that precedent Lady +Strickland had become much more unwilling to allow any of those under +her authority to go out into any public place, and the rockers seldom +got any exercise except as swelling the Prince’s train when he +was carried out to take the air.</p> +<p>Anne looked with longing eyes at the Park, but a ramble there was +a forbidden pleasure. She could not always even obtain leave to +attend St. George’s Chapel; the wish was treated as a sort of +weakness, or folly, and she was always the person selected to stay at +home when any religious ceremony called away the rest of the establishment.</p> +<p>As the King’s god-daughter it was impressed on her that she +ought to conform to his Church, and one of the many priests about the +Court was appointed to instruct her. In the dearth of all intellectual +intercourse, and the absolute deficiency of books, she could not but +become deeply interested in the arguments. Her uncle had forearmed +her with instruction, and she wrote to him on any difficulty which arose, +and this became the chief occupation of her mind, distracting her thoughts +from the one great cloud that hung over her memory. Indeed one +of the foremost bulwarks her feelings erected to fortify her conscience +against the temptations around, was the knowledge that she would have, +though of course under seal of confession, to relate that terrible story +to a priest.</p> +<p>Hester Bridgeman could not imagine how her Portia could endure to +hear the old English Prayer-book droned out. For her part, she +liked one thing or the other, either a rousing Nonconformist sermon +in a meeting-house or a splendid Mass.</p> +<p>“But, after all,” as Anne overheard her observing to +Miss Dunord, “it may be all the better for us. What with +her breeding and her foreign tongues, she would be sure to be set over +our heads as under-governess, or the like, if she were not such an obstinate +heretic, and keeping that stupid Humphreys so. We could have converted +her long ago, if it were not for that Woodford and for her City grand-dame! +Portia is the King’s godchild, too, so it is just as well that +she does not see what is for her own advantage.”</p> +<p>“I do not care for promotion. I only want to save my +own soul and hers,” said Pauline. “I wish she would +come over to the true Church, for I could love her.”</p> +<p>And certainly Pauline Dunord’s gentle devotional example, and +her perfect rest and peace in the practice of her religion, were strong +influences with Anne. She was waiting till circumstances should +make it possible to her to enter a convent, and in the meantime she +lived a strictly devout life, abstracted as far as duty and kindness +permitted from the little cabals and gossipry around.</p> +<p>Anne could not help feeling that the girl was as nearly a saint as +any one she had ever seen—far beyond herself in goodness. +Moreover, the Queen inspired strong affection. Mary Beatrice was +not only a very beautiful person, full of the grace and dignity of the +House of Este, but she was deeply religious, good and gentle, kindly +and gracious to all who approached her, and devoted to her husband and +child. A word or look from her was always a delight, and Anne, +by her knowledge of Italian, was able sometimes to obtain a smiling +word or remark.</p> +<p>The little Prince, after those first miserable weeks of his life, +had begun to thrive, and by and by manifested a decided preference not +only for his beautiful mother, but for the fresh face, bright smile, +and shining brown eyes of Miss Woodford. She could almost always, +with nods and becks, avert a passion of roaring, which sometimes went +beyond the powers of even his foster-mother, the tiler’s wife. +The Queen watched with delight when he laughed and flourished his arms +in response, and the King was summoned to see the performance, which +he requited by taking out a fat gold watch set with pearls, and presenting +it to Anne, as his grave gloomy face lighted up with a smile.</p> +<p>“Are you yet one of us?” he asked, as she received his +gift on her knee.</p> +<p>“No, sir, I cannot—”</p> +<p>“That must be amended. You have read his late Majesty’s +paper?”</p> +<p>“I have, sir.”</p> +<p>“And seen Father Giverlai?”</p> +<p>“Yes, please your Majesty.”</p> +<p>“And still you are not convinced. That must not be. +I would gladly consider and promote you, but I can only have true Catholics +around my son. I shall desire Father Crump to see you.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> +Hallowmas Eve</h2> +<blockquote><p> “This more strange<br /> +Than such a murder is.”</p> +<p>Macbeth.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“<i>Bambino mio</i>, <i>bambino mio</i>,” wailed Mary +Beatrice, as she pressed her child to her bosom, and murmured to him +in her native tongue. “And did they say he was not his mother’s +son, his poor mother, whose dearest treasure he is! <i>Oimè</i>, +<i>crudeli</i>, <i>crudelissimi</i>! Even his sisters hate him +and will not own him, the little jewel of his mother’s heart!”</p> +<p>Anne, waiting in the window, was grieved to have overheard the words +which the poor Queen had poured out, evidently thinking no one near +could understand her.</p> +<p>That evening there were orders to prepare for a journey to Whitehall +the next morning.</p> +<p>“And,” said Hester Bridgeman, “I can tell you why, +in all confidence, but I have it from a sure hand. The Prince +of Orange is collecting a fleet and army to come and inquire into certain +matters, especially into the birth of a certain young gentleman we wot +of.”</p> +<p>“How can he have the insolence?” cried Anne.</p> +<p>“’Tis no great wonder, considering the vipers in the +Cockpit,” said Hester.</p> +<p>“But what will they do to us?” asked Jane Humphreys in +terror.</p> +<p>“Nothing to you, my dear, nor to Portia; you are good Protestants,” +said Hester with a sneer.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Royer told me it was for the christening,” said +Jane, “and then we shall all have new suits. I am glad we +are going back to town. It cannot be so mortal dull as ’tis +here, with all the leaves falling—enough to give one the vapours.”</p> +<p>There were auguries on either hand in the palace that if the Prince +came it would be only another Monmouth affair, and this made Anne shrink, +for she had partaken of the grief and indignation of Winchester at the +cruel execution of Lady Lisle, and had heard rumours enough of the progress +of the Assize to make her start in horror when called to watch the red-faced +Lord Chancellor Jeffreys getting out of his coach.</p> +<p>It really seemed for the time as if the royal household were confident +in this impression, though as soon as they were again settled in Whitehall +there was a very close examination of the witnesses of the Prince’s +birth, and a report printed of their evidence, enough it might be thought +to satisfy any one; but Jane Humphreys, who went to spend a day at the +Golden Lamb, her father’s warehouse, reported that people only +laughed at it.</p> +<p>Anne’s spirit burned at the injustice, and warmed the more +towards the Queen and little Prince, whose pretty responses to her caresses +could not but win her love. Moreover, Pauline’s example +continued to attract her, and Father Crump was a better controversialist, +or perhaps a better judge of character, than Père Giverlai, and +took her on sides where she was more vulnerable, so as to make her begin +to feel unsettled, and wonder whether she were not making a vain sacrifice, +and holding out after all against the better way.</p> +<p>The sense of the possible gain, and disgust at the shallow conversions +of some around her, helped to keep her back. She could not help +observing that while Pauline persuaded, Hester had ceased to persuade, +and seemed rather willing to hinder her. Just before the State +christening or rather admission into the Church, Lady Powys, in the +name of the King and Queen, offered her the post of sub-governess, which +really would mean for the present chief playfellow to the little Prince, +and would place her on an entirely different platform of society from +the comparatively menial one she occupied, but of course on the condition +of conformity to Rome.</p> +<p>To be above the familiarity of Jane and Hester was no small temptation, +but still she hesitated.</p> +<p>“Madam, I thank you, I thank their Majesties,” she said, +“but I cannot do it thus.”</p> +<p>“I see what you mean, Miss Woodford,” said Lady Powys, +who was a truly noble woman. “Your motives must be above +suspicion even to yourself. I respect you, and would not have +made you the offer except by express command, but I still trust that +when your disinterestedness is above suspicion you will still join us.”</p> +<p>It was sore mortification when Hester Bridgeman was preferred to +the office, for which she was far less fitted, being no favourite with +the babe, and being essentially vulgar in tastes and habits, and knowing +no language save her own, and that ungrammatically and with an accent +which no one could wish the Prince to acquire. Yet there she was, +promoted to the higher grade of the establishment and at the christening, +standing in the front ranks, while Miss Woodford was left far in the +rear among the servants.</p> +<p>A report of the Dutch fleet having been destroyed by a storm had +restored the spirits of the Court; and in the nursery very little was +known of the feelings of the kingdom at large. Dr. Woodford did +not venture on writing freely to his niece, lest he should compromise +her, and she only vaguely detected that he was uneasy.</p> +<p>So came All Saints’ Day Eve, when there was to be a special +service late in the evening at the Romanised Chapel Royal at St. James’s, +with a sermon by a distinguished Dominican, to which all the elder and +graver members of the household were eager to go. And there was +another very different attraction at the Cockpit, where good-natured +Princess Anne had given permission for a supper, to be followed by burning +of nuts and all the divinations proper to Hallowmas Eve, to which were +invited all the subordinates of the Whitehall establishment who could +be spared.</p> +<p>Pauline Dunord was as eager for the sermon as Jane Humphreys was +for the supper, and Hester Bridgeman was in an odd mood of uncertainty, +evidently longing after the sports, but not daring to show that she +did so, and trying to show great desire to hear the holy man preach, +together with a polite profession of self-denial in giving up her place +in case there should not be room for all. However, as it appeared +that even the two chief nurses meant to combine sermon and the latter +end of the supper, she was at ease. The foster-mother and one +of the Protestant rockers were supposed to be enough to watch over the +Prince, but the former, who had been much petted and spoilt since she +had been at the palace, and was a young creature, untrained and wilful, +cried so much at the idea of missing the merrymaking, that as it was +reckoned important to keep her in good humour and good spirits, Mrs. +Labadie decided on winking at her absence from the nursery, since Miss +Woodford was quite competent to the charge for the short time that both +the church-goers and the supper-goers would all be absent together.</p> +<p>“But are you not afraid to stay alone?” asked Mrs. Labadie, +with a little compunction.</p> +<p>“What is there to be afraid of?” asked Anne. “There +are the sentinels at the foot of the stairs, and what should reach us +here?”</p> +<p>“I would not be alone here,” said more than one voice. +“Nor I!”—“Nor I!”</p> +<p>“And on this night of all others!” said Hester.</p> +<p>“But why?”</p> +<p>“They say he walks!” whispered Jane in a voice of awe.</p> +<p>“Who walks?”</p> +<p>“The old King?” asked Hester.</p> +<p>“No; the last King,” said Jane.</p> +<p>“No, no: it was Oliver Cromwell—old Noll himself!” +put in another voice.</p> +<p>“I tell you, no such thing,” said Jane. “It +was the last King. I heard it from them that saw it, at least +the lady’s cousin. ’Twas in the long gallery, in a +suit of plain black velvet, with white muslin ruffles and cravat quilled +very neat. Why do you laugh, Miss Woodford?”</p> +<p>This was too much for Anne, who managed to say, “Who was his +laundress?”</p> +<p>“I tell you I heard it from them that told no lies. The +gentleman could swear to it. He took a candle to him, and there +was nought but the wainscot behind. Think of that.”</p> +<p>“And that we should be living here!” said another voice. +“I never venture about the big draughty place alone at night,” +said the laundress.</p> +<p>“No! nor I would not for twenty princes,” added the sempstress.</p> +<p>“Nay, I have heard steps,” said Mrs. Royer, “and +wailing—wailing. No wonder after all that has happened here. +Oh yes, steps as of the guard being turned out!”</p> +<p>“That is like our Squire’s manor-house, where—”</p> +<p>Every one contributed a story, and only the announcement of Her Majesty’s +approach put an end to these reminiscences.</p> +<p>Anne held to her purpose. She had looked forward to this time +of solitude, for she wanted leisure to consider the situation, and fairly +to revolve the pleas by which Father Crump had shaken her, more in feeling +than in her reason, and made her question whether her allegiance to +her mother and uncle, and her disgust at interested conversions, were +not making her turn aside from what might be the only true Church, the +Mother of Saints, and therewith perversely give up earthly advancement. +But, oh! how to write to her uncle.</p> +<p>The very intention made her imagination and memory too powerful for +the consideration of controversy. She went back first to a merry +Hallowmas Eve long ago, among the Archfield party and other Winchester +friends, and how the nuts had bounced in a manner which made the young +ones shout in ecstasy of glee, but seemed to displease some of the elders, +and had afterwards been the occasion of her being told that it was all +folly, and therewith informed of Charles Archfield’s contract +to poor little Alice Fitzhubert. Then came other scenes. +All the various ghostly tales she had heard, and as she sat with her +knitting in the shaded room with no sound but the soft breathing of +her little charge in his cradle, no light save from a shaded lamp and +the fire on the hearth, strange thoughts and dreams floated over her; +she started at mysterious cracks in the wainscotting from time to time, +and beheld in the dark corners of the great room forms that seemed grotesque +and phantom-like till she went up to them and resolved them into familiar +bits of furniture or gowns and caps of Mrs. Labadie. She repeated +half aloud numerous Psalms and bits of poetry, but in the midst would +come some disturbing noise, a step or a shout from the street, though +the chamber being at the back of the house looking into the Park few +of such sounds penetrated thither. She began to think of King +Charles’s last walk from St. James’s to Whitehall, and of +the fatal window of the Banqueting-hall which had been pointed out to +her, and then her thoughts flew back again to that vault in the castle +yard, and she saw only too vividly in memory that open vault, veiled +partly by nettles and mulleins, which was the unblest, unknown grave +of the old playfellow who had so loved her mother and herself. +Perhaps she had hitherto more dwelt on and pitied the living than the +dead, as one whom fears and prayers still concerned, but now as she +thought of the lively sprite-like being who had professed such affection +for her, and for whom her mother had felt so much, and recollected him +so soon and suddenly cut down and consigned to that dreary darkness, +the strange yearning spirit dismissed to the unknown world, instead +of her old terror and repulsion, a great tenderness and compunction +came over her, and she longed to join those who would in two days more +be keeping All Souls’ Day in intercessions for their departed, +so as to atone for her past dislike; and there was that sort of feeling +about her which can only be described by the word ‘eerie.’ +To relieve it Anne walked to the window and undid a small wicket in +the shutter, so as to look out into the quiet moonlight park where the +trees cast their long shadows on the silvery grass, and there was a +great calm that seemed to reach her heart and spirits.</p> +<p>Suddenly, across the sward towards the palace there came the slight, +impish, almost one-sided figure, with the peculiar walk, swift though +suggestive of a limp, the elfish set of the plume, the foreign adjustment +of short cloak. Anne gazed with wide-stretched eyes and beating +heart, trying to rally her senses and believe it fancy, when the figure +crossed into a broad streak of light cast by the lamp over the door, +the face was upturned for a moment. It was deadly pale, and the +features were beyond all doubt Peregrine Oakshott’s.</p> +<p>She sprang back from the window, dropped on her knees, with her face +hidden in her hands, and was hardly conscious till sounds of the others +returning made her rally her powers so as to prevent all inquiries or +surmises. It was Mrs. Labadie and Pauline Dunord, the former to +see that all was well with the Prince before repairing to the Cockpit.</p> +<p>“How pale you are!” she exclaimed. “Have +you seen anything?”</p> +<p>“I—It may be nothing. He is dead!” stammered +Anne.</p> +<p>“Oh then, ’tis naught but a maid’s fancies,” +said the nurse good-humouredly. “Miss Dunord is in no mind +for the sports, so she will stay with His Highness, and you had best +come with me and drive the cobwebs out of your brain.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I thank you, ma’am, but I could not,” +said Anne.</p> +<p>“You had best, I tell you, shake these megrims out of your +brain,” said Mrs. Labadie; but she was in too great haste not +to lose her share of the amusements to argue the point, and the two +young women were left together. Pauline was in a somewhat exalted +state, full of the sermon on the connection of the Church with the invisible +world.</p> +<p>“You have seen one of your poor dead,” she said. +“Oh, may it not be that he came to implore you to have pity, and +join the Church, where you could intercede and offer the Holy Sacrifice +for him?”</p> +<p>Anne started. This seemed to chime in with proclivities of +poor Peregrine’s own, and when she thought of his corpse in that +unhallowed vault, it seemed to her as if he must be calling on her to +take measures for his rest, both of body and of spirit. Yet something +seemed to seal her tongue. She could not open her lips on what +she had seen, and while Pauline talked on, repeating the sermon which +had so deeply touched her feelings, Anne heard without listening to +aught besides her own perturbations, mentally debating whether she could +endure to reveal the story to Father Crump, if she confessed to him, +or whether she should write to her uncle; and she even began to compose +the letter in her own mind, with the terrible revelation that must commence +it, but every moment the idea became more formidable. How transfer +her own heavy burthen to her uncle, who might feel bound to take steps +that would cut young Archfield off from parents, sister, child, and +home. Or supposing Dr. Woodford disbelieved the apparition of +to-night, the whole would be discredited in his eyes, and he might suppose +the summer morning’s duel as much a delusion of her fancy as the +autumn evening’s phantom, and what evidence had she to adduce +save Charles’s despair, Peregrine’s absence, and what there +might be in the vault?</p> +<p>Yet if all that Father Crump and Pauline said was true, that dear +uncle might be under a fatal delusion, and it might be the best hope +for herself—nay, even for that poor restless spirit—to separate +herself from them. Here was Pauline talking of the blessedness +of being able to offer prayers on ‘All Souls’ Day’ +for all those of whose ultimate salvation there were fears, or who might +be in a state of suffering. It even startled her as she thought +of her mother, whom she always gave thanks for as one departed in faith +and fear. Would Father Crump speak of her as one in a state of +inevitable ignorance to be expiated in the invisible world? It +shocked the daughter as almost profane. Yet if it were true, and +prayers and masses could aid her?</p> +<p>Altogether Anne was in a mood on which the voices broke strangely +returning from the supper full of news. Jane Humphreys was voluble +on her various experiments. The nuts had burnt quietly together, +and that was propitious to the Life-guardsman, Mr. Shaw, who had shared +hers; but on the other hand, the apple-paring thrown over her shoulder +had formed a P, and he whom she had seen in the vista of looking-glasses +had a gold chain but neither a uniform nor a P in his name, and Mrs. +Buss declared that it meant that she should be three times married, +and the last would be an Alderman, if not Lord Mayor; and Mrs. Royer +was joking Miss Bridgeman on the I of her apple-paring, which could +stand for nothing but a certain Incle among ‘the Cockpit folk,’ +who was her special detestation.</p> +<p>Princess Anne and her husband had come down to see the nuts flying, +and had laughed enough to split their sides, till Lord Cornbury came +in and whispered something to Prince George, who said, “<i>Est +il possible</i>?” and spoke to the Princess, and they all went +away together. Yes, and the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who had +been laughing before looked very grave, and went with them.</p> +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Anne, “is the Bishop of Bath and +Wells here?”</p> +<p>“Yes, in spite of his disgrace. I hear he is to preach +in your Protestant chapel to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Anne had brought a letter of introduction from her uncle in case +she should have any opportunity of seeing his old fellow canon, who +had often been kind to her when she was a little girl at Winchester. +She was in many minds of hope and fear as to the meeting him or speaking +to him, under the consciousness of the possible defection from his Church, +and the doubt and dread whether to confide her secret and consult him. +However, the extreme improbability of her being able to do so made the +yearning for the sight of a Winchester face predominate, and her vigil +of the night past made the nursery authorities concede that she had +fairly earned her turn to go to church in the forenoon, since she was +obstinate enough to want to run after an old heretic so-called Bishop +who had so pragmatically withstood His Majesty. Jane Humphreys +went too, for though she was not fond of week-day services, any escape +from the nursery was welcome, and there was a chance of seeing Lady +Churchill’s new mantle.</p> +<p>In this she was disappointed, for none of the grandees were present, +indeed it was whispered as the two girls made their way to the chapel, +that there was great excitement over the Declaration of the Prince of +Orange, which had arrived last night, that he had been invited by the +lords spiritual and temporal to take up the cause of the liberties of +England, and inquire into the evidence of the birth of the Prince of +Wales.</p> +<p>People shrugged their shoulders, but looked volumes, though it was +no time nor place for saying more; and when in the chapel, that countenance +of Bishop Ken, so beautiful in outward form, so expressive of strength, +sweetness, and devotion, brought back such a flood of old associations +to Anne, that it was enough to change the whole current of her thoughts +and make her her own mother’s child again, even before he opened +his mouth. She caught his sweet voice in the Psalms, and closing +her eyes seemed to be in the Cathedral once more among those mighty +columns and arches; and when he began his sermon, on the text, ‘Let +the Saints be joyful with glory, let them rejoice in their beds,’ +she found the Communion of Saints in Paradise and on earth knit together +in one fellowship as truly and preciously brought home to her as ever +it had been to Pauline, and moreover when she thought of her mother, +‘the lurid mist’ was dispelled which had so haunted her +the night before.</p> +<p>The longing to speak to him awoke; and as he was quitting the chapel +in full procession his kindly eye lit upon her with a look of recognition; +and before she had moved from her place, one of the attendant clergy +came back by his desire to conduct her to him.</p> +<p>He held out his hand as she courtesied low.</p> +<p>“Mistress Woodford,” he said, “my old friend’s +niece! He wrote to me of you, but I have had no opportunity of +seeing you before.”</p> +<p>“Oh, my Lord! I was so much longing to see and speak +with you.”</p> +<p>“I am lodging at Lambeth,” said the Bishop, “and +it is too far to take you with me thither, but perhaps my good brother +here,” turning to the chaplain, “can help us to a room where +we can be private.”</p> +<p>This was done; the chaplain’s parlour at the Cockpit was placed +at their disposal, and there a few kind words from Bishop Ken led to +the unburthening of her heavy heart. Of Ken’s replies to +the controversial difficulties there is no need to tell. Indeed, +ambition was far more her temptation than any real difficulties as to +doctrine. Her dissatisfaction at being unable to answer the questions +raised by Father Crump was exaggerated as the excuse and cover to herself +of her craving for escape from her present subordinate post; and this +the Bishop soon saw, and tenderly but firmly drew her to own both this +and to confess the ambitious spirit which had led her into this scene +of temptation. “It was true indeed,” he said, “that +trial by our own error is hardest to encounter, but you have repented, +and by God’s grace, my child, I trust you will be enabled to steer +your course aright through the trials of loyalty to our God and to our +King that are coming upon us all. Ever remember God and the plain +duty first, His anointed next. Is there more that you would like +to tell me? for you still bear a troubled look, and I have full time.”</p> +<p>Then Anne told him all the strange adventure of Portchester Castle, +and even of the apparition of the night before. That gentleness +and sympathy seemed to draw out all that was in her heart, and to her +surprise, he did not treat the story of that figure as necessarily a +delusion. He had known and heard too much of spiritual manifestations +to the outward senses to declare that such things could not be.</p> +<p>What she had seen might be explained by one of four hypotheses. +It was either a phantom of her brain, and her being fully awake, although +recently dwelling on the recollection, rendered that idea less probable, +or the young man had not been killed and she had seen him in <i>propriâ +personâ</i>.</p> +<p>She had Charles Archfield’s word that the death was certain. +He had never been heard of again, and if alive, the walk before Whitehall +was the last place where he would be. As to mistaking any one +else for him, the Bishop remembered enough of the queer changeling elf +to agree with her that it was not a very probable contingency. +And if it were indeed a spirit, why should it visit her? There +had been one good effect certainly in the revival of home thoughts and +turning her mind from the allurements of favour, but that did not seem +to account for the spirit seeking her out.</p> +<p>Was it, Anne faltered, a sign that she ought to confess all, for +the sake of procuring Christian burial for him. Yet how should +she, when she had promised silence to young Archfield? True, it +was for his wife’s sake, and she was dead; but there were the +rest of his family and himself to be considered. What should she +do?</p> +<p>The Bishop thought a little while, then said that he did not believe +that she ought to speak without Mr. Archfield’s consent, unless +she saw any one else brought into danger by her silence. If it +ever became possible, he thought, that she should ascertain whether +the body were in the vault, and if so, it might be possible to procure +burial for it, perhaps without identification, or at any rate without +making known what could only cause hostility and distress between the +two families, unless the young man himself on his return should make +the confession. This the Bishop evidently considered the sounder, +though the harder course, but he held that Anne had no right to take +the initiative. She could only wait, and bear her load alone; +but the extreme kindness and compassion with which he talked to her +soothed and comforted her so much that she felt infinitely relieved +and strengthened when he dismissed her with his blessing, and far happier +and more at peace than she had been since that terrible summer morning, +though greatly humbled, and taught to repent of her aspirations after +earthly greatness, and to accept her present condition as a just retribution, +and a trial of constancy.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX<br /> +The Daughter’s Secret</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Thy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tied<br /> +Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here:<br /> +I can scarce speak to thee.”</p> +<p>King Lear.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Am I—oh! am I going home?” thought Anne. +“My uncle will be at Winchester. I am glad of it. +I could not yet bear to see Portchester again. That Shape would +be there. Yet how shall I deal with what seems laid on me? +But oh! the joy of escaping from this weary, weary court! Oh, +the folly that took me hither! Now that the Prince is gone, Lady +Strickland will surely speak to the Queen for my dismissal.”</p> +<p>There had been seventeen days of alarms, reports, and counter-reports, +and now the King, with the Prince of Denmark, had gone to join the army +on Salisbury Plain, and at the same time the little Prince of Wales +had been sent off to his half-brother, the Duke of Berwick, at Portsmouth, +under charge of Lady Powys, there to be embarked for France. Anne +had been somewhat disappointed at not going with them, hoping that when +at Portsmouth or in passing Winchester she might see her uncle and obtain +her release, for she had no desire to be taken abroad; but it was decreed +otherwise. Miss Dunord went, rejoicing and thankful to be returning +to France, and the other three rockers remained.</p> +<p>There had already been more than one day of alarms and tumults. +The Body-guards within were always on duty; the Life-guards without +were constantly patrolling; and on the 5th of November, when the Prince +of Orange was known to be near at hand, and was in fact actually landing +at Torbay, the mob had with difficulty been restrained from burning +in effigy, not only Guy Fawkes, but Pope, cardinals, and mitred bishops, +in front of the palace, and actually paraded them all, with a figure +of poor Sir Edmondbury Godfrey bearing his head in his hand, tied on +horseback behind a Jesuit, full before the windows, with yells of</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Pope, the Pope,<br /> +Up the ladder and down the rope,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and clattering of warming-pans.</p> +<p>Jane Humphreys was dreadfully frightened. Anne found her crouching +close to her bed, with the curtains wrapped round her. “Have +they got in?” she cried. “O Miss Woodford, how shall +we make them believe we are good Protestants?”</p> +<p>And when this terror had subsided, and it was well known that the +Dutch were at Exeter, there was another panic, for one of the Life-guardsmen +had told her to beware, since if the Royal troops at Hounslow were beaten, +the Papists would surely take their revenge.</p> +<p>“I am to scream from the windows to Mr. Shaw,” she said; +but what good will that do if the priests and the Frenchmen have strangled +me? And perhaps he won’t be on guard.”</p> +<p>“He was only trying to frighten you,” suggested Anne.</p> +<p>“Dear me, Miss Woodford, aren’t you afraid? You +have the stomach of a lion.”</p> +<p>“Why, what would be the good of hurting us?”</p> +<p>However, Anne was not at all surprised, when on the very evening +of the Prince’s departure, old Mrs. Humphreys, a venerable-looking +dame in handsome but Puritanically-fashioned garments, came in a hackney +coach to request in her son’s name that her granddaughter might +return with her, as her occupation was at an end.</p> +<p>Jane was transported with joy.</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the grandmother, “look at you now, +and think how crazy you were to go to the palace, though ’twas +always against my judgment.”</p> +<p>“Ah, I little knew how mortal dull it would be!” said +Jane.</p> +<p>“Ye’ve found it no better than the husks that the swine +did eat, eh? So much the better and safer for your soul, child.”</p> +<p>Nobody wanted to retain Jane, and while she was hastily putting her +things together, the grandmother turned to Anne: “And you, Mistress +Woodford, from what I hear, you have been very good in keeping my silly +child stanch to her religion and true to her duty. If ever on +a pinch you needed a friend in London, my son and I would be proud to +serve you—Master Joshua Humphreys, at the Golden Lamb, Gracechurch +Street, mind you. No one knows what may hap in these strange and +troublesome times, and you might be glad of a house to go to till you +can send to your own friends—that is, if we are not all murdered +by the Papists first.”</p> +<p>Though Anne did not expect such a catastrophe as this, she was really +grateful for the offer, and thought it possible that she might avail +herself of it, as she had not been able to communicate with any of her +mother’s old friends, and Bishop Ken was not to her knowledge +still in London.</p> +<p>She watched anxiously for the opportunity of asking Lady Strickland +whether she might apply for her dismissal, and write to her uncle to +fetch her home.</p> +<p>“Child,” said the lady, “I think you love the Queen.”</p> +<p>“Indeed I do, madam.”</p> +<p>“It is well that at this juncture all Protestants should not +leave her. You are a gentlewoman in manner, and can speak her +native tongue, friends are falling from her, scarcely ladies are left +enough to make a fit appearance around her; if you are faithful to her, +remain, I entreat of you.”</p> +<p>There was no resisting such an appeal, and Anne remained in the rooms +now left bare and empty, until a message was brought to her to come +to the Queen. Mary Beatrice sat in a chair by her fire, looking +sad and listless, her eyes red with weeping, but she gave her sweet +smile as the girl entered, and held out her hand, saying in her sweet +Italian, “You are faithful, Signorina Anna! you remain! +That is well; but now my son is gone, Anna, you must be mine. +I make you my reader instead of his rocker.”</p> +<p>As Anne knelt on one knee to kiss hands with tears in her eyes, the +Queen impulsively threw her arms round her neck and kissed her. +“Ah, you loved him, and he loved you, <i>il mio tesorino</i>?”</p> +<p>Promotion <i>had</i> come—how strangely. She had to enter +on her duties at once, and to read some chapters of an Italian version +of the <i>Imitation</i>. A reader was of a higher grade of importance +than a rocker, and for the ensuing days, when not in attendance on the +Queen, Anne was the companion of Lady Strickland and Lady Oglethorpe. +In the absence of the King and Prince, the Queen received Princess Anne +at her own table, and Lady Churchill and Lady Fitzhardinge joined that +of her ladies-in-waiting.</p> +<p>Lady Churchill, with her long neck, splendid hair and complexion, +short chin, and sparkling blue eyes, was beautiful to look at, but not +at all disposed to be agreeable to the Queen’s ladies, whom she +treated with a sort of blunt scorn, not at all disguised by the forms +of courtesy. However, she had, to their relief, a good deal of +leave of absence just then to visit her children, as indeed the ladies +agreed that she did pretty much as she chose, and that the faithful +Mrs. Morley was somewhat afraid of the dear Mrs. Freeman.</p> +<p>One evening in coming up some steps Princess Anne entangled her foot +in her pink taffetas petticoat, nearly fell, and tore a large rent, +besides breaking the thread of the festoons of seed pearls which bordered +it, and scattering them on the floor.</p> +<p>“Lack-a-day! Lack-a-day!” sighed she, as after +a little screaming she gathered herself up again. “That +new coat! How shall I ever face Danvers again such a figure? +She’s an excellent tirewoman, but she will be neither to have +nor to hold when she sees that gown—that she set such store by! +Nay, I can hardly step for it.”</p> +<p>“I think I could repair it, with Her Majesty’s and your +Royal Highness’s permission,” said Anne, who was creeping +about on her knees picking up the pearls.”</p> +<p>“Oh! do! do! There’s a good child, and then Danvers +and Dawson need know nothing about it,” cried the Princess in +great glee. “You remember Dawson, don’t you, little +Woodie, as we used to call you, and how she used to rate us when we +were children if we soiled our frocks?”</p> +<p>So, in the withdrawing-room, Anne sat on the floor with needle and +silk, by the light of the wax candles, deftly repairing the rent, and +then threading the scattered pearls, and arranging the festoon so as +to hide the darn. The Princess was delighted, and while the poor +wife lay back in her chair, thankful that behind her fan she could give +way to her terrible anxieties about her little son, who might be crossing +to France, and her husband, suffering from fearful nose-bleeding, and +wellnigh alone among traitors and deserters, the step-daughter, on the +other side of the great hearth, chattered away complacently to ‘little +Woodford.’</p> +<p>“Do you recollect old Dawson, and how she used to grumble when +I went to sup with the Duchess—my own mother—you know, because +she used to give me chocolate, and she said it made me scream at night, +and be over fat by day? Ah! that was before you used to come among +us. It was after I went to France to my poor aunt of Orleans. +I remember she never would let us kiss her for fear of spoiling her +complexion, and Mademoiselle and I did so hate living <i>maigre</i> +on the fast days. I was glad enough to get home at last, and then +my sister was jealous because I talked French better than she did.”</p> +<p>So the Princess prattled on without needing much reply, until her +namesake had finished her work, with which she was well pleased, and +promised to remember her. To Anne it was an absolute marvel how +she could thus talk when she knew that her husband had deserted her +father in his need, and that things were in a most critical position.</p> +<p>The Queen could not refrain from a sigh of relief when her step-daughter +had retired to the Cockpit; and after seeking her sleepless bed, she +begged Anne, “if it did not too much incommode her, to read to +her from the Gospel.”</p> +<p>The next day was Sunday, and Anne felt almost as if deserting her +cause, when going to the English service in Whitehall Chapel Royal, +now almost emptied except of the Princess’s suite, and some of +these had the bad taste and profanity to cough and chatter all through +the special prayer drawn up by the Archbishop for the King’s safety.</p> +<p>People were not very reverent, and as all stood up at the end of +the Advent Sunday service to let the Princess sweep by in her glittering +green satin petticoat, peach-coloured velvet train, and feather-crowned +head, she laid a hand on Anne’s arm, and whispered, “Follow +me to my closet, little Woodford.”</p> +<p>There was no choice but to obey, as the Queen would not require her +reader till after dinner, and Anne followed after the various attendants, +who did not seem very willing to forward a private interview with a +possible rival, though, as Anne supposed, the object must be to convey +some message to the Queen. By the time she arrived and had been +admitted to the inner chamber or dressing-room, the Princess had thrown +off her more cumbrous finery, and sat at ease in an arm-chair. +She nodded her be-curled head, and said, “You can keep a secret, +little Woodie?”</p> +<p>“I can, madam, but I do not love one,” said Anne, thinking +of her most burthensome one.</p> +<p>“Well, no need to keep this long. You are a good young +maiden, and my own poor mother’s godchild, and you are handy and +notable. You deserve better preferment than ever you will get +in that Popish household, where your religion is in danger. Now, +I am not going to be in jeopardy here any longer, nor let myself be +kept hostage for his Highness. Come to my rooms at bedtime. +Slip in when I wish the Queen good-night, and I’ll find an excuse. +Then you shall come with me to—no, I’ll not say where, and +I’ll make your fortune, only mum’s the word.”</p> +<p>“But—Your Royal Highness is very good, but I am sworn +to the Prince and Queen. I could not leave them without permission.”</p> +<p>“Prince! Prince! Pretty sort of a Prince. +Prince of brickbats, as Churchill says. Nay, girl, don’t +turn away in that fashion. Consider. Your religion is in +danger.”</p> +<p>“Nay, madam, my religion would not be served by breaking my +oath.”</p> +<p>“Pooh! What’s your oath to a mere pretender? +Besides, consider your fortune. Rocker to a puling babe—even +if he was what they say he is. And don’t build on the Queen’s +favour—even if she remains what she is now, she is too much beset +with Papists and foreigners to do anything for you.”</p> +<p>“I do not,” Anne began to say, but the Princess gave +her no time.</p> +<p>“Besides, pride will have a fall, and if you are a good maid, +and hold your tongue, and serve me well in this strait, I’ll make +you my maid of honour, and marry you so that you shall put Lady before +your name. Ay, and get good preferment for your uncle, who has +had only a poor stall from the King here.”</p> +<p>Anne repressed an inclination to say this was not the way in which +her uncle would wish to get promotion, and only replied, “Your +Royal Highness is very good, but—”</p> +<p>Whereat the Princess, in a huff, exclaimed, “Oh, very well, +if you choose to be torn to pieces by the mob, and slaughtered by the +priests, like poor Godfrey, and burnt by the Papists at last, unless +you go to Mass, you may stay for aught I care, and joy go with you. +I thought I was doing you a kindness for my poor mother’s sake, +but it seems you know best. If you like to cast in your lot with +the Pope, I wash my hands of you.”</p> +<p>Accordingly Anne courtesied herself off, not seriously alarmed as +to the various catastrophes foretold by the Princess, though a little +shaken in nerves. Here then was another chance of promotion, certainly +without treason to her profession of faith, but so offered that honour +could not but revolt against it, though in truth poor Princess Anne +was neither so foolish nor so heartless a woman as she appeared in the +excitement to which an uneasy conscience, the expectation of a great +enterprise, and a certain amount of terror had worked her up; but she +had high words again in the evening, as was supposed, with the Queen. +Certainly Anne found her own Royal Mistress weeping and agitated, though +she only owned to being very anxious about the health of the King, who +had had a second violent attack of bleeding at the nose, and she did +not seem consoled by the assurances of her elder attendants that the +relief had probably saved him from a far more dangerous attack. +Again Anne read to her till a late hour, but next morning was strangely +disturbed.</p> +<p>The Royal household had not been long dressed, and breakfast had +just been served to the ladies, when loud screams were heard, most startling +in the unsettled and anxious state of affairs. The Queen, pale +and trembling, came out of her chamber with her hair on her shoulders. +“Tell me at once, for pity’s sake. Is it my husband +or my son?” she asked with clasped hands, as two or three of the +Princess’s servants rushed forward.</p> +<p>“The Princess, the Princess!” was the cry, “the +priests have murdered her.”</p> +<p>“What have you done with her, madam?” rudely demanded +Mrs. Buss, one of the lost lady’s nurses.</p> +<p>Mary Beatrice drew herself up with grave dignity, saying, “I +suppose your mistress is where she likes to be. I know nothing +of her, but I have no doubt that you will soon hear of her.”</p> +<p>There was something in the Queen’s manner that hushed the outcry +in her presence, but the women, with Lady Clarendon foremost of them, +continued to seek up and down the two palaces as if they thought the +substantial person of the Princess Anne could be hidden in a cupboard.</p> +<p>Anne, in the first impulse, exclaimed, “She is gone!”</p> +<p>In a moment Mrs. Royer turned, “Gone, did you say? Do +you know it?”</p> +<p>“You knew it and kept it secret!” cried Lady Strickland.</p> +<p>“A traitor too!” said Lady Oglethorpe, in her vehement +Irish tone. “I would not have thought it of Nanny Moore’s +daughter!” and she turned her eyes in sad reproach on Anne.</p> +<p>“If you know, tell me where she is gone,” cried Mrs. +Buss, and the cry was re-echoed by the other women, while Anne’s +startled “I cannot tell! I do not know!” was unheeded.</p> +<p>Only the Queen raising her hand gravely said, “Silence! +What is this?”</p> +<p>“Miss Woodford knew.”</p> +<p>“And never told!” cried the babble of voices.</p> +<p>“Come hither, Mistress Woodford,” said the Queen. +“Tell me, do you know where Her Highness is?”</p> +<p>“No, please your Majesty,” said Anne, trembling from +head to foot. “I do not know where she is.”</p> +<p>“Did you know of her purpose?”</p> +<p>“Your Majesty pardon me. She called me to her closet +yesterday and pledged me to secrecy before I knew what she would say.”</p> +<p>“Only youthful inexperience will permit that pledge to be implied +in matters of State,” said the Queen. “Continue, Mistress +Woodford; what did she tell you?”</p> +<p>“She said she feared to be made a hostage for the Prince of +Denmark, and meant to escape, and she bade me come to her chamber at +night to go with her.”</p> +<p>“And wherefore did you not? You are of her religion,” +said the Queen bitterly.</p> +<p>“Madam, how could I break mine oath to your Majesty and His +Royal Highness?”</p> +<p>“And you thought concealing the matter according to that oath? +Nay, nay, child, I blame you not. It was a hard strait between +your honour to her and your duty to the King and to me, and I cannot +but be thankful to any one who does regard her word. But this +desertion will be a sore grief to His Majesty.”</p> +<p>Mary Beatrice was fairer-minded than the women, who looked askance +at the girl, Princess Anne’s people resenting that one of the +other household should have been chosen as confidante, and the Queen’s +being displeased that the secret had been kept. But at that moment +frightful yells and shouts arose, and a hasty glance from the windows +showed a mass of men, women, and children howling for their Princess. +They would tear down Whitehall if she were not delivered up to them. +However, a line of helmeted Life-guards on their heavy horses was drawn +up between, with sabres held upright, and there seemed no disposition +to rush upon these. Lord Clarendon, uncle to the Princess, had +satisfied himself that she had really escaped, and he now came out and +assured the mob, in a stentorian voice, that he was perfectly satisfied +of his niece’s safety, waving the letter she had left on her toilet-table.</p> +<p>The mob shouted, “Bless the Princess! Hurrah for the +Protestant faith! No warming-pans!” but in a good-tempered +mood; and the poor little garrison breathed more freely; but Anne did +not feel herself forgiven. She was in a manner sent to Coventry, +and treated as if she were on the enemy’s side. Never had +her proud nature suffered so much, and she shed bitter tears as she +said to herself, “It is very unjust! What could I have done? +How could I stop Her Highness from speaking? Could they expect +me to run in and accuse her? Oh, that I were at home again! +Mother, mother, you little know! Of what use am I now?”</p> +<p>It was the very question asked by Hester Bridgeman, whom she found +packing her clothes in her room.</p> +<p>“Take care that this is sent after me,” she said, “when +a messenger I shall send calls for it.”</p> +<p>“What, you have your dismissal?”</p> +<p>“No, I should no more get it than you have done. They +cannot afford to let any one go, you see, or they will have to dress +up the chambermaids to stand behind the Queen’s chair. I +have settled it with my cousin, Harry Bridgeman, I shall mix with the +throng that come to ask for news, and be off with him before the crowd +breaks in, as they will some of these days, for the guards are but half-hearted. +My Portia, why did not you take a good offer, and go with the Princess?”</p> +<p>“I thought it would be base.”</p> +<p>“And much you gained by it! You are only suspected and +accused.”</p> +<p>“I can’t be a rat leaving a sinking ship.”</p> +<p>“That is courteous, but I forgive it, Portia, as I know you +will repent of your folly. But you never did know which side to +look for the butter.”</p> +<p>Perhaps seeing how ugly desertion and defection looked in others +made constancy easier to Anne, much as she longed for the Close at Winchester, +and she even thought with a hope of the Golden Lamb, Gracechurch, as +an immediate haven sure to give her a welcome.</p> +<p>Her occupation of reading to the Queen was ended by the King’s +return, so physically exhausted by violent nose-bleeding, so despondent +at the universal desertion, and so broken-hearted at his daughter’s +defection, that his wife was absorbed in attending upon him.</p> +<p>Anne began to watch for an opportunity to demand a dismissal, which +she thought would exempt her from all blame, but she was surprised and +a little dismayed by being summoned to the King in the Queen’s +chamber. He was lying on a couch clad in a loose dressing-gown +instead of his laced coat, and a red night-cap replacing his heavy peruke, +and his face was as white and sallow as if he were recovering from a +long illness.</p> +<p>“Little godchild,” he said, holding out his hand as Anne +made her obeisance, “the Queen tells me you can read well. +I have a fancy to hear.”</p> +<p>Immensely relieved at the kindness of his tone, Anne courtesied, +and murmured out her willingness.</p> +<p>“Read this,” he said; “I would fain hear this; +my father loved it. Here.”</p> +<p>Anne felt her task a hard one when the King pointed to the third +Act of Shakespeare’s <i>Richard II</i>. She steeled herself +and strengthened her voice as best she could, and struggled on till +she came to—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I’ll give my jewels for a set of beads,<br /> +My gay apparel for an almsman’s gown,<br /> +My figured goblets for a dish of wood,<br /> +My sceptre for a palmer’s walking-staff,<br /> +My subjects for a pair of carved saints,<br /> +And my large kingdom for a little grave,<br /> +A little, little grave.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There she fairly broke down, and sobbed.</p> +<p>“Little one, little one,” said James, you are sorry for +poor Richard, eh?”</p> +<p>“Oh, sir!” was all she could say.</p> +<p>“And you are in disgrace, they tell me, because my daughter +chose to try to entice you away,” said James, “and you felt +bound not to betray her. Never mind; it was an awkward case of +conscience, and there’s not too much faithfulness to spare in +these days. We shall know whom to trust to another time. +Can you continue now? I would take a lesson how, ‘with mine +own hands to give away my crown.’”</p> +<p>It was well for Anne that fresh tidings were brought in at that moment, +and she had to retire, with the sore feeling turned into an enthusiastic +pity and loyalty, which needed the relief of sobs and mental vows of +fidelity. She felt herself no longer in disgrace with her Royal +master and mistress, but she was not in favour with her few companions +left—all who could not get over her secrecy, and thought her at +least a half traitor as well as a heretic.</p> +<p>Whitehall was almost in a state of siege, the turbulent mob continually +coming to shout, ‘No Popery!’ and the like, though they +proceeded no farther. The ministers and other gentlemen came and +went, but the priests and the ladies durst not venture out for fear +of being recognised and insulted, if not injured. Bad news came +in from day to day, and no tidings of the Prince of Wales being in safety +in France. Once Anne received a letter from her uncle, which cheered +her much.</p> +<blockquote><p>DEAR CHILD—So far as I can gather, your employment +is at an end, if it be true as reported that the Prince of Wales is +at Portsmouth, with the intent that he should be carried to France; +but the gentlemen of the navy seem strongly disposed to prevent such +a transportation of the heir of the realm to a foreign country. +I fear me that you are in a state of doubt and anxiety, but I need not +exhort your good mother’s child to be true and loyal to her trust +and to the Anointed of the Lord in all things lawful at all costs. +If you are left in any distress or perplexity, go either to Sir Theophilus +Oglethorpe’s house, or to that of my good old friend, the Dean +of Westminster; and as soon as I hear from you I will endeavour to ride +to town and bring you home to my house, which is greatly at a loss without +its young mistress.