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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3030-0.txt b/3030-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0fb6cfd --- /dev/null +++ b/3030-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8671 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tavern Knight, by Rafael Sabatini + +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: The Tavern Knight + +Author: Rafael Sabatini + +Posting Date: February 28, 2009 [EBook #3030] +Release Date: January, 2002 +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TAVERN KNIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Polly Stratton + + + + + +THE TAVERN KNIGHT + + +By Rafael Sabatini + + + +CONTENTS + + I. ON THE MARCH + + II. ARCADES AMBO + + III. THE LETTER + + IV. AT THE SIGN OF THE MITRE + + V. AFTER WORCESTER FIELD + + VI. COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE + + VII. THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY + + VIII. THE TWISTED BAR + + IX. THE BARGAIN + + X. THE ESCAPE + + XI. THE ASHBURNS + + XII. THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S + + XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH + + XIV. THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN + + XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN + + XVI. THE RECKONING + + XVII. JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN + + XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT + + XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY + + XX. THE CONVERTED HOGAN + + XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE + + XXII. SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING + + XXIII. GREGORY'S ATTRITION + + XXIV. THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA + + XXV. CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT + + XXVI. TO FRANCE + + XXVII. THE AUBERGINE DU SOLEIL + + + + + +THE TAVERN KNIGHT + + + + +CHAPTER I. ON THE MARCH + +He whom they called the Tavern Knight laughed an evil laugh--such a +laugh as might fall from the lips of Satan in a sardonic moment. + +He sat within the halo of yellow light shed by two tallow candles, whose +sconces were two empty bottles, and contemptuously he eyed the youth +in black, standing with white face and quivering lip in a corner of +the mean chamber. Then he laughed again, and in a hoarse voice, sorely +suggestive of the bottle, he broke into song. He lay back in his chair, +his long, spare legs outstretched, his spurs jingling to the lilt of his +ditty whose burden ran: + + On the lip so red of the wench that's sped + His passionate kiss burns, still-O! + For 'tis April time, and of love and wine + Youth's way is to take its fill-O! + Down, down, derry-do! + + So his cup he drains and he shakes his reins, + And rides his rake-helly way-O! + She was sweet to woo and most comely, too, + But that was all yesterday-O! + Down, down, derry-do! + +The lad started forward with something akin to a shiver. + +“Have done,” he cried, in a voice of loathing, “or, if croak you must, +choose a ditty less foul!” + +“Eh?” The ruffler shook back the matted hair from his lean, harsh +face, and a pair of eyes that of a sudden seemed ablaze glared at his +companion; then the lids drooped until those eyes became two narrow +slits--catlike and cunning--and again he laughed. + +“Gad's life, Master Stewart, you have a temerity that should save +you from grey hairs! What is't to you what ditty my fancy seizes on? +'Swounds, man, for three weary months have I curbed my moods, and worn +my throat dry in praising the Lord; for three months have I been a +living monument of Covenanting zeal and godliness; and now that at last +I have shaken the dust of your beggarly Scotland from my heels, you--the +veriest milksop that ever ran tottering from its mother's lap would +chide me because, yon bottle being done, I sing to keep me from waxing +sad in the contemplation of its emptiness!” + +There was scorn unutterable on the lad's face as he turned aside. + +“When I joined Middleton's horse and accepted service under you, I held +you to be at least a gentleman,” was his daring rejoinder. + +For an instant that dangerous light gleamed again from his companion's +eye. Then, as before, the lids drooped, and, as before, he laughed. + +“Gentleman!” he mocked. “On my soul, that's good! And what may you know +of gentlemen, Sir Scot? Think you a gentleman is a Jack Presbyter, or a +droning member of your kirk committee, strutting it like a crow in +the gutter? Gadswounds, boy, when I was your age, and George Villiers +lived--” + +“Oh, have done!” broke in the youth impetuously. “Suffer me to leave +you, Sir Crispin, to your bottle, your croaking, and your memories.” + +“Aye, go your ways, sir; you'd be sorry company for a dead man--the +sorriest ever my evil star led me into. The door is yonder, and should +you chance to break your saintly neck on the stairs, it is like to be +well for both of us.” + +And with that Sir Crispin Galliard lay back in his chair once more, and +took up the thread of his interrupted song + + But, heigh-o! she cried, at the Christmas-tide, + That dead she would rather be-O! + Pale and wan she crept out of sight, and wept + + 'Tis a sorry-- + +A loud knock that echoed ominously through the mean chamber, fell in +that instant upon the door. And with it came a panting cry of-- + +“Open, Cris! Open, for the love of God!” + +Sir Crispin's ballad broke off short, whilst the lad paused in the act +of quitting the room, and turned to look to him for direction. + +“Well, my master,” quoth Galliard, “for what do you wait?” + +“To learn your wishes, sir,” was the answer sullenly delivered. + +“My wishes! Rat me, there's one without whose wishes brook less waiting! +Open, fool!” + +Thus rudely enjoined, the lad lifted the latch and set wide the door, +which opened immediately upon the street. Into the apartment stumbled a +roughly clad man of huge frame. He was breathing hard, and fear was writ +large upon his rugged face. An instant he paused to close the door after +him, then turning to Galliard, who had risen and who stood eyeing him in +astonishment-- + +“Hide me somewhere, Cris,” he panted--his accent proclaiming his Irish +origin. “My God, hide me, or I'm a dead man this night!” + +“'Slife, Hogan! What is toward? Has Cromwell overtaken us?” + +“Cromwell, quotha? Would to Heaven 'twere no worse! I've killed a man!” + +“If he's dead, why run?” + +The Irishman made an impatient gesture. + +“A party of Montgomery's foot is on my heels. They've raised the whole +of Penrith over the affair, and if I'm taken, soul of my body, 'twill be +a short shrift they'll give me. The King will serve me as poor Wrycraft +was served two days ago at Kendal. Mother of Mercy!” he broke off, +as his ear caught the clatter of feet and the murmur of voices from +without. “Have you a hole I can creep into?” + +“Up those stairs and into my room with you!” said Crispin shortly. “I +will try to head them off. Come, man, stir yourself; they are here.” + +Then, as with nimble alacrity Hogan obeyed him and slipped from the +room, he turned to the lad, who had been a silent spectator of what +had passed. From the pocket of his threadbare doublet he drew a pack of +greasy playing cards. + +“To table,” he said laconically. + +But the boy, comprehending what was required of him, drew back at sight +of those cards as one might shrink from a thing unclean. + +“Never!” he began. “I'll not defile--” + +“To table, fool!” thundered Crispin, with a vehemence few men could have +withstood. “Is this a time for Presbyterian scruples? To table, and help +a me play this game, or, by the living God, I'll--” Without completing +his threat he leaned forward until Kenneth felt his hot, wine-laden +breath upon his cheek. Cowed by his words, his gesture, and above all, +his glance, the lad drew up a chair, mumbling in explanation--intended +as an excuse to himself for his weakness--that he submitted since a +man's life was at stake. + +Opposite him Galliard resumed his seat with a mocking smile that made +him wince. Taking up the cards, he flung a portion of them to the boy, +whilst those he retained he spread fanwise in his hand as if about to +play. Silently Kenneth copied his actions. + +Nearer and louder grew the sounds of the approach, lights flashed before +the window, and the two men, feigning to play, sat on and waited. + +“Have a care, Master Stewart,” growled Crispin sourly, then in a louder +voice--for his quick eye had caught a glimpse of a face that watched +them from the window--“I play the King of Spades!” he cried, with +meaning look. + +A blow was struck upon the door, and with it came the command to “Open +in the King's name!” Softly Sir Crispin rapped out an oath. Then he +rose, and with a last look of warning to Kenneth, he went to open. +And as he had greeted Hogan he now greeted the crowd mainly of +soldiers--that surged about the threshold. + +“Sirs, why this ado? Hath the Sultan Oliver descended upon us?” + +In one hand he still held his cards, the other he rested upon the edge +of the open door. It was a young ensign who stood forward to answer him. + +“One of Lord Middleton's officers hath done a man to death not half an +hour agone; he is an Irishman Captain Hogan by name.” + +“Hogan--Hogan?” repeated Crispin, after the manner of one who fumbles in +his memory. “Ah, yes--an Irishman with a grey head and a hot temper. And +he is dead, you say?” + +“Nay, he has done the killing.” + +“That I can better understand. 'Tis not the first time, I'll be sworn.” + +“But it will be the last, Sir Crispin.” + +“Like enough. The King is severe since we crossed the Border.” Then in +a brisker tone: “I thank you for bringing me this news,” said he, “and I +regret that in my poor house there be naught I can offer you wherein to +drink His Majesty's health ere you proceed upon your search. Give you +good night, sir.” And by drawing back a pace he signified his wish to +close the door and be quit of them. + +“We thought,” faltered the young officer, “that--that perchance you +would assist us by--” + +“Assist you!” roared Crispin, with a fine assumption of anger. “Assist +you take a man? Sink me, sir, I would have you know I am a soldier, not +a tipstaff!” + +The ensign's cheeks grew crimson under the sting of that veiled insult. + +“There are some, Sir Crispin, that have yet another name for you.” + +“Like enough--when I am not by,” sneered Crispin. “The world is full of +foul tongues in craven heads. But, sirs, the night air is chill and you +are come inopportunely, for, as you'll perceive, I was at play. Haply +you'll suffer me to close the door.” + +“A moment, Sir Crispin. We must search this house. He is believed to +have come this way.” + +Crispin yawned. “I will spare you the trouble. You may take it from me +that he could not be here without my knowledge. I have been in this room +these two hours past.” + +“Twill not suffice,” returned the officer doggedly. “We must satisfy +ourselves.” + +“Satisfy yourselves?” echoed the other, in tones of deep amazement. +“What better satisfaction can I afford you than my word? 'Swounds, sir +jackanapes,” he added, in a roar that sent the lieutenant back a pace +as though he had been struck, “am I to take it that your errand is a +trumped-up business to affront me? First you invite me to turn tipstaff, +then you add your cursed innuendoes of what people say of me, and now +you end by doubting me! You must satisfy yourself!” he thundered, waxing +fiercer at every word. “Linger another moment on that threshold, and +d----n me, sir, I'll give you satisfaction of another flavour! Be off!” + +Before that hurricane of passion the ensign recoiled, despite himself. + +“I will appeal to General Montgomery,” he threatened. + +“Appeal to the devil! Had you come hither with your errand in a seemly +fashion you had found my door thrown wide in welcome, and I had received +you courteously. As it is, sir, the cause for complaint is on my side, +and complain I will. We shall see whether the King permits an old +soldier who has followed the fortunes of his family these eighteen years +to be flouted by a malapert bantam of yesterday's brood!” + +The subaltern paused in dismay. Some demur there was in the gathered +crowd. Then the officer fell back a pace, and consulted an elderly +trooper at his elbow. The trooper was of opinion that the fugitive must +have gone farther. Moreover, he could not think, from what Sir Crispin +had said, that it would have been possible for Hogan to have entered the +house. With this, and realizing that much trouble and possible loss of +time must result from Sir Crispin's obstinacy, did they attempt to force +a way into the house, and bethinking himself, also, maybe, how well this +rascally ruffler stood with Lord Middleton, the ensign determined to +withdraw, and to seek elsewhere. + +And so he took his leave with a venomous glance, and a parting threat +to bring the matter to the King's ears, upon which Galliard slammed the +door before he had finished. + +There was a curious smile on Crispin's face as he walked slowly to the +table, and resumed his seat. + +“Master Stewart,” he whispered, as he spread his cards anew, “the comedy +is not yet played out. There is a face glued to the window at this +moment, and I make little doubt that for the next hour or so we shall be +spied upon. That pretty fellow was born to be a thief-taker.” + +The boy turned a glance of sour reproof upon his companion. He had not +stirred from his chair while Crispin had been at the door. + +“You lied to them,” he said at last. + +“Sh! Not so loud, sweet youth,” was the answer that lost nothing of +menace by being subdued. “Tomorrow, if you please, I will account to +you for offending your delicate soul by suggesting a falsehood in your +presence. To-night we have a man's life to save, and that, I think, is +work enough. Come, Master Stewart, we are being watched. Let us resume +our game.” + +His eye, fixed in cold command upon the boy, compelled obedience. +And the lad, more out of awe of that glance than out of any desire to +contribute to the saving of Hogan, mutely consented to keep up this +pretence. But in his soul he rebelled. He had been reared in an +atmosphere of honourable and religious bigotry. Hogan was to him a +coarse ruffler; an evil man of the sword; such a man as he abhorred and +accounted a disgrace to any army--particularly to an army launched upon +England under the auspices of the Solemn League and Covenant. + +Hogan had been guilty of an act of brutality; he had killed a man; and +Kenneth deemed himself little better, since he assisted in harbouring +instead of discovering him, as he held to be his duty. But 'neath the +suasion of Galliard's inexorable eye he sat limp and docile, vowing +to himself that on the morrow he would lay the matter before Lord +Middleton, and thus not only endeavour to make amends for his present +guilty silence, but rid himself also of the companionship of this +ruffianly Sir Crispin, to whom no doubt a hempen justice would be meted. + +Meanwhile, he sat on and left his companion's occasional sallies +unanswered. In the street men stirred and lanthorns gleamed fitfully, +whilst ever and anon a face surmounted by a morion would be pressed +against the leaded panes of the window. + +Thus an hour wore itself out during which poor Hogan sat above, alone +with his anxiety and unsavoury thoughts. + + + + +CHAPTER II. ARCADES AMBO + + +Towards midnight at last Sir Crispin flung down his cards and rose. It +was close upon an hour and a half since Hogan's advent. In the streets +the sounds had gradually died down, and peace seemed to reign again +in Penrith. Yet was Sir Crispin cautious--for to be cautious and +mistrustful of appearances was the lesson life had taught him. + +“Master Stewart,” said he, “it grows late, and I doubt me you would be +abed. Give you good night!” + +The lad rose. A moment he paused, hesitating, then-- + +“To-morrow, Sir Crispin--” he began. But Crispin cut him short. + +“Leave to-morrow till it dawn, my friend. Give you good night. Take one +of those noisome tapers with you, and go.” + +In sullen silence the boy took up one of the candle-bearing bottles and +passed out through the door leading to the stairs. + +For a moment Crispin remained standing by the table, and in that moment +the expression of his face was softened. A momentary regret of his +treatment of the boy stirred in him. Master Stewart might be a milksop, +but Crispin accounted him leastways honest, and had a kindness for +him in spite of all. He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide he +leaned out, as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed the +refrain of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance listeners. + +For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the occasion +to let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were alert for the +least movement among the shadows of the street. Reassured at last that +the house was no longer being watched, he drew back, and closed the +lattice. + +Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his bed, +awaiting him. + +“Soul of my body!” cried Hogan ruefully, “I was never nearer being +afraid in my life.” + +Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale of what +had passed. + +“Tis simple enough, faith,” said Hogan coolly. “The landlord of The +Angel hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his inn--who owns +a pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a man saw perdition in. She +hath, moreover, a taste for dalliance, and my brave looks and martial +trappings did for her what her bold eyes had done for me. We were +becoming the sweetest friends, when, like an incarnate fiend, that +loutish clown, her lover, sweeps down upon us, and, with more jealousy +than wit, struck me--struck me, Harry Hogan! Soul of my body, think of +it, Cris!” And he grew red with anger at the recollection. “I took +him by the collar of his mean smock and flung him into the kennel--the +fittest bed he ever lay in. Had he remained there it had been well +for him; but the fool, accounting himself affronted, came up to demand +satisfaction. I gave it him, and plague on it--he's dead!” + +“An ugly tale,” was Crispin's sour comment. + +“Ugly, maybe,” returned Hogan, spreading out his palms, “but what choice +had I? The fool came at me, bilbo in hand, and I was forced to draw.' + +“But not to slay, Hogan!” + +“Twas an accident. Sink me, it was! I sought his sword-arm; but the +light was bad, and my point went through his chest instead.” + +For a moment Crispin stood frowning, then his brow cleared, as though he +had put the matter from him. + +“Well, well--since he's dead, there's an end to it.” + +“Heaven rest his soul!” muttered the Irishman, crossing himself piously. +And with that he dismissed the subject of the great wrong that through +folly he had wrought--the wanton destruction of a man's life, and the +poisoning of a woman's with a remorse that might be everlasting. + +“It will tax our wits to get you out of Penrith,” said Crispin. Then, +turning and looking into the Irishman's great, good-humoured face--“I am +sorry you leave us, Hogan,” he added. + +“Not so am I,” quoth Hogan with a shrug. “Such a march as this is little +to my taste. Bah! Charles Stuart or Oliver Cromwell, 'tis all one to me. +What care I whether King or Commonwealth prevail? Shall Harry Hogan be +the better or the richer under one than under the other? Oddslife, Cris, +I have trailed a pike or handled a sword in well-nigh every army in +Europe. I know more of the great art of war than all the King's generals +rolled into one. Think you, then, I can rest content with a miserable +company of horse when plunder is forbidden, and even our beggarly pay +doubtful? Whilst, should things go ill--as well they may, faith, with +an army ruled by parsons--the wage will be a swift death on field or +gallows, or a lingering one in the plantations, as fell to the lot of +those poor wretches Noll drove into England after Dunbar. Soul of my +body, it is not thus that I had looked to fare when I took service at +Perth. I had looked for plunder, rich and plentiful plunder, according +to the usages of warfare, as a fitting reward for a toilsome march and +the perils gone through. + +“Thus I know war, and for this have I followed the trade these twenty +years. Instead, we have thirty thousand men, marching to battle as prim +and orderly as a parcel of acolytes in a Corpus-Christi procession. +'Twas not so bad in Scotland haply because the country holds naught +a man may profitably plunder--but since we have crossed the Border, +'slife, they'll hang you if you steal so much as a kiss from a wench in +passing.” + +“Why, true,” laughed Crispin, “the Second Charles hath an over-tender +stomach. He will not allow that we are marching through an enemy's +country; he insists that England is his kingdom, forgetting that he has +yet to conquer it, and--” + +“Was it not also his father's kingdom?” broke in the impetuous Hogan. +“Yet times are sorely changed since we followed the fortunes of the +Martyr. In those days you might help yourself to a capon, a horse, +a wench, or any other trifle of the enemy's, without