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The letter greatly refreshed Anne’s spirits, and gave her something +to look forward to, giving her energy to stitch at a set of lawn cuffs +and bands for her uncle, and think with the more pleasure of a return +that his time of residence at Winchester lay between her and that vault +in the castle.</p> +<p>There were no more attempts made at her conversion. Every one +was too anxious and occupied, and one or more of the chiefly obnoxious +priests were sent privately away from day to day. While summer +friends departed, Anne often thought of Bishop Ken’s counsel as +to loyalty to Heaven and man.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX<br /> +The Flight</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Storms may rush in, and crimes and woes<br /> + Deform that peaceful bower;<br /> +They may not mar the deep repose<br /> + Of that immortal flower.<br /> +Though only broken hearts be found<br /> + To watch his cradle by,<br /> +No blight is on his slumbers sound,<br /> + No touch of harmful eye.”</p> +<p>KEBLE.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The news was even worse and worse in that palace of despondency and +terror. Notice had arrived that Lord Dartmouth was withheld from +despatching the young Prince to France by his own scruples and those +of the navy; and orders were sent for the child’s return. +Then came a terrible alarm. The escort sent to meet him were reported +to have been attacked by the rabble on entering London and dispersed, +so that each man had to shift for himself.</p> +<p>There was a quarter of an hour which seemed many hours of fearful +suspense, while King and Queen both knelt at their altar, praying in +agony for the child whom they pictured to themselves in the hands of +the infuriated mob, too much persuaded of his being an imposture to +pity his unconscious innocence. No one who saw the blanched cheeks +and agonised face of Mary Beatrice, or James’s stern, mute misery, +could have believed for a moment in the cruel delusion that he was no +child of theirs.</p> +<p>The Roman Catholic women were with them. To enter the oratory +would in those circumstances have been a surrender of principle, but +none the less did Anne pray with fervent passion in her chamber for +pity for the child, and comfort for his parents. At last there +was a stir, and hurrying out to the great stair, Anne saw a man in plain +clothes replying in an Irish accent to the King, who was supporting +the Queen with his arm. Happily the escort had missed the Prince +of Wales. They had been obliged to turn back to London without +meeting him, and from that danger he had been saved.</p> +<p>A burst of tears and a cry of fervent thanksgiving relieved the Queen’s +heart, and James gave eager thanks instead of the reprimand the colonel +had expected for his blundering.</p> +<p>A little later, another messenger brought word that Lord and Lady +Powys had halted at Guildford with their charge. A French gentleman, +Monsieur de St. Victor, was understood to have undertaken to bring him +to London—understood—for everything was whispered rather +than told among the panic-stricken women. No one who knew the +expectation could go to bed that night except that the King and Queen +had—in order to disarm suspicion—to go through the accustomed +ceremonies of the <i>coucher</i>. The ladies sat or lay on their +beds intently listening, as hour after hour chimed from the clocks.</p> +<p>At last, at about three in the morning, the challenge of the sentinels +was heard from point to point. Every one started up, and hurried +almost pell-mell towards the postern door. The King and Queen +were both descending a stair leading from the King’s dressing-room, +and as the door was cautiously opened, it admitted a figure in a fur +cloak, which he unfolded, and displayed the sleeping face of the infant +well wrapped from the December cold.</p> +<p>With rapture the Queen gathered him into her arms, and the father +kissed him with a vehemence that made him awake and cry. St. Victor +had thought it safer that his other attendants should come in by degrees +in the morning, and thus Miss Woodford was the only actually effective +nursery attendant at hand. His food was waiting by the fire in +his own sleeping chamber, and thither he was carried. There the +Queen held him on her lap, while Anne fed him, and he smiled at her +and held out his arms.</p> +<p>The King came, and making a sign to Anne not to move, stood watching.</p> +<p>Presently he said, “She has kept one secret, we may trust her +with another.”</p> +<p>“Oh, not yet, not yet,” implored the Queen. “Now +I have both my treasures again, let me rest in peace upon them for a +little while.”</p> +<p>The King turned away with eyes full of tears while Anne was lulling +the child to sleep. She wondered, but durst not ask the Queen, +where was the tiler’s wife; but later she learnt from Miss Dunord, +that the woman had been so terrified by the cries of the multitude against +the ‘pretender,’ and still more at the sight of the sea, +that she had gone into transports of fright, implored to go home, and +perhaps half wilfully, become useless, so that the weaning already commenced +had to be expedited, and the fretfulness of the poor child had been +one of the troubles for some days. However, he seemed on his return +to have forgotten his troubles, and Anne had him in her arms nearly +all the next day.</p> +<p>It was not till late in the evening that Anne knew what the King +had meant. Then, while she was walking up and down the room, amusing +the little Prince with showing by turns the window and his face in a +large mirror, the Queen came in, evidently fresh from weeping, and holding +out her arms for him, said, after looking to see that there was no other +audience—</p> +<p>“Child, the King would repose a trust in you. He wills +that you should accompany me to-night on a voyage to France to put this +little angel in safety.”</p> +<p>“As your Majesty will,” returned Anne; “I will +do my best.”</p> +<p>“So the King said. He knew his brave sailor’s daughter +was worthy of his trust, and you can speak French. It is well, +for we go under the escort of Messieurs de Lauzun and St. Victor. +Be ready at midnight. Lady Strickland or the good Labadie will +explain more to you, but do not speak of this to anyone else. +You have leave now,” she added, as she herself carried the child +towards his father’s rooms.</p> +<p>The maiden’s heart swelled at the trust reposed in her, and +the King’s kind words, and she kept back the sense of anxiety +and doubt as to so vague a future. She found Mrs. Labadie lying +on her bed awake, but trying to rest between two busy nights, and she +was then told that there was to be a flight from the palace of the Queen +and Prince at midnight, Mrs. Labadie and Anne alone going with them, +though Lord and Lady Powys and Lady Strickland, with the Queen’s +Italian ladies, would meet them on board the yacht which was waiting +at Gravesend. The nurse advised Anne to put a few necessary equipments +into a knapsack bound under a cloak, and to leave other garments with +her own in charge of Mr. Labadie, who would despatch them with those +of the suite, and would follow in another day with the King. Doubt +or refusal there could of course be none in such circumstances, and +a high-spirited girl like Anne could not but feel a thrill of heart +at selection for such confidential and signal service at her age, scarcely +seventeen. Her one wish was to write to her uncle what had become +of her. Mrs. Labadie hardly thought it safe, but said her husband +would take charge of a note, and if possible, post it when they were +safe gone, but nothing of the King’s plans must be mentioned.</p> +<p>The hours passed away anxiously, and yet only too fast. So +many had quitted the palace that there was nothing remarkable in packing, +but as Anne collected her properties, she could not help wondering whether +she should ever see them again. Sometimes her spirit rose at the +thought of serving her lovely Queen, saving the little Prince, and fulfilling +the King’s trust; at others, she was full of vague depression +at the thought of being cut off from all she knew and loved, with seas +between, and with so little notice to her uncle, who might never learn +where she was; but she knew she had his approval in venturing all, and +making any sacrifice for the King whom all deserted; and she really +loved her Queen and little Prince.</p> +<p>The night came, and she and Mrs. Labadie, fully equipped in cloaks +and hoods, waited together, Anne moving about restlessly, the elder +woman advising her to rest while she could. The little Prince, +all unconscious of the dangers of the night, or of his loss of a throne, +lay among his wraps in his cradle fast asleep.</p> +<p>By and by the door opened, and treading softly in came the King in +his dressing-gown and night-cap, the Queen closely muffled, Lady Strickland +also dressed for a journey, and two gentlemen, the one tall and striking-looking, +the other slim and dark, in their cloaks, namely, Lauzun and St. Victor.</p> +<p>It was one of those supreme moments almost beyond speech or manifestation +of feeling.</p> +<p>The King took his child in his arms, kissed him, and solemnly said +to Lauzun, “I confide my wife and son to you.”</p> +<p>Both Frenchmen threw themselves on their knees kissing his hand with +a vow of fidelity. Then giving the infant to Mrs. Labadie, James +folded his wife in his arms in a long mute embrace; Anne carried the +basket containing food for the child; and first with a lantern went +St. Victor, then Lauzun, handing the Queen; Mrs. Labadie with the child, +and Anne following, they sped down the stairs, along the great gallery, +with steps as noiseless as they could make them, down another stair +to a door which St. Victor opened.</p> +<p>A sentry challenged, sending a thrill of dismay through the anxious +hearts, but St. Victor had the word, and on they went into the privy +gardens, where often Anne had paced behind Mrs. Labadie as the Prince +took his airing. Startling lights from the windows fell on them, +illuminating the drops of rain that plashed round them on that grim +December night, and their steps sounded on the gravel, while still the +babe, sheltered under the cloak, slept safely. Another door was +reached, more sentries challenged and passed; here was a street whose +stones and silent houses shone for a little space as St. Victor raised +his lantern and exchanged a word with a man on the box of a carriage.</p> +<p>One by one they were handed in, the Queen, the child, the nurse, +Anne, and Lauzun, St. Victor taking his place outside. As if in +a dream they rattled on through the dark street, no one speaking except +that Lauzun asked the Queen if she were wet.</p> +<p>It was not far before they stopped at the top of the steps called +the Horseferry. A few lights twinkled here and there, and were +reflected trembling in the river, otherwise a black awful gulf, from +which, on St. Victor’s cautious hail, a whistle ascended, and +a cloaked figure with a lantern came up the steps glistening in the +rain.</p> +<p>One by one again, in deep silence, they were assisted down, and into +the little boat that rocked ominously as they entered it. There +the women crouched together over the child unable to see one another, +Anne returning the clasp of a hand on hers, believing it Mrs. Labadie’s, +till on Lauzun’s exclaiming, “<i>Est ce que j’incommode +sa</i> <i>Majesté</i>?” the reply showed her that it was +the Queen’s hand that she held, and she began a startled “Pardon, +your Majesty,” but the sweet reply in Italian was, “Ah, +we are as sisters in this stress.”</p> +<p>The eager French voice of Lauzun went on, in undertones certainly, +but as if he had not the faculty of silence, and amid the plash of the +oars, the rush of the river, and the roar of the rain, it was not easy +to tell what he said, his voice was only another of the noises, though +the Queen made little courteous murmurs in reply. It was a hard +pull against wind and tide towards a little speck of green light which +was shown to guide the rowers; and when at last they reached it, St. +Victor’s hail was answered by Dusions, one of the servants, and +they drew to the steps where he held a lantern.</p> +<p>“To the coach at once, your Majesty.”</p> +<p>“It is at the inn—ready—but I feared to let it +stand.”</p> +<p>Lauzun uttered a French imprecation under his breath, and danced +on the step with impatience, only restrained so far as to hand out the +Queen and her two attendants. He was hotly ordering off Dusions +and St. Victor to bring the coach, when the former suggested that they +must find a place for the Queen to wait in where they could find her.</p> +<p>“What is that dark building above?”</p> +<p>“Lambeth Church,” Dusions answered.</p> +<p>“Ah, your Protestant churches are not open; there is no shelter +for us there,” sighed the Queen.</p> +<p>“There is shelter in the angle of the buttress; I have been +there, your Majesty,” said Dusions.</p> +<p>Thither then they turned.</p> +<p>“What can that be?” exclaimed the Queen, starting and +shuddering as a fierce light flashed in the windows and played on the +wall.</p> +<p>“It is not within, madame,” Lauzun encouraged; “it +is reflected light from a fire somewhere on the other side of the river.”</p> +<p>“A bonfire for our expulsion. Ah! why should they hate +us so?” sighed the poor Queen.</p> +<p>“’Tis worse than that, only there’s no need to +tell Her Majesty so,” whispered Mrs. Labadie, who, in the difficulties +of the ascent, had been fain to hand the still-sleeping child to Anne. +“’Tis the Catholic chapel of St. Roque. The heretic +miscreants!”</p> +<p>“Pray Heaven no life be lost,” sighed Anne.</p> +<p>Sinister as the light was, it aided the poor fugitives at that dead +hour of night to find an angle between the church wall and a buttress +where the eaves afforded a little shelter from the rain, which slackened +a little, when they were a little concealed from the road, so that the +light need not betray them in case any passenger was abroad at such +an hour, as two chimed from the clock overhead.</p> +<p>The women kept together close against the wall to avoid the drip +of the eaves. Lauzun walked up and down like a sentinel, his arms +folded, and talking all the while, though, as before, his utterances +were only an accompaniment to the falling rain and howling wind; Mary +Beatrice was murmuring prayers over the sleeping child, which she now +held in the innermost corner; Anne, with wide-stretched eyes, was gazing +into the light cast beyond the buttress by the fire on the opposite +side, when again there passed across it that form she had seen on All +Saints’ Eve—the unmistakable phantom of Peregrine.</p> +<p>It was gone into the darkness in another second; but a violent start +on her part had given a note of alarm, and brought back the Count, whose +walk had been in the opposite direction.</p> +<p>“What was it? Any spy?”</p> +<p>“Oh no—no—nothing! It was the face of one +who is dead,” gasped Anne.</p> +<p>“The poor child’s nerve is failing her,” said the +Queen gently, as Lauzun drawing his sword burst out—</p> +<p>“If it be a spy it <i>shall</i> be the face of one who is dead;” +and he darted into the road, but returned in a few moments, saying no +one had passed except one of the rowers returning after running up to +the inn to hasten the coach; how could he have been seen from the church +wall? The wheels were heard drawing up at that moment, so that +the only thought was to enter it as quickly as might be in the same +order as before, after which the start was made, along the road that +led through the marshes of Lambeth; and then came the inquiry—an +anxious one—whom or what mademoiselle, as Lauzun called her, had +seen.</p> +<p>“O monsieur!” exclaimed the poor girl in her confusion, +her best French failing, “it was nothing—no living man.”</p> +<p>“Can mademoiselle assure me of that? The dead I fear +not, the living I would defy.”</p> +<p>“He lives not,” said she in an undertone, with a shudder.</p> +<p>“But who is he that mademoiselle can be so certain?” +asked the Frenchman.</p> +<p>“Oh! I know him well enough,” said Anne, unable +to control her voice.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle must explain herself,” said M. de Lauzun. +“If he be spirit—or phantom—there is no more to say, +but if he be in the flesh, and a spy—then—” +There was a little rattle of his sword.</p> +<p>“Speak, I command,” interposed the Queen; “you +must satisfy M. le Comte.”</p> +<p>Thus adjured, Anne said in a low voice of horror: “It was a +gentleman of our neighbourhood; he was killed in a duel last summer!”</p> +<p>“Ah! You are certain?”</p> +<p>“I had the misfortune to see the fight,” sighed Anne.</p> +<p>“That accounts for it,” said the Queen kindly. +“If mademoiselle’s nerves were shaken by such a remembrance, +it is not wonderful that it should recur to her at so strange a watch +as we have been keeping.”</p> +<p>“It might account for her seeing this <i>revenant</i> cavalier +in any passenger,” said Lauzun, not satisfied yet.</p> +<p>“No one ever was like him,” said Anne. “I +could not mistake him.”</p> +<p>“May I ask mademoiselle to describe him?” continued the +count.</p> +<p>Feeling all the time as if this first mention were a sort of betrayal, +Anne faltered the words: “Small, slight, almost misshapen—with +a strange one-sided look—odd, unusual features.”</p> +<p>Lauzun’s laugh jarred on her. “Eh! it is not a +flattering portrait. Mademoiselle is not haunted by a hero of +romance, it appears, so much as by a demon.”</p> +<p>“And none of those monsieur has employed in our escape answer +to that description?” asked the Queen.</p> +<p>“Assuredly not, your Majesty. Crooked person and crooked +mind go together, and St. Victor would only have trusted to your big +honest rowers of the Tamise. I think we may be satisfied that +the demoiselle’s imagination was excited so as to evoke a phantom +impressed on her mind by a previous scene of terror. Such things +have happened in my native Gascony.”</p> +<p>Anne was fain to accept the theory in silence, though it seemed to +her strange that at a moment when she was for once not thinking of Peregrine, +her imagination should conjure him up, and there was a strong feeling +within her that it was something external that had flitted across the +shadow, not a mere figment of her brain, though the notion was evidently +accepted, and she could hear a muttering of Mrs. Labadie that this was +the consequence of employing young wenches with their whims and megrims.</p> +<p>The Count de Lauzun did his best to entertain the Queen with stories +of <i>revenants</i> in Gascony and elsewhere, and with reminiscences +of his eleven years’ captivity at Pignerol, and his intercourse +with Fouquet; but whenever in aftertimes Anne Woodford tried to recall +her nocturnal drive with this strange personage, the chosen and very +unkind husband of the poor old Grande Mademoiselle, she never could +recollect anything but the fierce glare of his eyes in the light of +the lamps as he put her to that terrible interrogation.</p> +<p>The talk was chiefly monologue. Mrs. Labadie certainly slept, +perhaps the Queen did so too, and Anne became conscious that she must +have slumbered likewise, for she found every one gazing at her in the +pale morning dawn and asking why she cried, “O Charles, hold!”</p> +<p>As she hastily entreated pardon, Lauzun was heard to murmur, “<i>Je +parie que le revenant se nomme Charles</i>,” and she collected +her senses just in time to check her contradiction, recollecting that +happily such a name as Charles revealed nothing. The little Prince, +who had slumbered so opportunely all night, awoke and received infinite +praise, and what he better appreciated, the food that had been provided +for him. They were near their journey’s end, and it was +well, for people were awakening and going to their work as they passed +one of the villages, and once the remark was heard, “There goes +a coach full of Papists.”</p> +<p>However, no attempt was made to stop the party, and as it would be +daylight when they reached Gravesend, the Queen arranged her disguise +to resemble, as she hoped, a washerwoman—taking off her gloves, +and hiding her hair, while the Prince, happily again asleep, was laid +in a basket of linen. Anne could not help thinking that she thus +looked more remarkable than if she had simply embarked as a lady; but +she meant to represent the attendant of her Italian friend Countess +Almonde, whom she was to meet on board.</p> +<p>Leaving the coach outside a little block of houses, the party reached +a projecting point of land, where three Irish officers received them, +and conducted them to a boat. Then, wrapped closely in cloaks +from the chill morning air, they were rowed to the yacht, on the deck +of which stood Lord and Lady Powys, Lady Strickland, Pauline Dunord, +and a few more faithful followers, who had come more rapidly. +There was no open greeting nor recognition, for the captain and crew +were unaware whom they were carrying, and, on the discovery, either +for fear of danger or hope of reward, might have captured such a prize.</p> +<p>Therefore all the others, with whispered apologies, were hoisted +up before her, and Countess Almonde had to devise a special entreaty +that the chair might be lowered again for her poor laundress as well +as for the other two women.</p> +<p>The yacht, which had been hired by St. Victor, at once spread her +sails; Mrs. Labadie conversed with the captain while the countess took +the Queen below into the stifling crowded little cabin. It was +altogether a wretched voyage; the wind was high, and the pitching and +tossing more or less disabled everybody in the suite. The Queen +was exceedingly ill, so were the countess and Mrs. Labadie. Nobody +could be the least effective but Signora Turini, who waited on her Majesty, +and Anne, who was so far seasoned by excursions at Portsmouth that she +was capable of taking sole care of the little Prince, as the little +vessel dashed along on her way with her cargo of alarm and suffering +through the Dutch fleet of fifty vessels, none of which seemed to notice +her—perhaps by express desire not to be too curious as to English +fugitives.</p> +<p>Between the care of the little one, who needed in the tossing of +the ship to be constantly in arms though he never cried and when awake +was always merry, and the giving as much succour as possible to her +suffering companions, Anne could not either rest or think, but seemed +to live in one heavy dazed dream of weariness and endurance, hardly +knowing whether it were day or night, till the welcome sound was heard +that Calais was in sight.</p> +<p>Then, as well as they could, the poor travellers crawled from the +corners, and put themselves in such array as they could contrive, though +the heaving of the waves, as the little yacht lay to, did not conduce +to their recovery. The Count de Lauzun went ashore as soon as +a boat could be lowered to apprise M. Charot, the Governor of Calais, +of the guest he was to receive, and after an interval of considerable +discomfort, in full view of the massive fortifications, boats came off +to bring the Queen and her attendants on shore, this time as a Queen, +though she refused to receive any honours. Lady Strickland, recovering +as soon as she was on dry land, resumed her Prince, who was fondled +with enthusiastic praises for his excellent conduct on the voyage.</p> +<p>Anne could not help feebly thinking some of the credit might be due +to her, since she had held him by land and water nearly ever since leaving +Whitehall, but she was too much worn out by her nights of unrest, and +too much battered and beaten by the tossings of her voyage, to feel +anything except in a languid half-conscious way, under a racking headache; +and when the curious old house where they were to rest was reached, +and all the rest were eating with ravenous appetites, she could taste +nothing, and being conducted by a compassionate Frenchwoman in a snow-white +towering cap to a straw mattress spread on the ground, she slept the +twenty-four hours round without moving.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI<br /> +Exile</h2> +<blockquote><p>“‘Oh, who are ye, young man?’ she said.<br /> +‘What country come ye frae?’<br /> +‘I flew across the sea,’ he said;<br /> +‘’Twas but this very day.’”</p> +<p>Old Ballad.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Five months had passed away since the midnight flight from England, +when Anne Woodford was sitting on a stone bench flanked with statues +in the stately gardens of the Palace of St. Germain, working away at +some delicate point lace, destined to cover some of the deficiencies +of her dress, for her difficulties were great, and these months had +been far from happy ones.</p> +<p>The King was in Ireland, the Queen spent most of the time of his +absence in convents, either at Poissy or Chaillot, carrying her son +with her to be the darling of the nuns, who had for the most part never +even seen a baby, and to whom a bright lively child of a year old was +a perfect treasure of delight. Not wishing to encumber the good +Sisters with more attendants than were needful, the Queen only took +with her one lady governess, one nurse, and one rocker, and this last +naturally was Pauline Dunord, both a Frenchwoman and a Roman Catholic.</p> +<p>This was in itself no loss to Anne. Her experience of the nunnery +at Boulogne, where had been spent three days in expectation of the King, +had not been pleasant. The nuns had shrunk from her as a heretic, +and kept their novices and pensionnaires from the taint of communication +with her; and all the honour she might have deserved for the Queen’s +escape seemed to have been forfeited by that moment of fear, which in +the telling had become greatly exaggerated.</p> +<p>It was true that the Queen had never alluded to it; but probably +through Mrs. Labadie, it had become current that Miss Woodford had been +so much alarmed under the churchyard wall that her fancy had conjured +up a phantom and she had given a loud scream, which but for the mercy +of the Saints would have betrayed them all.</p> +<p>Anne was persuaded that she had done nothing worse than give an involuntary +start, but it was not of the least use to say so, and she began to think +that perhaps others knew better than she did. Miss Dunord, who +had never been more than distantly polite to her in England, was of +course more thrown with her at St. Germain, and examined her closely. +Who was it? What was it? Had she seen it before? It +was of no use to deny. Pauline knew she had seen something on +that All Saints’ Eve. Was it true that it was a lover of +hers, and that she had seen him killed in a duel on her account? +Who would have imagined it in <i>cette demoiselle si sage</i>! +Would she not say who it was!</p> +<p>But though truth forced more than one affirmative to be pumped out +of Anne, she clung to that last shred of concealment, and kept her own +counsel as to the time, place, and persons of the duel, and thus she +so far offended Pauline as to prevent that damsel from having any scruples +in regarding her as an obnoxious and perilous rival, with a dark secret +in her life. Certainly Miss Dunord did earnestly assure her that +to adopt her Church, invoke the Saints, and have Masses for the dead +was the only way to lay such ghosts; but Anne remained obdurate, and +thus was isolated, for there were very few Protestants in the fugitive +Court, and those were of too high a degree to consort with her. +Perhaps that undefined doubt of her discretion was against her; perhaps +too her education and knowledge of languages became less useful to the +Queen when surrounded by French, for she was no longer called upon to +act as reader; and the little Prince, during his residence in the convent, +had time to forget her and lose his preference for her. She was +not discharged, but except for taking her turn as a nursery-maid when +the Prince was at St. Germain, she was a mere supernumerary, nor was +there any salary forthcoming. The small amount of money she had +with her had dwindled away, and when she applied to Lady Strickland, +who was kinder to her than any one else, she was told that the Queen +was far too much distressed for money wherewith to aid the King to be +able to pay any one, and that they must all wait till the King had his +own again. Her clothes were wearing out, and scarcely in condition +for attendance on the Prince when he was shown in state to the King +of France. Worse than all, she seemed entirely cut off from home. +She had written several times to her uncle when opportunity seemed to +offer, but had never heard from him, and she did not know whether her +letters could reach him, or if he were even aware of what had become +of her. People came with passports from England to join the exiled +Court, but no one returned thither, or she would even have offered herself +as a waiting-maid to have a chance of going back. Lady Strickland +would have forwarded her, but no means or opportunity offered, and there +was nothing for it but to look to the time that everybody declared to +be approaching when the King was to be reinstated, and they would all +go home in triumph.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Anne Woodford felt herself a supernumerary, treated with +civility, and no more, as she ate her meals with a very feminine Court, +for almost all the gentlemen were in Ireland with the King. She +had a room in the entresol to herself, in Pauline’s absence, and +here she could in turn sit and dream, or mend and furbish up her clothes—a +serious matter now—or read the least scrap of printed matter in +her way, for books were scarcer than even at Whitehall; and though her +‘mail’ had safely been forwarded by Mr. Labadie, some jealous +censor had abstracted her Bible and Prayer-book. Probably there +was no English service anywhere in France at that time, unless among +the merchants at Bordeaux—certainly neither English nor Reformed +was within her reach—and she had to spend her Sundays in recalling +all she could, and going over it, feeling thankful to the mother who +had made her store Psalms, Gospels, and Collects in her memory week +by week.</p> +<p>She was so far forgotten that active attempts to convert her had +been dropped, except by Pauline. Perhaps it was thought that isolation +would be effectual, but in fact the sight of popular Romanism not kept +in check by Protestant surroundings shocked her, and made her far more +averse to change than when she saw it at its best at Whitehall. +In fine, the end of her ambition had been neglect and poverty, and the +real service that she had rendered was unacknowledged, and marred by +that momentary alarm. No wonder she felt sore.</p> +<p>She had never once been to Paris, and seldom beyond the gardens, +which happily were free in the absence of the Queen, and always had +secluded corners apart from the noble terraces, safe from the intrusion +of idle gallants. Anne had found a sort of bower of her own, shaded +by honeysuckles and wild roses, where she could sit looking over the +slopes and the windings of the Seine and indulge her musings and longings.</p> +<p>The lonely life brought before her all the anxieties that had been +stifled for the time by the agitations of the escape. Again and +again she lived over the scene in the ruins. Again and again she +recalled those two strange appearances, and shivering at the thought +of the anniversary that was approaching in another month, still felt +sometimes that, alive or dead, Peregrine’s would be a home face, +and framed to herself imaginary scenes in which she addressed him, and +demanded whether he could not rest in his unhallowed grave. What +would Bishop Ken say? Sometimes even she recollected the strange +theory which had made him crave execution from the late King, seven +years, yes, a little more than seven years ago, and marvel whether at +that critical epoch he had indeed between life and death been snatched +away to his native land of faëry. Imagination might well +run riot in the solitary, unoccupied condition to which she was reduced; +and she also brooded much over the fragments of doubtful news which +reached her.</p> +<p>Something was said of all loyal clergy being expelled and persecuted, +and this of course suggested those sufferings of the clergy during the +Commonwealth, of which she had often heard, making her very anxious +about her uncle, and earnestly long for wings to fly to him. The +Archfields too! Had Charles returned, and did that secret press +upon him as it did upon her? Did Lucy think herself utterly forgotten +and cast aside, receiving no word or message from her friend? +“Perhaps,” thought Anne, “they fancy me sailing about +at Court in silks and satins, jewels and curls, and forgetting them +all, as I remember Lucy said I should when she first heard that I was +going to Whitehall. Nay, and I even took pleasure in the picture +of myself so decked out, though I never, never meant to forget her. +Foolish, worse than foolish, that I was! And to think that I might +now be safe and happy with good Lady Russell, near my uncle and all +of them. I could almost laugh to think how my fine notions of +making my fortune have ended in sitting here, neglected, forgotten, +banished, almost in rags! I suppose it was all self-seeking, and +that I must take it meekly as no more than I deserve. But oh, +how different! how different is this captivity! ‘Oh that +I had wings like a dove, for then would I flee away, and be at rest.’ +Swallow, swallow! you are sweeping through the air. Would that +my spirit could fly like you! if only for one glimpse to tell me what +they are doing. Ah! there’s some one coming down this unfrequented +walk, where I thought myself safe. A young gentleman! I +must rise and go as quietly as I can before he sees me. Nay,” +as the action following the impulse, she was gathering up her work, +“’tis an old abbé with him! no fear! Abbé? +Nay, ’tis liker to an English clergyman! Can a banished +one have strayed hither? The younger man is in mourning. +Could it be? No graver, older, more manly—Oh!”</p> +<p>“Anne! Anne! We have found you!”</p> +<p>“Mr. Archfield! You!”</p> +<p>And as Charles Archfield, in true English fashion, kissed her cheek, +Anne fairly choked with tears of joy, and she ever after remembered +that moment as the most joyful of her life, though the joy was almost +agony.</p> +<p>“This is Mistress Anne Woodford, sir,” said Charles, +the next moment. “Allow me, madam, to present Mr. Fellowes, +of Magdalen College.”</p> +<p>Anne held out her hand, and courtesied in response to the bow and +wave of the shovel hat.</p> +<p>“How did you know that I was here?” she said.</p> +<p>“Doctor Woodford thought it likely, and begged us to come and +see whether we could do anything for you,” said Charles; “and +you may believe that we were only too happy to do so. A lady to +whom we had letters, who is half English, the Vicomtesse de Bellaise, +was so good as to go to the convent at Poissy and discover for us from +some of the suite where you were.”</p> +<p>“My uncle—my dear uncle—is he well?”</p> +<p>“Quite well, when last we heard,” said Charles. +“That was at Florence, nearly a month ago.”</p> +<p>“And all at Fareham, are they well?”</p> +<p>“All just as usual,” said Charles, “at the last +hearing, which was at the same time. I hoped to have met letters +at Paris, but no doubt the war prevents the mails from running.”</p> +<p>“Ah! I have never had a single letter,” said Anne. +“Did my uncle know anything of me? Has he never had one +of mine?”</p> +<p>“Up to the time when he wrote, last March, that is to say, +he had received nothing. He had gone to London to make inquiries—”</p> +<p>“Ah! my dear good uncle!”</p> +<p>“And had ascertained that you had been chosen to accompany +the Queen and Prince in their escape from Whitehall. You have +played the heroine, Miss Anne.”</p> +<p>“Oh! if you knew—”</p> +<p>“And,” said Mr. Fellowes, “both he and Sir Philip +Archfield requested us, if we could make our way home through Paris, +to come and offer our services to Mistress Woodford, in case she should +wish to send intelligence to England, or if she should wish to make +use of our escort to return home.”</p> +<p>“Oh sir! oh sir! how can I thank you enough! You cannot +guess the happiness you have brought me,” cried Anne with clasped +hands, tears welling up again.</p> +<p>“You <i>will</i> come with us then,” cried Charles. +“I am sure you ought. They have not used you well, Anne; +how pale and thin you have grown.”</p> +<p>“That is only pining! I am quite well, only home-sick,” +she said with a smile. “I am sure the Queen will let me +go. I am nothing but a burthen now. She has plenty of her +own people, and they do not like a Protestant about the Prince.”</p> +<p>“There is Madame de Bellaise,” said Mr. Fellowes, “advancing +along the walk with Lady Powys. Let me present you to her.”</p> +<p>“You have succeeded, I see,” a kind voice said, as Anne +found herself making her courtesy to a tall and stately old lady, with +a mass of hair of the peculiar silvered tint of flaxen mixed with white.</p> +<p>“I am sincerely glad,” said Lady Powys, “that Miss +Woodford has met her friends.”</p> +<p>“Also,” said Madame de Bellaise, “Lady Powys is +good enough to say that if mademoiselle will honour me with a visit, +she gives permission for her to return with me to Paris.”</p> +<p>This was still greater joy, except for that one recollection, formidable +in the midst of her joy, of her dress. Did Madame de Bellaise +divine something? for she said, “These times remind me of my youth, +when we poor cavalier families well knew what sore straits were. +If mademoiselle will bring what is most needful, the rest can be sent +afterwards.”</p> +<p>Making her excuses for the moment, Anne with light and gladsome foot +sped along the stately alley, up the stairs to her chamber, round which +she looked much as if it had been a prison cell, fell on her knees in +a gush of intense thankfulness, and made her rapid preparations, her +hands trembling with joy, and a fear that she might wake to find all +again a dream. She felt as if this deliverance were a token of +forgiveness for her past wilfulness, and as if hope were opened to her +once more. Lady Powys met her as she came down, and spoke very +kindly, thanking her for her services, and hoping that she would enjoy +the visit she was about to make.</p> +<p>“Does your ladyship think Her Majesty will require me any longer?” +asked Anne timidly.</p> +<p>“If you wish to return to the country held by the Prince of +Orange,” said the Countess coldly, “you must apply for dismissal +to Her Majesty herself.”</p> +<p>Anne perceived from the looks of her friends that it was no time +for discussing her loyalty, and all taking leave, she was soon seated +beside Madame de Bellaise, while the coach and four rolled down the +magnificent avenue, and scene after scene disappeared, beautiful and +stately indeed, but which she was as glad to leave behind her as if +they had been the fetters and bars of a dungeon, and she almost wondered +at the words of admiration of her companions.</p> +<p>Madame de Bellaise sat back, and begged the others to speak English, +saying that it was her mother tongue, and she loved the sound of it, +but really trying to efface herself, while the eager conversation between +the two young people went on about their homes.</p> +<p>Charles had not been there more recently than Anne, and his letters +were at least two months old, but the intelligence in them was as water +to her thirsty soul. All was well, she heard, including the little +heir of Archfield, though the young father coloured a little, and shuffled +over the answers to the inquiries with a rather sad smile. Charles +was, however, greatly improved. He had left behind him the loutish, +unformed boy, and had become a handsome, courteous, well-mannered gentleman. +The very sight of him handing Madame de Bellaise in and out of her coach +was a wonder in itself when Anne recollected how he had been wont to +hide himself in the shrubbery to prevent being called upon for such +services, and how uncouthly in the last extremity he would perform them.</p> +<p>Madame de Bellaise was inhabiting her son’s great Hôtel +de Nidemerle. He was absent in garrison, and she was presiding +over the family of grandchildren, their mother being in bad health. +So much Anne heard before she was conducted to a pleasant little bedroom, +far more home-like and comfortable than in any of the palaces she had +inhabited. It opened into another, whence merry young voices were +heard.</p> +<p>“That is the apartment of my sister’s youngest daughter,” +said Madame de Bellaise, “Noémi Darpent. I borrowed +her for a little while to teach her French and dancing, but now that +we are gone to war, they want to have her back again, and it will be +well that she should avail herself of the same escort as yourself. +All will then be <i>selon les convenances</i>, which had been a difficulty +to me,” she added with a laugh.</p> +<p>Then opening the door of communication she said; “Here, Noémi, +we have found your countrywoman, and I put her under your care. +Ah! you two chattering little pies, I knew the voices were yours. +This is my granddaughter, Marguerite de Nidemerle, and my niece—<i>à</i> +<i>la mode de Bretagne</i>—Cécile d’Aubépine, +all bestowing their chatter on their cousin.”</p> +<p>Noémi Darpent was a tall, fair, grave-faced maiden, some years +over twenty, and so thoroughly English that it warmed Anne’s heart +to look at her, and the other two were bright little Frenchwomen—Marguerite +a pretty blonde, Cécile pale, dark, and sallow, but full of life. +Both were at the age at which girls were usually in convents, but as +Anne learnt, Madame de Bellaise was too English at heart to give up +the training of her grandchildren, and she had an English governess +for them, daughter to a Romanist cavalier ruined by sequestration.</p> +<p>She was evidently the absolute head of the family. Her daughter-in-law +was a delicate little creature, who scarcely seemed able to bear the +noise of the family at the long supper-table, when all talked with shrill +French voices, from the two youths and their abbé tutor down +to the little four-year-old Lolotte in her high chair. But to +Anne, after the tedious formality of the second table at the palace, +stiff without refinement, this free family life was perfectly delightful +and refreshing, though as yet she was too much cramped, as it were, +by long stiffness, silence, and treatment as an inferior to join, except +by the intelligent dancing of her brown eyes, and replies when directly +addressed.</p> +<p>After Mrs. Labadie’s homeliness, Pauline’s exclusive +narrowness, Jane’s petty frivolity, Hester’s vulgar worldliness, +and the general want of cultivation in all who treated her on an equality, +it was like returning to rational society; and she could not but observe +that Mr. Archfield altogether held his own in conversation with the +rest, whether in French or English. Little more than a year ago +he would hardly have opened his mouth, and would have worn the true +bumpkin look of contemptuous sheepishness. Now he laughed and +made others laugh as readily and politely as—Ah! With whom +was she comparing him? Did the thought of poor Peregrine dwell +on his mind as it did upon hers? But perhaps things were not so +terrible to a man as to a woman, and he had not seen those apparitions! +Indeed, when not animated, she detected a certain thoughtful melancholy +on his brow which certainly had not belonged to former times.</p> +<p>Mr. Fellowes early made known to Anne that her uncle had asked him +to be her banker, and the first care of her kind hostess was to assist +her in supplying the deficiencies of her wardrobe, so that she was able +to go abroad without shrinking at her own shabby appearance.</p> +<p>The next thing was to take her to Poissy to request her dismissal +from the Queen, without which it would be hardly decorous to depart, +though in point of fact, in the present state of affairs, as Noémi +said, there was nothing to prevent it.</p> +<p>“No,” said Mr. Fellowes; “but for that reason Miss +Woodford would feel bound to show double courtesy to the discrowned +Queen.”</p> +<p>“And she has often been very kind to me—I love her much,” +said Anne.</p> +<p>“Noémi is a little Whig,” said Madame de Bellaise. +“I shall not take her with us, because I know her father would +not like it, but to me it is only like the days of my youth to visit +an exiled queen. Will these gentlemen think fit to be of the party?”</p> +<p>“Thank you, madam, not I,” said the Magdalen man. +“I am very sorry for the poor lady, but my college has suffered +too much at her husband’s hands for me to be very anxious to pay +her my respects; and if my young friend will take my advice, neither +will he. It might be bringing his father into trouble.”</p> +<p>To this Charles agreed, so M. L’Abbé undertook to show +them the pictures at the Louvre, and Anne and Madame de Bellaise were +the only occupants of the carriage that conveyed them to the great old +convent of Poissy, the girl enjoying by the way the comfort of the kindness +of a motherly woman, though even to her there could be no confiding +of the terrible secret that underlay all her thoughts. Madame +de Bellaise, however, said how glad she was to secure this companionship +for her niece. Noémi had been more attached than her family +realised to Claude Merrycourt, a neighbour who had had the folly, contrary +to her prudent father’s advice, to rush into Monmouth’s +rebellion, and it had only been by the poor girl’s agony when +he suffered under the summary barbarities of Kirke that her mother had +known how much her heart was with him. The depression of spirits +and loss of health that ensued had been so alarming that when Madame +de Bellaise, after some months, paid a long visit to her sister in England, +Mrs. Darpent had consented to send the girl to make acquaintance with +her French relations, and try the effect of change of scene. She +had gone, indifferent, passive, and broken-hearted, but her aunt had +watched over her tenderly, and she had gradually revived, not indeed +into a joyous girl, but into a calm and fairly cheerful woman.</p> +<p>When she had left home, France and England were only too closely +connected, but now they were at daggers drawn, and probably would be +so for many years, and the Revolution had come so suddenly that Madame +de Bellaise had not been able to make arrangements for her niece’s +return home, and Noémi was anxiously waiting for an opportunity +of rejoining her parents.</p> +<p>The present plan was this. Madame de Bellaise’s son, +the Marquis de Nidemerle, was Governor of Douai, where his son, the +young Baron de Ribaumont, with his cousin, the Chevalier d’Aubépine, +were to join him with their tutor, the Abbé Leblanc. The +war on the Flemish frontier was not just then in an active state, and +there were often friendly relations between the commandants of neighbouring +garrisons, so that it might be possible to pass a party on to the Spanish +territory with a flag of truce, and then the way would be easy. +This passing, however, would be impossible for Noémi alone, since +etiquette would not permit of her thus travelling with the two young +gentlemen, nor could she have proceeded after reaching Douai, so that +the arrival of the two Englishmen and the company of Miss Woodford was +a great boon. Madame de Bellaise had already despatched a courier +to ask her son whether he could undertake the transit across the frontier, +and hoped to apply for passports as soon as his answer was received. +She told Anne her niece’s history to prevent painful allusions +on the journey.</p> +<p>“Ah, madame!” said Anne, “we too have a sad day +connected with that unfortunate insurrection. We grieved over +Lady Lisle, and burnt with indignation.”</p> +<p>“M. Barillon tells me that her judge, the Lord Chancellor, +was actually forced to commit himself to the Tower to escape being torn +to pieces by the populace, and it is since reported that he has there +died of grief and shame. I should think his prison cell must have +been haunted by hundreds of ghosts.”</p> +<p>“I pray you, madame! do you believe that there are apparitions?”</p> +<p>“I have heard of none that were not explained by some accident, +or else were the produce of an excited brain;” and Anne said no +more on that head, though it was a comfort to tell of her own foolish +preference for the chances of Court preferment above the security of +Lady Russell’s household, and Madame de Bellaise smiled, and said +her experience of Courts had not been too agreeable.</p> +<p>And thus they reached Poissy, where Queen Mary Beatrice had separate +rooms set apart for visitors, and thus did not see them from behind +the grating, but face to face.</p> +<p>“You wish to leave me, signorina,” she said, using the +appellation of their more intimate days, as Anne knelt to kiss her hand. +“I cannot wonder. A poor exile has nothing wherewith to +reward the faithful.”</p> +<p>“Ah! your Majesty, that is not the cause; if I were of any +use to you or to His Royal Highness.”</p> +<p>“True, signorina; you have been faithful and aided me to the +best of your power in my extremity, but while you will not embrace the +true faith I cannot keep you about the person of my son as he becomes +more intelligent. Therefore it may be well that you should leave +us, until such time as we shall be recalled to our kingdom, when I hope +to reward you more suitably. You loved my son, and he loved you—perhaps +you would like to bid him farewell.”</p> +<p>For this Anne was very grateful, and the Prince was sent for by the +mother, who was too proud of him to miss any opportunity of exhibiting +him to an experienced mother and grandmother like the vicomtesse. +He was a year old, and had become a very beautiful child, with large +dark eyes like his mother’s, and when Mrs. Labadie carried him +in, he held out his arms to Anne with a cry of glad recognition that +made her feel that if she could have been allowed the charge of him +she could hardly have borne to part with him. And when the final +leave-taking came, the Queen made his little hand present her with a +little gold locket, containing his soft hair, with a J in seed pearls +outside, in memory, said Mary Beatrice, of that night beneath the church +wall.</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, you had your moment of fear, but we were all in terror, +and you hushed him well.”</p> +<p>Thus with another kiss to the white hand, returned on her own forehead, +ended Anne Jacobina’s Court life. Never would she be Jacobina +again—always Anne or sweet Nancy! It was refreshing to be +so called, when Charles Archfield let the name slip out, then blushed +and apologised, while she begged him to resume it, which he was now +far too correct to do in public. Noémi quite readily adopted +it.</p> +<p>“I am tired of fine French names,” she said: “an +English voice is quite refreshing; and do you call me Naomi, not Noémi. +I did not mind it so much at first, because my father sometimes called +me so, after his good old mother, who was bred a Huguenot, but it is +like the first step towards home to hear Naomi—Little Omy, as +my brothers used to shout over the stairs.”</p> +<p>That was a happy fortnight. Madame de Bellaise said it would +be a shame to let Anne have spent a half year in France and have seen +nothing, so she took the party to the theatre, where they saw the <i>Cid</i> +with extreme delight. She regretted that the season was so far +advanced that the winter representations of <i>Esther</i>, at St. Cyr +by the young ladies, were over, but she invited M. Racine for an evening, +when Mr. Fellowes took extreme pleasure in his conversation, and he +was prevailed on to read some of the scenes. She also used her +<i>entrée</i> at Court to enable them to see the fountains at +Versailles, which Winchester was to have surpassed but for King Charles’s +death.</p> +<p>“Just as well otherwise,” remarked Charles to Anne. +“These fine feathers and flowers of spray are beautiful enough +in themselves, but give me the clear old Itchen not tortured into playing +tricks, with all the trout killed; and the open down instead of all +these terraces and marble steps where one feels as cramped as if it +were a perpetual minuet. And look at the cost! Ah! you will +know what I mean when we travel through the country.”</p> +<p>Another sight was from a gallery, whence they beheld the King eat +his dinner alone at a silver-loaded table, and a lengthy ceremony it +was. Four plates of soup to begin with, a whole capon with ham, +followed by a melon, mutton, salad, garlic, <i>pâté de +foie gras</i>, fruit, and confitures. Charles really grew so indignant, +that, in spite of his newly-acquired politeness, Anne, who knew his +countenance, was quite glad when she saw him safe out of hearing.</p> +<p>“The old glutton!” he said; “I should like to put +him on a diet of buckwheat and sawdust like his poor peasants for a +week, and then see whether he would go on gormandising, with his wars +and his buildings, starving his poor. It is almost enough to make +a Whig of a man to see what we might have come to. How can you +bear it, madame?”