ever a word of +censure or a question asked. Why, man, it is but two days since His +Majesty had a poor devil hanged at Kendal for laying violent hands upon +a pullet. Pox on it, Cris, my gorge rises at the thought! When I +saw that wretch strung up, I swore to fall behind at the earliest +opportunity, and to-night's affair makes this imperative.” + +“And what may your plans be?” asked Crispin. + +“War is my trade, not a diversion, as it is with Wilmot and Buckingham +and the other pretty gentlemen of our train. And since the King's army +is like to yield me no profit, faith, I'll turn me to the Parliament's. +If I get out of Penrith with my life, I'll shave my beard and cut my +hair to a comely and godly length; don a cuckoldy steeple hat and a +black coat, and carry my sword to Cromwell with a line of text.” + +Sir Crispin fell to pondering. Noting this, and imagining that he +guessed aright the reason: + +“I take it, Cris,” he put in, keenly glancing at the other, “that you +are much of my mind?” + +“Maybe I am,” replied Crispin carelessly. + +“Why, then,” cried Hogan, “need we part company?” + +There was a sudden eagerness in his tone, born of the admiration in +which this rough soldier of fortune held one whom he accounted his +better in that same harsh trade. But Galliard answered coldly: + +“You forget, Harry.” + +“Not so! Surely on Cromwell's side your object--” + +“T'sh! I have well considered. My fortunes are bound up with the King's. +In his victory alone lies profit for me; not the profit of pillage, +Hogan, but the profit of those broad lands that for nigh upon twenty +years have been in usurping hands. The profit I look for, Hogan, is my +restoration to Castle Marleigh, and of this my only hope lies in the +restoration of King Charles. If the King doth not prevail--which God +forfend!--why, then, I can but die. I shall have naught left to hope for +from life. So you see, good Hogan,” he ended with a regretful smile, “my +going with you is not to be dreamed of.” + +Still the Irishman urged him, and a good half-hour did he devote to it, +but in vain. Realizing at last the futility of his endeavours, he sighed +and moved uneasily in his chair, whilst the broad, tanned face was +clouded with regret. Crispin saw this, and approaching him, he laid a +hand upon his shoulder. + +“I had counted upon your help to clear the Ashburns from Castle Marleigh +and to aid me in my grim work when the time is ripe. But if you go--” + +“Faith, I may aid you yet. Who shall say?” Then of a sudden there crept +into the voice of this hardened pike-trader a note of soft concern. +“Think you there be danger to yourself in remaining?” he inquired. + +“Danger? To me?” echoed Crispin. + +“Aye--for having harboured me. That whelp of Montgomery's Foot suspects +you.” + +“Suspects? Am I a man of straw to be overset by a breath of suspicion?” + +“There is your lieutenant, Kenneth Stewart.” + +“Who has been a party to your escape, and whose only course is therefore +silence, lest he set a noose about his own neck. Come, Harry,” he added, +briskly, changing his manner, “the night wears on, and we have your +safety to think of.” + +Hogan rose with a sigh. + +“Give me a horse,” said he, “and by God's grace tomorrow shall find me +in Cromwell's camp. Heaven prosper and reward you, Cris.” + +“We must find you clothes more fitting than these--a coat more staid and +better attuned to the Puritan part you are to play.” + +“Where have you such a coat?” + +“My lieutenant has. He affects the godly black, from a habit taken in +that Presbyterian Scotland of his.” + +“But I am twice his bulk!” + +“Better a tight coat to your back than a tight rope to your neck, Harry. +Wait.” + +Taking a taper, he left the room, to return a moment later with the coat +that Kenneth had worn that day, and which he had abstracted from the +sleeping lad's chamber. + +“Off with your doublet,” he commanded, and as he spoke he set himself to +empty the pocket of Kenneth's garment; a handkerchief and a few papers +he found in them, and these he tossed carelessly on the bed. Next he +assisted the Irishman to struggle into the stolen coat. + +“May the Lord forgive my sins,” groaned Hogan, as he felt the cloth +straining upon his back and cramping his limbs. “May He forgive me, and +see me safely out of Penrith and into Cromwell's camp, and never again +will I resent the resentment of a clown whose sweetheart I have made too +free with.” + +“Pluck that feather from your hat,” said Crispin. + +Hogan obeyed him with a sigh. + +“Truly it is written in Scripture that man in his time plays many parts. +Who would have thought to see Harry Hogan playing the Puritan?” + +“Unless you improve your acquaintance with Scripture you are not like to +play it long,” laughed Crispin, as he surveyed him. “There, man, you'll +do well enough. Your coat is somewhat tight in the back, somewhat short +in the skirt; but neither so tight nor so short but that it may be +preferred to a winding-sheet, and that is the alternative, Harry.” + +Hogan replied by roundly cursing the coat and his own lucklessness. That +done--and in no measured terms--he pronounced himself ready to set out, +whereupon Crispin led the way below once more, and out into a hut that +did service as a stable. + +By the light of a lanthorn he saddled one of the two nags that stood +there, and led it into the yard. Opening the door that abutted on to +a field beyond, he bade Hogan mount. He held his stirrup for him, and +cutting short the Irishman's voluble expressions of gratitude, he gave +him “God speed,” and urged him to use all dispatch in setting as great a +distance as possible betwixt himself and Penrith before the dawn. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE LETTER + + +It was with a countenance sadly dejected that Crispin returned to his +chamber and sate himself wearily upon the bed. With elbows on his knees +and chin in his palms he stared straight before him, the usual steely +brightness of his grey eyes dulled by the despondency that sat upon his +face and drew deep furrows down his fine brow. + +With a sigh he rose at last and idly fingered the papers he had taken +from the pocket of Kenneth's coat. As he did so his glance was arrested +by the signature at the foot of one. “Gregory Ashburn” was the name he +read. + +Ashen grew his cheeks as his eyes fastened upon that name, whilst the +hand, to which no peril ever brought a tremor, shook now like an aspen. +Feverishly he spread the letter on his knee, and with a glance, from +dull that it had been, grown of a sudden fierce and cruel, he read the +contents. + + + +DEAR KENNETH, + +Again I write in the hope that I may prevail upon you to quit Scotland +and your attachment to a king, whose fortunes prosper not, nor can +prosper. Cynthia is pining, and if you tarry longer from Castle Marleigh +she must perforce think you but a laggard lover. Than this I have no +more powerful argument wherewith to draw you from Perth to Sheringham, +but this I think should prevail where others have failed me. We await +you then, and whilst we wait we daily drink your health. Cynthia +commends herself to your memory as doth my brother, and soon we hope to +welcome you at Castle Marleigh. Believe, my dear Kenneth, that whilst I +am, I am yours in affection. + + GREGORY ASHBURN + +Twice Crispin read the letter through. Then with set teeth and straining +eyes he sat lost in thought. + +Here indeed was a strange chance! This boy whom he had met at Perth, +and enrolled in his company, was a friend of Ashburn's--the lover of +Cynthia. Who might this Cynthia be? + +Long and deep were his ponderings upon the unfathomable ways of +Fate--for Fate he now believed was here at work to help him, revealing +herself by means of this sign even at the very moment when he decried +his luck. In memory he reviewed his meeting with the lad in the yard +of Perth Castle a fortnight ago. Something in the boy's bearing, in his +air, had caught Crispin's eye. He had looked him over, then approached, +and bluntly asked his name and on what business he was come there. The +youth had answered him civilly enough that he was Kenneth Stewart +of Bailienochy, and that he was come to offer his sword to the King. +Thereupon he had interested himself in the lad's behalf and had gained +him a lieutenancy in his own company. Why he was attracted to a youth +on whom never before had he set eyes was a matter that puzzled him not +a little. Now he held, he thought, the explanation of it. It was the way +of Fate. + +This boy was sent into his life by a Heaven that at last showed +compassion for the deep wrongs he had suffered; sent him as a key +wherewith, should the need occur, to open him the gates of Castle +Marleigh. + +In long strides he paced the chamber, turning the matter over in his +mind. Aye, he would use the lad should the need arise. Why scruple? Had +he ever received aught but disdain and scorn at the hands of Kenneth. + +Day was breaking ere he sought his bed, and already the sun was up when +at length he fell into a troubled sleep, vowing that he would mend his +wild ways and seek to gain the boy's favour against the time when he +might have need of him. + +When later he restored the papers to Kenneth, explaining to what use he +had put the coat, he refrained from questioning him concerning Gregory +Ashburn. The docility of his mood on that occasion came as a surprise to +Kenneth, who set it down to Sir Crispin's desire to conciliate him into +silence touching the harbouring of Hogan. In that same connexion Crispin +showed him calmly and clearly that he could not now inform without +involving himself to an equally dangerous extent. And partly through +the fear of this, partly won over by Crispin's persuasions, the lad +determined to hold his peace. + +Nor had he cause to regret it thereafter, for throughout that tedious +march he found his roystering companion singularly meek and kindly. +Indeed he seemed a different man. His old swagger and roaring bluster +disappeared; he drank less, diced less, blasphemed less, and stormed +less than in the old days before the halt at Penrith; but rode, a +silent, thoughtful figure, so self-contained and of so godly a mien as +would have rejoiced the heart of the sourest Puritan. The wild tantivy +boy had vanished, and the sobriquet of “Tavern Knight” was fast becoming +a misnomer. + +Kenneth felt drawn more towards him, deeming him a penitent that had +seen at last the error of his ways. And thus things prevailed until the +almost triumphal entry into the city of Worcester on the twenty-third of +August. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. AT THE SIGN OF THE MITRE + + +For a week after the coming of the King to Worcester, Crispin's +relations with Kenneth steadily improved. By an evil chance, however, +there befell on the eve of the battle that which renewed with heightened +intensity the enmity which the lad had fostered for him, but which +lately he had almost overcome. + +The scene of this happening--leastways of that which led to it--was The +Mitre Inn, in the High Street of Worcester. + +In the common-room one day sat as merry a company of carousers as ever +gladdened the soul of an old tantivy boy. Youthful ensigns of +Lesley's Scottish horse--caring never a fig for the Solemn League and +Covenant--rubbed shoulders with beribboned Cavaliers of Lord Talbot's +company; gay young lairds of Pitscottie's Highlanders, unmindful of the +Kirk's harsh commandments of sobriety, sat cheek by jowl with rakehelly +officers of Dalzell's Brigade, and pledged the King in many a stoup of +canary and many a can of stout March ale. + +On every hand spirits ran high and laughter filled the chamber, the +mirth of some having its source in a neighbour's quip, that of others +having no source at all save in the wine they had taken. + +At one table sat a gentleman of the name of Faversham, who had ridden on +the previous night in that ill-fated camisado that should have +resulted in the capture of Cromwell at Spetchley, but which, owing to a +betrayal--when was a Stuart not betrayed and sold?--miscarried. He was +relating to the group about him the details of that disaster. + +“Oddslife, gentlemen,” he was exclaiming, “I tell you that, but for that +roaring dog, Sir Crispin Galliard, the whole of Middleton's regiment had +been cut to pieces. There we stood on Red Hill, trapped as ever fish +in a net, with the whole of Lilburne's men rising out of the ground to +enclose and destroy us. A living wall of steel it was, and on every hand +the call to surrender. There was dismay in my heart, as I'll swear there +was dismay in the heart of every man of us, and I make little doubt, +gentlemen, that with but scant pressing we had thrown down our arms, so +disheartened were we by that ambush. Then of a sudden there arose above +the clatter of steel and Puritan cries, a loud, clear, defiant shout of +'Hey for Cavaliers!'” + +“I turned, and there in his stirrups stood that madman Galliard, waving +his sword and holding his company together with the power of his will, +his courage, and his voice. The sight of him was like wine to our blood. +'Into them, gentlemen; follow me!' he roared. And then, with a hurricane +of oaths, he hurled his company against the pike-men. The blow was +irresistible, and above the din of it came that voice of his again: 'Up, +Cavaliers! Slash the cuckolds to ribbons, gentlemen!' The cropears gave +way, and like a river that has burst its dam, we poured through the +opening in their ranks and headed back for Worcester.” + +There was a roar of voices as Faversham ended, and around that table +“The Tavern Knight” was for some minutes the only toast. + +Meanwhile half a dozen merry-makers at a table hard by, having drunk +themselves out of all sense of fitness, were occupied in baiting a +pale-faced lad, sombrely attired, who seemed sadly out of place in that +wild company--indeed, he had been better advised to have avoided it. + +The matter had been set afoot by a pleasantry of Ensign Tyler's, of +Massey's dragoons, with a playful allusion to a letter in a feminine +hand which Kenneth had let fall, and which Tyler had restored to him. +Quip had followed quip until in their jests they transcended all bounds. +Livid with passion and unable to endure more, Kenneth had sprung up. + +“Damnation!” he blazed, bringing his clenched hand down upon the table. +“One more of your foul jests and he that utters it shall answer to me!” + +The suddenness of his action and the fierceness of his tone and +gesture--a fierceness so grotesquely ill-attuned to his slender frame +and clerkly attire left the company for a moment speechless with +amazement. Then a mighty burst of laughter greeted him, above which +sounded the shrill voice of Tyler, who held his sides, and down whose +crimson cheeks two tears of mirth were trickling. + +“Oh, fie, fie, good Master Stewart!” he gasped. “What think you would +the reverend elders say to this bellicose attitude and this profane +tongue of yours?” + +“And what think you would the King say to this drunken poltroonery of +yours?” was the hot unguarded answer. “Poltroonery, I say,” he repeated, +embracing the whole company in his glance. + +The laughter died down as Kenneth's insult penetrated their befuddled +minds. An instant's lull there was, like the lull in nature that +precedes a clap of thunder. Then, as with one accord, a dozen of them +bore down upon him. + +It was a vile thing they did, perhaps; but then they had drunk deep, and +Kenneth Stewart counted no friend amongst them. In an instant they had +him, kicking and biting, on the floor; his doublet was torn rudely open, +and from his breast Tyler plucked the letter whose existence had led to +this shameless scene. + +But ere he could so much as unfold it, a voice rang harsh and +imperative: + +“Hold!” + +Pausing, they turned to confront a tall, gaunt man in a leather jerkin +and a broad hat decked by goose-quill, who came slowly forward. + +“The Tavern Knight,” cried one, and the shout of “A rouse for the hero +of Red Hill!” was taken up on every hand. For despite his sour visage +and ungracious ways there was not a roysterer in the Royal army to whom +he was not dear. + +But as he now advanced, the coldness of his bearing and the forbidding +set of his face froze them into silence. + +“Give me that letter,” he demanded sternly of Tyler. + +Taken aback, Tyler hesitated for a second, whilst Crispin waited with +hand outstretched. Vainly did he look round for sign or word of help or +counsel. None was afforded him by his fellow-revellers, who one and all +hung back in silence. + +Seeing himself thus unsupported, and far from wishing to try conclusions +with Galliard, Tyler with an ill grace surrendered the paper; and, with +a pleasant bow and a word of thanks, delivered with never so slight +a saturnine smile, Crispin turned on his heel and left the tavern as +abruptly as he had entered it. + +The din it was that had attracted him as he passed by on his way to the +Episcopal Palace where a part of his company was on guard duty. Thither +he now pursued his way, bearing with him the letter which so opportunely +he had become possessed of, and which he hoped might throw further light +upon Kenneth's relations with the Ashburns. + +But as he reached the palace there was a quick step behind him, and a +hand fell upon his arm. He turned. + +“Ah, 'tis you, Kenneth,” he muttered, and would have passed on, but the +boy's hand took him by the sleeve. + +“Sir Crispin,” said he, “I came to thank you.” + +“I have done nothing to deserve your thanks. Give you good evening.” And +he made shift to mount the steps when again Kenneth detained him. + +“You are forgetting the letter, Sir Crispin,” he ventured, and he held +out his hand to receive it. + +Galliard saw the gesture, and for a moment it crossed his mind in +self-reproach that the part he chose to play was that of a bully. A +second he hesitated. Should he surrender the letter unread, and fight on +without the aid of the information it might bring him? Then the thought +of Ashburn and of his own deep wrongs that cried out for vengeance, +overcame and stifled the generous impulse. His manner grew yet more +frozen as he made answer: + +“There has been too much ado about this letter to warrant my so lightly +parting with it. First I will satisfy myself that I have been no +unconscious abettor of treason. You shall have your letter tomorrow, +Master Stewart.” + +“Treason!” echoed Kenneth. And before that cold rebuff of Crispin's his +mood changed from conciliatory to resentful--resentful towards the fates +that made him this man's debtor. + +“I assure you, on my honour,” said he, mastering his feelings, “that +this is but a letter from the lady I hope to make my wife. Assuredly, +sir, you will not now insist upon reading it.” + +“Assuredly I shall.” + +“But, sir--” + +“Master Stewart, I am resolved, and were you to talk from now till +doomsday, you would not turn me from my purpose. So good night to you.” + +“Sir Crispin,” cried the boy, his voice quavering with passion, “while I +live you shall not read that letter!” + +“Hoity-toity, sir! What words! What heroics! And yet you would have me +believe this paper innocent?” + +“As innocent as the hand that penned it, and if I so oppose your reading +it, it is because thus much I owe her. Believe me, sir,” he added, his +accents returning to a beseeching key, “when again I swear that it is no +more than such a letter any maid may write her lover. I thought that you +had understood all this when you rescued me from those bullies at +The Mitre. I thought that what you did was a noble and generous deed. +Instead--” The lad paused. + +“Continue, sir,” Galliard requested coldly. “Instead?” + +“There can be no instead, Sir Crispin. You will not mar so good an +action now. You will give me my letter, will you not?” + +Callous though he was, Crispin winced. The breeding of earlier days--so +sadly warped, alas!