</p> +<p>“Alas! we are powerless,” said the Vicomtesse. +“A seigneur can do little for his people, but in Anjou we have +some privileges, and our peasants are better off than those you have +seen, though indeed I grieved much for them when first I came among +them from England.”</p> +<p>She was perhaps the less sorry that Paris was nearly emptied of fashionable +society since her guest had the less chance of uttering dangerous sentiments +before those who might have repeated them, and much as she liked him, +she was relieved when letters came from her son undertaking to expedite +them on their way provided they made haste to forestall any outbreak +of the war in that quarter.</p> +<p>Meantime Naomi and Anne had been drawn much nearer together by a +common interest. The door between their rooms having some imperfection +in the latch swung open as they were preparing for bed, and Anne was +aware of a sound of sobbing, and saw one of the white-capped, short-petticoated +<i>femmes de chambre</i> kneeling at Naomi’s feet, ejaculating, +“Oh, take me! take me, mademoiselle! Madame is an angel +of goodness, but I cannot go on living a lie. I shall do something +dreadful.”</p> +<p>“Poor Suzanne! poor Suzanne!” Naomi was answering: “I +will do what I can, I will see if it is possible—”</p> +<p>They started at the sound of the step, Suzanne rising to her feet +in terror, but Naomi, signing to Anne and saying, “It is only +Mademoiselle Woodford, a good Protestant, Suzanne. Go now; I will +see what can be done; I know my aunt would like to send a maid with +us.”</p> +<p>Then as Suzanne went out with her apron to her eyes, and Anne would +have apologised, she said, “Never mind; I must have told you, +and asked your help. Poor Suzanne, she is one of the Rotrous, +an old race of Huguenot peasants whom my aunt always protected; she +would protect any one, but these people had a special claim because +they sheltered our great-grandmother, Lady Walwyn, when she fled after +the S. Barthélémi. When the Edict of Nantes was +revoked, the two brothers fled. I believe she helped them, and +they got on board ship, and brought a token to my father; but the old +mother was feeble and imbecile, and could not move, and the monks and +the dragoons frightened and harassed this poor wench into what they +called conforming. When the mother died, my aunt took Suzanne +and taught her, and thought she was converted; and indeed if all Papists +were like my aunt it would not be so hard to become one.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes! I know others like that.”</p> +<p>“But this poor Suzanne, knowing that she only was converted +out of terror, has always had an uneasy conscience, and the sight of +me has stirred up everything. She says, though I do not know if +it be true, that she was fast drifting into bad habits, when finding +my Bible, though it was English and she could not read it, seems to +have revived everything, and recalled the teaching of her good old father +and pastor, and now she is wild to go to England with us.”</p> +<p>“You will take her?” exclaimed Anne.</p> +<p>“Of course I will. Perhaps that is what I was sent here +for. I will ask her of my aunt, and I think she will let me have +her. You will keep her secret, Anne.”</p> +<p>“Indeed I will.”</p> +<p>Madame de Bellaise granted Suzanne to her niece without difficulty, +evidently guessing the truth, but knowing the peril of the situation +too well to make any inquiry. Perhaps she was disappointed that +her endeavours to win the girl to her Church had been ineffectual, but +to have any connection with one ‘relapsed’ was so exceedingly +perilous that she preferred to ignore the whole subject, and merely +let it be known that Suzanne was to accompany Mademoiselle Darpent, +and this was only disclosed to the household on the very last morning, +after the passports had been procured and the mails packed, and she +hushed any remark of the two English girls in such a decided manner +as quite startled them by the manifest need of caution.</p> +<p>“We should have come to that if King James were still allowed +to have his own way,” said Naomi.</p> +<p>“Oh no! we are too English,” said Anne.</p> +<p>“Our generation might not see it,” said Naomi; “but +who can be safe when a Popish king can override law? Oh, I shall +breathe more freely when I am on the other side of the Channel. +My aunt is much too good for this place, and they don’t approve +of her, and keep her down.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII<br /> +Revenants</h2> +<blockquote><p>“But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!<br /> +I’ll cross it, though it blast me.”</p> +<p>Hamlet.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Floods of tears were shed at the departure of the two young officers +of sixteen and seventeen. The sobs of the household made the English +party feel very glad when it was over and the cavalcade was in motion. +A cavalcade it was, for each gentleman rode and so did his body-servant, +and each horse had a mounted groom. The two young officers had +besides each two chargers, requiring a groom and horse boy, and each +conducted half a dozen fresh troopers to join the army. A coach +was the regulation mode of travelling for ladies, but both the English +girls had remonstrated so strongly that Madame de Bellaise had consented +to their riding, though she took them and Suzanne the first day’s +journey well beyond the ken of the Parisians in her own carriage, as +far as Senlis, where there was a fresh parting with the two lads, fewer +tears, and more counsel and encouragement, with many fond messages to +her son, many to her sister in England, and with affectionate words +to her niece a whisper to her to remember that she would not be in a +Protestant country till she reached Holland or England.</p> +<p>The last sight they had of the tall dignified figure of the old lady +was under the arch of the cathedral, where she was going to pray for +their safety. Suzanne was to ride on a pillion behind the Swiss +valet of Mr. Fellowes, whom Naomi had taken into her confidence, and +the two young ladies each mounted a stout pony. Mr. Fellowes had +made friends with the Abbé Leblanc, who was of the old Gallican +type, by no means virulently set against Anglicanism, and also a highly +cultivated man, so that they had many subjects in common, besides the +question of English Catholicity. The two young cousins, Ribaumont +and D’Aubépine, were chiefly engaged in looking out for +sport, setting their horses to race with one another, and the like, +in which Charles Archfield sometimes took a share, but he usually rode +with the two young ladies, and talked to them very pleasantly of his +travels in Italy, the pictures and antiquities which had made into an +interesting reality the studies that he had hated when a boy, also the +condition of the country he had seen with a mind which seemed to have +opened and enlarged with a sudden start beyond the interests of the +next fox-hunt or game at bowls. All were, as he had predicted, +greatly shocked at the aspect of the country through which they passed: +the meagre crops ripening for harvest, the hay-carts, sometimes drawn +by an equally lean cow and woman, the haggard women bearing heavy burthens, +and the ragged, barefooted children leading a wretched cow or goat to +browse by the wayside, the gaunt men toiling at road-mending with their +poor starved horses, or at their seigneur’s work, alike unpaid, +even when drawn off from their own harvests. And in the villages +the only sound buildings were the church and <i>presbytére</i> +by its side, the dwellings being miserable hovels, almost sunk into +the earth, an old crone or two, marvels of skinniness, spinning at the +door, or younger women making lace, and nearly naked children rushing +out to beg. Sometimes the pepper-box turrets of a château +could be seen among distant woods, or the walls of a cloister, with +a taper spire in the midst, among greener fields; and the towns were +approached through long handsome avenues, and their narrow streets had +a greater look of prosperity, while their inns, being on the way to +the place of warfare, were almost luxurious, with a choice of dainty +meats and good wines. Everywhere else was misery, and Naomi said +it was the vain endeavour to reform the source of these grievances that +had forced her father to become an exile from his native country, and +that he had much apprehended that the same blight might gradually be +brought over his adopted land, on which Charles stood up for the constitution, +and for the resolute character of Englishmen, and Anne, as in duty bound, +for the good intentions of her godfather. Thus they argued, and +Anne not only felt herself restored to the company of rational beings, +but greatly admired Charles’s sentiments and the ability with +which he put them forward, and now and then the thought struck her, +and with a little twinge of pain of which she was ashamed, would Naomi +Darpent be the healer of the wound nearly a year old, and find in him +consolation for the hero of her girlhood? Somehow there would +be a sense of disappointment in them both if so it were.</p> +<p>At length the spires and towers of Douai came in sight, fenced in +by stern lines of fortification according to the science of Vauban—smooth +slopes of glacis, with the terrible muzzles of cannon peeping out on +the summits of the ramparts, and the line of salient angle and ravelin +with the moat around, beautiful though formidable. The Marquis +de Nidemerle had sent a young officer and sergeant’s party to +meet the travellers several miles off, and bring them unquestioned through +the outposts of the frontier town, so closely watched in this time of +war, and at about half a mile from the gates he himself, with a few +attendants, rode out all glittering and clanking in their splendid uniforms +and accoutrements. He doffed his hat with the heavy white plume, +and bowed his greeting to the ladies and clergymen, but both the young +Frenchmen, after a military salute, hastily dismounted and knelt on +one knee, while he sprang from his horse, and then, making the sign +of the Cross over his son, raised him, and folding him in his arms pressed +him to his breast and kissed him on each cheek, not without tears, then +repeated the same greeting with young D’Aubépine. +He then kissed the hand of his <i>belle cousine</i>, whom, of course, +he knew already, and bowed almost to the ground on being presented to +Mademoiselle Woodford, a little less low to Monsieur Archfield, who +was glad the embracing was not to be repeated, politely received Mr. +Fellowes, and honoured the domestic abbé with a kindly word and +nod. The gradation was amusing, and he was a magnificent figure, +with his noble horse and grand military dress, while his fine straight +features, sunburnt though naturally fair, and his tall, powerful frame, +well became his surroundings—‘a true white Ribaumont,’ +as Naomi said, as she looked at the long fair hair drawn back and tied +with ribbon. “He is just like the portrait of our great-grandfather +who was almost killed on the S. Barthélémi!” +However, Naomi had no more time to talk <i>of</i> him, for he rode by +her side inquiring for his mother, wife, and children, but carefully +doing the honours to the stranger lady and gentleman.</p> +<p>Moat and drawbridge there were at Portsmouth, and a sentry at the +entrance, but here there seemed endless guards, moats, bridges, and +gates, and there was a continual presenting of arms and acknowledging +of salutes as the commandant rode in with the travellers. It was +altogether a very new experience in life. They were lodged in +the governor’s quarters in the fortress, where the accommodation +for ladies was of the slenderest, and M. de Nidemerle made many apologies, +though he had evidently given up his own sleeping chamber to the two +ladies, who would have to squeeze into his narrow camp-bed, with Suzanne +on the floor, and the last was to remain there entirely, there being +no woman with whom she could have her meals. The ladies were invited +to sup with the staff, and would, as M. de Nidemerle assured them, be +welcomed with the greatest delight. So Naomi declared that they +must make their toilette do as much justice as possible to their country; +and though full dress was not attainable, they did their best with ribbons +and laces, and the arrangement of her fair locks and Anne’s brown +ones, when Suzanne proved herself an adept; the ladies meantime finding +no small amusement in the varieties of swords, pistols, spurs, and other +accoutrements, for which the marquis had apologised, though Naomi told +him that they were the fittest ornaments possible.</p> +<p>“And my cousin Gaspard is a really good man,” she said, +indicating to her friend the little shrine with holy-water stoup, ivory +crucifix, print of the Madonna, two or three devotional books, and the +miniatures of mother, wife, and children hung not far off; also of two +young cavaliers, one of whom Naomi explained to be the young father +whom Gaspard could not recollect, the other, that of the uncle Eustace, +last Baron Walwyn and Ribaumont, of whom her own mother talked with +such passionate affection, and whose example had always been a guiding +star to the young marquis.</p> +<p>He came to their door to conduct them down to supper, giving his +arm to Miss Woodford as the greatest stranger, while Miss Darpent was +conducted by a resplendent ducal colonel. The supper-room was +in festal guise, hung round with flags, and the table adorned with flowers; +a band was playing, and never had either Anne or Naomi been made so +much of. All were eagerly talking, Charles especially so, and +Anne thought, with a thrill, “Did he recollect that this was the +very anniversary of that terrible 1st of July?”</p> +<p>It was a beautiful summer evening, and the supper taking place at +five o’clock there was a considerable time to spare afterwards, +so that M. de Nidemerle proposed to show the strangers the place, and +the view from the ramparts.</p> +<p>“In my company you can see all well,” he said, “but +otherwise there might be doubts and jealousies.”</p> +<p>He took them through the narrow Flemish streets of tall houses with +projecting upper stories, and showed them that seminary which was popularly +supposed in England to be the hotbed of truculent plots, but where they +only saw a quiet academic cloister and an exquisite garden, green turf, +roses and white lilies in full perfection, and students flitting about +in cassocks and square caps, more like an Oxford scene, as Mr. Fellowes +said, than anything he had yet seen. He was joined by an English +priest from his own original neighbourhood. The Abbé Leblanc +found another acquaintance, and these two accompanied their friends +to the ramparts. The marquis had a great deal to hear from his +cousin about his home, and thus it happened that Charles Archfield and +Anne found themselves more practically alone together than they had +yet been. As they looked at the view over the country, he told +her of a conversation that he had had with an officer now in the French +army, but who had served in the Imperial army against the Turks, and +that he had obtained much useful information.</p> +<p>“Useful?” asked Anne.</p> +<p>“Yes. I have been watching for the moment to tell you, +Anne; I have resolved what to do. I intend to make a few campaigns +there against the enemy of Christendom.”</p> +<p>“O Mr. Archfield!” was all she could say.</p> +<p>“See here, I have perceived plainly that to sink down into +my lady’s eldest son is no wholesome life for a man with all his +powers about him. I understand now what a set of oafs we were +to despise the poor fellow you wot of, because he was not such a lubber +as ourselves. I have no mind to go through the like.”</p> +<p>“You are so different; it could not be the same.”</p> +<p>“Not quite; but remember there is nothing for me to do. +My father is still an active man, and I am not old enough to take my +part in public affairs, even if I loved greatly either the Prince of +Orange or King James. I could not honestly draw my sword for either. +I have no estate to manage, my child’s inheritance is all in money, +and it would drive me mad, or worse, to go home to be idle. No; +I will fight against the common enemy till I have made me a name, and +won reputation and standing; or if I should not come back, there’s +the babe at home to carry on the line.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sir! your father and mother—Lucy—all that +love you. What will they say?”</p> +<p>“It would only put them to needless pain to ask them. +I shall not. I shall write explaining all my motives—all +except one, and that you alone know, Anne.”</p> +<p>She shuddered a little, and felt him press her arm tightly. +They had fallen a good deal behind the marquis and his cousin, and were +descending as twilight fell into a narrow, dark, lonely street, with +all the houses shut up. “No one has guessed, have they?” +she faltered.</p> +<p>“Not that I know of. But I cannot—no! I can<i>not</i> +go home, to have that castle near me, and that household at Oakwood. +I see enough in my dreams without that.”</p> +<p>“See! Ah, yes!”</p> +<p>“Then, Anne, you have suffered then too—guiltless as +you are in keeping my terrible secret! I have often thought and +marvelled whether it were so with you.”</p> +<p>She was about to tell him what she had seen, when he began, “There +is one thing in this world that would sweeten and renew my life—and +that?”</p> +<p>Her heart was beating violently at what was so suddenly coming on +her, when at that instant Charles broke off short with “Good Heavens! +What’s that?”</p> +<p>On the opposite side of the street, where one of the many churches +stood some way back, making an opening, there was a figure, essentially +the same that Anne had seen at Lambeth, but bare-headed, clad apparently +in something long and white, and with a pale bluish light on the ghastly +but unmistakable features.</p> +<p>She uttered a faint gasping cry scarcely audible, Charles’s +impulse was to exclaim, “Man or spirit, stand!” and drawing +his sword to rush across the street; but in that second all had vanished, +and he only struck against closed doors, which he shook, but could not +open.</p> +<p>“Mr. Archfield! Oh, come back! I have seen it before,” +entreated Anne; and he strode back, with a gesture of offering her support, +and trembling, she clung to his arm. “It does not hurt,” +she said. “It comes and goes—”</p> +<p>“You have seen it before!”</p> +<p>“Twice.”</p> +<p>No more could be said, for through the gloom the white plume and +gold-laced uniform of the marquis were seen. He had missed them, +and come back to look for them, beginning to apologise.</p> +<p>“I am confounded at having left Mademoiselle behind.—<i>Comment</i>!”—as +the sound betrayed that Charles was sheathing his sword. “I +trust that Monsieur has met with no unpleasant adventure from my people.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Monsieur,” was the answer, as he added—</p> +<p>“One can never be sure as to these fiery spirits towards an +Englishman in the present state of feeling, and I blame myself extremely +for having permitted myself to lose sight of Monsieur and Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, sir, we have met with no cause of complaint,” +said Charles, adding as if casually, “What is that church?”</p> +<p>“’Tis the Jesuits’ Church,” replied the governor. +“There is the best preaching in the town, they say, and Jansenists +as we are, I was struck with the Lenten course.”</p> +<p>Anne went at once to her room on returning to the house. Naomi, +who was there already, exclaimed at her paleness, and insisted on administering +a glass of wine from what the English called the rere supper, the French +an <i>encas</i>, the substantial materials for which had been left in +the chamber. Then Anne felt how well it had been for her that +her fellows at the palace had been so uncongenial, for she could hardly +help disclosing to Naomi the sight she had seen, and the half-finished +words she had heard. It was chiefly the feeling that she could +not bear Naomi to know of the blood on Charles’s hand which withheld +her in her tumult of feeling, and made her only entreat, “Do not +ask me, I cannot tell you.” And Naomi, who was some years +older, and had had her own sad experience, guessed perhaps at one cause +for her agitation, and spared her inquiries, though as Anne, tired out +by the long day, and forced by their close quarters to keep herself +still, dropped asleep, strange mutterings fell from her lips about “The +vault—the blood—come back. There he is. The +secret has risen to forbid. O, poor Peregrine!”</p> +<p>Between the July heat, the narrow bed, and the two chamber fellows, +Anne had little time to collect her thoughts, except for the general +impression that if Charles finished what he had begun to say, the living +and the dead alike must force her to refuse, though something within +foreboded that this would cost her more than she yet durst perceive, +and her heart was ready to spring forth and enclose him as it were in +an embrace of infinite tenderness, above all when she thought of his +purpose of going to those fearful Hungarian wars.</p> +<p>But after the hot night, it was a great relief to prepare for an +early start. M. de Nidemerle had decided on sending the travellers +to Tournay, the nearest Spanish town, on the Scheldt, since he had some +acquaintance with the governor, and when no campaign was actually on +foot the courtesies of generous enemies passed between them. He +had already sent an intimation of his intention of forwarding an English +kinswoman of his own with her companions, and bespoken the good offices +of his neighbour, and they were now to set off in very early morning +under the escort of a flag of truce, a trumpeter, and a party of troopers, +commanded by an experienced old officer with white moustaches and the +peaked beard of the last generation, contrasting with a face the colour +of walnut wood.</p> +<p>The marquis himself and his son, however, rode with the travellers +for their first five miles, through a country where the rich green of +the natural growth showed good soil, all enamelled with flowers and +corn crops run wild; but the villages looked deserted, the remains of +burnt barns and houses were frequent, and all along that frontier, it +seemed as if no peaceful inhabitants ventured to settle, and only brigands +often rendered such by misery might prowl about. The English party +felt as if they had never understood what war could be.</p> +<p>However, in a melancholy orchard run wild, under the shade of an +apple-tree laden with young fruit, backed by a blackened gable half +concealed by a luxuriant untrimmed vine, the <i>avant couriers</i> of +the commandant had cleared a space in the rank grass, and spread a morning +meal, of cold <i>pâté</i>, fowl and light wines, in which +the French officers drank to the good journey of their friends, and +then when the horses had likewise had their refreshment the parting +took place with much affection between the cousins. The young +Ribaumont augured that they should meet again when he had to protect +Noémi in a grand descent on Dorsetshire in behalf of James, and +she merrily shook her fist at him and defied him, and his father allowed +that they were a long way from that.</p> +<p>M. de Nidemerle hinted to Mr. Archfield that nobody could tell him +more about the war with the Turks than M. le Capitaine Delaune, who +was, it appeared, a veteran Swiss who had served in almost every army +in Europe, and thus could give information by no means to be neglected. +So that, to Anne’s surprise and somewhat to her mortification, +since she had no knowledge of the cause, she saw Charles riding apart +with this wooden old veteran, who sat as upright as a ramrod on his +wiry-looking black horse, leaving her to the company of Naomi and Mr. +Fellowes. Did he really wish not to pursue the topic which had +brought Peregrine from his grave? It would of course be all the +better, but it cost her some terrible pangs to think so.</p> +<p>There were far more formalities and delays before the travellers +could cross the Tournay bridge across the Scheldt. They were brought +to a standstill a furlong off, and had to wait while the trumpeter rode +forward with the white flag, and the message was referred to the officer +on guard, while a sentry seemed to be watching over them. Then +the officer came to the gateway of the bridge, and Captain Delaune rode +forward to him, but there was still a long weary waiting in the sun +before he came back, after having shown their credentials to the governor, +and then he was accompanied by a Flemish officer, who, with much courtesy, +took them under his charge, and conducted them through all the defences, +over the bridge, and to the gate where their baggage had to be closely +examined. Naomi had her Bible in her bosom, or it would not have +escaped; Anne heartily wished she had used the same precaution on her +flight from England, but she had not, like her friend, been warned beforehand.</p> +<p>When within the city there was more freedom, and the Fleming conducted +the party to an inn, where, unlike English inns, they could not have +a parlour to themselves, but had to take their meals in common with +other guests at a sort of <i>table d’hôte</i>, and the ladies +had no refuge but their bedroom, where the number of beds did not promise +privacy. An orderly soon arrived with an invitation to Don Carlos +Arcafila to sup with the Spanish governor, and of course the invitation +could not be neglected. The ladies walked about a little in the +town with Mr. Fellowes, looking without appreciation at the splendid +five-towered cathedral, but recollecting with due English pride that +the place had been conquered by Henry VIII. Thence they were to +make for Ostend, where they were certain of finding a vessel bound for +England.</p> +<p>It was a much smaller party that set forth from Tournay than from +Paris, and soon they fell into pairs, Mr. Fellowes and Naomi riding +together, sufficiently out of earshot of the others for Charles to begin—</p> +<p>“I have not been able to speak to you, Anne, since that strange +interruption—if indeed it were not a dream.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sir, it was no dream! How could it be?”</p> +<p>“How could it, indeed, when we both saw it, and both of us +awake and afoot, and yet I cannot believe my senses.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I can believe it only too truly! I have seen him +twice before. I thought you said you had.”</p> +<p>“Merely in dreams, and that is bad enough.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure? for I was up and awake.”</p> +<p>“Are <i>you</i> sure? I might ask again. I was +asleep in bed, and glad enough to shake myself awake. Where were +you?”</p> +<p>“Once on Hallowmas Eve, looking from the window at Whitehall; +once when waiting with the Queen under the wall of Lambeth Church, on +the night of our flight.”</p> +<p>“Did others see him then?”</p> +<p>“I was alone the first time. The next time when he flitted +across the light, no one else saw him; but they cried out at my start. +Why should he appear except to us?”</p> +<p>“That is true,” muttered Charles.</p> +<p>“And oh, sir, those two times he looked as he did in life—not +ghastly as now. There can be no doubt now that—”</p> +<p>“What, sweet Anne?”</p> +<p>“Sir, I must tell you! I could bear it no longer, and +I <i>did</i> consult the Bishop of Bath and Wells.”</p> +<p>“Any more?” he asked in a somewhat displeased voice.</p> +<p>“No one, not a soul, and he is as safe as any of the priests +here; he regards a confession in the same way. Mr. Archfield, +forgive me. He seemed divinely sent to me on that All Saints’ +day! Oh, forgive me!” and tears were in her eyes.</p> +<p>“He is Dr. Ken—eh? I remember him. I suppose +he is as safe as any man, and a woman must have some relief. You +have borne enough indeed,” said Charles, greatly touched by her +tears. “What did he say?”</p> +<p>“He asked, was I certain of the—death,” said she, +bringing out the word with difficulty; “but then I had only seen +<i>it</i> at Whitehall; and these other appearances, in such places +too, take away all hope that it is otherwise!”</p> +<p>“Assuredly,” said Charles; “I had not the least +doubt at the moment. I know I ran my sword through his body, and +felt a jar that I believe was his backbone,” he said with a shudder, +“and he fell prone and breathless; but since I have seen more +of fencing, and heard more of wounds, the dread has crossed me that +I acted as an inexperienced lad, and that I ought to have tried whether +the life was in him, or if he could be recovered. If so, I slew +him twice, by launching him into that pit. God forgive me!”</p> +<p>“Is it so deep?” asked Anne, shuddering. “I +know there is a sort of step at the top; but I always shunned the place, +and never looked in.”</p> +<p>“There are two or three steps at the top, but all is broken +away below. Sedley and I once threw a ball down, and I am sure +it dropped to a depth down which no man could fall and <i>live</i>. +I believe there once were underground passages leading to the harbour +on one hand, and out to Portsdown Hill on the other, but that the communication +was broken away and the openings destroyed when Lord Goring was governor +of Portsmouth, to secure the castle. Be that as it may, he could +not have been living after he reached that floor. I heard the +thud, and the jingle of his sword, and it will haunt me to my dying +day.”</p> +<p>“And yet you never intended it. You did it in defence +of me. You did not mean to strike thus hard. It was an accident.”</p> +<p>“Would that I could so feel it!” he sighed. “Nay, +of course I had no evil design when my poor little wife drove me out +to give you her rag of ribbon, or whatever it was; but I hated as well +as despised the fellow. He had angered me with his scorn—well +deserved, as now I see—of our lubberly ways. She had vexed +me with her teasing commendations—out of harmless mischief, poor +child. I hated him more every time you looked at him, and when +I had occasion to strike him I was glad of it. There was murder +in my heart, and I felt as if I were putting a rat or a weasel out of +the way when I threw him down that pit. God forgive me! +Then, in my madness, I so acted that in a manner I was the death of +that poor young thing.”</p> +<p>“No, no, sir. Your mother had never thought she would +live.”</p> +<p>“So they say; but her face comes before me in reproach. +There are times when I feel myself a double murderer. I have been +on the point of telling all to Mr. Fellowes, or going home to accuse +myself. Only the thought of my father and mother, and of leaving +such a blight on that poor baby, has withheld me; but I cannot go home +to face the sight of the castle.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Anne, choked with tears.</p> +<p>“Nor is there any suspicion of the poor fellow’s fate,” +he added.</p> +<p>“Not that I ever heard.”</p> +<p>“His family think him fled, as was like enough, considering +the way in which they treated him,” said Charles. “Nor +do I see what good it would do them to know the truth.”</p> +<p>“It would only be a grief and bitterness to all.”</p> +<p>“I hope I have repented, and that God accepts my forgiveness,” +said Charles sadly. “I am banishing myself from all I love, +and there is a weight on me for life; but, unless suspicion falls on +others, I do not feel bound to make it worse for all by giving myself +up. Yet those appearances—to you, to me, to us both! +At such a moment, too, last night!”</p> +<p>“Can it be because of his unhallowed grave?” said Anne, +in a low voice of awe.</p> +<p>“If it were!” said Charles, drawing up his horse for +a moment in thought. “Anne, if there be one more appearance, +the place shall be searched, whether it incriminate me or not. +It would be adding to all my wrongs towards the poor fellow, if that +were the case.”</p> +<p>“Even if he were found,” said Anne, “suspicion +would not light on you. And at home it will be known if he haunts +the place. I will—”</p> +<p>“Nay, but, Anne, he will not interrupt me now. I have +much more to say. I want you to remember that we were sweethearts +ere ever I, as a child of twelve, knew that I was contracted to that +poor babe, and bidden to think only of her. Poor child! +I honestly did my best to love her, so far as I knew how, and mayhap +we could have rubbed on through life passably well as things go. +But—but—It skills not talking of things gone by, except +to show that it is a whole heart—not the reversion of one that +is yours for ever, mine only love.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but—but—I am no match for you.”</p> +<p>“I’ve had enough of grand matches.”</p> +<p>“Your father would never endure it.”</p> +<p>“My father would soon rejoice. Besides, if we are wedded +here—say at Ostend—and you make me a home at Buda, or Vienna, +or some place at our winter quarters, as my brave wench will, my father +will be glad enough to see us both at home again.”</p> +<p>“No; it cannot be. It would be plain treachery to your +parents; Mr. Fellowes would say so. I am sure he would not marry +us.”</p> +<p>“There are English chaplains. Is that all that holds +you back?”</p> +<p>“No, sir. If the Archbishop of Canterbury were here himself, +it could not make it other than a sin, and an act of mean ingratitude, +for me, the Prince’s rocker, to take advantage of their goodness +in permitting you to come and bring me home—to do what would be +pain, grief, and shame to them.”</p> +<p>“Never shame.”</p> +<p>“What is wrong is shame! Cannot you see how unworthy +it would be in me, and how it would grieve my uncle that I should have +done such a thing?”</p> +<p>“Love would override scruples.”</p> +<p>“Not <i>true</i> love.”</p> +<p>“True! Then you own to some love for me, Anne.”</p> +<p>“I do—not—know. I have guarded—I mean—cast +away—I mean—never entertained any such thought ever since +I was old enough to know how wicked it would be.”</p> +<p>“Anne! Anne!” (in an undertone very like rapture), +“you have confessed all! It is no sin <i>now</i>. +Even you cannot say so.”</p> +<p>She hung her head and did not answer, but silence was enough for +him.</p> +<p>“It is enough!” he said; “you will wait. +I shall know you are waiting till I return in such sort that nothing +can be denied me. Let me at least have that promise.”</p> +<p>“You need not fear,” murmured Anne. “How +could I need? The secret would withhold me, were there nothing +else.”</p> +<p>“And there is something else? Eh, sweetheart? Is +that all I am to be satisfied with?”</p> +<p>“Oh sir!—Mr. Archfield, I mean—O Charles!” +she stammered.</p> +<p>Mr. Fellowes turned round to consult his pupil as to whether the +halt should be made at the village whose peaked roofs were seen over +the fruit trees.</p> +<p>But when Anne was lifted down from the steed it was with no grasp +of common courtesy, and her hand was not relinquished till it had been +fervently kissed.</p> +<p>Charles did not again torment her with entreaties to share his exile. +Mayhap he recognised, though unwillingly, that her judgment had been +right, but there was no small devotion in his whole demeanour, as they +dined, rode, and rested on that summer’s day amid fields of giant +haycocks, and hostels wreathed with vines, with long vistas of sleek +cows and plump dappled horses in the sheds behind. The ravages +of war had lessened as they rode farther from the frontier, and the +rich smiling landscape lay rejoicing in the summer sunshine; the sturdy +peasants looked as if they had never heard of marauders, as they herded +their handsome cattle and responded civilly when a draught of milk was +asked for the ladies.</p> +<p>There was that strange sense of Eden felicity that sometimes comes +with the knowledge that the time is short for mutual enjoyment in full +peace. Charles and Anne would part, their future was undefined; +but for the present they reposed in the knowledge of each other’s +hearts, and in being together. It was as in their childhood, when +by tacit consent he had been Anne’s champion from the time she +came as a little Londoner to be alarmed at rough country ways, and to +be easily scared by Sedley. It had been then that Charles had +first awakened to the chivalry of the better part of boyhood’s +nature, instead of following his cousin’s lead, and treating girls +as creatures meant to be bullied. Many a happy reminiscence was +shared between the two as they rode together, and it was not till the +pale breadth of sea filled their horizon, broken by the tall spires +and peaked gables and many-windowed steep roofs of Ostend, that the +future was permitted to come forward and trouble them. Then Anne’s +heart began to feel that persistence in her absolute refusal was a much +harder thing than at the first, when the idea was new and strange to +her. And there were strange yearnings that Charles should renew +the proposal, mixed with dread of herself and of her own resolution +in case of his doing so. As her affections embraced him more and +more she pictured him sick, wounded, dying, out of reach of all, among +Germans, Hungarians, Turks,—no one at hand to comfort him or even +to know his fate.</p> +<p>There was even disappointment in his acquiescence, though her better +mind told her that it was in accordance with her prayer against temptation. +Moreover, he was of a reserved nature, not apt to discuss what was once +fixed, and perhaps it showed that he respected her judgment not to try +to shake her decision. Though for once love had carried him away, +he might perhaps be grateful to her for sparing him the perplexities +of dragging her about with him and of giving additional offence to his +parents. The affection born of lifelong knowledge is not apt to +be of the vehement character that disregards all obstacles or possible +miseries to the object thereof. Yet enough feeling was betrayed +to make Naomi whisper at night, “Sweet Nan, are you not some one +else’s sweet?”</p> +<p>And Anne, now with another secret on her heart, only replied with +embraces, and, “Do not talk of it! I cannot tell how it +is to be. I cannot tell you all.”</p> +<p>Naomi was discreet enough only to caress.</p> +<p>With strict formalities at outworks, moat, drawbridge, and gates, +and the customary inquisitorial search of the luggage, the travellers +were allowed to repair to a lofty inn, with the Lion of Flanders for +its sign, and a wide courtyard, the successive outside galleries covered +with luxuriant vines. Here, as usual, though the party of females +obtained one bedroom together, the gentlemen had to share one vast sleeping +chamber with a variety of merchants, Dutch, Flemish, Spanish, and a +few English. Meals were at a great <i>table d’hôte</i> +in the public room, opening into the court, and were shared by sundry +Spanish, Belgic, and Swiss officers of the garrison, who made this their +mess-room. Two young English gentlemen, like Charles Archfield, +making the grand tour, whom he had met in Italy, were delighted to encounter +him again, and still more so at the company of English ladies.</p> +<p>“No wonder the forlorn widower has recovered his spirits!” +Anne heard one say with a laugh that made her blush and turn away; and +there was an outcry that after a monopoly of the fair ones all the way +from Paris, the seats next to them must be yielded.</p> +<p>Anne was disappointed, and could not bring herself to be agreeable +to the obtrusive cavalier with the rich lace cravat and perfumed hair, +both assumed in her honour.</p> +<p>The discussion was respecting the vessels where a passage might be +obtained. The cavaliers were to sail in a couple of days for London, +but another ship would go out of harbour with the tide on the following +day for Southampton, and this was decided on by acclamation by the Hampshire +party, though no good accommodation was promised them.</p> +<p>There was little opportunity for a <i>tête-à-têtes</i>, +for the young men insisted on escorting the ladies to the picture galleries, +palaces, and gardens, and Charles did not wish to reawaken the observations +that, according to the habits of the time, might not be of the choicest +description. Anne watched him under her eyelashes, and wondered +with beating heart whether after all he intended to return home, and +there plead his cause, for he gave no token of intending to separate +from the rest.</p> +<p>The <i>Hampshire Hog</i> was to sail at daybreak, so the passengers +went on board over night, after supper, when the summer twilight was +sinking down and the far-off west still had a soft golden tint.</p> +<p>Anne felt Charles’s arm round her in the boat and grasping +her hand, then pulling off her glove and putting a ring on her finger—all +in silence. She still felt that arm on the deck in the confusion +of men, ropes, and bales of goods, and the shouts and hails on all sides +that nearly deafened her. There was imminent danger of being hurled +down, if not overboard, among the far from sober sailors, and Mr. Fellowes +urged the ladies to go below at once, conducting Miss Darpent himself +as soon as he could ascertain where to go. Anne felt herself almost +lifted down. Then followed a strong embrace, a kiss on brow, lips, +and either cheek, and a low hoarse whisper—“So best! +Mine own! God bless you,”—and as Suzanne came tumbling +aft into the narrow cabin, Anne found herself left alone with her two +female companions, and knew that these blissful days were over.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII<br /> +French Leave</h2> +<blockquote><p>“When ye gang awa, Jamie,<br /> + Far across the sea, laddie,<br /> +When ye gang to Germanie<br /> + What will ye send to me, laddie?”</p> +<p>Huntingtower.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Fides</i> was the posy on the ring. That was all Anne could +discover, and indeed only this much with the morning light of the July +sun that penetrated the remotest corners. For the cabin was dark +and stifling, and there was no leaving it, for both Miss Darpent and +her attendant were so ill as to engross her entirely.</p> +<p>She could hardly leave them when there was a summons to a meal in +the captain’s cabin, and there she found herself the only passenger +able to appear, and the rest of the company, though intending civility, +were so rough that she was glad to retreat again, and wretched as the +cabin was, she thought it preferable to the deck.</p> +<p>Mr. Fellowes, she heard, was specially prostrated, and jokes were +passing round that it was the less harm, since it might be the worse +for him if the crew found out that there was a parson on board.</p> +<p>Thus Anne had to forego the first sight of her native land, and only +by the shouts above and the decreased motion of the vessel knew when +she was within lee of the Isle of Wight, and on entering the Solent +could encourage her companions that their miseries were nearly over, +and help them to arrange themselves for going upon deck.</p> +<p>When at length they emerged, as the ship lay-to in sight of the red +roofs and white steeples of Southampton, and of the green mazes of the +New Forest, Mr. Fellowes was found looking everywhere for the pupil +whom he had been too miserable to miss during the voyage. Neither +Charles Archfield nor his servant was visible, but Mr. Fellowes’s +own man coming forward, delivered to the bewildered tutor a packet which +he said that his comrade had put in his charge for the purpose. +In the boat, on the way to land, Mr. Fellowes read to himself the letter, +which of course filled him with extreme distress. It contained +much of what Charles had already explained to Anne of his conviction +that in the present state of affairs it was better for so young a man +as himself, without sufficient occupation at home, to seek honourable +service abroad, and that he thought it would spare much pain and perplexity +to depart without revisiting home. He added full and well-expressed +thanks for all that Mr. Fellowes had done for him, and for kindness +for which he hoped to be the better all his life. He enclosed +a long letter to his father, which he said would, he hoped, entirely +exonerate his kind and much-respected tutor from any remissness or any +participation in the scheme which he had thought it better on all accounts +to conceal till the last.</p> +<p>“And indeed,” said poor Mr. Fellowes, “if I had +had any inkling of it, I should have applied to the English Consul to +restrain him as a ward under trust. But no one would have thought +it of him. He had always been reasonable and docile beyond his +years, and I trusted him entirely. I should as soon have thought +of our President giving me the slip in this way. Surely he came +on board with us.”</p> +<p>“He handed me into the boat,” said Miss Darpent. +“Who saw him last? Did you, Miss Woodford?”</p> +<p>Anne was forced to own that she had seen him on board, and her cheeks +were in spite of herself such tell-tales that Mr. Fellowes could not +help saying, “It is not my part to rebuke you, madam, but if you +were aware of this evasion, you will have a heavy reckoning to pay to +the young man’s parents.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Anne, “I knew indeed that he meant +to join the Imperial army, but I knew not how nor when.”</p> +<p>“Ah, well! I ask no questions. You need not justify +yourself to me, young lady; but Sir Philip and Lady Archfield little +knew what they did when they asked us to come by way of Paris. +Not that I regret it on all accounts,” he added, with a courteous +bow to Naomi which set her blushing in her turn. He avoided again +addressing Miss Woodford, and she thought with consternation of the +prejudice he might excite against her. It had been arranged between +the two maidens that Naomi should be a guest at Portchester Rectory +till she could communicate with Walwyn, and her father or brother could +come and fetch her.</p> +<p>They landed at the little wharf, among the colliers, and made their +way up the street to an inn, where, after ordering a meal to satisfy +the ravenous sea-appetite, Mr. Fellowes, after a few words with Naomi, +left the ladies to their land toilet, while he went to hire horses for +the journey.</p> +<p>Then Naomi could not help saying, “O Anne! I did not +think you would have done this. I am grieved!”</p> +<p>“You do not know all,” said Anne sadly, “or you +would not think so hardly.”</p> +<p>“I saw you had an understanding with him. I see you have +a new ring on your finger; but how could I suppose you would encourage +an only son thus to leave his parents?”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, Naomi!” cried Anne, as the uncontrollable +tears broke out. “Don’t you believe that it is quite +as hard for me as for them that he should have gone off to fight those +dreadful blood-thirsty Turks? Indeed I would have hindered him, +but that—but that—I know it is best for him. No! +I can’t tell you why, but I <i>know</i> it is; and even to the +very last, when he helped me down the companion-ladder, I hoped he might +be coming home first.”</p> +<p>“But you are troth-plight to him, and secretly?”</p> +<p>“I am not troth-plight; I know I am not his equal, I told him +so, but he thrust this ring on me in the boat, in the dark, and how +could I give it back!”</p> +<p>Naomi shook her head, but was more than half-disarmed by her friend’s +bitter weeping. Whether she gave any hint to Mr. Fellowes Anne +did not know, but his manner remained drily courteous, and as Anne had +to ride on a pillion behind a servant she was left in a state of isolation +as to companionship, which made her feel herself in disgrace, and almost +spoilt the joy of dear familiar recognition of hill, field, and tree, +after her long year’s absence, the longest year in her life, and +substituted the sinking of heart lest she should be returning to hear +of misfortune and disaster, sickness or death.</p> +<p>Her original plan had been to go on with Naomi to Portchester at +once, if by inquiry at Fareham she found that her uncle was at home, +but she perceived that Mr. Fellowes decidedly wished that Miss Darpent +should go first to the Archfields, and something within her determined +first to turn thither in spite of all there was to encounter, so that +she might still her misgivings by learning whether her uncle was well. +So she bade the man turn his horse’s head towards the well-known +poplars in front of Archfield House.</p> +<p>The sound of the trampling horses brought more than one well-known +old ‘blue-coated serving-man’ into the court, and among +them a woman with a child in her arms. There was the exclamation, +“Mistress Anne! Sure Master Charles be not far behind,” +and the old groom ran to help her down.</p> +<p>“Oh! Ralph, thanks. All well? My uncle?”</p> +<p>“He is here, with his Honour,” and in scarcely a moment +more Lucy, swift of foot, had flown out, and had Anne in her embrace, +and crying out—</p> +<p>“Ah, Charles! my brother! I don’t see him.”</p> +<p>Anne was glad to have no time to answer before she was in her uncle’s +arms. “My child, at last! God bless thee! Safe +in soul and body!”</p> +<p>Sir Philip was there too, greeting Mr. Fellowes, and looking for +his son, and with the cursory assurance that Mr. Archfield was well, +and that they would explain, a hasty introduction of Miss Darpent was +made, and all moved in to where Lady Archfield, more feeble and slow +of movement, had come into the hall, and the nurse stood by with the +little heir to be shown to his father, and Sedley Archfield stood in +the background. It was a cruel moment for all, when the words +came from Mr. Fellowes, “Sir, I have to tell you, Mr. Archfield +is not here. This letter, he tells me, is to explain.”</p> +<p>There was an outburst of exclamation, during which Sir Philip withdrew +into a window with his spectacles to read the letter, while all to which +the tutor or Anne ventured to commit themselves was that Mr. Archfield +had only quitted them without notice on board the <i>Hampshire Hog.</i></p> +<p>The first tones of the father had a certain sound of relief, “Gone +to the Imperialist army to fight the Turks in Hungary!”</p> +<p>Poor Lady Archfield actually shrieked, and Lucy turned quite pale, +while Anne caught a sort of lurid flush of joy on Sedley Archfield’s +features, and he was the first to exclaim, “Undutiful young dog!”</p> +<p>“Tut! tut!” returned Sir Philip, “he might as well +have come home first, and yet I do not know but that it is the best +thing he could do. There might have been difficulties in the way +of getting out again, you see, my lady, as things stand now. Ay! +ay! you are in the right of it, my boy. It is just as well to +let things settle themselves down here before committing himself to +one side or the other. ’Tis easy enough for an old fellow +like me who has to let nothing go but his Commission of the Peace, but +not the same for a stirring young lad; and he is altogether right as +to not coming back to idle here as a rich man. It would be the +ruin of him. I am glad he has the sense to see it. I was +casting about to obtain an estate for him to give him occupation.”</p> +<p>“But the wars,” moaned the mother; “if he had only +come home we could have persuaded him.”</p> +<p>“The wars, my lady! Why, they will be a feather in his +cap; and may be if he had come home, the Dutchman would have claimed +him for his, and let King James be as misguided as he may, I cannot +stomach fighting against his father’s son for myself or mine. +No, no; it was the best thing there was for the lad to do. You +shall hear his letter, it does him honour, and you, too, Mr. Fellowes. +He could not have written such a letter when he left home barely a year +ago.”</p> +<p>Sir Philip proceeded to read the letter aloud. There was a +full explanation of the motives, political and private, only leaving +out one, and that the most powerful of all of those which led Charles +Archfield to absent himself for the present. He entreated pardon +for having made the decision without obtaining permission from his father +on returning home; but he had done so in view of possible obstacles +to his leaving England again, and to the belief that a brief sojourn +at home would cause more grief and perplexity than his absence. +He further explained, as before, his reasons for secrecy towards his +travelling companion, and entreated his father not to suppose for a +moment that Mr. Fellowes had been in any way culpable for what he could +never have suspected; warmly affectionate messages to mother and sister +followed, and an assurance of feeling that ‘the little one’ +needed for no care or affection while with them.</p> +<p>Lady Archfield was greatly disappointed, and cried a great deal, +making sure that the poor dear lad’s heart was still too sore +to brook returning after the loss of his wife, who had now become the +sweetest creature in the world; but Sir Philip’s decision that +the measure was wise, and the secrecy under the circumstances so expedient +as to be pardonable, prevented all public blame; Mr. Fellowes, however, +was drawn apart, and asked whether he suspected any other motive than +was here declared, and which might make his pupil unwilling to face +the parental brow, and he had declared that nothing could have been +more exemplary than the whole demeanour of the youth, who had at first +gone about as one crushed, and though slowly reviving into cheerfulness, +had always been subdued, until quite recently, when the meeting with +his old companion had certainly much enlivened his spirits. Poor +Mr. Fellowes had been rejoicing in the excellent character he should +have to give, when this evasion had so utterly disconcerted him, and +it was an infinite relief to him to find that all was thought comprehensible +and pardonable.