--cried out within him against the lie that he +was acting by pretending to suspect treason in that woman's pothooks. +Instincts of gentility and generosity long dead took life again, +resuscitated by that call of conscience. He was conquered. + +“There, take your letter, boy, and plague me no more,” he growled, as he +held it out to Kenneth. And without waiting for reply or acknowledgment, +he turned on his heel, and entered the palace. But he had yielded +overlate to leave a good impression and, as Kenneth turned away, it was +with a curse upon Galliard, for whom his detestation seemed to increase +at every step. + + + + +CHAPTER V. AFTER WORCESTER FIELD + + +The morn of the third of September--that date so propitious to Cromwell, +so disastrous to Charles--found Crispin the centre of a company of +gentlemen in battle-harness, assembled at The Mitre Inn. For a toast he +gave them “The damnation of all crop-ears.” + +“Sirs,” quoth he, “a fair beginning to a fair day. God send the evening +find us as merry.” + +It was not to be his good fortune, however, to be in the earlier work +of the day. Until afternoon he was kept within the walls of Worcester, +chafing to be where hard knocks were being dealt--with Montgomery at +Powick Bridge, or with Pittscottie on Bunn's Hill. But he was forced to +hold his mood in curb, and wait until Charles and his advisers should +elect to make the general attack. + +It came at last, and with it came the disastrous news that Montgomery +was routed, and Pittscottie in full retreat, whilst Dalzell had +surrendered, and Keith was taken. Then was it that the main body of the +Royal army formed up at the Sidbury Gate, and Crispin found himself in +the centre, which was commanded by the King in person. In the brilliant +charge that followed there was no more conspicuous figure, no voice +rang louder in encouragement to the men. For the first time that day +Cromwell's Ironsides gave back before the Royalists, who in that fierce, +irresistible charge, swept all before them until they had reached +the battery on Perry Wood, and driven the Roundheads from it +hell-to-leather. + +It was a glorious moment, a moment in which the fortunes of the day hung +in the balance; the turn of the tide it seemed to them at last. + +Crispin was among the first to reach the guns, and with a great shout of +“Hurrah for Cavaliers!” he had cut down two gunners that yet lingered. +His cry lacked not an echo, and a deafening cheer broke upon the +clamorous air as the Royalists found themselves masters of the position. +Up the hill on either side pressed the Duke of Hamilton and the Earl of +Derby to support the King. It but remained for Lesley's Scottish horse +to follow and complete the rout of the Parliamentarian forces. Had they +moved at that supreme moment who shall say what had been the issue of +Worcester field? But they never stirred, and the Royalists waiting on +Perry Wood cursed Lesley for a foul traitor who had sold his King. + +With bitterness did they then realize that their great effort was to be +barren, their gallant charge in vain. Unsupported, their position grew +fast untenable. + +And presently, when Cromwell had gathered his scattered Ironsides, that +gallant host was driven fighting, down the hill and back to the shelter +of Worcester. With the Roundheads pressing hotly upon them they gained +at last the Sidbury Gate, but only to find that an overset ammunition +wagon blocked the entrance. In this plight, and without attempting +to move it, they faced about to make a last stand against the Puritan +onslaught. + +Charles had flung himself from his charger and climbed the obstruction, +and in this he was presently followed by others, amongst whom was +Crispin. + +In the High Street Galliard came upon the King, mounted on a fresh +horse, addressing a Scottish regiment of foot. The soldiers had thrown +down their arms and stood sullenly before him, refusing to obey his +command to take them up again and help him attempt, even at that late +hour, to retrieve the fortunes of the day. Crispin looked on in scorn +and loathing. His passions awakened at the sight of Lesley's inaction +needed but this last breath to fan it into a very blaze of wrath. And +what he said to them touching themselves, their country, and the Kirk +Committee that had made sheep of them, was so bitter and contemptuous +that none but men in the most parlous and pitiable of conditions could +have suffered it. + +He was still hurling vituperations at them when Colonel Pride with +a troop of Parliamentarian horse--having completely overcome the +resistance at the Sidbury Gate--rode into the town. At the news of this, +Crispin made a last appeal to the infantry. + +“Afoot, you Scottish curs!” he thundered. “Would you rather be cut to +pieces as you stand? Up, you dogs, and since you know not how to live, +die at least without shame!” + +But in vain did he rail. In sullen quiet they remained, their weapons on +the ground before them. And then, as Crispin was turning away to see to +his own safety, the King rode up again, and again he sought to revive +the courage that was dead in those Scottish hearts. If they would not +stand by him, he cried at last, let them slay him there, sooner than +that he should be taken captive to perish on the scaffold. + +While he was still urging them, Crispin unceremoniously seized his +bridle. + +“Will you stand here until you are taken, sire?” he cried. “Leave them, +and look to your safety.” + +Charles turned a wondering eye upon the resolute, battle-grimed face of +the man that thus addressed him. A faint, sad smile parted his lips. + +“You are right, sir,” he made answer. “Attend me.” And turning about he +rode down a side street with Galliard following closely in his wake. + +With the intention of doffing his armour and changing his apparel, he +made for the house in New Street where he had been residing. As they +drew up before the door, Crispin, chancing to look over his shoulder, +rapped out an oath. + +“Hasten, sire,” he exclaimed, “here is a portion of Colonel's Pride's +troop.” + +The King looked round, and at sight of the Parliamentarians, “It is +ended,” he muttered despairingly. But already Crispin had sprung from +his horse. + +“Dismount, sire,” he roared, and he assisted him so vigorously as to +appear to drag him out of the saddle. + +“Which way?” demanded Charles, looking helplessly from left to right. +“Which way?” + +But Crispin's quick mind had already shaped a plan. Seizing the royal +arm--for who in such straits would deal ceremoniously?--he thrust the +King across the threshold, and, following, closed the door and shot its +only bolt. But the shout set up by the Puritans announced to them that +their movement had been detected. + +The King turned upon Sir Crispin, and in the half-light of the passage +wherein they stood Galliard made out the frown that bent the royal +brows. + +“And now?” demanded Charles, a note almost of reproach in his voice. + +“And now begone, sire,” returned the knight. “Begone ere they come.” + +“Begone?” echoed Charles, in amazement. “But whither, sir? Whither and +how?” + +His last words were almost drowned in the din without, as the Roundheads +pulled up before the house. + +“By the back, sire,” was the impatient answer. “Through door or +window--as best you can. The back must overlook the Corn-Market; that is +your way. But hasten--in God's name hasten!--ere they bethink them of it +and cut off your retreat.” + +As he spoke a violent blow shook the door. + +“Quick, Your Majesty,” he implored, in a frenzy. + +Charles moved to depart, then paused. “But you, sir? Do you not come +with me?” + +Crispin stamped his foot, and turned a face livid with impatience upon +his King. In that moment all distinction of rank lay forgotten. + +“I must remain,” he answered, speaking quickly. “That crazy door will +not hold for a second once a stout man sets his shoulder to it. After +the door they will find me, and for your sake I trust I may prove of +stouter stuff. Fare you well, sire,” he ended in a softer tone. “God +guard Your Majesty and send you happier days.” + +And, bending his knee, Crispin brushed the royal hand with his hot lips. + +A shower of blows clattered upon the timbers of the door, and one of +its panels was splintered by a musket-shot. Charles saw it, and with a +muttered word that was not caught by Crispin, he obeyed the knight, and +fled. + +Scarce had he disappeared down that narrow passage, when the door gave +way completely and with a mighty crash fell in. Over the ruins of it +sprang a young Puritan-scarce more than a boy--shouting: “The Lord of +Hosts!” + +But ere he had taken three strides the point of Crispin's tuck-sword +gave him pause. + +“Halt! You cannot pass this way.” + +“Back, son of Moab!” was the Roundhead's retort. “Hinder me not, at your +peril.” + +Behind him, in the doorway, pressed others, who cried out to him to cut +down the Amalekite that stood between them and the young man Charles +Stuart. But Crispin laughed grimly for answer, and kept the officer in +check with his point. + +“Back, or I cut you down,” threatened the Roundhead. “I am seeking the +malignant Stuart.” + +“If by those blasphemous words you mean his sacred Majesty, learn that +he is where you will never be--in God's keeping.” + +“Presumptuous hound,” stormed the lad, “giveway!” + +Their swords met, and for a moment they ground one against the other; +then Crispin's blade darted out, swift as a lightning flash, and took +his opponent in the throat. + +“You would have it so, rash fool,” he deprecated. + +The boy hurtled back into the arms of those behind, and as he fell he +dropped his rapier, which rolled almost to Crispin's feet. The knight +stooped, and when again he stood erect, confronting the rebels in that +narrow passage, he held a sword in either hand. + +There was a momentary pause in the onslaught, then to his dismay Crispin +saw the barrel of a musket pointed at him over the shoulder of one of +his foremost assailants. He set his teeth for what was to come, and +braced himself with the hope that the King might already have made good +his escape. + +The end was at hand, he thought, and a fitting end, since his last hope +of redress was gone-destroyed by that fatal day's defeat. + +But of a sudden a cry rang out in a voice wherein rage and anguish +were blended fearfully, and simultaneously the musket barrel was dashed +aside. + +“Take him alive!” was the cry of that voice. “Take him alive!” It was +Colonel Pride himself, who having pushed his way forward, now beheld the +bleeding body of the youth Crispin had slain. “Take him alive!” roared +the old man. Then his voice changing to one of exquisite agony--“My son, +my boy,” he moaned. + +At a glance Crispin caught the situation; but the old Puritan's grief +left him unmoved. + +“You must have me alive?” he laughed grimly. “Gadslife, but the honour +is like to cost you dear. Well, sirs? Who will be next to court the +distinction of dying by the sword of a gentleman?” he mocked them. “Come +on, you sons of dogs!” + +His answer was an angry growl, and straightway two men sprang forward. +More than two could not attack him at once by virtue of the narrowness +of the passage. Again steel clashed on steel. Crispin--lithe as a +panther crouched low, and took one of their swords on each of his. + +A disengage and a double he foiled with ease, then by a turn of the +wrist he held for a second one opponent's blade; and before the fellow +could disengage again, he had brought his right-hand sword across, and +stabbed him in the neck. Simultaneously his other opponent had rushed +in and thrust. It was a risk Crispin was forced to take, trusting to +his armour to protect him. It did him the service he hoped from it; the +trooper's sword glanced harmlessly aside, whilst the fellow himself, +overbalanced by the fury of his onslaught, staggered helplessly forward. +Ere he could recover, Crispin had spitted him from