</p> +<p>Anne might be thankful that none of the authorities thought of asking +her the question about hidden motives; and Naomi, looking about with +her bright eyes, thought she had perhaps judged too hardly when she +saw the father’s approval, and that the mother and sister only +mourned at the disappointment at not seeing the beloved one.</p> +<p>The Archfields would not hear of letting any of the party go on to +Portchester that evening. Dr. Woodford, who had ridden over for +consultation with Sir Philip, must remain, he would have plenty of time +for his niece by and by, and she and Miss Darpent must tell them all +about the journey, and about Charles; and Anne must tell them hundreds +of things about herself that they scarcely knew, for not one letter +from St. Germain had ever reached her uncle.</p> +<p>How natural it all looked! the parlour just as when she saw it last, +and the hall, with the long table being laid for supper, and the hot +sun streaming in through the heavy casements. She could have fancied +it yesterday that she had left it, save for the plump rosy little yearling +with flaxen curls peeping out under his round white cap, who had let +her hold him in her arms and fondle him all through that reading of +his father’s letter. Charles’s child! He was +her prince indeed now.</p> +<p>He was taken from her and delivered over to Lady Archfield to be +caressed and pitied because his father would not come home ‘to +see his grand-dame’s own beauty,’ while Lucy took the guests +upstairs to prepare for supper, Naomi and her maid being bestowed in +the best guest-chamber, and Lucy taking her friend to her own, the scene +of many a confabulation of old.</p> +<p>“Oh, how I love it!” cried Anne, as the door opened on +the well-known little wainscotted abode. “The very same +beau-pot. One would think they were the same clove gillyflowers +as when I went away.”</p> +<p>“O Anne, dear, and you are just the same after all your kings +and queens, and all you have gone through;” and the two friends +were locked in another embrace.</p> +<p>“Kings and queens indeed! None of them all are worth +my Lucy.”</p> +<p>“And now, tell me all; tell me all, Nancy, and first of all +about my brother. How does he look, and is he well?”</p> +<p>“He looks! O Lucy, he is grown such a noble cavalier; +most like the picture of that uncle of yours who was killed, and that +Sir Philip always grieves for.”</p> +<p>“My father always hoped Charley would be like him,” said +Lucy. “You must tell him that. But I fear he may be +grave and sad.”</p> +<p>“Graver, but not sad now.”</p> +<p>“And you have seen him and talked to him, Anne? Did you +know he was going on this terrible enterprise?”</p> +<p>“He spoke of it, but never told me when.”</p> +<p>“Ah! I was sure you knew more about it than the old tutor +man. You always were his little sweetheart before poor little +Madam came in the way, and he would tell you anything near his heart. +Could you not have stopped him?”</p> +<p>“I think not, Lucy; he gave his reasons like a man of weight +and thought, and you see his Honour thinks them sound ones.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes; but somehow I cannot fancy our Charley doing anything +for grand, sound, musty reasons, such as look well marshalled out in +a letter.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know how much older he is grown,” said +Anne, again, with the tell-tale colour in her cheeks. “Besides, +he cannot bear to come home.”</p> +<p>“Don’t tell me that, Nan. My mother does not see +it; but though he was fond of poor little Madam in a way, and tried +to think himself more so, as in duty bound, she really was fretting +and wearing the very life—no, perhaps not the life, but the temper—out +of him. What I believe it to be the cause is, that my father must +have been writing to him about that young gentlewoman in the island +that he is so set upon, because she would bring a landed estate which +would give Charles something to do. They say that Peregrine Oakshott +ran away to escape wedding his cousin; Charley will banish himself for +the like cause.”</p> +<p>“He said nothing of it,” said Anne.</p> +<p>“O Anne, I wish you had a landed estate! You would make +him happier than any other, and would love his poor little Phil! +Anne! is it so? I have guessed!” and Lucy kissed her on +each cheek.</p> +<p>“Indeed, indeed I have not promised. I know it can never, +never be—and that I am not fit for him. Do not speak of +it, Lucy? He spoke of it once as we rode together—”</p> +<p>“And you could not be so false as to tell him you did not love +him? No, you could not?” and Lucy kissed her again.</p> +<p>“No,” faltered Anne; “but I would not do as he +wished. I have given him no troth-plight. I told him it +would never be permitted. And he said no more, but he put this +ring on my finger in the boat without a word. I ought not to wear +it; I shall not.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, you shall. Indeed you shall. No one need +understand it but myself, and it makes us sisters. Yes, Anne, +Charley was right. My father will not consent now, but he will +in due time, if he does not hear of it till he wearies to see Charles +again. Trust it to me, my sweet sister that is to be.”</p> +<p>“It is a great comfort that you know,” said Anne, almost +moved to tell her the greater and more perilous secret that lay in the +background, but withheld by receiving Lucy’s own confidence that +she herself was at present tormented by her cousin Sedley’s courtship. +He was still, more’s the pity, she said, in garrison at Portsmouth, +but there were hopes of his regiment being ere long sent to the Low +Countries, since it was believed to be more than half inclined to King +James. In the meantime he certainly had designs on Lucy’s +portion, and as her father never believed half the stories of his debaucheries +that were rife, and had a kindness for his only brother’s orphan, +she did not feel secure against his yielding so as to provide for Sedley +without continuance in the Dutch service.</p> +<p>“I could almost follow the example of running away!” +said Lucy.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” Anne ventured to say, faltering, “that +nothing has been heard of poor Mr. Oakshott.”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all. His uncle’s people, who have come +home from Muscovy, know nothing of him, and it is thought he may have +gone off to the plantations. The talk is that Mistress Martha +is to be handed on to the third brother, but that she is not willing.” +It was clear that there could have been no spectres here, and Lucy went +on, “But you have told me nothing yet of yourself and your doings, +my Anne. How well you look, and more than ever the Court lady, +even in your old travelling habit. Is that the watch the King +gave you?”</p> +<p>In private and in public there was quite enough to tell on that evening +for intimate friends who had not met for a year, and one of whom had +gone through so many vicissitudes. Nor were the other two guests +by any means left out of the welcome, and the evening was a very happy +one.</p> +<p>Mr. Fellowes intimated his intention of going himself to Walwyn with +the news of Miss Darpent’s arrival, and Naomi accepted the invitation +to remain at Portchester till she could be sent for from home.</p> +<p>It was not till the next morning that Anne Woodford could be alone +with her uncle. As she came downstairs in the morning she saw +him waiting for her; he held out his hands, and drew her out with him +into the walled garden that lay behind the house.</p> +<p>“Child! dear child!” said he, “you are welcome +to my old eyes. May God bless you, as He has aided you to be faithful +alike to Him and to your King through much trial.”</p> +<p>“Ah, sir! I have sorely repented the folly and ambition +that would not heed your counsel.”</p> +<p>“No doubt, my maid; but the spirit of humility and repentance +hath worked well in you. I fear me, however, that you are come +back to further trials, since probably Portchester may be no longer +our home.”</p> +<p>“Nor Winchester?”</p> +<p>“Nor Winchester.”</p> +<p>“Then is this new King going to persecute as in the old times +you talk of? He who was brought over to save the Church!”</p> +<p>“He accepts the English Church, my maid, so far as it accepts +him. All beneficed clergy are required to take the oath of allegiance +to him before the first of August, now approaching, under pain of losing +their preferments. Many of my brethren, even our own Bishop and +Dean, think this merely submission to the powers that be, and that it +may be lawfully done; but as I hear neither the Archbishop himself, +nor my good old friends Doctors Ken and Frampton can reconcile it to +their conscience, any more than my brother Stanbury, of Botley, nor +I, to take this fresh oath, while the King to whom we have sworn is +living. Some hold that he has virtually renounced our allegiance +by his flight. I cannot see it, while he is fighting for his crown +in Ireland. What say you, Anne, who have seen him; did he treat +his case as that of an abdicated prince?”</p> +<p>“No, sir, certainly not. All the talk was of his enjoying +his own again.”</p> +<p>“How can I then, consistently with my duty and loyalty, swear +to this William and Mary as my lawful sovereigns? I say not ’tis +incumbent on me to refuse to live under them a peaceful life, but make +oath to them as my King and Queen I cannot, so long as King James shall +live. True, he has not been a friend to the Church, and has wofully +trampled on the rights of Englishmen, but I cannot hold that this absolves +me from my duty to him, any more than David was freed from duty to Saul. +So, Anne, back must we go to the poverty in which I was reared with +your own good father.”</p> +<p>Anne might grieve, but she felt the gratification of being talked +to by her uncle as a woman who could understand, as he had talked to +her mother.</p> +<p>“The first of August!” she repeated, as if it were a +note of doom.</p> +<p>“Yes; I hear whispers of a further time of grace, but I know +not what difference that should make. A Christian man’s +oath may not be broken sooner or later. Well, poverty is the state +blessed by our Lord, and it may be that I have lived too much at mine +ease; but I could wish, dear child, that you were safely bestowed in +a house of your own.”</p> +<p>“So do not I,” said Anne, “for now I can work for +you.”</p> +<p>He smiled faintly, and here Mr. Fellowes joined them; a good man +likewise, but intent on demonstrating the other side of the question, +and believing that the Popish, persecuting King had forfeited his rights, +so that there need be no scruple as to renouncing what he had thrown +up by his flight. It was an endless argument, in which each man +could only act according to his own conscience, and endeavour that this +conscience should be as little biassed as possible by worldly motives +or animosity.</p> +<p>Mr. Fellowes started at once with his servant for Walwyn, and Naomi +accompanied the two Woodfords to Portchester. In spite of the +cavalier sentiments of her family, Naomi had too much of the spire of +her Frondeur father to understand any feeling for duty towards the King, +who had so decidedly broken his covenant with his people, and moreover +had so abominably treated the Fellows of Magdalen College; and her pity +for Anne as a sufferer for her uncle’s whim quite angered her +friend into hot defence of him and his cause.</p> +<p>The dear old parsonage garden under the gray walls, the honeysuckle +and monthly roses trailing over the porch, the lake-like creek between +it and green Portsdown Hill, the huge massive keep and towers, and the +masts in the harbour, the Island hills sleeping in blue summer haze—Anne’s +heart clave to them more than ever for the knowledge that the time was +short and that the fair spot must be given up for the right’s +sake. Certainly there was some trepidation at the thought of the +vault, and she had made many vague schemes for ascertaining that which +her very flesh trembled at the thought of any one suspecting; but these +were all frustrated, for since the war with France had begun, the bailey +had been put under repair and garrisoned by a detachment of soldiers, +the vault had been covered in, there was a sentry at the gateway of +the castle, and the postern door towards the vicarage was fastened up, +so that though the parish still repaired to church through the wide +court solitary wanderings there were no longer possible, nor indeed +safe for a young woman, considering what the soldiery of that period +were.</p> +<p>The thought came over her with a shudder as she gazed from her window +at the creek where she remembered Peregrine sending Charles and Sedley +adrift in the boat.</p> +<p>The tide was out, the mud glistened in the moonlight, but nothing +was to be seen more than Anne had beheld on many a summer night before, +no phantom was evoked before her eyes, no elfin-like form revealed his +presence, nor did any spirit take shape to upbraid her with his unhallowed +grave, so close at hand.</p> +<p>No, but Naomi Darpent, yearning for sympathy, came to her side, caressed +her on that summer night, and told her that Mr. Fellowes had gone to +ask her of her father, and though she could never love again as she +had once loved, she thought if her parents wished it, she could be happy +with so good a man.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV<br /> +In The Moonlight</h2> +<blockquote><p>I have had a dream this evening,<br /> +While the white and gold were fleeting,<br /> +But I need not, need not tell it.<br /> +Where would be the good?</p> +<p>Requiescat in Pace.—JEAN INGELOW.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Anne Woodford sat, on a sultry summer night, by the open window in +Archfield House at Fareham, busily engaged over the tail of a kite, +while asleep in a cradle in the corner of the room lay a little boy, +his apple-blossom cheeks and long flaxen curls lying prone upon his +pillow as he had tossed when falling asleep in the heat.</p> +<p>The six years since her return had been eventful. Dr. Woodford +had adhered to his view that his oath of allegiance could not be forfeited +by James’s flight; and he therefore had submitted to be ousted +from his preferments, resigning his pleasant prebendal house, and his +sea-side home, and embracing poverty for his personal oath’s sake, +although he was willing to acquiesce in the government of William and +Mary, and perhaps to rejoice that others had effected what he would +not have thought it right to do.</p> +<p>Things had been softened to him as regarded his flock by the appointment +of Mr. Fellowes to Portchester, which was a Crown living, though there +had been great demur at thus slipping into a friend’s shoes, so +that Dr. Woodford had been obliged to asseverate that nothing so much +comforted him as leaving the parish in such hands, and that he blamed +no man for seeing the question of Divine right as he did in common with +the Non-jurors. The appointment opened the way to the marriage +with Naomi Darpent, and the pair were happily settled at Portchester.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford and his niece found a tiny house at Winchester, near +the wharf, with the clear Itchen flowing in front and the green hills +rising beyond, while in the rear were the ruins of Wolvesey, and the +buildings of the Cathedral and College. They retained no servant +except black Hans, poor Peregrine’s legacy, who was an excellent +cook, and capable of all that Anne could not accomplish in her hours +of freedom.</p> +<p>It was a fall indeed from her ancient aspirations, though there was +still that bud of hope within her heart. The united means of uncle +and niece were so scanty that she was fain to offer her services daily +at Mesdames Reynaud’s still flourishing school, where the freshness +of her continental experiences made her very welcome.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford occasionally assisted some student preparing for the +university, but this was not regular occupation, and it was poorly paid, +so that it was well that fifty pounds a year went at least three times +as far as it would do in the present day. Though his gown and +cassock lost their richness and lustre, he was as much respected as +ever. Bishop Mews often asked him to Wolvesey, and allowed him +to assist the parochial clergy when it was not necessary to utter the +royal name, the vergers marshalled him to his own stall at daily prayers, +and he had free access to Bishop Morley’s Cathedral library.</p> +<p>The Archfield family still took a house in the Close for the winter +months, and there a very sober-minded and conventional courtship of +Lucy took place by Sir Edmund Nutley, a worthy and well-to-do gentleman +settled on the borders of Parkhurst Forest, in the Isle of Wight.</p> +<p>Anne, with the thought of her Charles burning within her heart, was +a little scandalised at the course of affairs. Sir Edmund was +a highly worthy man, but not in his first youth, and ponderous—a +Whig, moreover, and an intimate friend of the masterful governor of +the island, Lord Cutts, called the “Salamander.” He +had seen Miss Archfield before at the winter and spring Quarter Sessions, +and though her father was no longer in the Commission of the Peace, +the residence at Winchester gave him opportunities, and the chief obstacle +seemed to be the party question. He was more in love than was +the lady, but she was submissive, and believed that he would be a kind +husband. She saw, too, that her parents would be much disappointed +and displeased if she made any resistance to so prosperous a settlement, +and she was positively glad to be out of reach of Sedley’s addresses. +Such an entirely unenthusiastic acceptance was the proper thing, and +it only remained to provide for Lady Archfield’s comfort in the +loss of her daughter.</p> +<p>For this the elders turned at once to Anne Woodford. Sir Philip +made it his urgent entreaty that the Doctor and his niece would take +up their abode with him, and that Anne would share with the grandmother +the care of the young Philip, a spirited little fellow who would soon +be running wild with the grooms, without the attention that his aunt +had bestowed on him.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford himself was much inclined to accept the office of chaplain +to his old friend, who he knew would be far happier for his company; +and Anne’s heart bounded at the thought of bringing up Charles’s +child, but that very start of joy made her blush and hesitate, and finally +surprise the two old gentlemen by saying, with crimson cheeks—</p> +<p>“Sir, your Honour ought to know what might make you change +your mind. There have been passages between Mr. Archfield and +me.”</p> +<p>Sir Philip laughed. “Ah, the rogue! You were always +little sweethearts as children. Why, Anne, you should know better +than to heed what a young soldier says.”</p> +<p>“No doubt you have other views for your son,” said Dr. +Woodford, “and I trust that my niece has too much discretion and +sense of propriety to think that they can be interfered with on her +account.”</p> +<p>“Passages!” repeated Sir Philip thoughtfully. “Mistress +Anne, how much do you mean by that? Surely there is no promise +between you?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” said Anne; “I would not give any; but +when we parted in Flanders he asked me to—to wait for him, and +I feel that you ought to know it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I understand!” said the baronet. “It +was only natural to an old friend in a foreign land, and you have too +much sense to dwell on a young man’s folly, though it was an honourable +scruple that made you tell me, my dear maid. But he is not come +or coming yet, more’s the pity, so there is no need to think about +it at present.”</p> +<p>Anne’s cheeks did not look as if she had attained that wisdom; +but her conscience was clear, since she had told the fact, and the father +did not choose to take it seriously. To say how she herself loved +Charles would have been undignified and nothing to the purpose, since +her feelings were not what would be regarded, and there was no need +to mention her full and entire purpose to wed no one else. Time +enough for that if the proposal were made.</p> +<p>So the uncle and niece entered on their new life, with some loss +of independence, and to the Doctor a greater loss in the neighbourhood +of the Cathedral and its library; for after the first year or two, as +Lady Archfield grew rheumatic, and Sir Philip had his old friend to +play backgammon and read the <i>Weekly Gazette</i>, they became unwilling +to make the move to Winchester, and generally stayed at home all the +winter.</p> +<p>Before this, however, Princess Anne had been at the King’s +House at Winchester for a short time; and Lady Archfield paid due respects +to her, with Anne in attendance. With the royal faculty of remembering +everybody, the Princess recognised her namesake, gave her hand to be +kissed, and was extremely gracious. She was at the moment in the +height of a quarrel with her sister, and far from delighted with the +present <i>régime</i>. She sent for Miss Woodford, and, +to Anne’s surprise, laughed over her own escape from the Cockpit, +adding, “You would not come, child. You were in the right +on’t. There’s no gratitude among them! Had I +known how I should be served I would never have stirred a foot! +So ’twas you that carried off the child! Tell me what he +is like.”</p> +<p>And she extracted by questions all that Anne could tell her of the +life at St. Germain, and the appearance of her little half-brother. +It was impossible to tell whether she asked from affectionate remorse +or gossiping interest, but she ended by inquiring whether her father’s +god-daughter were content with her position, or desired one—if +there were a vacancy—in her own household, where she might get +a good husband.</p> +<p>Anne declined courteously and respectfully, and was forced to hint +at an engagement which she could not divulge. She had heard Charles’s +expressions of delight at the arrangement which gave his boy to her +tender care, warming her heart.</p> +<p>Lady Archfield had fits of talking of finding a good husband for +Anne Woodford among the Cathedral clergy, but the maiden was so necessary +to her, and so entirely a mother to little Philip, that she soon let +the idea drop. Perhaps it was periodically revived, when, about +three times a year, there arrived a letter from Charles. He wrote +in good spirits, evidently enjoying his campaigns, and with no lack +of pleasant companions, English, Scotch, and Irish Jacobites, with whom +he lived in warm friendship and wholesome emulation. He won promotion, +and the county Member actually came out of his way to tell Sir Philip +what he had heard from the Imperial ambassador of young Archfield’s +distinguished services at the battle of Salankamen, only regretting +that he was not fighting under King William’s colours. Little +Philip pranced about cutting off Turks’ heads in the form of poppies, +‘like papa,’ for whose safety Anne taught him to pray night +and morning.</p> +<p>Pride in his son’s exploits was a compensation to the father, +who declared them to be better than vegetating over the sheepfolds, +like Robert Oakshott, or than idling at Portsmouth, like Sedley Archfield.</p> +<p>That young man’s regiment had been ordered to Ireland during +the campaign that followed the battle of Boyne Water. He had suddenly +returned from thence, cashiered: by his own story, the victim of the +enmity of the Dutch General Ginkel; according to another version, on +account of brutal excesses towards the natives and insolence to his +commanding officer. Courts-martial had only just been introduced, +and Sir Philip could believe in a Whig invention doing injustice to +a member of a loyal family, so that his doors were open to his nephew, +and Sedley haunted them whenever he had no other resource; but he spent +most of his time between Newmarket and other sporting centres, and contrived +to get a sort of maintenance by bets at races, cock-fights, and bull-baitings, +and by extensive gambling. Evil reports of him came from time +to time, but Sir Philip was loth to think ill of the son of his brother, +or to forbode that as his grandson grew older, such influence might +be dangerous.</p> +<p>In his uncle’s presence Sedley was on his good behaviour; but +if he caught Miss Woodford without that protection, he attempted rude +compliments, and when repelled by her dignified look and manner, sneered +at the airs of my lady’s waiting-woman, and demanded how long +she meant to mope after Charley, who would never look so low. +“She need not be so ungracious to a poor soldier. She might +have to put up with worse.”</p> +<p>Moreover, he deliberately incited Philip to mischief, putting foul +words into the little mouth, and likewise giving forbidden food and +drink, lauding evil sports, and mocking at obedience to any authority, +especially Miss Woodford’s. Philip was very fond of his +Nana, and in general good and obedient; but what high-spirited boy is +proof against the allurements of the only example before him of young +manhood, assuring him that it was manly not to mind what the women said, +nor to be tied to the apron-strings of his grand-dame’s abigail?</p> +<p>The child had this summer thus been actually taken to the outskirts +of a bull-fight, whence he had been brought home in great disgrace by +Ralph, the old servant who had been charged to look after his out-door +amusements, and to ride with him. The grandfather was indeed more +shocked at the danger and the vulgarity of the sport than its cruelty, +but Philip had received his first flogging, and his cousin had been +so sharply rebuked that—to the great relief of Anne and of Lady +Archfield—he had not since appeared at Fareham House.</p> +<p>The morrow would be Philip’s seventh birthday, a stage which +would take him farther out of Anne’s power. He was no longer +to sleep in her chamber, but in one of his own with Ralph for his protector, +and he was to begin Latin with Dr. Woodford. So great was his +delight that he had gone to bed all the sooner in order to bring the +great day more quickly, and Anne was glad of the opportunity of finishing +the kite, which was to be her present, for Ralph to help him fly upon +Portsdown Hill.</p> +<p>That great anniversary, so delightful to him, with pony and whip +prepared for him—what a day of confusion, distress, and wretchedness +did it not recall to his elders? Anne could not choose but recall +the time, as she sat alone in the window, looking out over the garden, +the moon beginning to rise, and the sunset light still colouring the +sky in the north-west, just as it had done when she returned home after +the bonfire. The events of that sad morning had faded out of the +foreground. The Oakshott family seemed to have resigned themselves +to the mystery of Peregrine’s fate. Only his mother had +declined from the time of his disappearance. When it was ascertained +that his uncle had died in Russia, and that nothing had been heard of +him there, it seemed to bring on a fresh stage of her illness, and she +had expired at last in Martha Browning’s arms, her last words +being a blessing not only to Robert, but to Peregrine, and a broken +entreaty to her husband to forgive the boy, for he might have been better +if they had used him well.</p> +<p>Martha was then found to hold out against the idea of his being dead. +Little affection and scant civility as she had received from him, her +dutiful heart had attached itself to her destined lord, and no doubt +her imagination had been excited by his curious abilities, and her compassion +by the persecution he suffered at home. At any rate, when, after +a proper interval, the Major tried to transfer her to his remaining +son, she held out against it for a long interval, until at last, after +full three years, the desolation and disorganisation of Oakwood without +a mistress, a severe illness of the Major, and the distress of his son, +so worked upon her feelings that she consented to the marriage with +Robert, and had ever since been the ruling spirit at Oakwood, and a +very different one from what had been expected—sensible, kindly, +and beneficent, and allowing the young husband more liberty and indulgence +than he had ever known before.</p> +<p>The remembrance of Peregrine seemed to have entirely passed away, +and Anne had been troubled with no more apparitions, so that though +she thought over the strange scene of that terrible morning, the rapid +combat, the hasty concealment, the distracted face of the unhappy youth, +it was with the thought that time had been a healer, and that Charles +might surely now return home. And what then?</p> +<p>She raised her eyes to the open window, and what did she behold in +the moonlight streaming full upon the great tree rose below? It +was the same face and figure that had three times startled her before, +the figure dark and the face very white in the moonlight, but like nothing +else, and with that odd, one-sided feather as of old. It had flitted +ere she could point its place—gone in a single flash—but +she was greatly startled! Had it come to protest against the scheme +she had begun to indulge in on that very night of all nights, or had +it merely been her imagination? For nothing was visible, though +she leant from the window, no sound was to be heard, though when she +tried to complete her work, her hands trembled and the paper rustled, +so that Philip showed symptoms of wakening, and she had to defer her +task till early morning.</p> +<p>She said nothing of her strange sight, and Phil had a happy successful +birthday, flying the kite with a propitious wind, and riding into Portsmouth +on his new pony with grandpapa. But there was one strange event. +The servants had a holiday, and some of them went into Portsmouth, black +Hans, who never returned, being one. The others had lost sight +of him, but had not been uneasy, knowing him to be perfectly well able +to find his way home; but as he never appeared, the conclusion was that +he must have been kidnapped by some ship’s crew to serve as a +cook. He had not been very happy among the servants at Fareham, +who laughed at his black face and Dutch English, and he would probably +have gone willingly with Dutchmen; but Anne and her uncle were grieved, +and felt as if they had failed in the trust that poor Sir Peregrine +had left them.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV<br /> +Tidings From The Iron Gates</h2> +<blockquote><p>“He has more cause to be proud. Where is +he wounded?”</p> +<p>Coriolanus.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was a wet autumn day, when the yellow leaves of the poplars in +front of the house were floating down amid the misty rain; Dr. Woodford +had gone two days before to consult a book in the Cathedral library, +and was probably detained at Winchester by the weather; Lady Archfield +was confined to her bed by a sharp attack of rheumatism. Sir Philip +was taking his after-dinner doze in his arm-chair; and little Philip +was standing by Anne, who was doing her best to keep him from awakening +his grandfather, as she partly read, partly romanced, over the high-crowned +hatted fishermen in the illustrations to Izaak Walton’s <i>Complete +Angler.</i></p> +<p>He had just, caught by the musical sound, made her read to him a +second time Marlowe’s verses,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Come live with me and be my love,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and informed her that his Nana was his love, and that she was to +watch him fish in the summer rivers, when the servant who had been sent +to meet His Majesty’s mail and extract the <i>Weekly Gazette</i> +came in, bringing not only that, but a thick, sealed packet, the aspect +of which made the boy dance and exclaim, “A packet from my papa! +Oh! will he have written an answer to my own letter to him?”</p> +<p>But Sir Philip, who had started up at the opening of the door, had +no sooner glanced at the packet than he cried out, “’Tis +not his hand!” and when he tried to break the heavy seals and +loosen the string, his hands shook so much that he pushed it over to +Anne, saying, “You open it; tell me if my boy is dead.”</p> +<p>Anne’s alarm took the course of speed. She tore off the +wrapper, and after one glance said, “No, no, it cannot be the +worst; here is something from himself at the end. Here, sir.”</p> +<p>“I cannot! I cannot,” said the poor old man, as +the tears dimmed his spectacles, and he could not adjust them. +“Read it, my dear wench, and let me know what I am to tell his +poor mother.”</p> +<p>And he sank into a chair, holding between his knees his little grandson, +who stood gazing with widely-opened blue eyes.</p> +<p>“He sends love, duty, blessing. Oh, he talks of coming +home, so do not fear, sir!” cried Anne, a vivid colour on her +cheeks.</p> +<p>“But what is it?” asked the father. “Tell +me first—the rest after.”</p> +<p>“It is in the side—the left side,” said Anne, gathering +up in her agitation the sense of the crabbed writing as best she could. +“They have not extracted the bullet, but when they have, he will +do well.”</p> +<p>“God grant it! Who writes?”</p> +<p>“Norman Graham of Glendhu—captain in his K. K. Regiment +of Volunteer Dragoons. That’s his great friend! Oh, +sir, he has behaved so gallantly! He got his wound in saving the +colours from the Turks, and kept his hands clutched over them as his +men carried him out of the battle.”</p> +<p>Philip gave another little spring, and his grandfather bade Anne +read the letter to him in detail.</p> +<p>It told how the Imperial forces had met a far superior number of +Turks at Lippa, and had sustained a terrible defeat, with the loss of +their General Veterani, how Captain Archfield had received a scimitar +wound in the cheek while trying to save his commander, but had afterwards +dashed forward among the enemy, recovered the colours of the regiment, +and by a desperate charge of his fellow-soldiers, who were devotedly +attached to him, had been borne off the field with a severe wound on +the left side. Retreat had been immediately necessary, and he +had been taken on an ammunition waggon along rough roads to the fortress +called the Iron Gates of Transylvania, whence this letter was written, +and sent by the messenger who was to summon the Elector of Saxony to +the aid of the remnant of the army. It had not yet been possible +to probe the wound, but Charles gave a personal message, begging his +parents not to despond but to believe him recovering, so long as they +did not see his servant return without him, and he added sundry tender +and dutiful messages to his parents, and a blessing to his son, with +thanks for the pretty letter he had not been able to answer (but which, +his friend said, was lying spread on his pillow, not unstained with +blood), and he also told his boy always to love and look up to her who +had ever been as a mother to him. Anne could hardly read this, +and the scrap in feeble irregular lines she handed to Sir Philip. +It was—</p> +<blockquote><p>With all my heart I entreat pardon for all the errors +that have grieved you. I leave you my child to comfort you, and +mine own true love, whom yon will cherish. She will cherish you +as a daughter, as she will be, with your consent, if God spares me to +come home. The love of all my soul to her, my mother, sister, +and you.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There was a scrawl for conclusion and signature, and Captain Graham +added—</p> +<blockquote><p>Writing and dictating have greatly exhausted him. +He would have said more, but he says the lady can explain much, and +he repeats his urgent entreaties that you will take her to your heart +as a daughter, and that his son will love and honour her.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There was a final postscript—</p> +<p>The surgeon thinks him better for having disburthened his mind.</p> +<p>“My child,” said Sir Philip, with a long sigh, looking +up at Anne, who had gathered the boy into her arms, and was hiding her +face against his little awe-struck head, “my child, have you read?”</p> +<p>“No,” faltered Anne.</p> +<p>“Read then.” And as she would have taken it, he +suddenly drew her into his embrace and kissed her as the eyes of both +overflowed. “My poor girl!” he said, “this is +as hard to you as to us! Oh, my brave boy!” and he let her +lay her head on his shoulder and held her hand as they wept together, +while little Phil stared for a moment or two at so strange a sight and +then burst out with a great cry—</p> +<p>“You shall not cry! you shall not! my papa is not dead!” +and he stamped his little foot. “No, he isn’t. +He will get well; the letter said so, and I will go and tell grandmamma.”</p> +<p>The need of stopping this roused them both; Sir Philip, heavily groaning, +went away to break the tidings to his wife, and Anne went down on her +knees on the hearth to caress the boy, and help him to understand his +father’s state and realise the valorous deeds that would always +be a crown to him, and which already made the little fellow’s +eye flash and his fair head go higher.</p> +<p>By and by she was sent for to Lady Archfield’s room, and there +she had again to share the grief and the fears and try to dwell on the +glory and the hopes. When in a calmer moment the parents interrogated +her on what had passed with Charles, it was not in the spirit of doubt +and censure, but rather as dwelling on all that was to be told of one +whom alike they loved, and finally Sir Philip said, “I see, dear +child, I would not believe how far it had gone before, though you tried +to tell me. Whatever betide, you have won a daughter’s place.”</p> +<p>It was true that naturally a far more distinguished match would have +been sought for the heir, and he could hardly have carried out his purpose +without more opposition than under their present feelings, his parents +supposed themselves likely to make, but they really loved Anne enough +to have yielded at last; and Lady Nutley, coming home with a fuller +knowledge of her brother’s heart, prevented any reaction, and +Anne was allowed full sympathies as a betrothed maiden, in the wearing +anxiety that continued in the absence of all intelligence. On +the principle of doing everything to please him, she was even encouraged +to write to Charles in the packet in which he was almost implored to +recover, though all felt doubts whether he were alive even while the +letters were in hand, and this doubt lasted long and long. It +was all very well to say that as long as the servant did not return +his master must be safe—perhaps himself on the way home; but the +journey from Transylvania was so long, and there were so many difficulties +in the way of an Englishman, that there was little security in this +assurance. And so the winter set in while the suspense lasted; +and still Dr. Woodford spoke Charles’s name in the intercessions +in the panelled household chapel, and his mother and Anne prayed together +and separately, and his little son morning and evening entreated God +to “Bless papa, and make him well, and bring him home.”</p> +<p>Thus passed more than six weeks, during which Sir Philip’s +attention was somewhat diverted from domestic anxieties by an uninvited +visit to Portchester from Mr. Charnock, who had once been a college +mate of Mr. Fellowes, and came professing anxiety, after all these years, +to renew the friendship which had been broken when they took different +sides on the election of Dr. Hough to the Presidency of Magdalen College. +From his quarters at the Rectory Mr. Charnock had gone over to Fareham, +and sounded Sir Philip on the practicability of a Jacobite rising, and +whether he and his people would join it. The old gentleman was +much distressed, his age would not permit him to exert himself in either +cause, and he had been too much disturbed by James’s proceedings +to feel desirous of his restoration, though his loyal heart would not +permit of his opposing it, and he had never overtly acknowledged William +of Orange as his sovereign.</p> +<p>He could only reply that in the present state of his family he neither +could nor would undertake anything, and he urgently pleaded against +any insurrection that could occasion a civil war.</p> +<p>There was reason to think that Sedley had no hesitation in promising +to use all his influence over his uncle’s tenants, and considerably +magnifying their extremely small regard to him—nay, probably, +dwelling on his own expectations.</p> +<p>At any rate, even when Charnock was gone, Sedley continued to talk +big of the coming changes and his own distinguished part in them. +Indeed one very trying effect of the continued alarm about Charles was +that he took to haunting the place, and report declared that he had +talked loudly and coarsely of his cousin’s death and his uncle’s +dotage, and of his soon being called in to manage the property for the +little heir—insomuch that Sir Edmund Nutley thought it expedient +to let him know that Charles, on going on active service soon after +he had come of age, had sent home a will, making his son, who was a +young gentleman of very considerable property on his mother’s +side, ward to his grandfather first, and then to Sir Edmund Nutley himself +and to Dr. Woodford.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI<br /> +The Legend Of Penny Grim</h2> +<blockquote><p>“O dearest Marjorie, stay at hame,<br /> + For dark’s the gate ye have to go,<br /> +For there’s a maike down yonder glen<br /> + Hath frightened me and many me.”</p> +<p>HOGG.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Nana,” said little Philip in a meditative voice, as +he looked into the glowing embers of the hall fire, “when do fairies +leave off stealing little boys?”</p> +<p>“I do not believe they ever steal them, Phil.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes they do;” and he came and stood by her with +his great limpid blue eyes wide open. “Goody Dearlove says +they stole a little boy, and his name was Penny Grim.”</p> +<p>“Goody Dearlove is a silly old body to tell my boy such stories,” +said Anne, disguising how much she was startled.</p> +<p>“Oh, but Ralph Huntsman says ’tis true, and he knew him.”</p> +<p>“How could he know him when he was stolen?”</p> +<p>“They put another instead,” said the boy, a little puzzled, +but too young to make his story consistent. “And he was +an elf—a cross spiteful elf, that was always vexing folk. +And they stole him again every seven years. Yes—that was +it—they stole him every seven years.”</p> +<p>“Whom, Phil; I don’t understand—the boy or the +elf?” she said, half-diverted, even while shocked at the old story +coming up in such a form.</p> +<p>“The elf, I think,” he said, bending his brows; “he +comes back, and then they steal him again. Yes; and at last they +stole him quite—quite away—but it is seven years, and Goody +Dearlove says he is to be seen again!”</p> +<p>“No!” exclaimed Anne, with an irrepressible start of +dismay. “Has any one seen him, or fancied so?” she +added, though feeling that her chance of maintaining her rational incredulity +was gone.</p> +<p>“Goody Dearlove’s Jenny did,” was the answer. +“She saw him stand out on the beach at night by moonlight, and +when she screamed out, he was gone like the snuff of a candle.”</p> +<p>“Saw him? What was he like?” said Anne, struggling +for the dispassionate tone of the governess, and recollecting that Jenny +Dearlove was a maid at Portchester Rectory.</p> +<p>“A little bit of a man, all twisty on one side, and a feather +sticking out. Ralph said they always were like that;” and +Phil’s imitation, with his lithe, graceful little figure, of Ralph’s +clumsy mimicry was sufficient to show that there was some foundation +for this story, and she did not answer at once, so that he added, “I +am seven, Nana; do you think they will get me?”</p> +<p>“Oh no, no, Phil, there’s no fear at all of that. +I don’t believe fairies steal anybody, but even old women like +Goody Dearlove only say they steal little tiny babies if they are left +alone before they are christened.”</p> +<p>The boy drew a long breath, but still asked, “Was Penny Grim +a little baby?”</p> +<p>“So they said,” returned Anne, by no means interfering +with the name, and with a quailing heart as she thought of the child’s +ever knowing what concern his father had in that disappearance. +She was by no means sorry to have the conversation broken off by Sir +Philip’s appearance, booted and buskined, prepared for an expedition +to visit a flock of sheep and their lambs under the shelter of Portsdown +Hill, and in a moment his little namesake was frisking round eager to +go with grandpapa.</p> +<p>“Well, ’tis a brisk frost. Is it too far for him, +think you, Mistress Anne?”</p> +<p>“Oh no, sir; he is a strong little man and a walk will only +be good for him, if he does not stand still too long and get chilled. +Run, Phil, and ask nurse for your thick coat and stout shoes and leggings.”</p> +<p>“His grandmother only half trusts me with him,” said +Sir Philip, laughing. “I tell her she was not nearly so +careful of his father. I remember him coming in crusted all over +with ice, so that he could hardly get his clothes off, but she fancies +the boy may have some of his poor mother’s weakliness about him.”</p> +<p>“I see no tokens of it, sir.”</p> +<p>“Grand-dames will be anxious, specially over one chick. +Heigho! Winter travelling must be hard in Germany, and posts do +not come. How now, my man! Are you rolled up like a very +Russian bear? The poor ewes will think you are come to eat up +their lambs.”</p> +<p>“I’ll growl at them,” said Master Philip, uttering +a sound sufficient to disturb the nerves of any sheep if he were permitted +to make it, and off went grandfather and grandson together, Sir Philip +only pausing at the door to say—</p> +<p>“My lady wants you, Anne; she is fretting over the delay. +I fear, though I tell her it bodes well.”</p> +<p>Anne watched for a moment the hale old gentleman briskly walking +on, the merry child frolicking hither and thither round him, and the +sturdy body-servant Ralph, without whom he never stirred, plodding after, +while Keeper, the only dog allowed to follow to the sheepfolds, marched +decorously along, proud of the distinction. Then she went up to +Lady Archfield, who could not be perfectly easy as to the precious grandchild +being left to his own devices in the cold, while Sir Philip was sure +to run into a discussion with the shepherd over the turnips, which were +too much of a novelty to be approved by the Hampshire mind. It +was quite true that she could not watch that little adventurous spirit +with the same absence of anxiety as she had felt for her own son in +her younger days, and Anne had to devote herself to soothing and diverting +her mind, till Dr. Woodford knocked at the door to read and converse +with her.</p> +<p>The one o’clock dinner waited for the grandfather and grandson, +and when they came at last, little Philip looked somewhat blue with +cold and more subdued than usual, and his grandfather observed severely +that he had been a naughty boy, running into dangerous places, sliding +where he ought not, and then muttered under his breath that Sedley ought +to have known better than to have let him go there.</p> +<p>Discipline did not permit even a darling like little Phil to speak +at dinner-time; but he fidgeted, and the tears came into his eyes, and +Anne hearing a little grunt behind Sir Philip’s chair, looked +up, and was aware that old Ralph was mumbling what to her ears sounded +like: ‘Knew too well.’ But his master, being slightly +deaf, did not hear, and went on to talk of his lambs and of how Sedley +had joined them on the road, but had not come back to dinner.</p> +<p>Phil was certainly quieter than usual that afternoon, and sat at +Anne’s feet by the fire, filling little sacks with bran to be +loaded on his toy cart to go to the mill, but not chattering as usual. +She thought him tired, and hearing a sort of sigh took him on her knee, +when he rested his fair little head on her shoulder, and presently said +in a low voice—</p> +<p>“I’ve seen him.”</p> +<p>“Who? Not your father? Oh, my child!” cried +Anne, in a sudden horror.</p> +<p>“Oh no—the Penny Grim thing.”</p> +<p>“What? Tell me, Phil dear, how or where?”</p> +<p>“By the end of the great big pond; and he threw up his arms, +and made a horrid grin.” The boy trembled and hid his face +against her.</p> +<p>“But go on, Phil. He can’t hurt you, you know. +Do tell me. Where were you?”</p> +<p>“I was sliding on the ice. Grandpapa was ever so long +talking to Bill Shepherd, and looking at the men cutting turnips, and +I got cold and tired, and ran about with Cousin Sedley till we got to +the big pond, and we began to slide, and the ice was so nice and hard—you +can’t think. He showed me how to take a good long slide, +and said I might go out to the other end of the pond by the copse, by +the great old tree. And I set off, but before I got there, out +it jumped, out of the copse, and waved its arms, and made <i>that</i> +face.”</p> +<p>He cowered into her bosom again and almost cried. Anne knew +the place, and was ready to start with dismay in her turn. It +was such a pool as is frequent in chalk districts—shallow at one +end, but deep and dangerous with springs at the other.</p> +<p>“But, Phil dear,” she said, “it was well you were +stopped; the ice most likely would have broken at that end, and then +where would Nana’s little man have been?”</p> +<p>“Cousin Sedley never told me not,” said the boy in self-defence; +“he was whistling to me to go on. But when I tumbled down +Ralph and grandpapa and all <i>did</i> scold me so—and Cousin +Sedley was gone. Why did they scold me, Nana? I thought +it was brave not to mind danger—like papa.”</p> +<p>“It is brave when one can do any good by it, but not to slide +on bad ice, when one must be drowned,” said Anne. “Oh, +my dear, dear little fellow, it was a blessed thing you saw <i>that</i>, +whatever it was! But why do you call it Pere—Penny Grim?”</p> +<p>“It was, Nana! It was a little man—rather. +And one-sided looking, with a bit of hair sticking out, just like the +picture of Riquet-with-a-tuft in your French fairy-book.”</p> +<p>This last was convincing to Anne that the child must have seen the +phantom of seven years ago, since he was not repeating the popular description +he had given her in the morning, but one quite as individual. +She asked if grandpapa had seen it.</p> +<p>“Oh no; he was in the shed, and only came out when he heard +Ralph scolding me. Was it a wicked urchin come to steal me, Nana?”</p> +<p>“No, I think not,” she answered. “Whatever +it was, I think it came because God was taking care of His child, and +warning him from sliding into the deep pool. We will thank him, +Phil. ‘He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep +thee in all thy ways.’” And to that verse she soothed +the tired child till he fell asleep, and she could lay him on the settle, +and cover him with a cloak, musing the while on the strange story, until +presently she started up and repaired to the buttery in search of the +old servant.</p> +<p>“Ralph, what is this Master Philip tells me?” she asked. +“What has he seen?”</p> +<p>“Well, Mistress Anne, that is what I can’t tell—no, +not I; but I knows this, that the child has had a narrow escape of his +precious life, and I’d never trust him again with that there Sedley—no, +not for hundreds of pounds.”</p> +<p>“You <i>really</i> think, Ralph—?”</p> +<p>“What can I think, ma’am? When I finds he’s +been a-setting that there child to slide up to where he’d be drownded +as sure as he’s alive, and you see, if we gets ill news of Master +Archfield (which God forbid), there’s naught but the boy atween +him and this here place—and he over head and ears in debt. +Be it what it might that the child saw, it saved the life of him.”</p> +<p>“Did you see it?”</p> +<p>“No, Mistress Anne; I can’t say as I did. I only +heard the little master cry out as he fell. I was in the shed, +you see, taking a pipe to keep me warm. And when I took him up, +he cried out like one dazed. ’Twas Penny Grim, Ralph! +Keep me. He is come to steal me.” But Sir Philip wouldn’t +hear nothing of it, only blamed Master Phil for being foolhardy, and +for crying for the fall, and me for letting him out of sight.”</p> +<p>“And Mr. Sedley—did he see it?”</p> +<p>“Well, mayhap he did, for I saw him as white as a sheet and +his eyes staring out of his head; but that might have been his evil +conscience.”</p> +<p>“What became of him?”</p> +<p>“To say the truth, ma’am, I believe he be at the Brocas +Arms, a-drowning of his fright—if fright it were, with Master +Harling’s strong waters.”</p> +<p>“But this apparition, this shape—or whatever it is? +What put it into Master Philip’s head? What has been heard +of it?”</p> +<p>Ralph looked unwilling. “Bless you, Mistress Anne, there’s +been some idle talk among the women folk, as how that there crooked +slip of Major Oakshott’s, as they called Master Perry or Penny, +and said was a changeling, has been seen once and again. Some +says as the fairies have got him, and ’tis the seven year for +him to come back again. And some says that he met with foul play, +and ’tis the ghost of him, but I holds it all mere tales, and +I be sure ’twere nothing bad as stopped little master on that +there pond. So I be.”</p> +<p>Anne could not but be of the same mind, but her confusion, alarm, +and perplexity were great. It seemed strange, granting that this +were either spirit or elf connected with Peregrine Oakshott, that it +should interfere on behalf of Charles Archfield’s child, and on +the sweet hypothesis that a guardian angel had come to save the child, +it was in a most unaccountable form.</p> +<p>And more pressing than any such mysterious idea was the tangible +horror of Ralph’s suggestion, too well borne out by the boy’s +own unconscious account of the adventure. It was too dreadful, +too real a peril to be kept to herself, and she carried the story to +her uncle on his return, but without speaking of the spectral warning. +Not only did she know that he would not attend to it, but the hint, +heard for the first time, that Peregrine was supposed to have met with +foul play, sealed her lips, just when she still was hoping against hope +that Charles might be on the way home. But that Ralph believed, +and little Philip’s own account confirmed, that his cousin had +incited the little heir to the slide that would have been fatal save +for his fall, she told with detail, and entreated that the grandfather +might be warned, and some means be found of ensuring the safety of her +darling, the motherless child!</p> +<p>To her disappointment Dr. Woodford was not willing to take alarm. +He did not think so ill of Sedley as to believe him capable of such +a secret act of murder, and he had no great faith in Ralph’s sagacity, +besides that he thought his niece’s nerves too much strained by +the long suspense to be able to judge fairly. He thought it would +be cruel to the grandparents, and unjust to Sedley, to make such a frightful +suggestion without further grounds during their present state of anxiety, +and as to the boy’s safety, which Anne pleaded with an uncontrollable +passion of tears, he believed that it was provided for by watchfulness +on the part of his two constant guardians, as well as himself, since, +even supposing the shocking accusation to be true, Sedley would not +involve himself in danger of suspicion, and it was already understood +that he was not a fit companion for his little cousin to be trusted +with. Philip had already brought home words and asked questions +that distressed his grandmother, and nobody was willing to leave him +alone with the ex-lieutenant. So again the poor maiden had to +hold her peace under an added burthen of anxiety and many a prayer.</p> +<p>When the country was ringing with the tidings of Sir George Barclay’s +conspiracy for the assassination of William III, it was impossible not +to hope that Sedley’s boastful tongue might have brought him sufficiently +under suspicion to be kept for a while under lock and key; but though +he did not appear at Fareham, there was reason to suppose that he was +as usual haunting the taverns and cockpits of Portsmouth.</p> +<p>No one went much abroad that winter. Sir Philip, perhaps from +anxiety and fretting, had a fit of the gout, and Anne kept herself and +her charge within the garden or the street of the town. In fact +there was a good deal of danger on the roads. The neighbourhood +of the seaport was always lawless, and had become more so since Sir +Philip had ceased to act as Justice of the Peace, and there were reports +of highway robberies of an audacious kind, said to be perpetrated by +a band calling themselves the Black Gang, under a leader known as Piers +Pigwiggin, who were alleged to be half smuggler, half Jacobite, and +to have their headquarters somewhere in the back of the Isle of Wight, +in spite of the Governor, the terrible Salamander, Lord Cutts, who was, +indeed, generally absent with the army.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII<br /> +The Vault</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Heaven awards the vengeance due.”</p> +<p>COWPER.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The weary days had begun to lengthen before the door of the hall +was flung open, and little Phil, forgetting his bow at the door, rushed +in, “Here’s a big packet from foreign parts! Harry +had to pay ever so much for it.”</p> +<p>“I have wellnigh left off hoping,” sighed the poor mother. +“Tell me the worst at once.”</p> +<p>“No fear, my lady,” said her husband. “Thank +God! ’Tis our son’s hand.”</p> +<p>There was the silence for a moment of intense relief, and then the +little boy was called to cut the silk and break the seals.</p> +<p>Joy ineffable! There were three letters—for Master Philip +Archfield, for Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford, and for Sir Philip himself. +The old gentleman glanced over it, caught the words ‘better,’ +and ‘coming home,’ then failed to read through tears of +joy as before through tears of sorrow, and was fain to hand the sheet +to his old friend to be read aloud, while little Philip, handling as +a treasure the first letter he had ever received, though as yet he was +unable to decipher it, stood between his grandfather’s knees listening +as Dr. Woodford read—</p> +<blockquote><p>DEAR AND HONOURED SIR—I must ask your pardon for +leaving you without tidings so long, but while my recovery still hung +in doubt I thought it would only distress you to hear of the fluctuations +that I went through, and the pain to which the surgeons put me for a +long time in vain. Indeed frequently I had no power either to +think or speak, until at last with much difficulty, and little knowledge +or volition of my own, my inestimable friend Graham brought me to Vienna, +where I have at length been relieved from my troublesome companion, +and am enjoying the utmost care and kindness from my friend’s +mother, a near kinswoman, as indeed he is himself, of the brave and +lamented Viscount Dundee. My wound is healing finally, as I hope, +and though I have not yet left my bed, my friends assure me that I am +on the way to full and complete recovery, for which I am more thankful +to the Almighty than I could have been before I knew what suffering +and illness meant. As soon as I can ride again, which they tell +me will be in a fortnight or three weeks, I mean to set forth on my +way home. I cannot describe to you how I am longing after the +sight of you all, nor how home-sick I have become. I never had +time for it before, but I have lain for hours bringing all your faces +before me, my father’s, and mother’s, my sister’s, +and that of her whom I hope to call my own; and figuring to myself that +of the little one. I have thought much over my past life, and +become sensible of much that was amiss, and while earnestly entreating +your forgiveness, especially for having absented myself all these years, +I hope to return so as to be more of a comfort than I was in the days +of my rash and inconsiderate youth. I am of course at present +invalided, but I want to consult you, honoured sir, before deciding +whether it be expedient for me to resign my commission. How I +thank and bless you for the permission you have given me, and the love +you bear to my own heart’s joy, no words can tell. It shall +be the study of my life to be worthy of her and of you.—And so +no more from your loving and dutiful son, CHARLES ARCHFIELD.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Having drunk in these words with her ears, Anne left Phil to have +his note interpreted by his grandparents, and fled away to enjoy her +own in her chamber, yet it was as short as could be and as sweet.</p> +<blockquote><p>Mine own, mine own sweet Anne, sweetheart of good old +days, your letter gave me strength to go through with it. The +doctors could not guess why I was so much better and smiled through +all their torments. These are our first, I hope our last letters, +for I shall soon follow them home, and mine own darling will be mine.—Thine +own, C. A.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She had but short time to dwell on it and kiss it, for little Philip +was upon her, waving his letter, which he already knew by heart; and +galloping all over the house to proclaim the good news to the old servants, +who came crowding into the hall, trembling with joy, to ask if there +were indeed tidings of Mr. Archfield’s return, whereupon the glad +father caused his grandson to carry each a full glass of wine to drink +to the health of the young master.</p> +<p>Anne had at first felt only the surpassing rapture of the restoration +of Charles, but there ensued another delight in the security his recovery +gave to the life of his son. Sedley Archfield would not be likely +to renew his attempt, and if only on that account the good news should +be spread as widely as possible. She was the first to suggest +the relief it would be to Mr. Fellowes, who had never divested himself +of the feeling that he ought to have divined his pupil’s intention.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford offered to ride to Portchester with the news, and Sir +Philip, in the gladness of his heart, proposed that Anne should go with +him and see her friend.</p> +<p>Shall it be told how on the way Anne’s mind was assailed by +feminine misgivings whether three and twenty could be as fair in her +soldier’s eyes as seventeen had been? Old maidenhood came +earlier then than in these days, and Anne knew that she was looked upon +as an old waiting-gentlewoman or governess by the belles of Winchester. +Her glass might tell her that her eyes were as softly brown, her hair +as abundant, her cheek as clear and delicately moulded as ever, but +there was no one to assure her that the early bloom had not passed away, +and that she had not rather gained than lost in dignity of bearing and +the stately poise of the head, which the jealous damsels called Court +airs. “And should he be disappointed, I shall see it in +his eyes,” she said to herself, “and then his promise shall +not bind him, though it will break my heart, and oh! how hard to resign +my Phil to a strange stepmother.” Still her heart was lighter +than for many a long year, as she cantered along in the brisk March +air, while the drops left by the departing frost glistened in the sunshine, +and the sea lay stretched in a delicate gray haze. The old castle +rose before her in its familiar home-like massiveness as they turned +towards the Rectory, where in that sheltered spot the well-known clusters +of crocuses were opening their golden hearts to the sunshine, and recalling +the days when Anne was as sunny-hearted as they, and she felt as if +she could be as bright again.</p> +<p>In Mrs. Fellowes’s parlour they found an unexpected guest, +no other than Mrs. Oakshott.</p> +<p>‘Gadding about’ not being the fashion of the Archfield +household, Anne had not seen the lady for several years, and was agreeably +surprised by her appearance. Perhaps the marks of smallpox had +faded, perhaps motherhood had given expression, and what had been gaunt +ungainliness in the maiden had rounded into a certain importance in +the matron, nor had her dress, though quiet, any of the Puritan rigid +ugliness that had been complained of, and though certainly not beautiful, +she was a person to inspire respect.</p> +<p>It was explained that she was waiting for her husband, who was gone +with Mr. Fellowes to speak to the officer in command of the soldiers +at the castle. “For,” said she, “I am quite +convinced that there is something that ought to be brought to light, +and it may be in that vault.”</p> +<p>Anne’s heart gave such a throb as almost choked her.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford asked what the lady meant.</p> +<p>“Well, sir, when spirits and things ’tis not well to +talk of are starting up and about here, there, and everywhere, ’tis +plain there must be cause for it.”</p> +<p>“I do not quite take your meaning, madam.”</p> +<p>“Ah, well! you gentlemen, reverend ones especially, are the +last to hear such things. There’s the poor old Major, he +won’t believe a word of it, but you know, Mistress Woodford. +I see it in your face. Have you seen anything?”</p> +<p>“Not here, not now,” faltered Anne. “You +have, Mrs. Fellowes?”</p> +<p>“I have heard of some foolish fright of the maids,” said +Naomi, “partly their own fancy, or perhaps caught from the sentry. +There is no keeping those giddy girls from running after the soldiers.”</p> +<p>Perhaps Naomi hoped by throwing out this hint to conduct her visitors +off into the safer topic of domestic delinquencies, but Mrs. Oakshott +was far too earnest to be thus diverted, and she exclaimed, “Ah, +they saw him, I’ll warrant!”</p> +<p>“Him?” the Doctor asked innocently.</p> +<p>“Him or his likeness,” said Mrs. Oakshott, “my +poor brother-in-law, Peregrine Oakshott; you remember him, sir? +He always said, poor lad, that you and Mrs. Woodford were kinder to +him than his own flesh and blood, except his uncle, Sir Peregrine. +For my part, I never did give in to all the nonsense folk talked about +his being a changeling or at best a limb of Satan. He had more +spirit and sense than the rest of them, and they led him the life of +a dog, though they knew no better. If I had had him at Emsworth, +I would have shown them what he was;” and she sighed heavily. +“Well, I did not so much wonder when he disappeared, I made sure +that he could bear it no longer and had run away. I waited as +long as there was any reason, till there should be tidings of him, and +only took his brother at last because I found they could not do without +me at home.”</p> +<p>Remarkable frankness! but it struck both the Doctor and Anne that +if Peregrine could have submitted, his life might have been freer and +less unhappy than he had expected, though Mrs. Martha spoke the broadest +Hampshire.</p> +<p>Naomi asked, “Then you no longer think that he ran away?”</p> +<p>“No, madam; I am certain there was worse than that. You +remember the night of the bonfire for the Bishops’ acquittal, +Miss Woodford?”</p> +<p>“Indeed I do.”</p> +<p>“Well, he was never seen again after that, as you know. +The place was full of wild folk. There was brawling right and +left.”</p> +<p>“Were you there?” asked Anne surprised.</p> +<p>“Yes; in my coach with my uncle and aunt that lived with me, +though, except Robin, none of the young sparks would come near me, except +some that I knew were after my pockets,” said Martha, with a good-humoured +laugh. “Properly frightened we were too by the brawling +sailors ere we got home! Now, what could be more likely than that +some of them got hold of poor Perry? You know he always would +go about with the rapier he brought from Germany, with amber set in +the hilt, and the mosaic snuff-box he got in Italy, and what could be +looked for but that the poor dear lad should be put out of the way for +the sake of these gewgaws?” This supposition was gratifying +to Anne, but her uncle must needs ask why Mrs. Oakshott thought so more +than before.</p> +<p>“Because,” she said impressively, “there is no +doubt but that he has been seen, and not in the flesh, once and again, +and always about these ruins.”</p> +<p>“By whom, madam, may I ask?”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Fellowes’s maids, as she knows, saw him once on +the beach at night, just there. The sentry, who is Tom Hart, from +our parish, saw a shape at the opening of the old vault before the keep +and challenged him, when he vanished out of sight ere there was time +to present a musket. There was once more, when one moonlight night +our sexton, looking out of his cottage window, saw what he declares +was none other than Master Perry standing among the graves of our family, +as if, poor youth, he were asking why he was not among them. When +I heard that, I said to my husband, ‘Depend upon it,’ says +I, ‘he met with his death that night, and was thrown into some +hole, and that’s the reason he cannot rest. If I pay a hundred +pounds for it, I’ll not give up till his poor corpse is found +to have Christian burial, and I’ll begin with the old vault at +Portchester!’ My good father, the Major, would not hear +of it at first, nor my husband either, but ’tis my money, and +I know how to tackle Robin.”</p> +<p>It was with strangely mingled feelings that Anne listened. +That search in the vault, inaugurated by faithful Martha, was what she +had always felt ought to be made, and she had even promised to attempt +it if the apparitions recurred. The notion of the deed being attributed +to lawless sailors and smugglers or highwaymen, who were known to swarm +in the neighbourhood, seemed to remove all danger of suspicion. +Yet she could not divest herself of a vague sense of alarm at this stirring +up of what had slept for seven years. Neither she nor her uncle +deemed it needful to mention the appearance seen by little Philip, but +to her surprise Naomi slowly and hesitatingly said it was very remarkable, +that her husband having occasion to be at the church at dusk one evening +just after Midsummer, had certainly seen a figure close to Mrs. Woodford’s +grave, and lost sight of it before he could speak of it. He thought +nothing more of it till these reports began to be spread, but he had +then recollected that it answered the descriptions given of the phantom.</p> +<p>Here the ladies were interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Fellowes +and Robert Oakshott, now grown into a somewhat heavy but by no means +foolish-looking young man.</p> +<p>“Well, madam,” said he, in Hampshire as broad as his +wife’s, “you will have your will. Not that Captain +Henslowe believes a word of your ghosts—not he; but he took fire +when he heard of queer sights about the castle. He sent for the +chap who stood sentry, and was downright sharp on him for not reporting +what he had seen, and he is ordering out a sergeant’s party to +open the vault, so you may come and see, if you have any stomach for +it.”</p> +<p>“I could not but come!” said Madam Oakshott, who certainly +did not look squeamish, but who was far more in earnest than her husband, +and perhaps doubted whether without her presence the quest would be +thorough. Anne was full of dread, and almost sick at the thought +of what she might see, but she was far too anxious to stay away. +Mrs. Fellowes made some excuse about the children for not accompanying +them.</p> +<p>It always thrilled Anne to enter that old castle court, the familiar +and beloved play-place of her childhood, full of memories of Charles +and of Lucy, and containing in its wide precincts the churchyard where +her mother lay. She moved along in a kind of dream, glad to be +let alone, since Mr. Fellowes naturally attended Mrs. Oakshott, and +Robert was fully occupied in explaining to the Doctor that he only gave +in to this affair for the sake of pacifying madam, since women folk +would have their little megrims. Assuredly that tall, solid, resolute +figure stalking on in front, looked as little subject to megrims as +any of her sex. Her determination had brought her husband thither, +and her determination further carried the day, when the captain, after +staring at the solid-looking turf, stamping on the one stone that was +visible, and trampling down the bunch of nettles beside it, declared +that the entrance had been so thoroughly stopped that it was of no use +to dig farther. It was Madam Martha who demanded permission to +offer the four soldiers a crown apiece if they opened the vault, a guinea +each if they found anything. The captain could not choose but +grant it, though with something of a sneer, and the work was begun. +He walked up and down with Robert, joining in hopes that the lady would +be satisfied before dinner-time. The two clergymen likewise walked +together, arguing, as was their wont, on the credibility of apparitions. +The two ladies stood in almost breathless watch, as the bricks that +had covered in the opening were removed, and the dark hole brought to +light. Contrary to expectation, when the opening had been enlarged, +it was found that there were several steps of stone, and where they +were broken away, there was a rude ladder.</p> +<p>A lantern was fetched from the guard-room in the bailey, and after +much shaking and trying of the ladder, one of the soldiers descended, +finding the place less deep than was commonly supposed, and soon calling +out that he was at the bottom. Another followed him, and presently +there was a shout. Something was found! “A rusty old +chain, no doubt,” grumbled Robert; but his wife shrieked. +It was a sword in its sheath, the belt rotted, the clasp tarnished, +but of silver. Mrs. Oakshott seized it at once, rubbed away the +dust from the handle, and brought to light a glistening yellow piece +of amber, which she mutely held up, and another touch of her handkerchief +disclosed on a silver plate in the scabbard an oak-tree, the family +crest, and the twisted cypher P. O. Her eyes were full of tears, +and she did not speak. Anne, white and trembling, was forced to +sink down on the stone, unnoticed by all, while Robert Oakshott, convinced +indeed, hastily went down himself. The sword had been hidden in +a sort of hollow under the remains of the broken stair. Thence +likewise came to light the mouldy remnant of a broad hat and the quill +of its plume, and what had once been a coat, even in its present state +showing that it had been soaked through and through with blood, the +same stains visible on the watch and the mosaic snuff-box. That +was all; there was no purse, and no other garments, though, considering +the condition of the coat, they might have been entirely destroyed by +the rats and mice. There was indeed a fragment of a handkerchief, +with the cypher worked on it, which Mrs. Oakshott showed to Anne with +the tears in her eyes: “There! I worked that, though he +never knew it. No! I know he did not like me! But +I would have made him do so at last. I would have been so good +to him. Poor fellow, that he should have been lying there all +this time!”</p> +<p>Lying there; but where, then, was he? No signs of any corpse +were to be found, though one after another all the gentlemen descended +to look, and Mrs. Oakshott was only withheld by her husband’s +urgent representations, and promise to superintend a diligent digging +in the ground, so as to ascertain whether there had been a hasty burial +there.</p> +<p>Altogether, Anne was so much astonished and appalled that she could +hardly restrain herself, and her mind reverted to Bishop Ken’s +theory that Peregrine still lived; but this was contradicted by the +appearance at Douai, which did not rest on the evidence of her single +perceptions.</p> +<p>Mrs. Fellowes sent out an entreaty that they would come to dinner, +and the gentlemen were actually base enough to wish to comply, so that +the two ladies had no choice save to come with them, especially as the +soldiers were unwilling to work on without their meal. Neither +Mrs. Oakshott nor Anne felt as if they could swallow, and the polite +pressure to eat was only preferable in Anne’s eyes to the conversation +on the discoveries that had been made, especially the conclusion arrived +at by all, that though the purse and rings had not been found, the presence +of the watch and snuff-box precluded the idea of robbery.</p> +<p>“These would be found on the body,” said Mr. Oakshott. +“I could swear to the purse. You remember, madam, your uncle +bantering him about French ladies and their finery, asking whose token +it was, and how black my father looked? Poor Perry, if my father +could have had a little patience with him, he would not have gone roaming +about and getting into brawls, and we need not be looking for him in +yonder black pit.”</p> +<p>“You’ll never find him there, Master Robert,” spoke +out the old Oakwood servant, behind Mrs. Oakshott’s chair, free +and easy after the manner of the time.</p> +<p>“And wherefore not, Jonadab?” demanded his mistress, +by no means surprised at the liberty.</p> +<p>“Why, ma’am, ’twas the seven years, you sees, and +in course when them you wot of had power to carry him off, they could +not take his sword, nor his hat, not they couldn’t.”</p> +<p>“How about his purse, then?” put in Dr. Woodford.</p> +<p>“I’ll be bound you will find it yet, sir,” responded +Jonadab, by no means disconcerted, “leastways unless some two-legged +fairies have got it.”</p> +<p>At this some of the party found it impossible not to laugh, and this +so upset poor Martha’s composure that she was obliged to leave +the table, and Anne was not sorry for the excuse of attending her, although +there were stings of pain in all her rambling lamentations and conjectures.</p> +<p>Very tardily, according to the feelings of the anxious women, was +the dinner finished, and their companions ready to take them out again. +Indeed, Madam Oakshott at last repaired to the dining-parlour, and roused +her husband from his glass of Spanish wine to renew the search. +She would not listen to Mrs. Fellowes’s advice not to go out again, +and Anne could not abstain either from watching for what could not be +other than grievous and mournful to behold.</p> +<p>The soldiers were called out again by their captain, and reinforced +by the Rectory servant and Jonadab.</p> +<p>There was an interval of anxious prowling round the opening. +Mr. Oakshott and the captain had gone down again, and found, what the +military man was anxious about, that if there were passages to the outer +air, they had been well blocked up and not re-opened.</p> +<p>Meantime the digging proceeded.</p> +<p>It was just at twilight that a voice below uttered an exclamation. +Then came a pause. The old sergeant’s voice ordered care +and a pause, somewhere below the opening with, “Sir, the spades +have hit upon a skull.”</p> +<p>There was a shuddering pause. All the gentlemen except Dr. +Woodford, who feared the chill, descended again. Mrs. Oakshott +and Anne held each other’s hands and trembled.</p> +<p>By and by Mr. Fellowes came up first. “We have found,” +he said, looking pale and grave, “a skeleton. Yes, a perfect +skeleton, but no more—no remains except a fine dust.”</p> +<p>And Robert Oakshott following, awe-struck and sorrowful, added, “Yes, +there he is, poor Perry—all that is left of him—only his +bones. No, madam, we must leave him there for the present; we +cannot bring it up without preparation.”</p> +<p>“You need not fear meddling curiosity, madam,” said the +captain. “I will post a sentry here to bar all entrance.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, sir,” said Robert. “That will be +well till I can bury the poor fellow with all due respect by my mother +and Oliver.”</p> +<p>“And then I trust his spirit will have rest,” said Martha +Oakshott fervently. “And now home to your father. +How will he bear it, sir?”</p> +<p>“I verily believe he will sleep the quieter for knowing for +a certainty what has become of poor Peregrine,” said her husband.</p> +<p>And Anne felt as if half her burthen of secrecy was gone when they +all parted, starting early because the Black Gang rendered all the roads +unsafe after dark.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> +The Disclosure</h2> +<blockquote><p>“He looked about as one betrayed,<br /> +What hath he done, what promise made?<br /> +Oh! weak, weak moment, to what end<br /> +Can such a vain oblation tend?”</p> +<p>WORDSWORTH.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For the most part Anne was able to hold her peace and keep out of +sight while Dr. Woodford related the strange revelations of the vault +with all the circumstantiality that was desired by two old people living +a secluded life and concerned about a neighbour of many years, whom +they had come to esteem by force of a certain sympathy in honest opposition. +The mystery occupied them entirely, for though the murder was naturally +ascribed to some of the lawless coast population, the valuables remaining +with the clothes made a strange feature in the case.</p> +<p>It was known that there was to be an inquest held on the remains +before their removal, and Dr. Woodford, both from his own interest in +the question, and as family intelligencer, rode to the castle. +Sir Philip longed to go, but it was a cold wet day, and he had threatenings +of gout, so that he was persuaded to remain by the fireside. Inquests +were then always held where the body lay, and the court of Portchester +Castle was no place for him on such a day.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford came home just before twilight, looking grave and troubled, +and, much to Anne’s alarm, desired to speak to Sir Philip privately +in the gun-room. Lady Archfield took alarm, and much distressed +her by continually asking what could be the meaning of the interview, +and making all sorts of guesses.</p> +<p>When at last they came together into the parlour the poor lady looked +so anxious and frightened that her husband went up to her and said, +“Do not be alarmed, sweetheart. We shall clear him; but +those foolish fellows have let suspicion fall on poor Sedley.”</p> +<p>Nobody looked at Anne, or her deadly paleness must have been remarked, +and the trembling which she could hardly control by clasping her hands +tightly together, keeping her feet hard on the floor, and setting her +teeth.</p> +<p>Lady Archfield was perhaps less fond of the scapegrace nephew than +was her husband, and she felt the matter chiefly as it affected him, +so that she heard with more equanimity than he had done; and as they +sat round the fire in the half-light, for which Anne was thankful, the +Doctor gave his narration in order.</p> +<p>“I found a large company assembled in the castle court, waiting +for the coroner from Portsmouth, though the sentry on guard would allow +no one to go down, in spite of some, even ladies, I am ashamed to say, +who offered him bribes for the permission. Everything, I heard, +had been replaced as we found it. The poor Major himself was there, +looking sadly broken, and much needing the help of his son’s arm. +‘To think that I was blaming my poor son as a mere reprobate, +and praying for his conversion,’ says he, ‘when he was lying +here, cut off without a moment for repentance.’ There was +your nephew, suspecting nothing, Squire Brocas, Mr. Eyre, of Botley +Grange, Mr. Biden, Mr. Larcom, and Mr. Bargus, and a good many more, +besides Dr. James Yonge, the naval doctor, and the Mayor of Portsmouth, +and more than I can tell you. When the coroner came, and the jury +had been sworn in, they went down and viewed the spot, and all that +was there. The soldiers had put candles round, and a huge place +it is, all built up with large stones. Then, as it was raining +hard, they adjourned to the great room in the keep and took the evidence. +Robert Oakshott identified the clothes and the watch clearly enough, +and said he had no doubt that the other remains were Peregrine’s; +but as to swearing to a brother’s bones, no one could do that; +and Dr. Yonge said in my ear that if the deceased were so small a man +as folks said, the skeleton could scarce be his, for he thought it had +belonged to a large-framed person. That struck no one else, for +naturally it is only a chirurgeon who is used to reckon the proportion +that the bones bear to the body, and I also asked him whether in seven +years the other parts would be so entirely consumed, to which he answered +that so much would depend on the nature of the soil that there was no +telling. However, jury and coroner seemed to feel no doubt, and +that old seafaring man, Tom Block, declared that poor Master Peregrine +had been hand and glove with a lot of wild chaps, and that the vault +had been well known to them before the gentlemen had had it blocked +up. Then it was asked who had seen him last, and Robert Oakshott +spoke of having parted with him at the bonfire, and never seen him again. +There, I fancy, it would have ended in a verdict of wilful murder against +some person or persons unknown, but Robert Oakshott must needs say, +“I would give a hundred pounds to know who the villain was.” +And then who should get up but George Rackstone, with “Please +your Honour, I could tell summat.” The coroner bade swear +him, and he deposed to having seen Master Peregrine going down towards +the castle somewhere about four o’clock that morning after the +bonfire when he was getting up to go to his mowing. But that was +not all. You remember, Anne, that his father’s cottage stands +on the road towards Portsmouth. Well, he brought up the story +of your running in there, frightened, the day before the bonfire, when +I was praying with his sick mother, calling on me to stop a fray between +Peregrine and young Sedley, and I had to get up and tell of Sedley’s +rudeness to you, child.”</p> +<p>“What was that?” hastily asked Lady Archfield.</p> +<p>“The old story, my lady. The young officer’s swaggering +attempt to kiss the girl he meets on the road. I doubt even if +he knew at the moment that it was my niece. Peregrine was coming +by at the moment, and interfered to protect her, and swords were drawn. +I could not deny it, nor that there was ill blood between the lads; +and then young Brocas, who was later on Portsdown than we were, remembered +high words, and had thought to himself that there would be a challenge. +And next old Goody Spore recollects seeing Master Sedley and another +soldier officer out on the Portsmouth road early that morning. +The hay was making in the court then, and Jenny Light remembered that +when the haymakers came she raked up something that looked like a bloody +spot, and showed it to one of the others, but they told her that most +likely a rabbit or a hare had been killed there, and she had best take +no heed. Probably there was dread of getting into trouble about +a smugglers’ fray. Well, every one was looking askance at +Master Sedley by this time, and the coroner asked him if he had anything +to say. He spoke out boldly enough. He owned to the dispute +with Peregrine Oakshott, and to having parted with him that night on +terms which would only admit of a challenge. He wrote a cartel +that night, and sent it by his friend Lieutenant Ainslie, but doubting +whether Major Oakshott might not prevent its delivery, he charged him +to try to find Peregrine outside the house, and arrange with him a meeting +on the hill, where you know the duellists of the garrison are wont to +transact such encounters. Sedley himself walked out part of the +way with his friend, but neither of them saw Peregrine, nor heard anything +of him. So he avers, but when asked for his witness to corroborate +the story, he says that Ainslie, I fear the only person who could have +proved an <i>alibi</i>—if so it were—was killed at Landen; +but, he added, certainly with too much of his rough way, it was a mere +absurdity to charge it upon him. What should a gentleman have +to do with private murders and robberies? Nor did he believe the +bones to be Perry Oakshott’s at all. It was all a bit of +Whiggish spite! He worked himself into a passion, which only added +to the impression against him; and I own I cannot wonder that the verdict +has sent him to Winchester to take his trial. Why, Anne, child, +how now?”</p> +<p>“’Tis a terrible story. Take my essences, child,” +said Lady Archfield, tottering across, and Anne, just saving herself +from fainting by a long gasp at them, let herself be led from the room. +The maids buzzed about her, and for some time she was sensible of nothing +but a longing to get rid of them, and to be left alone to face the grievous +state of things which she did not yet understand. At last, with +kind good-nights from Lady Archfield, such as she could hardly return, +she was left by herself in the darkness to recover from the stunned +helpless feeling of the first moment.</p> +<p>Sedley accused! Charles to be sacrificed to save his worthless +cousin, the would-be murderer of his innocent child, who morally thus +deserved to suffer! Never, never! She could not do so. +It would be treason to her benefactors, nay, absolute injustice, for +Charles had struck in generous defence of herself; but Sedley had tried +to allure the boy to his death merely for his own advantage. Should +she not be justified in simply keeping silence? Yet there was +like an arrow in her heart, the sense of guilt in so doing, guilt towards +God and truth, guilt towards man and justice. She should die under +the load, and it would be for Charles. Might it only be before +he came home, then he would know that she had perished under his secret +to save him. Nay, but would he be thankful at being saved at the +expense of his cousin’s life? If he came, how should she +meet him?</p> +<p>The sense of the certain indignation of a good and noble human spirit +often awakes the full perception of what an action would be in the sight +of Heaven, and Anne began to realise the sin more than at first, and +to feel the compulsion of truth. If only Charles were not coming +home she could write to him and warn him, but the thought that he might +be already on the way had turned from joy to agony. “And +to think,” she said to herself, “that I was fretting as +to whether he would think me pretty!”</p> +<p>She tossed about in misery, every now and then rising on her knees +to pray—at first for Charles’s safety—for she shrank +from asking for Divine protection, knowing only too well what that would +be. Gradually, however, a shudder came over her at the thought +that if she would not commit her way unto the Lord, she might indeed +be the undoing of her lover, and then once more the higher sense of +duty rose on her. She prayed for forgiveness for the thought, +and that it might not be visited upon him; she prayed for strength to +do what must be her duty, for safety for him, and comfort to his parents, +and so, in passing gusts of misery and apprehension, of failing heart +and recovered resolution, of anguish and of prayer, the long night at +length passed, and with the first dawn she arose, shaken and weak, but +resolved to act on her terrible resolution before it again failed her.</p> +<p>Sir Philip was always an early riser, and she heard his foot on the +stairs before seven o’clock. She came out on the staircase, +which met the flight which he was descending, and tried to speak, but +her lips seemed too dry to part.</p> +<p>“Child! child! you are ill,” said the old gentleman, +as he saw her blanched cheek; “you should be in bed this chilly +morning. Go back to your chamber.”</p> +<p>“No, no, sir, I cannot. Pray, your Honour, come here, +I have something to say;” and she drew him to the open door of +his justice-room, called the gun-room.</p> +<p>“Bless me,” he muttered, “the wench does not mean +that she has got smitten with that poor rogue my nephew!”</p> +<p>“Oh! no, no,” said Anne, almost ready for a hysterical +laugh, yet letting the old man seat himself, and then dropping on her +knees before him, for she could hardly stand, “it is worse than +that, sir; I know who it was who did that thing.”</p> +<p>“Well, who?” he said hastily; “why have you kept +it back so long and let an innocent man get into trouble?”</p> +<p>“O Sir Philip! I could not help it. Forgive me;” +and with clasped hands, she brought out the words, “It was your +son, Mr. Archfield;” and then she almost collapsed again.</p> +<p>“Child! child! you are ill; you do not know what you are saying. +We must have you to bed again. I will call your uncle.”</p> +<p>“Ah! sir, it is only too true;” but she let him fetch +her uncle, who was sure to be at his devotions in a kind of oratory +on the farther side of the hall. She had not gone to him first, +from the old desire to keep him clear of the knowledge, but she longed +for such support as he might give her, or at least to know whether he +were very angry with her.</p> +<p>The two old men quickly came back together, and Dr. Woodford began, +“How now, niece, are you telling us dreams?” but he broke +off as he saw the sad earnest of her face.</p> +<p>“Sir, it is too true. He charged me to speak out if any +one else were brought into danger.”</p> +<p>“Come,” said Sir Philip, testily; “don’t +crouch grovelling on the floor there. Get up and let us know the +meaning of this. Good heavens! the lad may be here any day.”</p> +<p>Anne had much rather have knelt where she was, but her uncle raised +her, and placed her in a chair, saying, “Try to compose yourself, +and tell us what you mean, and why it has been kept back so long.”</p> +<p>“Indeed he did not intend it,” pleaded Anne; “it +was almost an accident—to protect me—Peregrine was—pursuing +me.”</p> +<p>“Upon my word, young mistress,” burst out the father, +“you seem to have been setting all the young fellows together +by the ears.”</p> +<p>“I doubt if she could help it,” said the Doctor. +“She tried to be discreet, but it was the reason her mother—”</p> +<p>“Well, go on,” interrupted poor Sir Philip, too unhappy +to remember manners or listen to the defence; “what was it? when +was it?”</p> +<p>Anne was allowed then to proceed. “It was the morning +I went to London. I went out to gather some mouse-ear.”</p> +<p>“Mouse-ear! mouse-ear!” growled he. “Some +one else’s ear.”</p> +<p>“It was for Lady Oglethorpe.”</p> +<p>“It was,” said her uncle, “a specific, it seems, +for whooping-cough. I saw the letter, and knew—”</p> +<p>“Umph! let us hear,” said Sir Philip, evidently with +the idea of a tryst in his mind. “No wonder mischief comes +of maidens running about at such hours. What next?”</p> +<p>The poor girl struggled on: “I saw Peregrine coming, and hoping +he would not see me, I ran into the keep, meaning to get home by the +battlements out of his sight, but when I looked down he and Mr. Archfield +were fighting. I screamed, but I don’t think they heard +me, and I ran down; but I had fastened all the doors, and I was a long +time getting out, and by that time Mr. Archfield had dragged him to +the vault and thrown him in. He was like one distracted, and said +it must be hidden, or it would be the death of his wife and his mother, +and what could I do?”</p> +<p>“Is that all the truth?” said Sir Philip sternly. +“What brought them there—either of them?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Archfield came to bring me a pattern of sarcenet to match +for poor young Madam in London.”</p> +<p>No doubt Sir Philip recollected the petulant anger that this had +been forgotten, but he was hardly appeased. “And the other +fellow? Why, he was brawling with my nephew Sedley about you the +day before!”</p> +<p>“I do not think she was to blame there,” said Dr. Woodford. +“The unhappy youth was set against marrying Mistress Browning, +and had talked wildly to my sister and me about wedding my niece.”</p> +<p>“But why should she run away as if he had the plague, and set +the foolish lads to fight?”</p> +<p>“Sir, I must tell you,” Anne owned, “he had beset +me, and talked so desperately that I was afraid of what he might do +in that lonely place and at such an hour in the morning. I hoped +he had not seen me.”</p> +<p>“Umph!” said Sir Philip, much as if he thought a silly +girl’s imagination had caused all the mischief.</p> +<p>“When did he thus speak to you, Anne?” asked her uncle, +not unkindly.</p> +<p>“At the inn at Portsmouth, sir,” said Anne. “He +came while you were with Mr. Stanbury and the rest, and wanted me to +marry him and flee to France, or I know not where, or at any rate marry +him secretly so as to save him from poor Mistress Browning. I +could not choose but fear and avoid him, but oh! I would have +faced him ten times over rather than have brought this on—us all. +And now what shall I do? He, Mr. Archfield, when I saw him in +France, said as long as no one was suspected, it would only give more +pain to say what I knew, but that if suspicion fell on any one—” +and her voice died away.</p> +<p>“He could not say otherwise,” returned Sir Philip, with +a groan.</p> +<p>“And now what shall I do? what shall I do?” sighed the +poor girl. “I must speak truth.”</p> +<p>“I never bade you perjure yourself,” said Sir Philip +sharply, but hiding his face in his hands, and groaning out, “Oh, +my son! my son!”</p> +<p>Seeing that his distress so overcame poor Anne that she could scarcely +contain herself, Dr. Woodford thought it best to take her from the room, +promising to come again to her. She could do nothing but lie on +her bed and weep in a quiet heart-broken way. Sir Philip’s +anger seemed to fill up the measure, by throwing the guilt back upon +her and rousing a bitter sense of injustice, and then she wept again +at her cruel selfishness in blaming the broken-hearted old man.</p> +<p>She could hardly have come down to breakfast, so heavy were her limbs +and so sick and faint did every movement render her, and she further +bethought herself that the poor old father might not brook the sight +of her under the circumstances. It was a pang to hear little Philip +prancing about the house, and when he had come to her to say his prayers, +she sent him down with a message that she was not well enough to come +downstairs, and that she wanted nothing, only to be quiet.</p> +<p>The little fellow was very pitiful, and made her cry again by wanting +to know whether she had gout like grandpapa or rheumatics like grandmamma, +and then stroking her face, calling her his dear Nana, and telling her +of the salad in his garden that his papa was to eat the very first day +he came home.</p> +<p>By and by Dr. Woodford knocked at her door. He had had a long +conversation with poor old Sir Philip, who was calmer now than under +the first blow, and somewhat less inclined to anger with the girl, who +might indeed be the cause, but surely the innocent cause, of all. +The Doctor had done his best to show that her going out had no connection +with any of the youths, and he thought Sir Philip would believe it on +quieter reflection. He had remembered too, signs of self-reproach +mixed with his son’s grief for his wife, and his extreme relief +at the plan for going abroad, recollecting likewise that Charles had +strongly disliked poor Peregrine, and had much resented the liking which +young Madam had shown for one whose attentions might have been partly +intended to tease the young husband.</p> +<p>“Of course,” said Dr. Woodford, “the unhappy deed +was no more than an unfortunate accident, and if all had been known +at first, probably it would so have been treated. The concealment +was an error, but it is impossible to blame either of you for it.”</p> +<p>“Oh never mind that, dear uncle! Only tell me! +Must he—must Charles suffer to save that man? You know what +he is, real murderer in heart! Oh I know. The right must +be done! But it is dreadful!”</p> +<p>“The right must be done and the truth spoken at all costs. +No one knows that better than our good old patron,” said the Doctor; +“but, my dear child, you are not called on to denounce this young +man as you seem to imagine, unless there should be no other means of +saving his cousin, or unless you are so questioned that you cannot help +replying for truth’s sake. Knowing nothing of all this, +it struck others besides myself at the inquest that the evidence against +Sedley was utterly insufficient for a conviction, and if he should be +acquitted, matters will only be as they were before.”</p> +<p>“Then you think I am not bound to speak—The truth, the +whole truth, nothing but the truth,” she murmured in exceeding +grief, yet firmly.</p> +<p>“You certainly may, nay, <i>must</i> keep your former silence +till the trial, at the Lent Assizes. I trust you may not be called +on as a witness to the fray with Sedley, but that I may be sufficient +testimony to that. I could testify to nothing else. Remember, +if you are called, you have only to answer what you are asked, nor is +it likely, unless Sedley have any suspicion of the truth, that you will +be asked any question that will implicate Mr. Archfield. If so, +God give you strength my poor child, to be true to Him. But the +point of the trial is to prove Sedley guilty or not guilty; and if the +latter, there is no more to be said. God grant it.”</p> +<p>“But he—Mr. Archfield?”</p> +<p>“His father is already taking measures to send to all the ports +to stop him on his way till the trial is over. Thus there will +be no actual danger, though it is a sore disappointment, and these wicked +attempts of Charnock and Barclay put us in bad odour, so that it may +be less easy to procure a pardon than it once would have been. +So, my dear child, I do not think you need be in terror for his life, +even if you are obliged to speak out plainly.”</p> +<p>And then the good old man knelt with Anne to pray for pardon, direction, +and firmness, and protection for Charles. She made an entreaty +after they rose that her uncle would take her away—her presence +must be so painful to their kind hosts. He agreed with her, and +made the proposition, but Sir Philip would not hear of it. Perhaps +he was afraid of any change bringing suspicion of the facts, and he +might have his fears of Anne being questioned into dangerous admissions, +besides which, he hoped to keep his poor old wife in ignorance to the +last. So Anne was to remain at Fareham, and after that one day’s +seclusion she gathered strength to be with the family as usual. +Poor old Sir Philip treated her with a studied but icy courtesy which +cut her to the heart; but Lady Archfield’s hopes of seeing her +son were almost worse, together with her regrets at her husband’s +dejection at the situation of his nephew and the family disgrace. +As to little Philip, his curious inquiries about Cousin Sedley being +in jail for murdering Penny Grim had to be summarily hushed by the assurance +that such things were not to be spoken about. But why did Nana +cry when he talked of papa’s coming home?</p> +<p>All the neighbourhood was invited to the funeral in Havant Churchyard, +the burial-place of the Oakshotts. Major Oakshott himself wrote +to Dr. Woodford, as having been one of the kindest friends of his poor +son, adding that he could not ask Sir Philip Archfield, although he +knew him to be no partner in the guilt of his unhappy nephew, who so +fully exemplified that Divine justice may be slow, but is sure.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford decided on accepting the invitation, not only for Peregrine’s +sake, but to see how the land lay. Scarcely anything remarkable, +however, occurred, except that it was painful to perceive the lightness +of the coffin. A funeral sermon was previously preached by a young +Nonconformist minister in his own chapel, on the text, “Whoso +sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed;” and +then the burial took place, watched by a huge crowd of people. +But just as the procession was starting from the chapel for the churchyard, +over the wall there came a strange peal of wild laughter.</p> +<p>“Oh, would not the unquiet spirit be at rest till it was avenged?” +thought Anne when she was told of it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX<br /> +The Assize Court</h2> +<blockquote><p>“O terror! what hath she perceived? O joy,<br /> +What doth she look on? whom hath she perceived?”</p> +<p>WORDSWORTH.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Time wore away, and the Lent Assizes at Winchester had come. +Sir Philip had procured the best legal assistance for his nephew, but +in criminal cases, though the prisoner was allowed the advice of counsel, +the onus of defence rested upon himself. To poor Anne’s +dismay, a subpoena was sent to her, as well as to her uncle, to attend +as a witness at the trial. Sir Philip was too anxious to endure +to remain at a distance from Winchester, and they travelled in his coach, +Sir Edmund Nutley escorting them on horseback, while Lucy was left with +her mother, both still in blissful ignorance. They took rooms +at the George Inn. That night was a strange and grievous one to +Anne, trying hard to sleep so as to be physically capable of composure +and presence of mind, yet continually wakened by ghastly dreams, and +then recollecting that the sense of something terrible was by no means +all a dream.</p> +<p>Very white, very silent, but very composed, she came to the sitting-room, +and was constrained by her uncle and Sir Philip to eat, much as it went +against her. On this morning Sir Philip had dropped his sternness +towards her, and finding a moment when his son-in-law was absent, he +said, “Child, I know that this is wellnigh, nay, quite as hard +for you as for me. I can only say, Let no earthly regards hold +you back from whatever is your duty to God and man. Speak the +truth whatever betide, and leave the rest to the God of truth. +God bless you, however it may be;” and he kissed her brow.</p> +<p>The intelligence that the trial was coming on was brought by Sedley’s +counsel, Mr. Simon Harcourt. They set forth for the County Hall +up the sharply-rising street, thronged with people, who growled and +murmured at the murderer savagely, Sir Philip, under the care of his +son-in-law, and Anne with her uncle. Mr. Harcourt was very hopeful; +he said the case for the prosecution had not a leg to stand on, and +that the prisoner himself was so intelligent, and had so readily understood +the line of defence to take, that he ought to have been a lawyer. +There would be no fear except that it might be made a party case, and +no stone was likely to be left unturned against a gentleman of good +loyal family. Moreover Mr. William Cowper, whom Robert Oakshott, +or rather his wife, had engaged at great expense for the prosecution, +was one of the most rising of barristers, noted for his persuasive eloquence, +and unfortunately Mr. Harcourt had not the right of reply.