side to side betwixt +the straps that held his back and breast together. + +As the two men went down, one after the other, the watching troopers set +up a shout of rage, and pressed forward in a body. But the Tavern Knight +stood his ground, and his points danced dangerously before the eyes of +the two foremost. Alarmed, they shouted to those behind to give +them room to handle their swords; but too late. Crispin had seen the +advantage, and taken it. Twice he had thrust, and another two sank +bleeding to the ground. + +At that there came a pause, and somewhere in the street a knot of them +expostulated with Colonel Pride, and begged to be allowed to pick off +that murderous malignant with their pistols. But the grief-stricken +father was obdurate. He would have the Amalekite alive that he might +cause him to die a hundred deaths in one. + +And so two more were sent in to try conclusions with the indomitable +Galliard. They went to work more warily. He on the left parried +Crispin's stroke, then knocking up the knight's blade, he rushed in and +seized his wrist, shouting to those behind to follow up. But even as +he did so, Crispin sent back his other antagonist, howling and writhing +with the pain of a transfixed sword-arm, and turned his full attention +upon the foe that clung to him. Not a second did he waste in thought. To +have done so would have been fatal. Instinctively he knew that whilst +he shortened his blade, others would rush in; so, turning his wrist, he +caught the man a crushing blow full in the face with the pommel of his +disengaged sword. + +Fulminated by that terrific stroke, the man reeled back into the arms of +another who advanced. + +Again there fell a pause. Then silently a Roundhead charged Sir Crispin +with a pike. He leapt nimbly aside, and the murderous lunge shot past +him; as he did so he dropped his left-hand sword and caught at the +halberd. Exerting his whole strength in a mighty pull, he brought +the fellow that wielded it toppling forward, and received him on his +outstretched blade. + +Covered with blood--the blood of others--Crispin stood before them now. +He was breathing hard and sweating at every pore, but still grim and +defiant. His strength, he realized, was ebbing fast. Yet he shook +himself, and asked them with a gibing laugh did they not think that they +had better shoot him. + +The Roundheads paused again. The fight had lasted but a few moments, +and already five of them were stretched upon the ground, and a sixth +disabled. There was something in the Tavern Knight's attitude and +terrific, blood-bespattered appearance that deterred them. From out +of his powder-blackened face his eyes flashed fiercely, and a mocking +diabolical smile played round the corners of his mouth. What manner +of man, they asked themselves, was this who could laugh in such an +extremity? Superstition quickened their alarm as they gazed upon +his undaunted front, and told themselves this was no man they fought +against, but the foul fiend himself. + +“Well, sirs,” he mocked them presently. “How long am I to await your +pleasure?” + +They snarled for answer, yet hung back until Colonel Pride's voice +shook them into action. In a body they charged him now, so suddenly and +violently that he was forced to give way. Cunningly did he ply his sword +before them, but ineffectually. They had adopted fresh tactics, and +engaging his blade they acted cautiously and defensively, advancing +steadily, and compelling him to fall back. + +Sir Crispin guessed their scheme at last, and vainly did he try to hold +his ground; his retreat slackened perhaps, but it was still a retreat, +and their defensive action gave him no opening. Vainly, yet by every +trick of fence he was master of, did he seek to lure the two foremost +into attacking him; stolidly they pursued the adopted plan, and steadily +they impelled him backward. + +At last he reached the staircase, and he realized that did he allow +himself to go farther he was lost irretrievably. Yet farther was he +driven; despite the strenuous efforts he put forth, until on his right +there was room for a man to slip on to the stairs and take him in the +flank. Twice one of his opponents essayed it, and twice did Galliard's +deadly point repel him. But at the third attempt the man got through, +another stepped into his place in front, and thus from two, Crispin's +immediate assailants became increased to three. + +He realized that the end was at hand, and wildly did he lay about him, +but to no purpose. And presently, he who had gained the stairs leaped +suddenly upon him sideways, and clung to his swordarm. Before he could +make a move to shake himself free, the two that faced him had caught at +his other arm. + +Like one possessed he struggled then, for the sheer lust of striving; +but they that held him gripped effectively. + +Thrice they bore him struggling to the ground, and thrice he rose again +and sought to shake them from him as a bull shakes off a pack of dogs. +But they held fast, and again they forced him down; others sprang to +their aid, and the Tavern Knight could rise no more. + +“Disarm the dog!” cried Pride. “Disarm and truss him hand and foot.” + +“Sirs, you need not,” he answered, gasping. “I yield me. Take my sword. +I'll do your bidding.” + +The fight was fought and lost, but it had been a great Homeric struggle, +and he rejoiced almost that upon so worthy a scene of his life was the +curtain to fall, and again to hope that, thanks to the stand he had +made, the King should have succeeded in effecting his escape. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE + + +Through the streets of Worcester the Roundheads dragged Sir Crispin, and +for all that he was as hard and callous a man as any that ever buckled +on a cuirass, the horrors that in going he beheld caused him more than +once to shudder. + +The place was become a shambles, and the very kennels ran with blood. +The Royalist defeat was by now complete, and Cromwell's fanatic butchers +overran the town, vying to outdo one another in savage cruelty +and murder. Houses were being broken into and plundered, and their +inmates--resisting or unresisting; armed or unarmed; men, women and +children alike were pitilessly being put to the sword. Charged was the +air of Worcester with the din of that fierce massacre. The crashing of +shivered timbers, as doors were beaten in, mingled with the clatter and +grind of sword on sword, the crack of musket and pistol, the clank of +armour, and the stamping of men and horses in that troubled hour. + +And above all rang out the fierce, raucous blasphemy of the slayers, +and the shrieks of agony, the groans, the prayers, and curses of their +victims. + +All this Sir Crispin saw and heard, and in the misery of it all, he +for the while forgot his own sorry condition, and left unheeded the +pike-butt wherewith the Puritan at his heels was urging him along. + +They paused at length in a quarter unknown to him before a tolerably +large house. Its doors hung wide, and across the threshold, in and out, +moved two continuous streams of officers and men. + +A while Crispin and his captors stood in the spacious hall; then they +ushered him roughly into one of the abutting rooms. Here he was brought +face to face with a man of middle height, red and coarse of countenance +and large of nose, who stood fully armed in the centre of the chamber. +His head was uncovered, and on the table at his side stood the morion he +had doffed. He looked up as they entered, and for a few seconds rested +his glance sourly upon the lank, bold-eyed prisoner, who coldly returned +his stare. + +“Whom have we here?” he inquired at length, his scrutiny having told him +nothing. + +“One whose offence is too heinous to have earned him a soldier's death, +my lord,” answered Pride. + +“Therein you lie, you damned rebel!” cried Crispin. “If accuse you must, +announce the truth. Tell Master Cromwell”--for he had guessed the man's +identity--“that single-handed I held my own against you and a score of +you curs, and that not until I had cut down seven of them was I taken. +Tell him that, master psalm-singer, and let him judge whether you lied +or not. Tell him, too, that you, who--” + +“Have done!” cried Cromwell at length, stamping his foot. “Peace, or +I'll have you gagged. Now, Colonel, let us hear your accusation.” + +At great length, and with endless interlarding of proverbs did Pride +relate how this impious malignant had been the means of the young man, +Charles Stuart, making good his escape when otherwise he must have +fallen into their hands. He accused him also of the murder of his son +and of four other stout, God-fearing troopers, and urged Cromwell to let +him deal with the malignant as he deserved. + +The Lord General's answer took expression in a form that was little +puritanical. Then, checking himself: + +“He is the second they have brought me within ten minutes charged with +the same offence,” said he. “The other one is a young fool who gave +Charles Stuart his horse at Saint Martin's Gate. But for him again the +young man had been taken.” + +“So he has escaped!” cried Crispin. “Now, God be praised!” + +Cromwell stared at him blankly for a moment, then: + +“You will do well, sir,” he muttered sourly, “to address the Lord on +your own behalf. As for that young man of Baal, your master, rejoice +not yet in his escape. By the same crowning mercy in which the Lord hath +vouchsafed us victory to-day shall He also deliver the malignant youth +into my hands. For your share in retarding his capture your life, sir, +shall pay forfeit. You shall hang at daybreak together with that other +malignant who assisted Charles at the Saint Martin's Gate.” + +“I shall at least hang in good company,” said Crispin pleasantly, “and +for that, sir, I give you thanks.” + +“You will pass the night with that other fool,” Cromwell continued, +without heeding the interruption, “and I pray that you may spend it in +such meditation as shall fit you for your end. Take him away.” + +“But, my lord,” exclaimed Pride, advancing. + +“What now?” + +Crispin caught not his answer, but his half-whispered words were earnest +and pleading. Cromwell shook his head. + +“I cannot sanction it. Let it satisfy you that he dies. I condole with +you in your bereavement, but it is the fortune of war. Let the thought +that your son died in a godly cause be of comfort to you. Bear in mind, +Colonel Pride, that Abraham hesitated not to offer up his child to the +Lord. And so, fare you well.” + +Colonel Pride's face worked oddly, and his eyes rested for a second +upon the stern, unmoved figure of the Tavern Knight in malice