</p> +<p>The melancholy party were conducted into court, Sir Philip and Sir +Edmund to the seats disposed of by the sheriff, beside the judge, strangely +enough only divided by him from Major Oakshott. The judge was +Mr. Baron Hatsel, a somewhat weak-looking man, in spite of his red robes +and flowing wig, as he sat under his canopy beneath King Arthur’s +Round Table. Sedley, perhaps a little thinner since his imprisonment, +but with the purple red on his face, and his prominent eyes so hard +and bold that it was galling to know that this was really the confidence +of innocence.</p> +<p>Mr. Cowper was with great ability putting the case. Here were +two families in immediate neighbourhood, divided from the first by political +opinions of the strongest complexion; and he put the Oakshott views +upon liberty, civil and religious, in the most popular light. +The unfortunate deceased he described as having been a highly promising +member of the suite of the distinguished Envoy, Sir Peregrine Oakshott, +whose name he bore. On the death of the eldest brother he had +been recalled, and his accomplishments and foreign air had, it appeared, +excited the spleen of the young gentlemen of the county belonging to +the Tory party, then in the ascendant, above all of the prisoner. +There was then little or no etiquette as to irrelevant matter, so that +Mr. Cowper could dwell at length on Sedley’s antecedents, as abusing +the bounty of his uncle, a known bully expelled for misconduct from +Winchester College, then acting as a suitable instrument in those violences +in Scotland which had driven the nation finally to extremity, noted +for his debaucheries when in garrison, and finally broken for insubordination +in Ireland.</p> +<p>After this unflattering portrait, which Sedley’s looks certainly +did not belie, the counsel went back to 1688, proceeded to mention several +disputes which had taken place when Peregrine had met Lieutenant Archfield +at Portsmouth; but, he added with a smile, that no dart of malice was +ever thoroughly winged till Cupid had added his feather; and he went +on to describe in strong colours the insult to a young gentlewoman, +and the interference of the other young man in her behalf, so that swords +were drawn before the appearance of the reverend gentleman her uncle. +Still, he said, there was further venom to be added to the bolt, and +he showed that the two had parted after the rejoicings on Portsdown +Hill with a challenge all but uttered between them, the Whig upholding +religious liberty, the Tory hotly defending such honour as the King +possessed, and both parting in anger.</p> +<p>Young Mr. Oakshott was never again seen alive, though his family +long hoped against hope. There was no need to dwell on the strange +appearances that had incited them to the search. Certain it was, +that after seven years’ silence, the grave had yielded up its +secrets. Then came the description of the discovery of the bones, +and of the garments and sword, followed by the mention of the evidence +as to the blood on the grass, and the prisoner having been seen in the +neighbourhood of the castle at that strange hour. He was observed +to have an amount of money unusual with him soon after, and, what was +still more suspicious, after having gambled this away, he had sold to +a goldsmith at Southampton a ruby ring, which both Mr. and Mrs. Oakshott +could swear to have belonged to the deceased. In fact, when Mr. +Cowper marshalled the facts, and even described the passionate encounter +taking place hastily and without witnesses, and the subsequent concealment +of guilt in the vault, the purse taken, and whatever could again be +identified hidden, while providentially the blocking up of the vault +preserved the evidence of the crime so long undetected and unavenged, +it was hardly possible to believe the prisoner innocent.</p> +<p>When the examination of the witnesses began, however, Sedley showed +himself equal to his own defence. He made no sign when Robert +Oakshott identified the clothes, sword, and other things, and their +condition was described; but he demanded of him sharply how he knew +the human remains to be those of his brother.</p> +<p>“Of course they were,” said Robert.</p> +<p>“Were there any remains of clothes with them?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Can you swear to them? Did you ever before see your +brother’s bones?”</p> +<p>At which, and at the witness’s hesitating, “No, but—” +the court began to laugh.</p> +<p>“What was the height of the deceased?”</p> +<p>“He reached about up to my ear,” said the witness with +some hesitation.</p> +<p>“What was the length of the skeleton?”</p> +<p>“Quite small. It looked like a child’s.”</p> +<p>“My lord,” said Sedley, “I have a witness here, +a surgeon, whom I request may be called to certify the proportion of +a skeleton to the size of a living man.”</p> +<p>Though this was done, the whole matter of size was so vague that +there was nothing proved, either as to the inches of Peregrine or those +of the skeleton, but still Sedley made his point that the identity of +the body was unproved at least in some minds. Still, there remained +the other articles, about which there was no doubt.</p> +<p>Mr. Cowper proceeded with his examination as to the disputes at Portsmouth, +but again the prisoner scored a point by proving that Peregrine had +staked the ring against him at a cock-fight at Southampton, and had +lost it.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford was called, and his evidence could not choose but to +be most damaging as to the conflict on the road at Portsmouth; but as +he had not seen the beginning, ‘Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford’ +was called for.</p> +<p>There she stood, tall and stately, almost majestic in the stiffness +of intense self-restraint, in her simple gray dress, her black silk +hood somewhat back, her brown curls round her face, a red spot in each +cheek, her earnest brown eyes fixed on the clerk as he gabbled out the +words so awful to her, “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing +but the truth;” and her soul re-echoed the words, “So help +you God.”</p> +<p>Mr. Cowper was courteous; he was a gentleman, and he saw she was +no light-minded girl. He asked her the few questions needful as +to the attack made on her, and the defence; but something moved him +to go on and ask whether she had been on Portsdown Hill, and to obtain +from her the account of the high words between the young men. +She answered each question in a clear low voice, which still was audible +to all. Was it over, or would Sedley begin to torture her, when +so much was in his favour? No! Mr. Cowper—oh! why +would he? was asking in an affirmative tone, as if to clench the former +evidence, “And did you ever see the deceased again?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” The answer was at first almost choked, then +cleared into sharpness, and every eye turned in surprise on the face +that had become as white as her collar.</p> +<p>“Indeed! And when?”</p> +<p>“The next morning,” in a voice as if pronouncing her +own doom, and with hands clinging tight to the front of the witness-box +as though in anguish.</p> +<p>“Where?” said the counsel, like inexorable fate.</p> +<p>“I will save the gentlewoman from replying to that question, +sir;” and a gentleman with long brown hair, in a rich white and +gold uniform, rose from among the spectators. “Perhaps I +may be allowed to answer for her, when I say that it was at Portchester +Castle, at five in the morning, that she saw Peregrine Oakshott slain +by my hand, and thrown into the vault.”</p> +<p>There was a moment of breathless amazement in the court, and the +judge was the first to speak. “Very extraordinary, sir! +What is your name?”</p> +<p>“Charles Archfield,” said the clear resolute voice.</p> +<p>Then came a general movement and sensation, and Anne, still holding +fast to the support, saw the newcomer start forward with a cry, “My +father!” and with two or three bounds reach the side of Sir Philip, +who had sunk back in his seat for a moment, but recovered himself as +he felt his son’s arm round him.</p> +<p>There was a general buzz, and a cry of order, and in the silence +thus produced the judge addressed the witness:—</p> +<p>“Is what this gentleman says the truth?”</p> +<p>And on Anne’s reply, “Yes, my Lord,” spoken with +the clear ring of anguish, the judge added—</p> +<p>“Was the prisoner present?”</p> +<p>“No, my Lord; he had nothing to do with it.”</p> +<p>“Then, brother Cowper, do you wish to proceed with the case?”</p> +<p>Mr. Cowper replied in the negative, and the judge then made a brief +summing-up, and the jury, without retiring, returned a verdict of ‘Not +guilty.’</p> +<p>In the meantime Anne had been led like one blinded from the witness-box, +and almost dropped into her uncle’s arms. “Cheer up, +cheer up, my child,” he said. “You have done your +part bravely, and after so upright a confession no one can deal hardly +with the young man. God will surely protect him.”</p> +<p>The acquittal had been followed by a few words from Baron Hatsel, +congratulating the late prisoner on his deliverance through this gentleman’s +generous confession. Then there was a moment’s hesitation, +ended by the sheriff asking Charles, who stood up by his old father, +one arm supporting the trembling form, and the other hand clasped in +the two aged ones, “Then, sir, do you surrender to take your trial?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, sir,” said Charles. “I ought +to have done so long ago, but in the first shock—”</p> +<p>Mr. Harcourt here cautioned him not to say anything that could be +used against him, adding in a low tone, much to Sir Philip’s relief, +“It may be brought in manslaughter, sir.”</p> +<p>“He should be committed,” another authority said. +“Is there a Hampshire magistrate here to sign a warrant?”</p> +<p>Of these there were plenty; and as the clerk asked for his description, +all eyes turned on the tall and robust form in the prime of manhood, +with the noble resolute expression on his fine features and steadfast +eyes, except when, as he looked at his father, they were full of infinite +pity. The brown hair hung over the rich gold-laced white coat, +faced with black, and with a broad gold-coloured sash fringed with black +over his shoulder, and there was a look of distinction about him that +made his answer only natural. “Charles Archfield, of Archfield +House, Fareham, Lieutenant-Colonel of his Imperial Majesty’s Light +Dragoons, Knight of the Holy Roman Empire. Must I give up my sword +like a prisoner of war?” he asked, with a smile.</p> +<p>Sir Philip rose to his feet with an earnest trembling entreaty that +bail might be taken for him, and many voices of gentlemen and men of +substance made offers of it. There was a little consultation, +and it was ruled that bail might be accepted under the circumstances, +and Charles bowed his thanks to the distant and gave his hand to the +nearer, while Mr. Eyre of Botley Grange, and Mr. Brocas of Roche Court, +were accepted as sureties. The gentle old face of Mr. Cromwell +of Hursley, was raised to poor old Sir Philip’s with the words, +spoken with a remnant of the authority of the Protector: “Your +son has spoken like a brave man, sir; God bless you, and bring you well +through it.”</p> +<p>Charles was then asked whether he wished for time to collect witnesses. +“No, my lord,” he said. “I thank you heartily, +but I have no one to call, and the sooner this is over the better for +all.”</p> +<p>After a little consultation it was found that the Grand Jury had +not been dismissed, and could find a true bill against him; and it was +decided that the trial should take place after the rest of the criminal +cases were disposed of.</p> +<p>This settled, the sorrowful party with the strangely welcomed son +were free to return to their quarters at the George. Mr. Cromwell +pressed forward to beg that they would make use of his coach. +It was a kind thought, for Sir Philip hung feebly on his son’s +arm, and to pass through the curious throng would have been distressing. +After helping him in, Charles turned and demanded—</p> +<p>“Where is she, the young gentlewoman, Miss Woodford?”</p> +<p>She was just within, her uncle waiting to take her out till the crowd’s +attention should be called off. Charles lifted her in, and Sir +Edmund and Dr. Woodford followed him, for there was plenty of room in +the capacious vehicle.</p> +<p>Nobody spoke in the very short interval the four horses took in getting +themselves out of the space in front of the County Hall and down the +hill to the George. Only Charles had leant forward, taken Anne’s +hand, drawn it to his lips, and then kept fast hold of it.</p> +<p>They were all in the room at the inn at last, they hardly knew how; +indeed, as Charles was about to shut the door there was a smack on his +back, and there stood Sedley holding out his hand.</p> +<p>“So, Charley, old fellow, you were the sad dog after all. +You got me out of it, and I owe you my thanks, but you need not have +put your neck into the noose. I should have come off with flying +colours, and made them all make fools of themselves, if you had only +waited.”</p> +<p>“Do you think I could sit still and see <i>her</i> put to the +torture?” said Charles.</p> +<p>“Torture? You are thinking of your barbarous countries. +No fear of the boot here, nor even in Scotland nowadays.”</p> +<p>“That’s all the torture you understand,” muttered +Sir Edmund Nutley.</p> +<p>“Not but what I am much beholden to you all the same,” +went on Sedley. “And look here, sir,” turning to his +uncle, “if you wish to get him let off cheap you had better send +up another special retainer to Harcourt, without loss of time, as he +may be off.”</p> +<p>Sir Edmund Nutley concurred in the advice, and they hurried off together +in search of the family attorney, through whom the great man had to +be approached.</p> +<p>The four left together could breathe more freely. Indeed Dr. +Woodford would have taken his niece away, but that Charles already had +her in his arms in a most fervent embrace, as he said, “My brave, +my true maid!”</p> +<p>She could not speak, but she lifted up her eyes, with infinite relief +in all her sorrow, as for a moment she rested against him; but they +had to move apart, for a servant came up with some wine, and Charles, +putting her into a chair, began to wait on her and on his father.</p> +<p>“I have not quite forgotten my manners,” he said lightly, +as if to relieve the tension of feeling, “though in Germany the +ladies serve the gentlemen.”</p> +<p>It was very hard not to burst into tears at these words, but Anne +knew that would be the way to distress her companions and to have to +leave the room and lose these precious moments. Sir Philip, after +swallowing the wine, succeeded in saying, “Have you been at home?”</p> +<p>Charles explained that he had landed at Gravesend, and had ridden +thence, sleeping at Basingstoke, and taking the road through Winchester +in case his parents should be wintering there, and on arriving a couple +of hours previously and inquiring for them, he had heard the tidings +that Sir Philip Archfield was indeed there, for his nephew was being +tried for his life for the wilful murder of Major Oakshott’s son +seven years ago.</p> +<p>“And you had none of my warnings? I wrote to all the +ports,” said his father, “to warn you to wait till all this +was over.”</p> +<p>No; he had crossed from Sluys, and had met no letter. “I +suppose,” he said, “that I must not ride home to-morrow. +It might make my sureties uneasy; but I would fain see them all.”</p> +<p>“It would kill your mother to be here,” said Sir Philip. +“She knows nothing of what Anne told me on Sedley’s arrest. +She is grown very feeble;” and he groaned. “But we +might send for your sister, if she can leave her, and the boy.”</p> +<p>“I should like my boy to be fetched,” said Charles. +“I should wish him to remember his father—not as a felon +convicted!” Then putting a knee to the ground before Sir +Philip, he said, “Sir, I ask your blessing and forgiveness. +I never before thoroughly understood my errors towards you, especially +in hiding this miserable matter, and leaving all this to come on you, +while my poor Anne there was left to bear all the load. It was +a cowardly and selfish act, and I ask your pardon.”</p> +<p>The old man sobbed with his hand on his son’s head. “My +dear boy! my poor boy! you were distraught.”</p> +<p>“I was then. I did it, as I thought, for my poor Alice’s +sake at first, and as it proved, it was all in vain; but at the year’s +end, when I was older, it was folly and wrong. I ought to have +laid all before you, and allowed you to judge, and I sincerely repent +the not having so done. And Anne, my sweetest Anne, has borne +the burthen all this time,” he added, going back to her. +“Let no one say a woman cannot keep secrets, though I ought never +to have laid this on her.”</p> +<p>“Ah! it might have gone better for you then,” sighed +Sir Philip. “No one would have visited a young lad’s +mischance hardly on a loyal house in those days. What is to be +done, my son?”</p> +<p>“That we will discuss when the lawyer fellow comes. Is +it old Lee? Meantime let us enjoy our meeting. So that is +Lucy’s husband. Sober and staid, eh? And my mother +is feeble, you say. Has she been ill?”</p> +<p>Charles was comporting himself with the cheerfulness that had become +habitual to him as a soldier, always in possible danger, but it was +very hard to the others to chime in with his tone, and when a message +was brought to ask whether his Honour would be served in private, the +cheery greeting and shake of the hand broke down the composure of the +old servant who brought it, and he cried, “Oh, sir, to see you +thus, and such a fine young gentleman!”</p> +<p>Charles, the only person who could speak, gave the orders, but they +did not eat alone, for Sir Edmund Nutley and Sedley arrived with the +legal advisers, and it was needful, perhaps even better, to have their +company. The chief of the conversation was upon Hungarian and +Transylvanian politics and the Turkish war. Mr. Harcourt seeming +greatly to appreciate the information that Colonel Archfield was able +to give him, and the anecdotes of the war, and descriptions of scenes +therein actually brightened Sir Philip into interest, and into forgetting +for a moment his son’s situation in pride in his conduct, and +at the distinction he had gained. “We must save him,” +said Mr. Harcourt to Sir Edmund. “He is far too fine a fellow +to be lost for a youthful mischance.”</p> +<p>The meal was a short one, and a consultation was to follow, while +Sedley departed. Anne was about to withdraw, when Mr. Lee the +attorney said, “We shall need Mistress Woodford’s evidence, +sir, for the defence.”</p> +<p>“I do not see what defence there can be,” returned Charles. +“I can only plead guilty, and throw myself on the King’s +mercy, if he chooses to extend it to one of a Tory family.”</p> +<p>“Not so fast, sir,” said Mr. Harcourt; “as far +as I have gathered the facts, there is every reason to hope you may +obtain a verdict of manslaughter, and a nominal penalty, although that +rests with the judge.”</p> +<p>On this the discussion began in earnest. Charles, who had never +heard the circumstances which led to the trial, was greatly astonished +to hear what remains had been discovered. He said that he could +only declare himself to have thrown in the body, full dressed, just +as it was, and how it could have been stripped and buried he could not +imagine. “What made folks think of looking into the vault?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“It was Mrs. Oakshott,” said Lee, “the young man’s +wife, she who was to have married the deceased. She took up some +strange notion about stories of phantoms current among the vulgar, and +insisted on having the vault searched, though it had been walled up +for many years past.”</p> +<p>Charles and Anne looked at each other, and the former said, “Again?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes!” said Anne; “indeed there have been enough +to make me remember what you bade me do, in case they recurred, only +it was impossible.”</p> +<p>“Phantoms!” said Mr. Harcourt; “what does this +mean?”</p> +<p>“Mere vulgar superstitions, sir,” said the attorney.</p> +<p>“But very visible,” said Charles; “I have seen +one myself, of which I am quite sure, besides many that may be laid +to the account of the fever of my wound.”</p> +<p>“I must beg to hear,” said the barrister. “Do +I understand that these were apparitions of the deceased?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Charles. “Miss Woodford saw the +first, I think.”</p> +<p>“May I beg you to describe it?” said Mr. Harcourt, taking +a fresh piece of paper to make notes on.</p> +<p>Anne narrated the two appearances in London, and Charles added the +story of the figure seen in the street at Douai, seen by both together, +asking what more she knew of.</p> +<p>“Once at night last summer, at the very anniversary, I saw +his face in the trees in the garden,” said Anne; “it was +gone in a moment. That has been all I have seen; but little Philip +came to me full of stories of people having seen Penny Grim, as he calls +it, and very strangely, once it rose before him at the great pond, and +his fright saved him from sliding to the dangerous part. What +led Mrs. Oakshott to the examination was that it was seen once on the +beach, once by the sentry at the vault itself, once by the sexton at +Havant Churchyard, and once by my mother’s grave.”</p> +<p>“Seven?” said the counsel, reviewing the notes he jotted +down. “Colonel Archfield, I should recommend you pleading +not guilty, and basing your defence, like your cousin, on the strong +probability that this same youth is a living man.”</p> +<p>“Indeed!” said Charles, starting, “I could have +hoped it from these recent apparitions, but what I myself saw forbids +the idea. If any sight were ever that of a spirit, it was what +we saw at Douai; besides, how should he come thither, a born and bred +Whig and Puritan?”</p> +<p>“There is no need to mention that; you can call witnesses to +his having been seen within these few months. It would rest with +the prosecution to disprove his existence in the body, especially as +the bones in the vault cannot be identified.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Charles, “the defence that would have +served my innocent cousin cannot serve me, who know what I did to Oakshott. +I am <i>now</i> aware that it is quite possible that the sword might +not have killed him, but when I threw him into that vault I sealed his +fate.”</p> +<p>“How deep is the vault?”</p> +<p>Mr. Lee and Dr. Woodford both averred that it was not above twenty +or twenty-four feet deep, greatly to Charles’s surprise, for as +a lad he had thought it almost unfathomable; but then he owned his ideas +of Winchester High Street had been likewise far more magnificent than +he found it. The fall need not necessarily have been fatal, especially +to one insensible and opposing no resistance, but even supposing that +death had not resulted, in those Draconian days, the intent to murder +was equally subject with its full accomplishment to capital punishment. +Still, as Colonel Archfield could plead with all his heart that he had +left home with no evil intentions towards young Oakshott, the lawyers +agreed that to prove that the death of the victim was uncertain would +reduce the matter to a mere youthful brawl, which could not be heavily +visited. Mr. Harcourt further asked whether it were possible to +prove that the prisoner had been otherwise employed than in meddling +with the body; but unfortunately it had been six hours before he came +home.</p> +<p>“I was distracted,” said Charles; “I rode I knew +not whither, till I came to my senses on finding that my horse was ready +to drop, when I led him into a shed at a wayside public-house, bade +them feed him, took a drink, then I wandered out into the copse near, +and lay on the ground there till I thought him rested, for how long +I know not. I think it must have been near Bishops Waltham, but +I cannot recollect.”</p> +<p>Mr. Lee decided on setting forth at peep of dawn the next morning +to endeavour to collect witnesses of Peregrine’s appearances. +Sir Edmund Nutley intended to accompany him as far as Fareham to fetch +little Philip and Lady Nutley, if the latter could leave her mother +after the tidings had been broken to them, and also to try to trace +whether Charles’s arrival at any public-house were remembered.</p> +<p>To her dismay, Anne received another summons from the other party +to act as witness.</p> +<p>“I hoped to have spared you this, my sweet,” said Charles, +“but never mind; you cannot say anything worse of me than I shall +own of myself.”</p> +<p>The two were left to each other for a little while in the bay window. +“Oh, sir! can you endure me thus after all?” murmured Anne, +as she felt his arm round her.</p> +<p>“Can you endure me after all I left you to bear?” he +returned.</p> +<p>“It was not like what I brought on you,” she said.</p> +<p>But they could not talk much of the future; and Charles told how +he had rested through all his campaigns in the knowledge that his Anne +was watching and praying for him, and how his long illness had brought +before him deeper thoughts than he had ever had before, and made him +especially dwell on the wrong done to his parents by his long absence, +and the lightness with which he had treated home duties and responsibilities, +till he had resolved that if his life were then spared, he would neglect +them no longer.</p> +<p>“And now,” he said, and paused, “all I shall have +done is to break their hearts. What is that saying, ‘Be +sure your sin will find you out.’”</p> +<p>“Oh, sir! they are sure not to deal hardly with you.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps the Emperor’s Ambassador may claim me. +If so, would you go into banishment with the felon, Anne, love? +It would not be quite so mad as when I asked you before.”</p> +<p>“I would go to the ends of the world with you; and we would +take little Phil. Do you know, he is growing a salad, and learning +Latin, all for papa?”</p> +<p>And so she told him of little Phil till his father was seen looking +wistfully at him.</p> +<p>With Sir Philip, Charles was all cheerfulness and hope, taking such +interest in all there was to hear about the family, estate, and neighbourhood +that the old gentleman was beguiled into feeling as if there were only +a short ceremony to be gone through before he had his son at home, saving +him ease and trouble.</p> +<p>But after Sir Philip had been persuaded to retire, worn out with +the day’s agitations, and Anne likewise had gone to her chamber +to weep and pray, Charles made his arrangements with Mr. Lee for the +future for all connected with him in case of the worst; and after the +lawyer’s departure poured out his heart to Dr. Woodford in deep +contrition, as he said he had longed to do when lying in expectation +of death at the Iron Gates. “However it may end,” +he said, “and I expect, as I deserve, the utmost, I am thankful +for this opportunity, though unhappily it gives more pain to those about +me than if I had died out there. Tell them, when they need comfort, +how much better it is for me.”</p> +<p>“My dear boy, I cannot believe you will have to suffer.”</p> +<p>“There is much against me, sir. My foolish flight, the +state of parties, and the recent conspiracy, which has made loyal families +suspected and odious. I saw something of that as I came down. +The crowd fancied my uniform French, and hooted and hissed me. +Unluckily I have no other clothes to wear. Nor can I from my heart +utterly disclaim all malice or ill will when I remember the thrill of +pleasure in driving my sword home. I have had to put an end to +a Janissary or two more than once in the way of duty, but their black +eyes never haunted me like those parti-coloured ones. Still I +trust, as you tell me I may, that God forgives me, for our Blessed Lord’s +sake; but I should like, if I could, to take the Holy Sacrament with +my love while I am still thus far a free man. I have not done +so since the Easter before these troubles.”</p> +<p>“You shall, my dear boy, you shall.”</p> +<p>There were churches at which the custom freshly begun at the Restoration +was not dropped. The next was St. Matthias’s Day, and Anne +and her uncle had already purposed to go to the quiet little church +of St. Lawrence, at no great distance, in the very early morning. +They were joined on their way down the stair into the courtyard of the +inn by a gentleman in a slouched hat and large dark cloak, who drew +Anne’s arm within his own.</p> +<p>Truly there was peace on that morning, and strength to the brave +man beyond the physical courage that had often before made him bright +in the face of danger, and Anne, though weeping, had a sense of respite +and repose, if not of hope.</p> +<p>Late in the afternoon, little Philip was lifted down from riding +before old Ralph into the arms of the splendid officer, whose appearance +transcended all his visions. He fumbled in his small pocket, and +held out a handful of something green and limp.</p> +<p>“Here’s my salad, papa. I brought it all the way +for you to eat.”</p> +<p>And Colonel Archfield ate every scrap of it for supper, though it +was much fitter for a rabbit, and all the evening he held on his knee +the tired child, and responded to his prattle about Nana and dogs and +rabbits; nay, ministered to his delight and admiration of the sheriff’s +coach, javelin men, and even the judge, with a strange mixture of wonder, +delight, and with melancholy only in eyes and undertones.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX<br /> +Sentence</h2> +<blockquote><p>“I have hope to live, and am prepared to die.”</p> +<p>Measure for Measure.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Ralph was bidden to be ready to take his young master home early +the next morning. At eight o’clock the boy, who had slept +with his father, came down the stair, clinging to his father’s +hand, and Miss Woodford coming closely with him.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Charles, as he held the little fair fellow +in his arms, ere seating him on the horse, “he knows all, Ralph. +He knows that his father did an evil thing, and that what we do in our +youth finds us out later, and must be paid for. He has promised +me to be a comfort to the old people, and to look on this lady as a +mother. Nay, no more, Ralph; ’tis not good-bye to any of +you yet. There, Phil, don’t lug my head off, nor catch my +hair in your buttons. Give my dutiful love to your grandmamma +and to Aunt Nutley, and be a good boy to them.”</p> +<p>“And when I come to see you again I’ll bring another +salad,” quoth Philip, as he rode out of the court; and his father, +by way of excusing a contortion of features, smoothed the entangled +lock of hair, and muttered something about, “This comes of not +wearing a periwig.” Then he said—</p> +<p>“And to think that I have wasted the company of such a boy +as that, all his life except for this mere glimpse!”</p> +<p>“Oh! you will come back to him,” was all that could be +said.</p> +<p>For it was time for Charles Archfield to surrender himself to take +his trial.</p> +<p>He had been instructed over and over again as to the line of his +defence, and cautioned against candour for himself and delicacy towards +others, till he had more than once to declare that he had no intention +of throwing his life away; but the lawyers agreed in heartily deploring +the rules that thus deprived the accused of the assistance of an advocate +in examining witnesses and defending himself. All depended, as +they knew and told Sir Edmund Nutley, on the judge and jury. Now +Mr. Baron Hatsel had shown himself a well-meaning but weak and vacillating +judge, whose summing up was apt rather to confuse than to elucidate +the evidence; and as to the jury, Mr. Lee scanned their stolid countenances +somewhat ruefully when they were marshalled before the prisoner, to +be challenged if desirable. A few words passed, into which the +judge inquired.</p> +<p>“I am reminded, my Lord,” said Colonel Archfield, bowing, +“that I once incurred Mr. Holt’s displeasure as a mischievous +boy by throwing a stone which injured one of his poultry; but I cannot +believe such a trifle would bias an honest man in a question of life +and death.”</p> +<p>Nevertheless the judge put aside Mr. Holt.</p> +<p>“I like his spirit,” whispered Mr. Harcourt.</p> +<p>“But,” returned Lee, “I doubt if he has done himself +any good with those fellows by calling it a trifle to kill an old hen. +I should like him to have challenged two or three more moody old Whiggish +rascals; but he has been too long away from home to know how the land +lies.”</p> +<p>“Too generous and high-spirited for this work,” sighed +Sir Edmund, who sat with them.</p> +<p>The indictment was read, the first count being “That of malice +aforethought, by the temptation of the Devil, Charles Archfield did +wilfully kill and slay Peregrine Oakshott,” etc. The second +indictment was that “By misadventure he had killed and slain the +said Peregrine Oakshott.” To the first he pleaded ‘Not +guilty;’ to the second ‘Guilty.’</p> +<p>Tall, well-made, manly, and soldierly he stood, with a quiet set +face, while Mr. Cowper proceeded to open the prosecution, with a certain +compliment to the prisoner and regret at having to push the case against +one who had so generously come forward on behalf of a kinsman; but he +must unwillingly state the circumstances that made it doubtful, nay, +more than doubtful, whether the prisoner’s plea of mere misadventure +could stand. The dislike to the unfortunate deceased existing +among the young Tory country gentlemen of the county was, he should +prove, intensified in the prisoner on account of not inexcusable jealousies, +as well as of the youthful squabbles which sometimes lead to fatal results. +On the evening of the 30th of June 1688 there had been angry words between +the prisoner and the deceased on Portsdown Hill, respecting the prisoner’s +late lady. At four or five o’clock on the ensuing morning, +the 1st of July, the one fell by the sword of the other in the then +unfrequented court of Portchester Castle. It was alleged that +the stroke was fatal only through the violence of youthful impetuosity; +but was it consistent with that supposition that the young gentleman’s +time was unaccounted for afterwards, and that the body should have been +disposed of in a manner that clearly proved the assistance of an accomplice, +and with so much skill that no suspicion had arisen for seven years +and a half, whilst the actual slayer was serving, not his own country, +but a foreign prince, and had only returned at a most suspicious crisis?</p> +<p>The counsel then proceeded to construct a plausible theory. +He reminded the jury that at that very time, the summer of 1688, messages +and invitations were being despatched to his present Gracious Majesty +to redress the wrongs of the Protestant Church, and protect the liberties +of the English people. The father of the deceased was a member +of a family of the country party, his uncle a distinguished diplomatist, +to whose suite he had belonged. What was more obvious than that +he should be employed in the correspondence, and that his movements +should be dogged by parties connected with the Stewart family? +Already there was too much experience of how far even the most estimable +and conscientious might be blinded by the sentiment that they dignified +by the title of loyalty. The deceased had already been engaged +in a struggle with one of the Archfield family, who had been acquitted +of his actual slaughter; but considering the strangeness of the hour +at which the two cousins were avowedly at or near Portchester, the condition +of the clothes, stripped of papers, but not of valuables, and the connection +of the principal witness with the pretended Prince of Wales, he could +not help thinking that though personal animosity might have added an +edge to the weapon, yet that there were deeper reasons, to prompt the +assault and the concealment, than had yet been brought to light.</p> +<p>“He will make nothing of that,” whispered Mr. Lee. +“Poor Master Peregrine was no more a Whig than old Sir Philip +there.”</p> +<p>“’Twill prejudice the jury,” whispered back Mr. +Harcourt, “and discredit the lady’s testimony.”</p> +<p>Mr. Cowper concluded by observing that half truths had come to light +in the former trial, but whole truths would give a different aspect +to the affair, and show the unfortunate deceased to have given offence, +not only as a man of gallantry, but as a patriot, and to have fallen +a victim to the younger bravoes of the so-called Tory party. To +his (the counsel’s) mind, it was plain that the prisoner, who +had hoped that his crime was undiscovered and forgotten, had returned +to take his share in the rising against Government so happily frustrated. +He was certain that the traitor Charnock had been received at his father’s +house, and that Mr. Sedley Archfield had used seditious language on +several occasions, so that the cause of the prisoner’s return +at this juncture was manifest, and only to the working of Providence +could it be ascribed that the evidence of the aggravated murder should +have at that very period been brought to light.</p> +<p>There was an evident sensation, and glances were cast at the upright, +military figure, standing like a sentinel, as if the audience expected +him to murder them all.</p> +<p>As before, the examination began with Robert Oakshott’s identification +of the clothes and sword, but Mr. Cowper avoided the subject of the +skeleton, and went on to inquire about the terms on which the two young +men had lived.</p> +<p>“Well,” said Robert, “they quarrelled, but in a +neighbourly sort of way.”</p> +<p>“What do you call a neighbourly way?”</p> +<p>“My poor brother used to be baited for being so queer. +But then we were as bad to him as the rest,” said Robert candidly.</p> +<p>“That is, when you were boys?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And after his return from his travels?”</p> +<p>“It was the same then. He was too fine a gentleman for +any one’s taste.”</p> +<p>“You speak generally. Was there any especial animosity?”</p> +<p>“My brother bought a horse that Archfield was after.”</p> +<p>“Was there any dispute over it?”</p> +<p>“Not that I know of.”</p> +<p>“Can you give an instance of displeasure manifested by the +prisoner at the deceased?”</p> +<p>“I have seen him look black when my brother held a gate open +for his wife.”</p> +<p>“Then there were gallant attentions towards Mrs. Archfield?”</p> +<p>Charles’s face flushed, and he made a step forward, but Robert +gruffly answered: “No more than civility; but he had got Frenchified +manners, and liked to tease Archfield.”</p> +<p>“Did they ever come to high words before you?”</p> +<p>“No. They knew better.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Oakshott,” said the prisoner, as it was +intimated that Mr. Cowper had finished. “You bear witness +that only the most innocent civility ever passed between your brother +and my poor young wife?”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” responded Robert.</p> +<p>“Nothing that could cause serious resentment, if it excited +passing annoyance.”</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>“What were your brother’s political opinions?”</p> +<p>“Well”—with some slow consideration—“he +admired the Queen as was, and could not abide the Prince of Orange. +My father was always <i>at him</i> for it.”</p> +<p>“Would you think him likely to be an emissary to Holland?”</p> +<p>“No one less likely.”</p> +<p>But Mr. Cowper started up. “Sir, I believe you are the +younger brother?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“How old were you at the time?”</p> +<p>“Nigh upon nineteen.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” as if that accounted for his ignorance.</p> +<p>The prisoner continued, and asked whether search was made when the +deceased was missed.</p> +<p>“Hardly any.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“He was never content at home, and we believed he had gone +to my uncle in Muscovy.”</p> +<p>“What led you to examine the vault?”</p> +<p>“My wife was disquieted by stories of my brother’s ghost +being seen.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever see this ghost?”</p> +<p>“No, never.”</p> +<p>That was all that was made of Robert Oakshott, and then again came +Anne Woodford’s turn, and Mr. Cowper was more satirical and less +considerate than the day before. Still it was a less dreadful +ordeal than previously, though she had to tell the worst, for she knew +her ground better, and then there was throughout wonderful support in +Charles’s eyes, which told her, whenever she glanced towards him, +that she was doing right and as he wished. As she had not heard +the speech for the prosecution it was a shock, after identifying herself +a niece to a ‘non-swearing’ clergyman, to be asked about +the night of the bonfire, and to be forced to tell that Mrs. Archfield +had insisted on getting out of the carriage and walking about with Mr. +Oakshott.</p> +<p>“Was the prisoner present?”</p> +<p>“He came up after a time.”</p> +<p>“Did he show any displeasure?”</p> +<p>“He thought it bad for her health.”</p> +<p>“Did any words pass between him and the deceased?”</p> +<p>“Not that I remember.”</p> +<p>“And now, madam, will you be good enough to recur to the following +morning, and continue the testimony in which you were interrupted the +day before yesterday? What was the hour?”</p> +<p>“The church clock struck five just after.”</p> +<p>“May I ask what took a young gentlewoman out at such an untimely +hour? Did you expect to meet any one?”</p> +<p>“No indeed, sir,” said Anne hotly. “I had +been asked to gather some herbs to carry to a friend.”</p> +<p>“Ah! And why at that time in the morning?”</p> +<p>“Because I was to leave home at seven, when the tide served.”</p> +<p>“Where were you going?”</p> +<p>“To London, sir.”</p> +<p>“And for what reason?”</p> +<p>“I had been appointed to be a rocker in the Royal nursery.”</p> +<p>“I see. And your impending departure may explain certain +strange coincidences. May I ask what was this same herb?” +in a mocking tone.</p> +<p>“Mouse-ear, sir,” said Anne, who would fain have called +it by some less absurd title, but knew no other. “A specific +for the whooping-cough.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Not ‘Love in a mist.’ Are your +sure?”</p> +<p>“My lord,” here Simon Harcourt ventured, “may I +ask, is this regular?”</p> +<p>The judge intimated that his learned brother had better keep to the +point, and Mr. Cowper, thus called to order, desired the witness to +continue, and demanded whether she was interrupted in her quest.</p> +<p>“I saw Mr. Peregrine Oakshott enter the castle court, and I +hurried into the tower, hoping he had not seen me.”</p> +<p>“You said before he had protected you. Why did you run +from him?”</p> +<p>She had foreseen this, and quietly answered, “He had made me +an offer of marriage which I had refused, and I did not wish to meet +him.”</p> +<p>“Did you see any one else?”</p> +<p>“Not till I had reached the door opening on the battlements. +Then I heard a clash, and saw Mr. Archfield and Mr. Oakshott fighting.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Archfield! The prisoner? Did he come to gather +mouse-ear too?”</p> +<p>“No. His wife had sent him over with a pattern of sarcenet +for me to match in London.”</p> +<p>“Early rising and prompt obedience.” And there +ensued the inquiries that brought out the history of what she had seen +of the encounter, of the throwing the body into the vault, full dressed, +and of her promise of silence and its reason. Mr. Cowper did not +molest her further except to make her say that she had been five months +at the Court, and had accompanied the late Queen to France.</p> +<p>Then came the power of cross-examination on the part of the prisoner. +He made no attempt to modify what had been said before, but asked in +a gentle apologetic voice: “Was that the last time you ever saw, +or thought you saw, Peregrine Oakshott?”</p> +<p>“No.” And here every one in court started and looked +curious.</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“The 31st of October 1688, in the evening.”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Looking from the window in the palace at Whitehall, I saw +him, or his likeness, walking along in the light of the lantern over +the great door.”</p> +<p>The appearance at Lambeth was then described, and that in the garden +at Archfield House. This strange cross-examination was soon over, +for Charles could not endure to subject her to the ordeal, while she +equally longed to be able to say something that might not damage him, +and dreaded every word she spoke. Moreover, Mr. Cowper looked +exceedingly contemptuous, and made the mention of Whitehall and Lambeth +a handle for impressing on the jury that the witness had been deep in +the counsels of the late royal family, and that she was escorted from +St. Germain by the prisoner just before he entered on foreign service.</p> +<p>One of the servants at Fareham was called upon to testify to the +hour of his young master’s return on the fatal day. It was +long past dinner-time, he said. It must have been about three +o’clock.</p> +<p>Charles put in an inquiry as to the condition of his horse. +“Hard ridden, sir, as I never knew your Honour bring home Black +Bess in such a pickle before.”</p> +<p>After a couple of young men had been called who could speak to some +outbreaks of dislike to poor Peregrine, in which all had shared, the +case for the prosecution was completed. Cowper, in a speech that +would be irregular now, but was permissible then, pointed out that the +jealousy, dislike, and Jacobite proclivities of the Archfield family +had been fully made out, that the coincidence of visits to the castle +at that untimely hour had been insufficiently explained, that the condition +of the remains in the vault was quite inconsistent with the evidence +of the witness, Mistress Woodford, unless there were persons waiting +below unknown to her, and that the prisoner had been absent from Fareham +from four or five o’clock in the morning till nearly three in +the afternoon. As to the strange story she had further told, he +(Mr. Cowper) was neither superstitious nor philosophic, but the jury +would decide whether conscience and the sense of an awful secret were +not sufficient to conjure up such phantoms, if they were not indeed +spiritual, occurring as they did in the very places and at the very +times when the spirit of the unhappy young man, thus summarily dismissed +from the world, his corpse left in an unblessed den, would be most likely +to reappear, haunting those who felt themselves to be most accountable +for his lamentable and untimely end.</p> +<p>The words evidently told, and it was at a disadvantage that the prisoner +rose to speak in his own defence and to call his witnesses.</p> +<p>“My lord,” he said, “and gentlemen of the jury, +let me first say that I am deeply grieved and hurt that the name of +my poor young wife has been brought into this matter. In justice +to her who is gone, I must begin by saying that though she was flattered +and gratified by the polite manners that I was too clownish and awkward +to emulate, and though I may have sometimes manifested ill-humour, yet +I never for a moment took serious offence nor felt bound to defend her +honour or my own. If I showed displeasure it was because she was +fatiguing herself against warning. I can say with perfect truth, +that when I left home on that unhappy morning, I bore no serious ill-will +to any living creature. I had no political purpose, and never +dreamt of taking the life of any one. I was a heedless youth of +nineteen. I shall be able to prove the commission of my wife’s +on which this learned gentleman has thought fit to cast a doubt. +For the rest, Mistress Anne Woodford was my sister’s friend and +playfellow from early childhood. When I entered the castle court +I saw her hurrying into the keep, pursued by Oakshott, whom I knew her +to dread and dislike. I naturally stepped between. Angry +words passed. He challenged my right to interfere, and in a passion +drew upon me. Though I was the taller and stronger, I knew him +to be proud of his skill in fencing, and perhaps I may therefore have +pressed him the harder, and the dislike I acknowledge made me drive +home my sword. But I was free from all murderous intention up +to that moment. In my inexperience I had no doubt but that he +was dead, and in a terror and confusion which I regret heartily, I threw +him into the vault, and for the sake of my wife and mother bound Miss +Woodford to secrecy. I mounted my horse, and scarcely knowing +what I did, rode till I found it ready to drop. I asked for rest +for it in the first wayside public-house I came to. I lay down +meanwhile among some bushes adjoining, and there waited till my horse +could take me home again. I believe it was at the White Horse, +near Bishops Waltham, but the place has changed hands since that time, +so that I can only prove my words, as you have heard, by the state of +my horse when I came home. For the condition of the remains in +the vault I cannot account; I never touched the poor fellow after throwing +him there. My wife died a few hours after my return home, where +I remained for a week, nor did I suggest flight, though I gladly availed +myself of my father’s suggestion of sending me abroad with a tutor. +Let me add, to remove misconception, that I visited Paris because my +tutor, the Reverend George Fellowes, one of the Fellows of Magdalen +College expelled by the late King, and now Rector of Portchester, had +been asked to provide for Miss Woodford’s return to her home, +and he is here to testify that I never had any concern with politics. +I did indeed accompany him to St. Germain, but merely to find the young +gentlewoman, and in the absence of the late King and Queen, nor did +I hold intercourse with any other person connected with their Court. +After escorting her to Ostend, I went to Hungary to serve in the army +of our ally, the Emperor, against the Turks, the enemies of all Christians. +After a severe wound, I have come home, knowing nothing of conspiracies, +and I was taken by surprise on arriving here at Winchester at finding +that my cousin was on his trial for the unfortunate deed into which +I was betrayed by haste and passion, but entirely without premeditation +or intent to do more than to defend the young lady. So that I +plead that my crime does not amount to murder from malicious intent; +and likewise, that those who charge me with the actual death of Peregrine +Oakshott should prove him to be dead.”</p> +<p>Charles’s first witness was Mrs. Lang, his late wife’s +‘own woman,’ who spared him many questions by garrulously +declaring ‘what a work’ poor little Madam had made about +the rose-coloured sarcenet, causing the pattern to be searched out as +soon as she came home from the bonfire, and how she had ‘gone +on at’ her husband till he promised to give it to Mistress Anne, +and how he had been astir at four o’clock in the morning, and +had called to her (Mrs. Lang) to look to her mistress, who might perhaps +get some sleep now that she had her will and hounded him out to go over +to Portchester about that silk.</p> +<p>Nothing was asked of this witness by the prosecution except the time +of Mr. Archfield’s return. The question of jealousy was +passed over.</p> +<p>Of the pond apparition nothing was said. Anne had told Charles +of it, but no one could have proved its identity but Sedley, and his +share in it was too painful to be brought forward. Three other +ghost seers were brought forward: Mrs. Fellowes’s maid, the sentry, +and the sexton; but only the sexton had ever seen Master Perry alive, +and he would not swear to more than that it was something in his likeness; +the sentry was already bound to declare it something unsubstantial; +and the maid was easily persuaded into declaring that she did not know +what she had seen or whether she had seen anything.</p> +<p>There only remained Mr. Fellowes to bear witness of his pupil’s +entire innocence of political intrigues, together with a voluntary testimony +addressed to the court, that the youth had always appeared to him a +well-disposed but hitherto boyish lad, suddenly sobered and rendered +thoughtful by a shock that had changed the tenor of his mind.</p> +<p>Mr. Baron Hatsel summed up in his dreary vacillating way. He +told the gentlemen of the jury that young men would be young men, especially +where pretty wenches were concerned, and that all knew that there was +bitterness where Whig and Tory were living nigh together. Then +he went over the evidence, at first in a tone favourable to the encounter +having been almost accidental, and the stroke an act of passion. +But he then added, it was strange, and he did not know what to think +of these young sparks and the young gentlewoman all meeting in a lonely +place when honest folks were abed, and the hiding in the vault, and +the state of the clothes were strange matters scarce agreeing with what +either prisoner or witness said. It looked only too like part +of a plot of which some one should make a clean breast. On the +other hand, the prisoner was a fine young gentleman, an only son, and +had been fighting the Turks, though it would have been better to have +fought the French among his own countrymen. He had come ingenuously +forward to deliver his cousin, and a deliberate murderer was not wont +to be so generous, though may be he expected to get off easily on this +same plea of misadventure. If it was misadventure, why did he +not try to do something for the deceased, or wait to see whether he +breathed before throwing him into this same pit? though, to be sure, +a lad might be inexperienced. For the rest, as to these same sights +of the deceased or his likeness, he (the judge) was no believer in ghosts, +though he would not say there were no such things, and the gentlemen +of the jury must decide whether it was more likely the poor youth was +playing pranks in the body, or whether he were haunting in the spirit +those who had most to do with his untimely end. This was the purport, +or rather the no-purport, of the charge.</p> +<p>The jury were absent for a very short time, and as it leaked out +afterwards, their intelligence did not rise above the idea that the +young gentleman was thick with they Frenchies who wanted to bring in +murder and popery, warming-pans and wooden shoes. He called stoning +poultry a trifle, so of what was he not capable? Of course he +spited the poor young chap, and how could the fact be denied when the +poor ghost had come back to ask for his blood?</p> +<p>So the awful suspense ended with ‘Guilty, my Lord.’</p> +<p>“Of murder or manslaughter?”</p> +<p>“Of murder.”</p> +<p>The prisoner stood as no doubt he had faced Turkish batteries.</p> +<p>The judge asked the customary question whether he had any reason +to plead why he should not be condemned to death.</p> +<p>“No, my lord. I am guilty of shedding Peregrine Oakshott’s +blood, and though I declare before God and man that I had no such purpose, +and it was done in the heat of an undesigned struggle, I hated him enough +to render the sentence no unjust one. I trust that God will pardon +me, if man does not.”</p> +<p>The gentlemen around drew the poor old father out of the court so +as not to hear the final sentence, and Anne, half stunned, was taken +away by her uncle, and put into the same carriage with him. The +old man held her hands closely and could not speak, but she found voice, +“Sir, sir, do not give up hope. God will save him. +I know what I can do. I will go to Princess Anne. She is +friendly with the King now. She will bring me to tell him all.”</p> +<p>Hurriedly she spoke, her object, as it seemed to be that of every +one, to keep up such hope and encouragement as to drown the terrible +sense of the actual upshot of the trial. The room at the George +was full in a moment of friends declaring that all would go well in +the end, and consulting what to do. Neither Sir Philip nor Dr. +Woodford could be available, as their refusal to take the oaths to King +William made them marked men. The former could only write to the +Imperial Ambassador, beseeching him to claim the prisoner as an officer +of the Empire, though it was doubtful whether this would be allowed +in the case of an Englishman born. Mr. Fellowes undertook to be +the bearer of the letter, and to do his best through Archbishop Tenison +to let the King know the true bearings of the case. Almost in +pity, to spare Anne the misery of helpless waiting, Dr. Woodford consented +to let her go under his escort, starting very early the next morning, +since the King might immediately set off for the army in Holland, and +the space was brief between condemnation and execution.</p> +<p>Sir Edmund proposed to hurry to Carisbrooke Castle, being happily +on good terms with that fiery personage, Lord Cutts, the governor of +the Isle of Wight as well as a favoured general of the King, whose intercession +might do more than Princess Anne’s. Moreover, a message +came from old Mr. Cromwell, begging to see Sir Edmund. It was +on behalf of Major Oakshott, who entreated that Sir Philip might be +assured of his own great regret at the prosecution and the result, and +his entire belief that the provocation came from his unhappy son. +Both he and Richard Cromwell were having a petition for pardon drawn +up, which Sir Henry Mildmay and almost all the leading gentlemen of +Hampshire of both parties were sure to sign, while the sheriff would +defer the execution as long as possible. Pardons, especially in +cases of duelling, had been marketable articles in the last reigns, +and there could not but be a sigh for such conveniences. Sir Philip +wanted to go at once to the jail, which was very near the inn, but consented +on strong persuasion to let his son-in-law precede him.</p> +<p>Anne longed for a few moments to herself, but durst not leave the +poor old man, who sat holding her hand, and at each interval of silence +saying how this would kill the boy’s mother, or something equally +desponding, so that she had to talk almost at random of the various +gleams of hope, and even to describe how the little Duke of Gloucester +might be told of Philip and sent to the King, who was known to be very +fond of him. It was a great comfort when Dr. Woodford came and +offered to pray with them.</p> +<p>By and by Sir Edmund returned, having been making arrangements for +Charles’s comfort. Ordinary prisoners were heaped together +and miserably treated, but money could do something, and by application +to the High Sheriff, permission had been secured for Charles to occupy +a private room, on a heavy fee to the jailor, and for his friends to +have access to him, besides other necessaries, purchased at more than +their weight in gold. Sir Edmund brought word that Charles was +in good heart; sent love and duty to his father, whom he would welcome +with all his soul, but that as Miss Woodford was—in her love and +bravery—going so soon to London, he prayed that she might be his +first visitor that evening.</p> +<p>There was little more to do than to cross the street, and Sir Edmund +hurried her through the flagged and dirty yard, and the dim, foul hall, +filled with fumes of smoke and beer, where melancholy debtors held out +their hands, idle scapegraces laughed, heavy degraded faces scowled, +and evil sounds were heard, up the stairs to a nail-studded door, where +Anne shuddered to hear the heavy key turned by the coarse, rude-looking +warder, only withheld from insolence by the presence of a magistrate. +Her escort tarried outside, and she saw Charles, his rush-light candle +gleaming on his gold lace as he wrote a letter to the ambassador to +be forwarded by his father.</p> +<p>He sprang up with outstretched arms and an eager smile. “My +brave sweetheart! how nobly you have done. Truth and trust. +It did my heart good to hear you.”</p> +<p>Her head was on his shoulder. She wanted to speak, but could +not without loosing the flood of tears.</p> +<p>“Faith entire,” he went on; “and you are still +striving for me.”</p> +<p>“Princess Anne is—” she began, then the choking +came.</p> +<p>“True!” he said. “Come, do not expect the +worst. I have not made up my mind to that! If the ambassador +will stir, the King will not be disobliging, though it will probably +not be a free pardon, but Hungary for some years to come—and you +are coming with me.”</p> +<p>“If you will have one who might be—may have been—your +death. Oh, every word I said seemed to me stabbing you;” +and the tears would come now.</p> +<p>“No such thing! They only showed how true my love is +to God and me, and made my heart swell with pride to hear her so cheering +me through all.”</p> +<p>His strength seemed to allow her to break down. She had all +along had to bear up the spirits of Sir Philip and Lady Archfield, and +though she had struggled for composure, the finding that she had in +him a comforter and support set the pent-up tears flowing fast, as he +held her close.</p> +<p>“Oh, I did not mean to vex you thus!” she said.</p> +<p>“Vex! no indeed! ’Tis something to be wept for. +But cheer up, Anne mine. I have often been in far worse plights +than this, when I have ridden up in the face of eight big Turkish guns. +The balls went over my head then, by God’s good mercy. Why +not the same now? Ay! and I was ready to give all I had to any +one who would have put a pistol to my head and got me out of my misery, +jolting along on the way to the Iron Gates. Yet here I am! +Maybe the Almighty brought me back to save poor Sedley, and clear my +own conscience, knowing well that though it does not look so, it is +better for me to die thus than the other way. No, no; ’tis +ten to one that you and the rest of you will get me off. I only +meant to show you that supposing it fails, I shall only feel it my due, +and much better for me than if I had died out there with it unconfessed. +I shall try to get them all to feel it so, and, after all, now the whole +is out, my heart feels lighter than it has done these seven years. +And if I could only believe that poor fellow alive, I could almost die +content, though that sounds strange. It will quiet his poor restless +spirit any way.”</p> +<p>“You are too brave. Oh! I hoped to come here to +comfort you, and I have only made you comfort me.”</p> +<p>“The best way, sweetest. Now, I will seal and address +this letter, and you shall take it to Mr. Fellowes to carry to the ambassador.”</p> +<p>This gave Anne a little time to compose herself, and when he had +finished, he took the candle, and saying, “Look here,” he +held it to the wall, and they read, scratched on the rough bricks, “Alice +Lisle, 1685. This is thankworthy.”</p> +<p>“Lady Lisle’s cell! Oh, this is no good omen!”</p> +<p>“I call it a goodly legacy even to one who cannot claim to +suffer wrongfully,” said Charles. “There, they knock—one +kiss more—we shall meet again soon. Don’t linger in +town, but give me all the days you can. Yes, take her back, Sir +Edmund, for she must rest before her journey. Cheer up, love, +and do not lie weeping all night, but believe that your prayers to God +and man must prevail one way or another.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI<br /> +Elf-Land</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Three ruffians seized me yestermorn,<br /> + Alas! a maiden most forlorn;<br /> +They choked my cries with wicked might,<br /> + And bound me on a palfrey white.”</p> +<p>S. T. COLERIDGE.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Yet after the night it was with more hope than despondency, Anne, +in the February morning, mounted <i>en croupe</i> behind Mr. Fellowes’s +servant, that being decided on as the quickest mode of travelling. +She saw the sunrise behind St. Catherine’s Hill, and the gray +mists filling the valley of the Itchen, and the towers of the Cathedral +and College barely peeping beyond them. Would her life rise out +of the mist?</p> +<p>Through hoar-frosted hedges, deeply crested with white, they rode, +emerging by and by on downs, becoming dully green above, as the sun +touched them, but white below. Suddenly, in passing a hollow, +overhung by two or three yew-trees, they found themselves surrounded +by masked horsemen. The servant on her horse was felled, she herself +snatched off and a kerchief covered her face, while she was crying, +“Oh sir, let me go! I am on business of life and death.”</p> +<p>The covering was stuffed into her mouth, and she was borne along +some little way; then there was a pause, and she freed herself enough +to say, “You shall have everything; only let me go;” and +she felt for the money with which Sir Philip had supplied her, and for +the watch given her by King James.</p> +<p>“We want you; nothing of yours,” said a voice. +“Don’t be afraid. No one will hurt you; but we must +have you along with us.”</p> +<p>Therewith she was pinioned by two large hands, and a bandage was +made fast over her eyes, and when she shrieked out, “Mr. Fellowes! +Oh! where are you?” she was answered—</p> +<p>“No harm has been done to the parson. He will be free +as soon as any one comes by. ’Tis you we want. Now, +I give you fair notice, for we don’t want to choke you; there’s +no one to hear a squall. If there were, we should gag you, so +you had best be quiet, and you shall suffer no hurt. Now then, +by your leave, madam.”</p> +<p>She was lifted on horseback again, and a belt passed round her and +the rider in front of her. Again she strove, in her natural voice, +to plead that to stop her would imperil a man’s life, and to implore +for release. “We know all that,” she was told. +It was not rudely said. The voice was not that of a clown; it +was a gentleman’s pronunciation, and this was in some ways more +inexplicable and alarming. The horses were put in rapid motion; +she heard the trampling of many hoofs, and felt that they were on soft +turf, and she knew that for many miles round Winchester it was possible +to keep on the downs so as to avoid any inhabited place. She tried +to guess, from the sense of sunshine that came through her bandage, +in what direction she was being carried, and fancied it must be southerly. +On—on—on—still the turf. It seemed absolutely +endless. Time was not measurable under such circumstances, but +she fancied noon must have more than passed, when the voice that had +before spoken said, “We halt in a moment, and shift you to another +horse, madam; but again I forewarn you that our comrades here have no +ears for you, and that cries and struggles will only make it the worse +for you.” Then came the sound as of harder ground and a +stop—undertones, gruff and manly, could be heard, the peculiar +noise of horses’ drinking; and her captor came up this time on +foot, saying, “Plaguy little to be had in this accursed hole; +’tis but the choice between stale beer and milk. Which will +you prefer?”</p> +<p>She could not help accepting the milk, and she was taken down to +drink it, and a hunch of coarse barley bread was given to her, with +it the words, “I would offer you bacon, but it tastes as if Old +Nick had smoked it in his private furnace.”</p> +<p>Such expressions were no proof that gentle blood was lacking, but +whose object could her abduction be—her, a penniless dependent? +Could she have been seized by mistake for some heiress? In that +moment’s hope she asked, “Sir, do you know who I am—Anne +Woodford, a poor, portionless maid, not—”</p> +<p>“I know perfectly well, madam,” was the reply. +“May I trouble you to permit me to mount you again?”</p> +<p>She was again placed behind one of the riders, and again fastened +to him, and off they went, on a rougher horse, on harder ground, and, +as she thought, occasionally through brushwood. Again a space, +to her illimitable, went by, and then came turf once more, and by and +by what seemed to her the sound of the sea.</p> +<p>Another halt, another lifting down, but at once to be gathered up +again, and then a splashing through water. “Be careful,” +said the voice. A hand, a gentleman’s hand, took hers; her +feet were on boards—on a boat; she was drawn down to sit on a +low thwart. Putting her hand over, she felt the lapping of the +water and tasted that it was salt.</p> +<p>“Oh, sir, where are you taking me?” she asked, as the +boat was pushed off.</p> +<p>“That you will know in due time,” he answered.</p> +<p>Some more refreshment was offered her in a decided but not discourteous +manner, and she partook of it, remembering that exhaustion might add +to her perils. She perceived that after pushing off from shore +sounds of eating and low gruff voices mingled with the plash of oars. +Commands seemed to be given in French, and there were mutterings of +some strange language. Darkness was coming on. What were +they doing with her? And did Charles’s fate hang upon hers?</p> +<p>Yet in spite of terrors and anxieties, she was so much worn out as +to doze long enough to lose count of time, till she was awakened by +the rocking and tossing of the boat and loud peremptory commands. +She became for the first time in her life miserable with sea-sickness, +for how long it was impossible to tell, and the pitching of the boat +became so violent that when she found herself bound to one of the seats +she was conscious of little but a longing to be allowed to go to the +bottom in peace, except that some great cause—she could hardly +in her bewildered wretchedness recollect what—forbade her to die +till her mission was over.</p> +<p>There were loud peremptory orders, oaths, sea phrases, in French +and English, sometimes in that unknown tongue. Something expressed +that a light was directing to a landing-place, but reaching it was doubtful.</p> +<p>“Unbind her eyes,” said a voice; “let her shift +for herself.”</p> +<p>“Better not.”</p> +<p>There followed a fresh upheaval, as if the boat were perpendicular; +a sudden sinking, some one fell over and bruised her; another frightful +rising and falling, then smoothness; the rope that held her fast undone; +the keel grating; hands apparently dragging up the boat. She was +lifted out like a doll, carried apparently through water over shingle. +Light again made itself visible; she was in a house, set down on a chair, +in the warmth of fire, amid a buzz of voices, which lulled as the bandage +was untied and removed. Her eyes were so dazzled, her head so +giddy, her senses so faint, that everything swam round her, and there +that strange vision recurred. Peregrine Oakshott was before her. +She closed her eyes again, as she lay back in the chair.</p> +<p>“Take this; you will be better.” A glass was at +her lips, and she swallowed some hot drink, which revived her so that +she opened her eyes again, and by the lights in an apparently richly +curtained room, she again beheld that figure standing by her, the glass +in his hand.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she gasped. “Are you alive?”</p> +<p>The answer was to raise her still gloved hand with substantial fingers +to a pair of lips.</p> +<p>“Then—then—he is safe! Thank God!” +she murmured, and shut her eyes again, dizzy and overcome, unable even +to analyse her conviction that all would be well, and that in some manner +he had come to her rescue.</p> +<p>“Where am I?” she murmured dreamily. “In +Elf-land?”</p> +<p>“Yes; come to be Queen of it.”</p> +<p>The words blended with her confused fancies. Indeed she was +hardly fully conscious of anything, except that a woman’s hands +were about her, and that she was taken into another room, where her +drenched clothes were removed, and she was placed in a warm, narrow +bed, where some more warm nourishment was put into her mouth with a +spoon, after which she sank into a sleep of utter exhaustion. +That sleep lasted long. There was a sensation of the rocking of +the boat, and of aching limbs, through great part of the time; also +there seemed to be a continual roaring and thundering around her, and +such strange misty visions, that when she finally awoke, after a long +interval of deeper and sounder slumber, she was incapable of separating +the fact from the dream, more especially as head and limbs were still +heavy, weary, and battered. The strange roaring still sounded, +and sometimes seemed to shake the bed. Twilight was coming in +at a curtained window, and showed a tiny chamber, with rafters overhead +and thatch, a chest, a chair, and table. There was a pallet on +the floor, and Anne suspected that she had been wakened by the rising +of its occupant. Her watch was on the chair by her side, but it +had not been wound, and the dim light did not increase, so that there +was no guessing the time; and as the remembrance of her dreadful adventures +made themselves clear, she realised with exceeding terror that she must +be a prisoner, while the evening’s apparition relegated itself +to the world of dreams.</p> +<p>Being kidnapped to be sent to the plantations was the dread of those +days. But if such were the case, what would become of Charles? +In the alarm of that thought she sat up in bed and prepared to rise, +but could nowhere see her clothes, only the little cloth bag of toilet +necessaries that she had taken with her.</p> +<p>At that moment, however, the woman came in with a steaming cup of +chocolate in her hand and some of the garments over her arm. She +was a stout, weather-beaten, kindly-looking woman with a high white +cap, gold earrings, black short petticoat, and many-coloured apron. +“<i>Monsieur veut savoir si mademoiselle va bien</i>?” said +she in slow careful French, and when questions in that language were +eagerly poured out, she shook her head, and said, “<i>Ne comprends +pas</i>.” She, however, brought in the rest of the clothes, +warm water, and a light, so that Anne rose and dressed, exceedingly +perplexed, and wondering whether she could be in a ship, for the sounds +seemed to say so, and there was no corresponding motion. Could +she be in France? Certainly the voyage had seemed interminable, +but she did not think it <i>could</i> have been long enough for that, +nor that any person in his senses would try to cross in an open boat +in such weather. She looked at the window, a tiny slip of glass, +too thick to show anything but what seemed to be a dark wall rising +near at hand. Alas! she was certainly a prisoner! In whose +hands? With what intent? How would it affect that other +prisoner at Winchester? Was that vision of last night substantial +or the work of her exhausted brain? What could she do? It +was well for her that she could believe in the might of prayer.</p> +<p>She durst not go beyond her door, for she heard men’s tones, +suppressed and gruff, but presently there was a knock, and wonder of +wonders, she beheld Hans, black Hans, showing all his white teeth in +a broad grin, and telling her that Missee Anne’s breakfast was +ready. The curtain that overhung the door was drawn back, and +she passed into another small room, with a fire on the open hearth, +and a lamp hung from a beam, the walls all round covered with carpets +or stuffs of thick glowing colours, so that it was like the inside of +a tent. And in the midst, without doubt, stood Peregrine Oakshott, +in such a dress as was usually worn by gentlemen in the morning—a +loose wrapping coat, though with fine lace cuffs and cravat, all, like +the shoes and silk stockings, worn with his peculiar daintiness, and, +as was usual when full-bottomed wigs were the rule in <i>grande tenue</i>, +its place supplied by a silken cap. This was olive green with +a crimson tassel, which had assumed exactly the characteristic one-sided +Riquet-with-a-tuft aspect. For the rest, these years seemed to +have made the slight form slighter and more wiry, and the face keener, +more sallow, and more marked.</p> +<p>He bowed low with the foreign courtesy which used to be so offensive +to his contemporaries, and offered a delicate, beringed hand to lead +the young lady to the little table, where grilled fowl and rolls, both +showing the cookery of Hans, were prepared for her.</p> +<p>“I hope you rested well, and have an appetite this morning.”</p> +<p>“Sir, what does it all mean? Where am I?” asked +Anne, drawing herself up with the native dignity that she felt to be +her defence.</p> +<p>“In Elf-land,” he said, with a smile, as he heaped her +plate.</p> +<p>“Speak in earnest,” she entreated. “I cannot +eat till I understand. It is no time for trifling! Life +and death hang on my reaching London! If you saved me from those +men, let me go free.”</p> +<p>“No one can move at present,” he said. “See +here.”</p> +<p>He drew back a curtain, opened first one door and then another, and +she saw sheets of driving rain, and rising, roaring waves, with surf +which came beating in on the force of such a fearful gust of wind that +Peregrine hastily shut the door, not without difficulty. “Nobody +can stir at present,” he said, as they came into the warm bright +room again. “It is a frightful tempest, the worst known +here for years, they say. The dead-lights, as they call them, +have been put in, or the windows would be driven in. Come and +taste Hans’s work; you know it of old. Will you drink tea? +Do you remember how your mother came to teach mine to brew it, and how +she forgave me for being graceless enough to squirt at her?”</p> +<p>There was something so gentle and reassuring in the demeanour of +this strange being that Anne, convinced of the utter hopelessness of +confronting the storm, as well as of the need of gathering strength, +allowed herself to be placed in a chair, and to partake of the food +set before her, and the tea, which was served without milk, in an exquisite +dragon china cup, but with a saucer that did not match it.</p> +<p>“We don’t get our sets perfect,” said Peregrine, +with a smile, who was waiting on her as if she were a princess.</p> +<p>“I entreat you to tell me where we are!” said Anne. +“Not in France?”</p> +<p>“No, not in France! I wish we were.”</p> +<p>“Then—can this be the Island?”</p> +<p>“Yes, the Island it is,” said Peregrine, both speaking +as South Hants folk; “this is the strange cave or chasm called +Black Gang Chine.”</p> +<p>“Black Gang! Oh! the highwaymen, the pirates! You +have saved me from them. Were they going to send me to the plantations?”</p> +<p>“You need have no fears. No one shall touch you, or hurt +you. You shall see no one save by your own consent, my queen.”</p> +<p>“And when this storm is passed—Oh!” as a more fearful +roar and dash sounded as if the waves were about to sweep away their +frail shelter—“you will come with me and save Mr. Archfield’s +life? You cannot know—”</p> +<p>“I know,” he interrupted; “but why should I be +solicitous for his life? That I am here now is no thanks to him, +and why should I give up mine for the sake of him who meant to make +an end of me?”</p> +<p>“You little know how he repented. And your own life? +What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“People don’t haunt the Black Gang Chine when their lives +are secure from Dutch Bill,” he answered. “Don’t +be terrified, my queen; though I cannot lay claim, like Prospero, to +having raised this storm by my art magic, yet it perforce gives me time +to make you understand who and what I am, and how I have recovered my +better angel to give her no mean nor desperate career. It will +be better thus than with the suddenness with which I might have had +to act.”</p> +<p>A new alarm seized upon Anne as to his possible intentions, but she +would not forestall what she so much apprehended, and, sensible that +self-control alone could guard her, since escape at present was clearly +impossible, she resigned herself to sit opposite to him by the ample +hearth of what she perceived to be a fisherman’s hut, thus fitted +up luxuriously with, it might be feared, the spoils of the sea.</p> +<p>The story was a long one, and not by any means told consecutively +or without interruption, and all the time those eyes were upon her, +one yellow the other green, with the effect she knew so well of old +in childish days, of repulsion yet compulsion, of terror yet attraction, +as if irresistibly binding a reluctant will. Several times Peregrine +was called off to speak to some one outside the door, and at noon he +begged permission for his friends to dine with them, saying that there +was no other place where the dinner could be taken to them comfortably +in this storm.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII<br /> +Seven Years</h2> +<blockquote><p>“It was between the night and day,<br /> + When the Fairy King has power,<br /> +That I sunk down in a sinful fray,<br /> +And ’twixt life and death was snatched away<br /> + To the joyless Elfin bower.”</p> +<p>SCOTT.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This motto was almost the account that the twisted figure, with queer +contortions of face, yet delicate feet and hands, and dainty utterance, +might have been expected to give, when Anne asked him, “Was it +you, really?”</p> +<p>“I—or my double?” he asked. “When?”</p> +<p>She told him, and he seemed amazed.</p> +<p>“So you were there? Well, you shall hear. You know +how things stood with me—your mother, my good spirit, dead, my +uncle away, my father bent on driving me to utter desperation, and Martha +Browning laying her great red hands on me—”</p> +<p>“Oh, sir, she really loved you, and is far wiser and more tolerant +than you thought her.”</p> +<p>“I know,” he smiled grimly. “She buried the +huge Scot that was killed in the great smuggling fray under the Protector, +with all honours, in our family vault, and had a long-winded sermon +preached on my untimely end. Ha! ha!” with his mocking laugh.</p> +<p>“Don’t, sir! If you had seen your father then! +Why did no one come forward and explain?”</p> +<p>“Mayhap there were none at hand who knew, or wished to meddle +with the law,” he said. “Well, things were beyond +all bearing at home, and you were going away, and would not so much +as look at me. Now, one of the few sports my father did not look +askance at was fishing, and he would endure my being out at night with, +as he thought, poor man, old Pete Perring, who was as stern a Puritan +as himself; but I had livelier friends, and more adventurous. +They had connections with French free-traders for brandy and silks, +and when they found I was one with them, my French tongue was a boon +to them, till I came to have a good many friends among the Norman fishermen, +and to know the snug hiding-places about the coast. So at last +I made up my mind to be off with them, and make my way to my uncle in +Muscovy. I had raised money enough at play and on the jewels one +picks up in an envoy’s service, and there was one good angel whom +I meant to take with me if I could secure her and bind her wings. +Now you know with what hopes I saw you gathering flowers alone that +morning.”</p> +<p>Anne clasped her hands; Charles had truly interfered with good cause.</p> +<p>“I had all arranged,” he continued; “my uncle would +have given you a hearty welcome, and made our peace with my father, +or if not, he would have left us all his goods, and secured my career. +What call had that great lout, with a wife of his own too, to come thrusting +between us? I thought I should make short work of him, and give +him a lesson against meddling—great unlicked cub as he was, while +I had had the best training at Berlin and Paris in fencing; but somehow +those big strong fellows, from their very clumsiness, throw one out. +And he meant mischief—yes, that he did. I saw it in his +eyes. I suppose his sulky rustic jealousy was a-fire at a few +little civilities to that poor little wife of his. Any way, when +he bore me down like the swing of a windmill, he drove his sword home. +Talk of his being innocent! Why should he never look whether I +were dead or alive, but fling me headlong into that pit?”</p> +<p>Anne could not but utter her eager defence, but it was met with a +sinister smile, half of scorn, half of pity, and as she would have gone +on, “Hush! your pleading only fills up the measure of my loathing.”</p> +<p>Her heart sank, but she let him go on, listening perhaps less attentively +as she considered how to take him.</p> +<p>“In fact,” he continued, “little as the lubber +knew it, ’twas the best he could have done for me. For though +I never looked for such luck as your being out in the court at that +hour, I did think the chance not to be lost of visiting the garden or +the churchyard, and there were waiting in the vault a couple of stout +Normans, who were to come at my whistle. It seems that when I +came tumbling down in their midst, senseless and bleeding like a calf, +they did not take it quite so easily as your champion above, but began +doing what they could for me, and were trying to staunch the wound, +when they heard a trampling and a rumbling overhead, and being aware +that our undertaking might look ugly in the sight of the law, and thinking +this might be pursuers, they carried me off with all speed, not so much +as stopping to pick up the things that have made such a commotion. +Was there any pursuit?”</p> +<p>“Oh no; it must have been the haymakers.”</p> +<p>“No doubt. The place was in no great favour with our +own people; they were in awe of the big Scot, who is in comfortable +quarters in my grave, and the Frenchmen could not have found their way +thither, so it was let alone till Mistress Martha’s researches. +So I came to myself in the boat in which they took me on board the lugger +that was waiting for us; and instead of making for Alderney, as I had +intended, so as to get the knot safely tied to your satisfaction, they +sailed straight for Havre. They had on board a Jesuit father, +whom I had met once or twice among the Duke of Berwick’s people, +but who had found Portsmouth too hot to hold him in the frenzy of Protestant +zeal on the Bishops’ account. He had been beset, and owed +his life, he says, to the fists of the Breton and Norman sailors, who +had taken him on board. It was well for me, for I doubt if ever +I was tough enough to have withstood my good friends’ treatment. +He had me carried to a convent in Havre, where the fathers nursed me +well; and before I was on my legs again, I had made up my mind to cast +in my lot with them, or rather with their Church.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“I had been baulked of winning the one being near whom my devil +never durst come. And blood-letting had pretty well disposed of +him. I was as meek and mild as milk under the good fathers. +Moreover, as my good friend at Turin had told me, and they repeated +it, such a doubly heretical baptism as mine was probably invalid, and +accounted for my being as much a vessel of wrath as even my father was +pleased to call me. There was the Queen’s rosary drawing +me too. Everything else was over with me, and it seemed to open +a new life. So, bless me, what a soft and pious frame I was in +when they chastened me, water, oil, salt and all, on what my father +raged at folks calling Lammas Day, but which it seems really belongs +to St. Peter in the Fetters. So I was named Pierre or Piers after +him, thus keeping my own initial.”</p> +<p>“Piers! oh! not Piers Pigwiggin?”</p> +<p>“Pierre de Pilpignon, if you please. I have a right to +that too; but we shall come to it by and by. I can laugh now, +or perhaps weep, over the fervid state I was in then, as if I had trodden +down my snake, and by giving up everything—you, estate, career, +I could keep him down. So it was settled that I would devote myself +to the priesthood—don’t laugh!—and I was ordered off +to their seminary in London, partly, I believe, for the sake of piloting +a couple of fathers, who could not speak a word of English. It +was, as they rightly judged, the last place where my father would think +of looking for me, but they did not as rightly judge that we should +long keep possession there. Matters grew serious, and it was not +over safe in the streets. There was a letter of importance from +a friend in Holland, carrying the Prince of Orange’s hypocritical +Declaration, which was to be got to Father Petre or the King on the +night—Hallowmas Eve it was—and I was told off to put on +a secular dress, which I could wear more naturally than most of them, +and convey it.”</p> +<p>“Ah, that explains!”</p> +<p>“Apparition number one! I guessed you were somewhere +in those parts, and looked up at the windows, and though I did not see +you, I believe it was your eyes that first sent a thrill through me +that boded ill for Roman orders. After that we lived in a continual +state of rumours and alarms, secret messages and expeditions, until +I, being strong in the arm and the wind and a feather-weight, was one +of those honoured by rowing the Queen and Prince across the river. +M. de St. Victor accepted me. He told me there would be two nurses, +but never knew or cared who they were, nor did I guess, as we sat in +the dark, how near I was to you. And only for one second did I +see your face, as you were entering the carriage, and I blessed you +the more for what you were doing for Her Majesty.”</p> +<p>He proceeded to tell how he had accompanied the Jesuit fathers, on +their leaving London, to the great English seminary at Douai, and being +for the time convinced by them that his feelings towards Anne were a +delusion of the enemy, he had studied with all his might, and as health +and monotony of life began to have their accustomed effect in rousing +the restlessness and mischievousness of his nature, with all the passions +of manhood growing upon him, he strove to force them down by fasting +and scourging. He told, in a bitter, almost savage way, of his +endeavours to flog his demon out of himself, and of his anger and disappointment +at finding Piers Pilgrim in the seminary of Douai, quite as subject +to his attacks as ever was Perry Oakshott under a sermon of Mr. Horncastle’s.</p> +<p>Then came the information among the students that the governor of +the city, the Marquis de Nidemerle, had brought some English gentlemen +and ladies to visit the gardens. As most of the students were +of British families there was curiosity as to who they were, and thus +Peregrine heard that one was young Archfield of the Hampshire family, +with his tutor, and the lady was Mistress Darpent, daughter to a French +lawyer, who had settled in England after the Fronde. Anne’s +name had not transpired, for she was viewed merely as an attendant. +Peregrine had been out on some errand in the town, and had a distant +view of his enemy as he held him, flaunting about with a fine lady on +his arm, forgetting the poor little pretty wife whom no doubt he had +frightened to death.”</p> +<p>“Oh! you little know how tenderly he speaks of her.”</p> +<p>“Tenderly!—that’s the way they speak of me at Oakwood, +eh? Human, not to say elf, nature, could not withstand giving +the fellow a start. I sped off, whipped into the Church, popped +into a surplice I found ready to hand, caught up a candle, and!—Little +did I think who it was that was hanging on his arm. So little +did I know it that my heart began to be drawn to St. Germain, where +I still imagined you. Altogether, after that prank, all broke +out again. I entertained the lads with a few more freaks, for +which I did ample penance, but it grew on me that in my case all was +a weariness and a sham, and that my demon might get a worse hold of +me if I got into a course of hypocrisy. They were very good to +me, those fathers, but Jesuits as they were, I doubt whether they ever +fathomed me. Any way, perhaps they thought I should be a scandal, +but they agreed with me that their order was not my vocation, and that +we had better part before my fiend drove me to do so with dishonour. +They even gave me recommendations to the French officers that were besieging +Tournay. I knew the Duke of Berwick a little at Portsmouth, and +it ended in my becoming under-secretary to the Duke of Chartres. +A man who knows languages has his value among Frenchmen, who despise +all but their own.”</p> +<p>Peregrine did not enter into full details of this stage of his career, +and Anne was not fully informed of the habits that the young Duke of +Chartres, the future Regent Duke of Orleans, was already developing, +but she gathered that, what the young man called his demon, had nearly +undisputed sway over him, and she had not spent eight months at St. +Germain without knowing by report of the dissolute manners of the substratum +of fashionable society at Paris, even though outward decorum had been +restored by Madame de Maintenon. Yet he seemed to have been crossed +by fits of vehement penitence, and almost the saddest part of the story +was the mocking tone in which he alluded to these.</p> +<p>He had sought service at the Court in the hope of meeting Miss Woodford +there, and had been grievously disappointed when he found that she had +long since returned to England. The sight of the gracious and +lovely countenance of the exiled Queen seemed always to have moved and +touched him, as in some inexplicable manner her eyes and expression +recalled to him those of Mrs. Woodford and Anne; but the thought had +apparently only stung him into the sense of being forsaken and abandoned +to his own devices or those of his evil spirit.</p> +<p>One incident, occurring some three years previously, he told more +fully, as it had a considerable effect on his life. “I was +attending the Duke in the gardens at Versailles,” he said, “when +we were aware of a great commotion. All the gentlemen were standing +gazing up into the top of a great chestnut tree, the King and all, and +in the midst stood the Abbé de Fénelon with his little +pupils, the youngest, the Duke of Anjou, sobbing piteously, and the +Duke of Burgundy in a furious passion, stamping and raging, and only +withheld from rolling on the ground by the Abbé’s hand +grasping his shoulder. ‘I will not have him killed! +He is mine,’ he cried. And up in the tree, the object of +all their gaze, was a monkey with a paper fluttering in his hand. +Some one had made a present of the creature to the King’s grandsons; +he was the reigning favourite, and having broken his chain, had effected +an entrance by the window into the King’s cabinet, where after +giving himself the airs of a minister of state, on being interrupted, +he had made off through the window with an important document, which +he was affecting to peruse at his leisure, only interrupting himself +to hurl down leaves or unripe chestnuts at those who attempted to pelt +him with stones, and this only made him mount higher and higher, entirely +out of their reach, for no one durst climb after him. I believe +it was a letter from the King of Spain; at any rate the whole Cabinet +was in agony lest the brute should proceed to tear it into fragments, +and a musqueteer had been sent for to shoot him down. I remembered +my success with the monkey on poor little Madam Archfield’s back—nay, +perhaps ’twas the same, my familiar taking shape. I threw +myself at the King’s feet, and desired permission to deal with +the beast. By good luck it had not been so easy as they supposed +to find a musquet fit for immediate use, so I had full time. To +ascend the tree was no more than I had done many times before, and I +went high in the branches, but cautiously, not to give Monsieur le Singe +the idea of being pursued, lest he should leap to a bough incapable +of supporting me. When I had reached a fork tolerably high, and +where he could see me, I settled myself, took out a letter, which fortunately +was in my pocket, read it with the greatest deliberation, the monkey +watching me all the time, and finally I proceeded to fold it neatly +in all its creases. The creature imitated me with its black fingers, +little aware, poor thing, that the musqueteer had covered him with his +weapon, and was waiting for the first sign of tearing the letter to +pull the trigger, but withheld by a sign from the King, who did not +wish to sacrifice his grandson’s pet before his eyes. Finally, +after finishing the folding, I doubled it a second time, and threw it +at the animal. To my great joy he returned the compliment by throwing +the other at my head. I was able to catch it, and moreover, as +he was disposed to go in pursuit of his plaything, he swung his chain +so near me that I got hold of it, twisted it round my arm, and made +the best of my way down the tree, amid the ‘Bravos!’ started +by the royal lips themselves, and repeated with ecstasy by all the crowd, +who waved their hats, and made such a hallooing that I had much ado +to get the monkey down safely; but finally, all dishevelled, with my +best cuffs and cravat torn to ribbons, and my wig happily detached, +unlike Absalom’s, for it remained in the tree, I had the honour +of presenting on my knee the letter to the King, and the monkey to the +Princes. I kissed His Majesty’s hand, the little Duke of +Anjou kissed the monkey, and the Duke of Burgundy kissed me with arms +round my neck, then threw himself on his knees before his grandfather +to ask pardon for his passion. Every one said my fortune was made, +and that my agility deserved at least the <i>cordon bleu</i>. +My own Duke of Chartres, who in many points is like his cousin, our +late King Charles, gravely assured me that a new office was to be invented +for me, and that I was to be <i>Grand Singier du Roi</i>. I believe +he pushed my cause, and so did the little Duke of Burgundy, and finally +I got the pension without the office, and a good deal of occasional +employment besides, in the way of translation of documents. There +were moments of success at play. Oh yes, quite fairly, any one +with wits about him can make his profit in the long-run among the Court +set. And thus I had enough to purchase a pretty little estate +and château on the coast of Normandy, the confiscated property +of a poor Huguenot refugee, so that it went cheap. It gives the +title of Pilpignon, which I assumed in kindness to the tongues of my +French friends. So you see, I have a station and property to which +to carry you, my fair one, won by myself, though only by catching an +ape.”</p> +<p>He went on to say that the spot had been chosen advisedly, with a +view to communication with the opposite coast, where his old connection +with the smugglers was likely to be useful in the Jacobite plots. +“As you well know,” he said, “my father had done his +utmost to make Whiggery stink in my nostrils, to say nothing of the +kindness I have enjoyed from our good Queen; and I was ready to do my +utmost in the cause, especially after I had stolen a glimpse of you, +and when Charnock, poor fellow, returning from reconnoitring among the +loyal, told me that you were still unmarried, and living as a dependent +in the Archfields’ house. Our headquarters were in Romney +Marsh, but it was as well to have, as it were, a back door here, and +as it has turned out it has been the saving of some of us.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sir! you were not in that wicked plot?”</p> +<p>“Nay; surely <i>you</i> are not turned Whig.”</p> +<p>“But this was assassination.”</p> +<p>“Not at all, if they would have listened to me. The Dutchman +is no bigger than I am. I could have dropped on him from one of +his trees at Hampton Court, or through a window, <i>via presto</i>, +and we would have had him off by the river, given him an interview to +beg his uncle’s pardon, and despatched him for the benefit of +his asthma to the company of the Iron Mask at St. Marguerite; then back +again, the King to enjoy his own again, Dr. Woodford, archbishop or +bishop of whatever you please, and a lady here present to be Marquise +de Pilpignon, or Countess of Havant, whichever she might prefer. +Yes, truly those were the hopes with which I renewed my communications +with the contraband trade on this coast, a good deal more numerous since +the Dutchman and his wars have raised the duties and driven many good +men to holes and corners.</p> +<p>“Ever since last spring, when the Princess Royal died, and +thus extinguished the last spark of forbearance in the King’s +breast, I have been here, there, and everywhere—Romney Marsh, +Drury Lane, Paris, besides this place and Pilpignon, where I have a +snug harbour for the yacht, <i>Ma Belle Annik</i>, as the Breton sailors +call her. The crew are chiefly Breton; it saves gossip; but I +have a boat’s crew of our own English folk here, stout fellows, +ready for anything by land or sea.”</p> +<p>“The Black Gang,” said Anne faintly.</p> +<p>“Don’t suppose I have meddled in their exploits on the +road,” he said, “except where a King’s messenger or +a Royal mail was concerned, and that is war, you know, for the cause. +Unluckily my personal charms are not easily disguised, so that I have +had to lurk in the background, and only make my private investigations +in the guise of my own ghost.”</p> +<p>“Then so it was you saved the dear little Philip?” said +Anne.</p> +<p>“The Archfield boy? I could not see a child sent to his +destruction by that villain Sedley, whoever were his father, for he +meant mischief if ever man did. ’Twas superhuman scruple +not to hold your peace and let him swing.”</p> +<p>“What was it, then, on his cousin’s part?”</p> +<p>Peregrine only answered with a shrug. It appeared further, +that as long as the conspirators had entertained any expectation of +success, he had merely kept a watch over Anne, intending to claim her +in the hour of the triumph of his party, when he looked to enjoy such +a position as would leave his brother free to enjoy his paternal inheritance. +In the failure of all their schemes through Mr. Pendergrast’s +denunciation, Sir George Barclay, and one or two inferior plotters, +had succeeded in availing themselves of the assistance of the Black +Gang, and had been conducted by Peregrine to the hut that he had fitted +up for himself. Still trusting to the security there, although +his name of Piers Pilgrim or de Pilpignon had been among those given +up to the Privy Council, he had insisted on lingering, being resolved +that an attempt should be made to carry away the woman he had loved +for so many years. Captain Burford had so disguised himself as +to be able to attend the trial, loiter about the inn, and collect intelligence, +while the others waited on the downs. Peregrine had watched over +the capture, but being unwilling to disclose himself, had ridden on +faster and crossed direct, traversing the Island on horseback, while +the captive was rounding it in the boat. “As should never +have been done,” he said, “could I have foretold to what +stress of weather you would be exposed while I was preparing for your +reception. But for this storm—it rages louder than ever—we +would have been married by a little parson whom Burford would have fetched +from Portsmouth, and we should have been over the Channel, and my people +hailing my bride with ecstasy.”</p> +<p>“Never!” exclaimed Anne. “Can you suppose +I could accept one who would leave an innocent man to suffer?”</p> +<p>“People sometimes are obliged to accept,” said Peregrine. +Then at her horrified start, “No, no, fear no violence; but is +not something due to one who has loved you through exile all these years, +and would lay down his life for you? you, the only being who overcomes +his evil angel!”</p> +<p>“This is what you call overcoming it,” she said.</p> +<p>“Nay; indeed, Mistress Anne, I would let the authorities know +that they are hanging a man for murdering one who is still alive if +I could; but no one would believe without seeing, and I and all who +could bear witness to my existence would be rushing to an end even worse +than a simple noose. You were ready enough to denounce him to +save that worthless fellow.”</p> +<p>“Not ready. It tore my heart. But truth is truth. +I could not do that wickedness. Oh! how can you? This <i>is</i> +the prompting of the evil spirit indeed, to expect me to join in leaving +that innocent, generous spirit to die in cruel injustice. Let +me go. I will not betray where you are. You will be safe +in France; but there will yet be time for me to bear witness to your +life. Write a letter. Your father would thankfully swear +to your handwriting, and I think they would believe me. Only let +me go.”</p> +<p>“And what then becomes of the hopes of a lifetime?” demanded +Peregrine. “I, who have waited as long as Jacob, to be defrauded +now I have you; and for the sake of the fellow who killed me in will +if not in deed, and then ran away like a poltroon leaving you to bear +the brunt!”</p> +<p>“He did not act like a poltroon when he saved the life of his +general, or when he rescued the colours of his regiment, still less +when he stood up to save me from the pain of bearing witness against +him, and to save a guiltless man,” cried Anne, with flashing eyes.</p> +<p>Before she had finished her indignant words, Hans was coming in from +some unknown region to lay the cloth for supper, and Peregrine, with +an imprecation under his breath, had gone to the door to admit his two +comrades, who came into the narrow entry on a gust of wind as it were, +struggling out of their cloaks, stamping and swearing.</p> +<p>In the middle of the day, they had been much more restrained in their +behaviour. There had at that time been a slight clearance in the +sky, though the wind was as furious as ever, and they were in haste +to despatch the meal and go out again to endeavour to stand on the heights +and to watch some vessels that were being tossed by the storm. +Almost all the conversation had then been on the chances of their weathering +the tempest, and the probability of its lasting on, and they had hurried +away as soon as possible. Anne had not then known who they were, +and only saw that they were fairly civil to her, and kept under a certain +constraint by Pilpignon, as they called their host. Now she fully +knew the one who was addressed as Sir George to be Barclay, the prime +mover in the wicked scheme of assassination of which all honest Tories +had been so much ashamed, and she could see Captain Burford to be one +of those bravoes who were only too plentiful in those days, attending +on dissolute and violent nobles.</p> +<p>She was the less inclined to admit their attentions, and shielded +herself with a grave coldness of stately manners; but their talk was +far more free than at noon, suggesting the thought that they had anticipated +the meal with some of the Nantz or other liquors that seemed to be in +plenty.