and +vindictiveness. Then, shrugging his shoulders in token of unwilling +resignation, he withdrew, whilst Crispin was led out. + +In the hall again they kept him waiting for some moments, until at +length an officer came up, and bidding him follow, led the way to the +guardroom. Here they stripped him of his back-and-breast, and when that +was done the officer again led the way, and Crispin followed between two +troopers. They made him mount three flights of stairs, and hurried him +along a passage to a door by which a soldier stood mounting guard. At +a word from the officer the sentry turned, and unfastening the heavy +bolts, he opened the door. Roughly the officer bade Sir Crispin enter, +and stood aside that he might pass. + +Crispin obeyed him silently, and crossed the threshold to find himself +within a mean, gloomy chamber, and to hear the heavy door closed and +made fast again behind him. His stout heart sank a little as he realized +that that closed door shut out to him the world for ever; but once again +would he cross that threshold, and that would be the preface to the +crossing of the greater threshold of eternity. + +Then something stirred in one of that room's dark corners, and he +started, to see that he was not alone, remembering that Cromwell had +said he was to have a companion in his last hours. + +“Who are you?” came a dull voice--a voice that was eloquent of misery. + +“Master Stewart!” he exclaimed, recognizing his companion. “So it was +you gave the King your horse at the Saint Martin's Gate! May Heaven +reward you. Gadswounds,” he added, “I had little thought to meet you +again this side the grave.” + +“Would to Heaven you had not!” was the doleful answer. “What make you +here?” + +“By your good leave and with your help I'll make as merry as a man may +whose sands are all but run. The Lord General--whom the devil roast in +his time will make a pendulum of me at daybreak, and gives me the night +in which to prepare.” + +The lad came forward into the light, and eyed Sir Crispin sorrowfully. + +“We are companions in misfortune, then.” + +“Were we ever companions in aught else? Come, sir, be of better cheer. +Since it is to be our last night in this poor world, let us spend it as +pleasantly as may be.” + +“Pleasantly?” + +“Twill clearly be difficult,” answered Crispin, with a laugh. “Were we +in Christian hands they'd not deny us a black jack over which to relish +our last jest, and to warm us against the night air, which must be +chill in this garret. But these crop-ears...” He paused to peer into the +pitcher on the table. “Water! Pah! A scurvy lot, these psalm-mongers!” + +“Merciful Heaven! Have you no thought for your end?” + +“Every thought, good youth, every thought, and I would fain prepare me +for the morning's dance in a more jovial and hearty fashion than Old +Noll will afford me--damn him!” + +Kenneth drew back in horror. His old dislike for Crispin was all aroused +by this indecent flippancy at such a time. Just then the thought of +spending the night in his company almost effaced the horror of the +gallows whereof he had been a prey. + +Noting the movement, Crispin laughed disdainfully, and walked towards +the window. It was a small opening, by which two iron bars, set +crosswise, defied escape. Moreover, as Crispin looked out, he realized +that a more effective barrier lay in the height of the window itself. +The house overlooked the river on that side; it was built upon an +embankment some thirty feet high; around this, at the base of the +edifice, and some forty feet below the window, ran a narrow pathway +protected by an iron railing. But so narrow was it, that had a man +sprung from the casement of Crispin's prison, it was odds he would have +fallen into the river some seventy feet below. Crispin turned away with +a sigh. He had approached the window almost in hope; he quitted it in +absolute despair. + +“Ah, well,” said he, “we will hang, and there's the end of it.” + +Kenneth had resumed his seat in the corner, and, wrapped in his cloak, +he sat steeped in meditation, his comely young face seared with lines of +pain. As Crispin looked upon him then, his heart softened and went +out to the lad--went out as it had done on the night when first he had +beheld him in the courtyard of Perth Castle. + +He recalled the details of that meeting; he remembered the sympathy +that had drawn him to the boy, and how Kenneth had at first appeared to +reciprocate that feeling, until he came to know him for the rakehelly, +godless ruffler that he was. He thought of the gulf that gradually had +opened up between them. The lad was righteous and God-fearing, truthful +and sober, filled with stern ideals by which he sought to shape +his life. He had taxed Crispin with his dissoluteness, and Crispin, +despising him for a milksop, had returned to his disgust with mockery, +and had found a fiendish pleasure in arousing that disgust at every +turn. + +To-night, as Crispin eyed the youth, and remembered that at dawn he was +to die in his company, he realized that he had used him ill, that his +behaviour towards him had been that of the dissolute ruffler he was +become, rather than of the gentleman he had once accounted himself. + +“Kenneth,” he said at length, and his voice bore so unusually mild a +ring that the lad looked up in surprise. “I have heard tell that it +is no uncommon thing for men upon the threshold of eternity to seek to +repair some of the evil they may have done in life.” + +Kenneth shuddered. Crispin's words reminded him again of his approaching +end. The ruffler paused a moment, as if awaiting a reply or a word of +encouragement. Then, as none came, he continued: + +“I am not one of your repentant sinners, Kenneth. I have lived my +life--God, what a life!--and as I have lived I shall die, unflinching +and unchanged. Dare one to presume that a few hours spent in whining +prayers shall atone for years of reckless dissoluteness? 'Tis a +doctrine of cravens, who, having lacked in life the strength to live as +conscience bade them, lack in death the courage to stand by that life's +deeds. I am no such traitor to myself. If my life has been vile my +temptations have been sore, and the rest is in God's hands. But in my +course I have sinned against many men; many a tall fellow's life have +I wantonly wrecked; some, indeed, I have even taken in wantonness or +anger. They are not by, nor, were they, could I now make amends. But you +at least are here, and what little reparation may lie in asking pardon +I can make. When I first saw you at Perth it was my wish to make you my +friend--a feeling I have not had these twenty years towards any man. +I failed. How else could it have been? The dove may not nest with the +carrion bird.” + +“Say no more, sir,” cried Kenneth, genuinely moved, and still more +amazed by this curious humility in one whom he had never known other +than arrogant and mocking. “I beseech you, say no more. For what +trifling wrongs you may have done me I forgive you as freely as I would +be forgiven. Is it not written that it shall be so?” And he held out his +hand. + +“A little more I must say, Kenneth,” answered the other, leaving the +outstretched hand unheeded. “The feeling that was born in me towards you +at Perth Castle is on me again. I seek not to account for it. Perchance +it springs from my recognition of the difference betwixt us; perchance I +see in you a reflection of what once I was myself--honourable and true. +But let that be. The sun is setting over yonder, and you and I will +behold it no more. That to me is a small thing. I am weary. Hope is +dead; and when that is dead what does it signify that the body die also? +Yet in these last hours that we shall spend together I would at least +have your esteem. I would have you forget my past harshness and the +wrongs that I may have done you down to that miserable affair of your +sweetheart's letter, yesterday. I would have you realize that if I am +vile, I am but such as a vile world hath made me. And tomorrow when we +go forth together, I would have you see in me at least a man in whose +company you are not ashamed to die.” + +Again the lad shuddered. + +“Shall I tell you my story, Kenneth? I have a strong desire to go +over this poor life of mine again in memory, and by giving my thoughts +utterance it may be that they will take more vivid shape. For the rest +my tale may wile away a little of the time that's left, and when you +have heard me you shall judge me, Kenneth. What say you?” + +Despite the parlous condition whereunto the fear of the morrow had +reduced him, this new tone of Galliard's so wrought upon him then that +he was almost eager in his request that Sir Crispin should unfold his +story. And this the Tavern Knight then set himself to do. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY + + +Sir Crispin walked from the window by which he had been standing, to the +rough bed, and flung himself full length upon it. The only chair that +dismal room contained was occupied by Kenneth. Galliard heaved a sigh of +physical satisfaction. + +“Fore George, I knew not I was so tired,” he murmured. And with that he +lapsed for some moments into silence, his brows contracted in the frown +of one who collects his thoughts. At length he began, speaking in +calm, unemotional tones that held perchance deeper pathos than a more +passionate utterance could have endowed them with: + +“Long ago--twenty years ago--I was, as I have said, an honourable lad, +to whom the world was a fair garden, a place of rosebuds, fragrant +with hope. Those, Kenneth, were my illusions. They are the illusions of +youth; they are youth itself, for when our illusions are gone we are +no longer young no matter what years we count. Keep your illusions, +Kenneth; treasure them, hoard them jealously for as long as you may.” + +“I dare swear, sir,” answered the lad, with bitter humour, “that such +illusions as I have I shall treasure all my life. You forget, Sir +Crispin.” + +“'Slife, I had indeed forgotten. For the moment I had gone back twenty +years, and to-morrow was none so near.” He laughed softly, as though his +lapse of memory amused him. Then he resumed: + +“I was the only son, Kenneth, of the noblest gentleman that ever +lived--the heir to an ancient, honoured name, and to a castle as proud +and lands as fair and broad as any in England. + +“They lie who say that from the dawn we may foretell the day. Never was +there a brighter dawn than that of my life; never a day so wasted; never +an evening so dark. But let that be. + +“Our lands were touched upon the northern side by those of a house with +which we had been at feud for two