</p> +<p>They began by low bows of affected reverence, coarser and worse in +the ruffian of inferior grade, and the knight complimented Pilpignon +on being a lucky dog, and hoped he had made the best use of his time +in spite of the airs of his duchess. It was his own fault if he +were not enjoying such fair society, while they, poor devils, were buffeting +with the winds, which had come on more violently than ever. Peregrine +broke in with a question about the vessels in sight.</p> +<p>There was an East Indiaman, Dutch it was supposed, laying-to, that +was the cause of much excitement. “If she drives ashore +our fellows will neither be to have nor to hold,” said Sir George.</p> +<p>“They will obey me,” said Peregrine quietly.</p> +<p>“More than the sea will just yet,” laughed the captain. +“However, as soon as this villainous weather is a bit abated, +I’ll be off across the Island to do your little errand, and only +ask a kiss of the bride for my pains; but if the parson be at Portsmouth +there will be no getting him to budge till the water is smooth. +Never mind, madam, we’ll have a merry wedding feast, whichever +side of the water it is. I should recommend the voyage first for +my part.”</p> +<p>All Anne could do was to sit as upright and still as she could, apparently +ignoring the man’s meaning. She did not know how dignified +she looked, and how she was daunting his insolence. When presently +Sir George Barclay proposed as a toast a health to the bride of to-morrow, +she took her part by raising the glass to her lips as well as the gentlemen, +and adding, “May the brides be happy, wherever they may be.”</p> +<p>“Coy, upon my soul,” laughed Sir George. “You +have not made the best of your opportunities, Pil.” But +with an oath, “It becomes her well.”</p> +<p>“A truce with fooling, Barclay,” muttered Peregrine.</p> +<p>“Come, come, remember faint heart—no lowering your crest, +more than enough to bring that devilish sparkle in the eyes, and turn +of the neck!”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Anne rising, “Monsieur de Pilpignon +is an old neighbour, and understands how to respect his most unwilling +guest. I wish you a good-night, gentlemen. Guennik, <i>venez +ici</i>, <i>je vous prie</i>.”</p> +<p>Guennik, the Breton boatswain’s wife, understood French thus +far, and comprehended the situation enough to follow willingly, leaving +the remainder of the attendance to Hans, who was fully equal to it. +The door was secured by a long knife in the post, but Anne could hear +plainly the rude laugh at her entrenchment within her fortress and much +of the banter of Peregrine for having proceeded no further. It +was impossible to shut out all the voices, and very alarming they were, +as well as sometimes so coarse that they made her cheeks glow, while +she felt thankful that the Bretonne could not understand.</p> +<p>These three men were all proscribed traitors in haste to be off, +but Peregrine, to whom the yacht and her crew belonged, had lingered +to obtain possession of the lady, and they were declaring that now they +had caught his game and given him his toy, they would brook no longer +delay than was absolutely necessitated by the storm, and married or +not married, he and she should both be carried off together, let the +damsel-errant give herself what haughty airs she would. It was +a weak concession on their part to the old Puritan scruples that he +might have got rid of by this time, to attempt to bring about the marriage. +They jested at him for being afraid of her, and then there were jokes +about gray mares.</p> +<p>The one voice she could not hear was Peregrine’s, perhaps because +he realised more than they did that she was within ear-shot, and besides, +he was absolutely sober; but she thought he silenced them; and then +she heard sounds of card-playing, which made an accompaniment to her +agonised prayers.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> +Black Gang Chine</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace,<br /> +Let us fly this cursed place,<br /> +Lest the sorcerer us entice<br /> +With some other new device.<br /> +Not a word or needless sound<br /> +Till we come to holier ground.<br /> +I shall be your faithful guide<br /> +Through this gloomy covert wide.”</p> +<p>MILTON.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Never was maiden in a worse position than that in which Anne Woodford +felt herself when she revolved the matter. The back of the Isle +of Wight, all along the Undercliff, had always had a wild reputation, +and she was in the midst of the most lawless of men. Peregrine +alone seemed to have any remains of honour or conscience, and apparently +he was in some degree in the hands of his associates. Even if +the clergyman came, there was little hope in an appeal to him. +Naval chaplains bore no good reputation, and Portsmouth and Cowes were +haunted by the scum of the profession. All that seemed possible +was to commit herself and Charles to Divine protection, and in that +strength to resist to the uttermost. The tempest had returned +again, and seemed to be raging as much as ever, and the delay was in +her favour, for in such weather there could be no putting to sea.</p> +<p>She was unwilling to leave the stronghold of her chamber, but Hans +came to announce breakfast to her, telling her that the Mynheeren were +gone, all but Massa Perry; and that gentleman came forward to meet her +just as before, hoping ‘those fellows had not disturbed her last +night.’</p> +<p>“I could not help hearing much,” she said gravely.</p> +<p>“Brutes!” he said. “I am sick of them, and +of this life. Save for the King’s sake, I would never have +meddled with it.”</p> +<p>The roar of winds and waves and the beat of spray was still to be +heard, and in the manifest impossibility of quitting the place and the +desire of softening him, Anne listened while he talked in a different +mood from the previous day. The cynical tone was gone, as he spoke +of those better influences. He talked of Mrs. Woodford and his +deep affection for her, of the kindness of the good priests at Havre +and Douai, and especially of one Father Seyton, who had tried to reason +with him in his bitter disappointment, and savage penitence on finding +that ‘behind the Cross lurks the Devil,’ as much at Douai +as at Havant. He told how a sermon of the Abbé Fénelon’s +had moved him, and how he had spent half a Lent in the severest penance, +but only to have all swept away again in the wild and wicked revelry +with which Easter came in. Again he described how his heart was +ready to burst as he stood by Mrs. Woodford’s grave at night and +vowed to disentangle himself and lead a new life.</p> +<p>“And with you I shall,” he said.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered; “what you win by a crime will +never do you good.”</p> +<p>“A crime! ’Tis no crime. You <i>know</i> +I mean honourable marriage. You owe no duty to any one.”</p> +<p>“It is a crime to leave the innocent to undeserved death,” +she said.</p> +<p>“Do you love the fellow?” he cried, with a voice rising +to a shout of rage.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said firmly.</p> +<p>“Why did not you say so before?”</p> +<p>“Because I hoped to see you act for right and justice sake,” +was Anne’s answer, fixing her eyes on him. “For God’s +sake, not mine.”</p> +<p>“Yours indeed! Think, what can be his love to mine? +He who let them marry him to that child, while I struggled and gave +up everything. Then he runs away—<i>runs away</i>—leaving +you all the distress; never came near you all these years. Oh +yes! he looks down on you as his child’s governess! What’s +the use of loving him? There’s another heiress bespoken +for him no doubt.”</p> +<p>“No. His parents consent, and we have known one another’s +love for six years.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s the way he bound you to keep his secret! +He would sing another song as soon as he was out of this scrape.”</p> +<p>“You little know!” was all she said.</p> +<p>“Ay!” continued Peregrine, pacing up and down the room, +“you know that all that was wanting to fill up the measure of +my hatred was that he should have stolen your heart.”</p> +<p>“You cannot say that, sir. He was my kind protector and +helper from our very childhood. I have loved him with all my heart +ever since I durst.”</p> +<p>“Ay, the great straight comely lubbers have it all their own +way with the women,” said he bitterly. “I remember +how he rushed headlong at me with the horse-whip when I tripped you +up at the Slype, and you have never forgiven that.”</p> +<p>“Oh! indeed I forgot that childish nonsense long ago. +You never served me so again.”</p> +<p>“No indeed, never since you and your mother were the first +to treat me like a human being. You will be able to do anything +with me, sweetest lady; the very sense that you are under the same roof +makes another man of me. I loathe what I used to enjoy. +Why, the very sight of you, sitting at supper like the lady in <i>Comus</i>, +in your sweet grave dignity, made me feel what I am, and what those +men are. I heard their jests with your innocent ears. With +you by my side the Devil’s power is quelled. You shall have +a peaceful beneficent life among the poor folk, who will bless you; +our good and gracious Queen will welcome you with joy and gratitude; +and when the good time comes, as it must in a few years, you will have +honours and dignities lavished on you. Can you not see what you +will do for me?”</p> +<p>“Do you think a broken-hearted victim would be able to do you +any good?” said she, looking up with tears in her eyes. +“I <i>do</i> believe, sir, that you mean well by me, in your own +way, and I could, yes, I can, be sorry for you, for my mother did feel +for you, and yours has been a sad life; but how could I be of any use +or comfort to you if you dragged me away as these cruel men propose, +knowing that he who has all my heart is dying guiltless, and thinking +I have failed him!” and here she broke down in an agony of weeping, +as she felt the old power in his eyes that enforced submission.</p> +<p>He marched up and down in a sort of passion. “Don’t +let me see you weep for him! It makes me ready to strangle him +with my own hands!”</p> +<p>A shout of ‘Pilpignon!’ at the door here carried him +off, leaving Anne to give free course to the tears that she had hitherto +been able to restrain, feeling the need of self-possession. She +had very little hope, since her affection for Charles Archfield seemed +only to give the additional sting of jealousy, ‘cruel as the grave,’ +to the vindictive temper Peregrine already nourished, and which certainly +came from his evil spirit. She shed many tears, and sobbed unrestrainingly +till the Bretonne came and patted her shoulder, and said, “<i>Pauvre</i>, +<i>pauvre</i>!” And even Hans looked in, saying, “Missee +Nana no cry, Massa Perry great herr—very goot.”</p> +<p>She tried to compose herself, and think over alternatives to lay +before Peregrine. He might let her go, and carry to Sir Edmund +Nutley letters to which his father would willingly swear, while he was +out of danger in Normandy. Or if this was far beyond what could +be hoped for, surely he could despatch a letter to his father, and for +such a price she <i>must</i> sacrifice herself, though it cost her anguish +unspeakable to call up the thought of Charles, of little Philip, of +her uncle, and the old people, who loved her so well, all forsaken, +and with what a life in store for her! For she had not the slightest +confidence in the power of her influence, whatever Peregrine might say +and sincerely believe at present. If there were, more palpably +than with all other human beings, angels of good and evil contending +for him, swaying him now this way and now that; it was plain from his +whole history that nothing had yet availed to keep him under the better +influence for long together; and she believed that if he gained herself +by these unjust and cruel means the worse spirit would thereby gain +the most absolute advantage. If her heart had been free, and she +could have loved him, she might have hoped, though it would have been +a wild and forlorn hope; but as it was, she had never entirely surmounted +a repulsion from him, as something strange and unnatural, a feeling +involving fear, though here he was her only hope and protector, and +an utter uncertainty as to what he might do. She could only hope +that she might pine away and die quickly, and <i>perhaps</i> Charles +Archfield might know at last that it had been for his sake. And +would it be in her power to make even such terms as these?</p> +<p>How long she wept and prayed and tried to ‘commit her way unto +the Lord’ she did not know, but light seemed to be making its +way far more than previously through the shutters closed against the +storm when Peregrine returned.</p> +<p>“You will not be greatly troubled with those fellows to-day,” +he said; “there’s a vessel come on the rocks at Chale, and +every man and mother’s son is gone after it.” So saying +he unfastened the shutters and let in a flood of sunshine. “You +would like a little air,” he said; “’tis all quiet +now, and the tide is going down.”</p> +<p>After two days’ dark captivity, Anne could not but be relieved +by coming out, and she was anxious to understand where she was. +It was, though only in March, glowing with warmth, as the sun beat against +the cliffs behind, of a dark red brown, in many places absolutely black, +in especial where a cascade, swelled by the rains into imposing size, +came roaring, leaping, and sparkling down a sheer precipice. On +either side the cove or chine was closely shut in by treeless, iron-coloured +masses of rock, behind one of which the few inhabited hovels were clustered, +and the boat which had brought her was drawn up. In front was +the sea, still lashed by a fierce wind, which was driving the fantastically +shaped remains of the great storm cloud rapidly across an intensely +blue sky. The waves, although it was the ebb, were still tremendous, +and their roar re-echoed as they reared to fearful heights and broke +with the reverberations that she had heard all along. Peregrine +kept quite high up, not venturing below the washed line of shingle, +saying that the back draught of the waves was most perilous, and in +a high wind could not be reckoned upon.</p> +<p>“No escape!” he said, as he perceived Anne’s gaze +on the inaccessible cliff and the whole scene, the wild beauty of which +was lost to her in its terrors.</p> +<p>“Where’s your ship?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Safe in Whale Chine. No putting to sea yet, though it +may be fair to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Then she put before him the first scheme she had thought out, of +letting her escape to Sir Edmund Nutley’s house, whence she could +make her way back, taking with her a letter that would prove his existence +without involving him or his friends in danger. And eagerly she +argued, “You do not know me really! It is only an imagination +that you can be the better for my presence.” Then, unheeding +his fervid exclamation, “It was my dear mother who did you good. +What would she think of the way in which you are trying to gain me?”</p> +<p>“That I cannot do without you.”</p> +<p>“And what would you have in me? I could be only wretched, +and feel all my life—such a life as it would be—that you +had wrecked my happiness. Oh yes! I do believe that you +would try to make me happy, but don’t you see that it would be +quite impossible with such a grief as that in my heart, and knowing +that you had caused it? I know you hate him, and he did you the +wrong; but he has grieved for it, and banished himself. But above +all, of this I am quite sure, that to persist in this horrible evil +of leaving him to die, because of your revenge, and stealing me away, +is truly giving Satan such a frightful advantage over you that it is +mere folly to think that winning me in such a way could do you any good. +It is just a mere delusion of his, to ruin us both, body and soul. +Peregrine, will you not recollect my mother, and what she would think? +Have pity on me, and help me away, and I would pledge myself never to +utter a word of this place nor that could bring you and yours into danger. +We would bless and pray for you always.”</p> +<p>“No use,” he gloomily said. “I believe you, +but the others will never believe a woman. No doubt we are watched +even now by desperate men, who would rather shoot you than let you escape +from our hands.”</p> +<p>It seemed almost in connection with these words that at that moment, +from some unknown quarter, where probably there was an entrance to the +Chine, Sir George Barclay appeared with a leathern case under his arm. +It had been captured on the wreck, and contained papers which he wanted +assistance in deciphering, since they were in Dutch, and he believed +them to be either despatches or bonds, either of which might be turned +to profit. These were carried indoors, and spread on the table, +and as Anne sat by the window, dejected and almost hopeless as she was, +she could not help perceiving that, though Peregrine was so much smaller +and less robust than his companions, he exercised over them the dominion +of intellect, energy, and will, as if they too felt the force of his +strange eyes; and it seemed to her as if, supposing he truly desired +it, whatever he might say, he must be able to deliver her and Charles; +but that a being such as she had always known him should sacrifice both +his love and his hate seemed beyond all hope, and “Change his +heart! Turn our captivity, O Lord,” could only be her cry.</p> +<p>Only very late did Burford come back, full of the account of the +wreck and of the spoils, and the struggles between the wreckers for +the flotsam and jetsam. There was much of savage brutality mated +with a cool indifference truly horrible to Anne, and making her realise +into what a den of robbers she had fallen, especially as these narratives +were diversified by consultations over the Dutch letters and bills of +exchange in the wrecked East Indiaman, and how to turn them to the best +advantage. Barclay and Burford were so full of these subjects +that they took comparatively little notice of the young lady, only when +she rose to retire, Burford made a sort of apology that this little +business had hindered his going after the parson. He heard that +the Salamander was at the castle, and redcoats all about, he said, and +if the <i>Annick</i> could be got out to-morrow they must sail any way; +and if Pil was still so squeamish, a Popish priest could couple them +in a leash as tight as a Fleet parson could. And then Peregrine +demanded whether Burford thought a Fleet parson the English for a naval +chaplain, and there was some boisterous laughter, during which Anne +shut herself up in her room in something very like despair, with that +one ray of hope that He who had brought her back from exile before would +again save her from that terrible fate.</p> +<p>She heard card-playing and the jingle of glasses far into the night, +as she believed, but it seemed to her as if she had scarcely fallen +asleep before, to her extreme terror, she heard a knock and a low call +at her door of ‘Guennik.’ Then as the Bretonne went +to the door, through which a light was seen, a lantern was handed in, +and a scrap of paper on which the words were written: “On second +thoughts, my kindred elves at Portchester shall not be scared by a worricow. +Dress quickly, and I will bring you out of this.”</p> +<p>For a moment Anne did not perceive the meaning of the missive, the +ghastly idea never having occurred to her that if Charles had suffered, +the gibbet would have been at Portchester. Then, with an electric +flash of joy, she saw that it meant relenting on Peregrine’s part, +deliverance for them both. She put on her clothes with hasty, +trembling hands, thankful to Guennik for helping her, pressed a coin +into the strong toil-worn hand, and with an earnest thrill of thankful +prayer opened the door. The driftwood fire was bright, and she +saw Peregrine, looking deadly white, and equipped with slouched hat, +short wrapping cloak, pistols and sword at his belt, dark lantern lighted +on the table, and Hans also cloaked by his side. He bent his head +in salutation, and put his finger to his lips, giving one hand to Anne, +and showing by example instead of words that she must tread as softly +as possible, as she perceived that he was in his slippers, Hans carrying +his boots as well as the lantern she had used. Yet to her ears +the roar of the advancing tide seemed to stifle all other sounds. +Past the other huts they went in silence, then came a precipitous path +up the cliff, steps cut in the hard sandy grit, but very crumbling, +and in places supplemented by a rude ladder of sticks and rope. +Peregrine went before Anne, Hans behind. Each had hung the lantern +from his neck, so as to have hands free to draw her, support her, or +lift her, as might be needful. How it was done she never could +tell in after years. She might jestingly say that her lightened +heart bore her up, but in her soul and in her deeper moments she thought +that truly angels must have had charge over her. Up, up, up! +At last they had reached standing ground, a tolerably level space, with +another high cliff seeming to rise behind it. Here it was lighter—a +pale streak of dawn was spreading over the horizon, both on sky and +sea, and the waves still leaping glanced in the light of a golden waning +moon, while Venus shone in the brightening sky, a daystar of hope.</p> +<p>Peregrine drew a long breath, and gave an order in a very low voice +in Dutch to Hans, who placed his boots before him, and went off towards +a shed. “He will bring you a pony,” said his master.</p> +<p>“Excuse me;” and he was withdrawing his hand, when Anne +clasped it with both hers, and said in a voice of intense feeling—</p> +<p>“Oh, how can I thank you and bless you! This <i>is</i> +putting the Evil Angel to flight.”</p> +<p>“’Tis you that have done it! You see, I cannot +do the wicked act where you are,” he answered gloomily, as he +turned aside to draw on his boots.</p> +<p>“Ah! but you have won the victory over him!”</p> +<p>“Do not be too sure. We are not out of reach of those +rascals yet.”</p> +<p>He was evidently anxious for silence, and Anne said no more. +Hans presently brought from some unknown quarter, a little stout pony +bridled and saddled; of course not with a side saddle, but cloaks were +arranged so as to make a fairly comfortable seat for Anne, and Peregrine +led the animal on the ascent to St. Catherine’s Down. It +was light enough to dispense with the lanterns, and as they mounted +higher the glorious sight of daybreak over the sea showed itself—almost +due east, the sharp points of the Needles showing up in a flood of pale +golden light above and below, with gulls flashing white as they floated +into sunlight, all seeming to Anne’s thankful heart to be a new +radiance of joy and hope after the dark roaring terrors of the Chine.</p> +<p>As they came out into the open freedom of the down, with crisp silvery +grass under their feet, the breadth of sea on one side, before them +fertile fields and hills, and farther away, dimly seen in gray mist, +the familiar Portsdown outlines, not a sound to be heard but the exulting +ecstasies of larks, far, far above in the depths of blue, Peregrine +dared to speak above his breath, with a question whether Anne were at +ease in her extemporary side saddle, producing at the same time a slice +of bread and meat, and a flask of wine.</p> +<p>“Oh, how kind! What care you take of me!” she said. +“But where are we going?”</p> +<p>“Wherever you command,” he said. “I had thought +of Carisbrooke. Cutts is there, and it would be the speediest +way.”</p> +<p>“Would it not be the most dangerous for you?”</p> +<p>“I care very little for my life after this.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, no, you must not say so. After what you are doing +for me you will be able to make it better than ever it has been. +This is what I thought. If you would bring me in some place whence +I could reach Sir Edmund Nutley’s house at Parkhurst, his servants +would help me to do the rest, even if he be not there himself. +I would never betray you! You know I would not! And you +would have full time to get away to your place in Normandy with your +friends.”</p> +<p>“You care?” asked he.</p> +<p>“Of course I do!” exclaimed she. “Do I not +feel grateful to you, and like and honour you better than ever I could +have thought?”</p> +<p>“You do?” in a strange choked tone.</p> +<p>“Of course I do. You are doing a noble, thankworthy thing. +It is not only that I thank you for <i>his</i> sake, but it is a grand +and beautiful deed in itself; and if my dear mother know, she is blessing +you for it.”</p> +<p>“I shall remember those words,” he said, “if—” +and he passed his hand over his eyes. “See here,” +he presently said; “I have written out a confession of my identity, +and explanation that it was I who drew first on Archfield. It +is enough to save him, and in case my handwriting has altered, as I +think it has, and there should be further doubt, I shall be found at +Pilpignon, if I get away. You had better keep it in case of accidents, +or if you carry out your generous plan. Say whatever you please +about me, but there is no need to mention Barclay or Burford; and it +would not be fair to the honest free-traders here to explain where their +Chine lies. I should have brought you up blindfold, if I could +have done so with safety, not that <i>I</i> do not trust you, but I +should be better able to satisfy those fellows if I ever see them again, +by telling them I have sworn you to secrecy.”</p> +<p>Then he laughed. “The gowks! I won all those Indian +bonds of them last night, but left them in a parcel addressed to them +as a legacy.”</p> +<p>Anne took the required pledge, and ventured to ask, “Shall +I say anything for you to your father?”</p> +<p>“My poor old father! Let him know that I neither would +nor could disturb Robert in his inheritance, attainted traitor as the +laws esteem me. For the rest, mayhap I shall write to him if the +good angel you talk of will help me.”</p> +<p>“Oh do! I am sure he would rejoice to forgive. +He is much softened.”</p> +<p>“Now, we must hush, and go warily. I see sheep, and if +there is a shepherd, I want him not to see us, or point our way. +It is well these Isle of Wight folk are not early risers.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV<br /> +Life For Life</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Follow Light, and do the Right—for man can +half-control his doom—<br /> +Till you find the deathless Angel seated in the vacant tomb.</p> +<p>Forward, let the stormy moment fly and mingle with the Past.<br /> +I that loathed, have come to love him. Love will conquer at the +last.”</p> +<p>TENNYSON.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On they had gone in silence for the most part, avoiding villages, +but as the morning advanced and they came into more inhabited places, +they were not able entirely to avoid meeting labourers going out to +work, who stared at Hans’s black face with curiosity. The +sun was already high when they reached a cross-road whence the massive +towers of Carisbrooke were seen above the hedges, and another turn led +to Parkhurst. They paused a moment, and Anne was beginning to +entreat her escort to leave her to proceed alone, when the sound of +horses’ feet galloping was heard behind them. Peregrine +looked back.</p> +<p>“Ah!” he said. “Ride on as fast as you can +towards the castle. You will be all right. I will keep them +back. Go, I say.”</p> +<p>And as some figures were seen at the end of the road, he pricked +the pony with the point of his sword so effectually that it bolted forward, +quite beyond Anne’s power of checking it, and in a second or two +its speed was quickened by shouts and shots behind. Anne felt, +but scarcely understood at the moment, a sharp pang and thrill in her +left arm, as the steed whirled her round the corner of the lane and +full into the midst of a party of gentlemen on horseback coming down +from the castle.</p> +<p>“Help! help!” she cried. “Down there.”</p> +<p>Attacks by highwaymen were not uncommon experiences, though scarcely +at eight o’clock in the morning, or so near a garrison, but the +horsemen, having already heard the shots, galloped forward. Perhaps +Anne could hardly have turned her pony, but it chose to follow the lead +of its fellows, and in a few seconds they were in the midst of a scene +of utter confusion. Peregrine was grappling with Burford trying +to drag him from his horse. Both fell together, and as the auxiliaries +came in sight there was another shot and two more men rode off headlong.</p> +<p>“Follow them!” said a commanding voice. “What +have we here?”</p> +<p>The two struggling figures both lay still for a moment or two, but +as some of the riders drew them apart Peregrine sat up, though blood +was streaming down his breast and arm. “Sir,” he said, +“I am Peregrine Oakshott, on whose account young Archfield lies +under sentence of death. If a magistrate will take my affidavit +while I can make it, he will be safe.”</p> +<p>Then Anne heard a voice exclaiming: “Oakshott! Nay—why, +this is Mistress Woodford! How came she here?” and she knew +Sir Edmund Nutley. Still it was Peregrine who answered—</p> +<p>“I captured her, in the hope of marrying her, but that cannot +be—I have brought her back in all safety and honour.”</p> +<p>“Sir! Sir, indeed he has been very good to me. +Pray let him be looked to.”</p> +<p>“Let him be carried to the castle,” said the commander +of the party, a tall man sunburnt to a fiery red. “Is the +other alive?”</p> +<p>“Only stunned, my lord, I think and not much hurt,” was +the answer of an attendant officer; “but here is a poor blackamoor +dead.”</p> +<p>“Poor Hans! Best so perhaps,” murmured Peregrine, +as he was lifted. Then in a voice of alarm, “Look to the +lady, she is hurt.”</p> +<p>“It is nothing,” cried she. “O Mr. Oakshott! +that this should have happened!”</p> +<p>“My lord, this is the young gentlewoman I told you of, betrothed +to poor young Archfield,” said Sir Edmund Nutley.</p> +<p>Lord Cutts, for it was indeed William’s favoured ‘Salamander,’ +took off his plumed hat in salutation, and both gentlemen perceiving +that she too was bleeding, she was solicitously invited to the castle, +to be placed under the charge of the lieutenant-governor’s wife. +She found by this time that she was in a good deal of pain, and thankfully +accepted the support Sir Edmund offered her, when he dismounted and +walked beside her pony, while explanations passed between them. +The weather had prevented any communication with the mainland, so that +he was totally ignorant of her capture, and did not know what had become +of Mr. Fellowes. He himself had been just starting with Lord Cutts, +who was going to join the King for his next campaign, and they were +to represent the case to the King. Anne told him in return what +she dared to say, but she was becoming so faint and dazed that she was +in great fear of not saying what she ought; and indeed she could hardly +speak, when after passing under the great gateway, she was lifted off +her horse, at the door of the dwelling-house, and helped upstairs to +a bedroom, where the wife of the lieutenant-governor, Mrs. Dudley, was +very tender over her with essences and strong waters, and a surgeon +of the suite almost immediately came to her.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she exclaimed, “you should be with Mr. Oakshott.”</p> +<p>The surgeon explained that Mr. Oakshott would have nothing done for +him till he had fully made and signed his deposition, in case the power +should afterwards be wanting.</p> +<p>So Anne submitted to the dressing of her hurt, which was only a flesh +wound, the bone being happily untouched. Both the surgeon and +Mrs. Dudley urged her going to bed immediately, but she was unwilling +to put herself out of reach; and indeed the dressing was scarcely finished +before Sir Edmund Nutley knocked at the door to ask whether she could +admit him.</p> +<p>“Lord Cutts is very desirous of speaking with you, if you are +able,” he said. “Here has this other fellow come round, +declaring that Oakshott is the Pilpignon who was in the Barclay Plot, +and besides, the prime leader of the Black Gang, of whom we have heard +so much.”</p> +<p>“The traitor!” cried Anne. “Poor Mr. Oakshott +was resolved not to betray him! How is he—Mr. Oakshott, +I mean?”</p> +<p>“The surgeon has him in his hands. We will send another +from Portsmouth, but it looks like a bad case. He made his confession +bravely, though evidently in terrible suffering, seeming to keep up +by force of will till he had totally exonerated Archfield and signed +the deposition, and then he fainted, so that I thought him dead, but +I fear he has more to go through. Can you come to the hall, or +shall I bring Lord Cutts to you? We must hasten in starting that +we may bring the news to Winchester to-night.”</p> +<p>Anne much preferred going to the hall, though she felt weak enough +to be very glad to lean on Sir Edmund’s arm.</p> +<p>Lord Cutts, William’s high-spirited and daring officer, received +her with the utmost courtesy and kindness, inquired after her hurt, +and lamented having to trouble her, but said that though he would not +detain her long, her testimony was important, and he begged to hear +what had happened to her.</p> +<p>She gave the account of her capture and journey as shortly as she +could.</p> +<p>“Whither was she taken?”</p> +<p>She paused. “I promised Mr. Oakshott for the sake of +others—” she said.</p> +<p>“You need have no scruples on that score,” said Lord +Cutts. “Burford hopes to get off for the murder by turning +King’s evidence, and has told all.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” added Sir Edmund; “and poor Oakshott managed +to say, ‘Tell her she need keep nothing back. It is all +up.’”</p> +<p>So Anne answered all the questions put to her, and they were the +fewer both out of consideration for her condition, and because the governor +wanted to take advantage of the tide to embark on the Medina.</p> +<p>In a very few hours the Archfields would have no more fears. +Anne longed to go with Sir Edmund, but she was in no state for a ride, +and could not be a drag. Sir Edmund said that either his wife +would come to her at once and take her to Parkhurst, or else her uncle +would be sure to come for her. She would be the guest of Major +and Mrs. Dudley, who lived in the castle, the actual Lord Warden only +visiting it from time to time; and though Major Dudley was a stern man, +both were very kind to her.</p> +<p>As a Whig, Major Dudley knew the Oakshott family, and was willing +to extend his hospitality even to the long-lost Peregrine. The +Lord Warden, who was evidently very favourably impressed, saying that +there was no need at present to treat him as a prisoner, but that every +attention should be paid to him, as indeed he was evidently a dying +man. Burford and another of his associates were to be carried +off, handcuffed, with the escort to Winchester jail, but before the +departure, the soldiers who had been sent to the Chine returned baffled; +the place was entirely deserted, and Barclay had escaped.</p> +<p>Anne allowed herself to be put to bed, being indeed completely exhausted, +and scarcely able to think of anything but the one blessed certainty +that Charles was safe, and freed from all stigma. When, after +the pain in her arm lulled enough to allow her to sleep, she had had +a few hours’ rest, she inquired for Peregrine, she heard that +for many hours the surgeon had been trying to extract the balls, and +that they considered that the second shot had made his case hopeless, +as it was in the body. He was so much exhausted as to be almost +unconscious; but the next morning, when Anne, against the persuasions +of her hostess, had risen and been dressed, though still feeling weak +and shaken, she received a message, begging her to do him the great +kindness of visiting him.</p> +<p>Deadly pale, almost gray, as he looked, lying so propped with pillows +as to relieve his shattered shoulder, his face had a strange look of +peace, almost of relief, and he smiled at her as she entered. +He held out the hand he could use, and his first word was of inquiry +after her hurt.</p> +<p>“That is nothing—it will soon be well; I wish it were +the same with you.”</p> +<p>“Nay, I had rather cheat the hangman. I told those doctors +yesterday that they were giving themselves and me a great deal of useless +trouble. The villains, as I told you, could not believe we should +not betray them, and meant to make an end of us all. It’s +best as it is. My poor faithful Hans would never have had another +happy moment.”</p> +<p>“But you must be better, Peregrine,” for his voice, though +low, was steady.</p> +<p>“There’s no living with what I have here,” he said, +laying his hand on his side; “and—I dreamt of your mother +last night.” With the words there was a look of gladness +exceeding.</p> +<p>“Ah! the Evil Angel is gone!”</p> +<p>“I want your prayers that he may not come back at the last.” +Then, as she clasped her hands, and her lips moved, he added, “There +were some things I could only say to you. If they don’t +treat my body as that of an attainted traitor, let me lie at your mother’s +feet. Don’t disturb the big Scot for me, but let me rest +at last near her. Then tell Robin ’tis not out of want of +regard for him that I have not bequeathed Pilpignon to him, but he could +do no good with a French estate full of Papists; and there’s a +poor loyal fellow, living ruined at Paris—a Catholic too—with +a wife and children half starved, to whom it will do more good.”</p> +<p>“I meant to ask—Shall a priest be sent for? Surely +Major Dudley would consent.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I have not loved such priests lately. +I had rather die as near your mother as may be.”</p> +<p>“Miss Woodford,” said a voice at the door, and going +to it, Anne found herself clasped in her uncle’s arms. With +very few words she led him to the bedside, and the first thing he said +was “God bless you, Peregrine, for what you have done.”</p> +<p>Again Peregrine’s face lighted up, but fell again when he was +told of the Portsmouth surgeon’s arrival at the same time, saying +with one of his strange looks that it was odd sort of mercy to try to +cure a man for Jack Ketch, but that he should baffle them yet.</p> +<p>“Do not set your mind on that,” said Dr. Woodford, “for +Lord Cutts was so much pleased with you that he would do his utmost +on your behalf.”</p> +<p>“Much good that would do me,” said poor Peregrine, setting +his teeth as his tormentor came in.</p> +<p>Meantime, in Mrs. Dudley’s parlour, while that good lady was +assisting the surgeon at the dressing, Anne and her uncle exchanged +information. Mr. Fellowes had arrived on foot at about noon, with +his servant, having only been released after two hours by a traveller, +and having been deprived both of money and horses, so that he could +not proceed on his journey; besides that he had given the alarm about +the abduction, and raised the hue and cry at the villages on his way. +There had been great distress, riding and searching, and the knowledge +had been kept from poor Charles Archfield in his prison. Mr. Fellowes +had gone on to London as soon as possible, and Dr. Woodford had just +returned from a fruitless attempt to trace his niece, when Sir Edmund +Nutley and Lord Cutts appeared, with the joyful tidings, which, however, +could be hardly understood.</p> +<p>Nothing, Dr. Woodford said, could be more thorough than the vindication +of Charles Archfield. Peregrine had fully stated that the young +man had merely interposed to prevent the pursuit of Anne Woodford, that +it was he himself who had made the first attack, and that his opponent +had been forced to fight in self-defence. Lord Cutts had not only +shown his affidavit to Sir Philip, but had paid a visit to the Colonel +himself in his prison, had complimented him highly on his services in +the Imperial army, only regretting that they had not been on behalf +of his own country, and had assured him of equal, if not superior rank, +in the British army if he would join it on the liberation that he might +reckon upon in the course of a very few days.</p> +<p>“How did you work on the unhappy young man to bring about this +blessed change?” asked the Doctor.</p> +<p>“Oh, sir, I do not think it was myself. It was first +the mercy of the Almighty, and then my blessed mother’s holy memory +working on him, revived by the sight of myself. I cannot describe +to you how gentle, and courteous, and respectful he was to me all along, +though I am sure those dreadful men mocked at him for it. Do you +know whether his father has heard?”</p> +<p>“Robert Oakshott is gone in search of him. He had set +off to beat up the country, good old man, to obtain signatures to the +petition in favour of our prisoner, and Robert expected to find him +with Mr. Chute at the Vine. It is much to that young man’s +credit, niece, he was so eager to see his brother that he longed to +come with me himself; but he thought that the shock to his father would +be so great that he ought to bear the tidings himself. And what +do you think his good wife is about? Perhaps you did not know +that Sedley Archfield brought away jail fever with him, and Mrs. Oakshott, +feeling that she was the cause by her hasty action, has taken lodgings +for him in Winchester, and is nursing him like a sister. No. +You need not fear for your colonel, my dear maid. Sedley caught +the infection because he neither was, nor wished to be, secluded from +the rest of the prisoners, some of whom were, I fear, only too congenial +society to him. But now tell me the story of your own deliverance, +which seems to me nothing short of miraculous.”</p> +<p>The visit of the Portsmouth surgeon only confirmed Peregrine’s +own impression that it was impossible that he should live, and he was +only surviving by the strong vitality in his little, spare, wiry frame. +Dr. Woodford, after hearing Anne’s story, thought it well to ask +him whether he would prefer the ministrations of a Roman Catholic priest; +but whether justly or unjustly, Peregrine seemed to impute to that Church +the failure to exorcise the malignant spirit which had led him to far +worse aberrations than he had confessed to Anne. Though by no +means deficient in knowledge or controversian theology, as Dr. Woodford +soon found in conversation with him, his real convictions were all as +to what personally affected him, and his strong Protestant ingrain education, +however he might have disavowed it, no doubt had affected his point +of view. He had admired and been strongly influenced by the sight +of real devotion and holiness, though as his temptations and hatred +of monotony recurred, he had more than once swung back again. +Then, however, he had been revolted by the perception of the concessions +to popular superstition and the morality of a wicked state of society. +His real sense of any religion had been infused by Mrs. Woodford, and +to her belongings, and the faith they involved, he was clinging in these +last days.</p> +<p>Dr. Woodford could not but be glad that thus it was, not only on +the penitent’s own account, but on that of the father, who might +have lost the comfort of finding him truly repentant in the shock of +finding a Popish priest at his bedside. And indeed the contrition +seemed to have gathered force in many a past fit of remorse, and now +was deep but not unhopeful.</p> +<p>In the evening the father and brother arrived. The Major was +now an old man, hale indeed, and with the beauty that a pure, self-restrained +life often sheds on an aged man. He was much shaken, and when +he came in, with his own white hair on his shoulders, and actually tears +in his eyes, the look that passed between them was like nothing but +the spirit of the parable so often, but never too often, repeated.</p> +<p>Peregrine, who never perhaps had spent a happy or fearless hour with +him, and had dreaded his coming, felt probably for the first time the +mysterious sense of home and peace given by the presence of those between +whom there is the tie of blood. Not many words passed; he was +hardly in a state for them, but from that time, he was never so happy +as when his father and brother were beside him; and they seldom left +him, the Major sitting day and night by his pillow attending to his +wants, or saying words of prayer.</p> +<p>The old man had become much softened, by nothing more perhaps than +watching the way in which his daughter-in-law dealt with the manifestations +of the Oakshott imp nature in her eldest child.</p> +<p>“If I had understood,” he said to Dr. Woodford. +“If I had so treated that poor boy, never would he have been as +he is now.”</p> +<p>“You acted according to your conscience.”</p> +<p>“Ah, sir! a man does not grow old without learning that the +conscience may be blinded, above all by the spirit of opposition and +party.”</p> +<p>“I will not say there were no mistakes,” said the Doctor; +“and yet, sir, the high standard, sound principle, and strong +faith he learnt from you and your example have prevailed to bear him +through.”</p> +<p>The Major answered with a groan, but added, “And yet, even +now, stained as he tells me he is, and cut off in the flower of his +age, I thank my God and his Saviour, and after Him, you and yours, that +I am happier about him than I have been these eight and twenty years.”</p> +<p>With no scruple, Major Oakshott threw his heart into the ministrations +of Dr. Woodford, which Peregrine declared kept at bay the Evil Angel +who more than once seemed to his consciousness to be striving to make +him despair, while friend and father brought him back to the one hope.</p> +<p>From time to time Anne visited him for a short interval, always to +his joy and gratitude. There was one visit at last which all knew +would be the final one, when she shared in his first and last English +Communion. As she was about to leave him, he held her hand, and +signed to her to bend down to hear him better. “If you can, +let good Father Seyton at Douai know that peace is come—the Evil +One beaten, thanks to Him who giveth us the victory—and I thank +them all there—and ask their prayers.”</p> +<p>“I will, I will.”</p> +<p>Some one at the door said, “May I come in?”</p> +<p>There was a sunburnt face, a head with long brown hair, a white coat.</p> +<p>“Archfield?” asked Peregrine. “Come, send +me away with pardon.”</p> +<p>“’Tis yours I need;” and as Charles knelt by the +bed the two faces, one all health, the other gray and deathly, were +close together. “You have given your life for mine, and +given <i>her</i>. How shall I thank you?”</p> +<p>“Make her happy. She deserves it.”</p> +<p>Charles clasped her hand with a look that was enough. Then +with a strange smile, half sweetness, half the contortion of a mortal +pang, the dying man said, “May she kiss me once?”</p> +<p>And when her lips had touched the cold damp brow—</p> +<p>“There—My fourth seven. At last! The change +is come. Old—impish—evil—self left behind. +At last! Thanks to Him who treads down Satan under our feet. +Thanks! Take her away now.”</p> +<p>Charles took her away, scarce knowing where they went,—out +into the spring sunshine, on the slopes above the turf bowling-green, +where the captive King had beguiled his weary hours. Only then +would awe and emotion let them speak, though his arm was round her, +her hand in his, and his first words were, as he looked at the scarf +that still bore up her arm, “And this is what you have borne for +me?”</p> +<p>“It is all but healed. Don’t think of it.”</p> +<p>“I shall all my life! Poor fellow, he might well bid +me deserve you. I never can. ’Tis to you I owe all. +I believe, indeed, the ambassador might have claimed me, but he is so +tardy that probably I should have been hanged long before the proper +form was ready; and it would have been to exile, and with a tainted +name. You have won for me the clearing of name and honour—home, +parents and child and all, besides your sweet self.”</p> +<p>“And it was not me, but he whom we so despised and dreaded. +Had I not been seized, I could only have implored for you.”</p> +<p>“I know this, that if you had not been what you are, my boy +would have borne a dishonoured name, and we should never have been together +as now.”</p> +<p>It was in truth their first meeting in freedom and security as lovers; +but it could only be in a grave, quiet fashion, under the knowledge +that he, to whom their re-union was chiefly owing, was breathing out +the life he had sacrificed for them. Thus they only gently and +in a low voice went over their past doings and feelings as they walked +up and down together, till Dr. Woodford came in the sunset to tell them +that the change so longed for had come in peace, and with a smile that +told of release from the Evil Angel.</p> +<p>* * * * * </p> +<p>Peregrine’s wish was fulfilled, and he was buried in Portchester +Churchyard at Mrs. Woodford’s feet. This time it was Mr. +Horncastle, old as he was, who preached the funeral sermon, the <i>In +Memoriam</i> of our forefathers; and by special desire of Major Oakshott +took for his text, ‘At evening time there shall be light.’ +He spoke, sometimes in a voice broken, as much by feeling as by age, +of the childhood blighted by a cruel superstition, and perverted, as +he freely made confession, by discipline without comprehension, because +no confidence had been sought. Then ensued a tribute of earnest, +generous justice to her who had done her best to undo the warp in the +boy’s nature, and whose blessed influence the young man had owned +to the last, through all the temptations, errors, and frenzies of his +life. Nor did the good man fail to make this a means of testifying +to the entire neighbourhood, who had flocked to hear him, all that might +be desirable to be known respecting the conflict at Portchester, actually +reading Peregrine’s affidavit, as indeed was due to Colonel Archfield, +so as to prove that this was no mere pardon, though technically it had +so to stand, but actual acquittal. Nor was the struggle with evil +at the end forgotten, nor the surrender alike of love and of hatred, +as well as of his own life, which had been the final conquest, the decisive +passing from darkness to light.</p> +<p>It was a strange sermon according to present ideas, but not to those +who had grown up to the semi-political preaching of the century then +in its last decade; and it filled many eyes with tears, many hearts +with a deeper spirit of that charity which hopeth all things.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>A month later Charles Archfield and Anne Jacobina Woodford were married +at the little parish church of Fareham. Sir Philip insisted on +making it a gay and brilliant wedding, in order to demonstrate to the +neighbourhood that though the maiden had been his grandson’s governess, +she was a welcomed and honoured acquisition to the family. Perhaps +too he perceived the error of his middle age, when he contrasted that +former wedding, the work of worldly conventionality, with the present. +In the first, an unformed, undeveloped lad, unable to understand his +own true feelings and affections had been passively linked to a shallow, +frivolous, ill-trained creature, utterly incapable of growing into a +helpmeet for him; whereas the love and trust of the stately-looking +pair, in the fresh bloom of manhood and womanhood, had been proved in +the furnace of trial, so that the troth they plighted had deep foundation +for the past, and bright hope for the future.</p> +<p>Nor was anybody more joyous than little Philip, winning his Nana +for a better mother to him than his own could ever have been</p> +<p>It was in a blue velvet coat that Colonel Archfield was married. +He had resigned his Austrian commission; and though the ‘Salamander,’ +was empowered to offer him an excellent staff appointment in the English +army, he decided to refuse. Sir Philip showed signs of having +been aged and shaken by the troubles of the winter, and required his +son’s assistance in the care of his property, and little Philip +was growing up to need a father’s hand, so that Charles came to +the conclusion that there was no need to cross the old Cavalier’s +dislike to the new regime, nor to make his mother and wife again suffer +the anxieties of knowing him on active service, while his duties lay +at home.</p> +<p>Sedley Archfield, after a long illness, owed recovery both in body +and mind to Mrs. Oakshott, and by her arrangement finally obtained a +fresh commission in a regiment raised for the defence of the possessions +of the East India Company. And that the poor changeling was still +tenderly remembered might be proved by the fact that when the bells +rung for Queen Anne’s coronation there was one baby Peregrine +at Fareham and another at Oakwood.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A REPUTED CHANGELING***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 12449-h.htm or 12449-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/4/4/12449 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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