hundred years and more. Puritans they +were, stern and haughty in their ungodly righteousness. They held us +dissolute because we enjoyed the life that God had given us, and there I +am told the hatred first began. + +“When I was a lad of your years, Kenneth, the hall--ours was the castle, +theirs the hall--was occupied by two young sparks who made little shift +to keep up the pious reputation of their house. They dwelt there with +their mother--a woman too weak to check their ways, and holding, mayhap, +herself, views not altogether puritanical. They discarded the sober +black their forbears had worn for generations, and donned gay Cavalier +garments. They let their love-locks grow; set plumes in their castors +and jewels in their ears; they drank deep, ruffled it with the boldest +and decked their utterance with great oaths--for to none doth blasphemy +come more readily than to lips that in youth have been overmuch shaped +in unwilling prayer. + +“Me they avoided as they would a plague, and when at times we met, our +salutations were grave as those of, men on the point of crossing swords. +I despised them for their coarse, ruffling apostasy more than ever +my father had despised their father for a bigot, and they guessing or +knowing by instinct what was in my mind held me in deeper rancour even +than their ancestors had done mine. And more galling still and yet a +sharper spur to their hatred did those whelps find in the realization +that all the countryside held, as it had held for ages, us to be their +betters. A hard blow to their pride was that, but their revenge was not +long in coming. + +“It chanced they had a cousin--a maid as sweet and fair and pure as they +were hideous and foul. We met in the meads--she and I. Spring was the +time--God! It seems but yesterday!--and each in our bearing towards the +other forgot the traditions of the names we bore. And as at first we had +met by chance, so did we meet later by contrivance, not once or twice, +but many times. God, how sweet she was! How sweet was all the world! How +sweet it was to live and to be young! We loved. How else could it +have been? What to us were traditions, what to us the hatred that for +centuries had held our families asunder? In us it lay to set aside all +that. + +“And so I sought my father. He cursed me at first for an unnatural son +who left unheeded the dictates of our blood. But anon, when on my +knees I had urged my cause with all the eloquent fervour that is but +of youth--youth that loves--my father cursed no more. His thoughts went +back maybe to the days of his own youth, and he bade me rise and go +a-wooing as I listed. Nay, more than that he did. The first of our name +was he out of ten generations to set foot across the threshold of the +hall; he went on my behalf to sue for their cousin's hand. + +“Then was their hour. To them that had been taught the humiliating +lesson that we were their betters, one of us came suing. They from whom +the countryside looked for silence when one of us spoke, had it in their +hands at length to say us nay. And they said it. What answer my father +made them, Kenneth, I know not, but very white was his face when I met +him on the castle steps on his return. In burning words he told me of +the insult they had put upon him, then silently he pointed to the Toledo +that two years before he had brought me out of Spain, and left me. But +I had understood. Softly I unsheathed that virgin blade and read the +Spanish inscription, that through my tears of rage and shame seemed +blurred; a proud inscription was it, instinct with the punctilio +of proud Spain--'Draw me not without motive, sheathe me not without +honour.' Motive there was and to spare; honour I swore there should be; +and with that oath, and that brave sword girt to me, I set out to my +first combat.” + +Sir Crispin paused and a sigh escaped him, followed by a laugh of +bitterness. + +“I lost that sword years ago,” said he musingly. “The sword and I have +been close friends in life, but my companion has been a blade of coarser +make, carrying no inscriptions to prick at a man's conscience and make a +craven of him.” + +He laughed again, and again he fell a-musing, till Kenneth's voice +aroused him. + +“Your story, sir.” + +Twilight shadows were gathering in their garret, and as he turned his +face towards the youth, he was unable to make out his features; but +his tone had been eager, and Crispin noted that he sat with head bent +forward and that his eyes shone feverishly. + +“It interests you, eh? Ah, well--hot foot I went to the hall, and with +burning words I called upon those dogs to render satisfaction for the +dishonour they had put upon my house. Will you believe, Kenneth, that +they denied me? They sheltered their craven lives behind a shield of +mock valour. They would not fight a boy, they said, and bade me get my +beard grown when haply they would give ear to my grievance. + +“And so, a shame and rage a hundredfold more bitter than that which I +had borne thither did I carry thence. My father bade me treasure up the +memory of it against the time when my riper years should compel them to +attend me, and this, by my every hope of heaven, I swore to do. He bade +me further efface for ever from my mind all thought or hope of union +with their cousin, and though I made him no answer at the time, yet in +my heart I promised to obey him in that, too. But I was young--scarce +twenty. A week without sight of my mistress and I grew sick with +despair. Then at length I came upon her, pale and tearful, one evening, +and in an agony of passion and hopelessness I flung myself at her feet, +and implored her to keep true to me and wait, and she, poor maid, to her +undoing swore that she would. You are yourself a lover, Kenneth, and you +may guess something of the impatience that anon beset me. How could I +wait? I asked her this. + +“Some fifty miles from the castle there was a little farm, in the very +heart of the country, which had been left me by a sister of my mother's. +Thither I now implored her to repair with me. I would find a priest to +wed us, and there we should live a while in happiness, in solitude, and +in love. An alluring picture did I draw with all a lover's cunning, and +to the charms of it she fell a victim. We fled three days later. + +“We were wed in the village that pays allegiance to the castle, +and thereafter we travelled swiftly and undisturbed to that little +homestead. There in solitude, with but two servants--a man and a maid +whom I could trust--we lived and loved, and for a season, brief as all +happiness is doomed to be, we were happy. Her cousins had no knowledge +of that farm of mine, and though they searched the country for many +a mile around, they searched in vain. My father knew--as I learned +afterwards--but deeming that what was done might not be undone, he held +his peace. In the following spring a babe was born to us, and our bliss +made heaven of that cottage. + +“Twas a month or so after the birth of our child that the blow +descended. I was away, enjoying alone the pleasures of the chase; my man +was gone a journey to the nearest town, whence he would not return until +the morrow. Oft have I cursed the folly that led me to take my gun and +go forth into the woods, leaving no protector for my wife but one weak +woman. + +“I returned earlier than I had thought to do, led mayhap by some angel +that sought to have me back in time. But I came too late. At my gate +I found two freshly ridden horses tethered, and it was with a dull +foreboding in my heart that I sprang through the open door. Within--O +God, the anguish of it!--stretched on the floor I beheld my love, a +gaping sword-wound in her side, and the ground all bloody about her. +For a moment I stood dumb in the spell of that horror, then a movement +beyond, against the wall, aroused me, and I beheld her murderers +cowering there, one with a naked sword in his hand. + +“In that fell hour, Kenneth, my whole nature changed, and one who had +ever been gentle was transformed into the violent, passionate man that +you have known. As my eye encountered then her cousins, my blood seemed +on the instant curdled in my veins; my teeth were set hard; my nerves +and sinews knotted; my hands instinctively shifted to the barrel of my +fowling-piece and clutched it with the fierceness that was in me--the +fierceness of the beast about to spring upon those that have brought it +to bay. + +“For a moment I stood swaying there, my eyes upon them, and holding +their craven glances fascinated. Then with a roar I leapt forward, the +stock of my fowling-piece swung high above my head. And, as God lives, +Kenneth, I had sent them straight to hell ere they could have raised a +hand or made a cry to stay me. But as I sprang my foot slipped in the +blood of my beloved, and in my fall I came close to her where she lay. +The fowling-piece had escaped my grasp and crashed against the wall. + +“I scarce knew what I did, but as I lay beside her it came to me that I +did not wish to rise again--that already I had lived overlong. It came +to me that, seeing me fallen, haply those cowards would seize the chance +to make an end of me as I lay. I wished it so in that moment's frenzy, +for I made no attempt to rise or to defend myself; instead I set my arms +about my poor murdered love, and against her cold cheek I set my face +that was well-nigh as cold. + +“And thus I lay, nor did they keep me long. A sword was passed through +me from back to breast, whilst he who did it cursed me with a foul +oath. The room grew dim; methought it swayed and that the walls were +tottering; there was a buzz of sound in my ears, then a piercing cry in +a baby voice. At the sound of it I vaguely wished for the strength to +rise. As in the distance, I heard one of those butchers cry, “Haste, +man; slit me that squalling bastard's throat!” And then I must have +swooned.” + +Kenneth shuddered. + +“My God, how horrible!” he cried. “But you were avenged, Sir Crispin,” + he added eagerly; “you were avenged?” + +“When I regained consciousness,” Crispin continued, as if he had not +heard Kenneth's exclamation, “the cottage was in flames, set alight by +them to burn the evidence of their foul deed. What I did I know not. I +have tried to urge my memory along from the point of my awakening, but +in vain. By what miracle I crawled forth, I cannot tell; but in the +morning I was found by my man lying prone in the garden, half a dozen +paces from the blackened ruins of the cottage, as near death as man may +go and live. + +“God willed that I should not die, but it was close upon a year before +I was restored to any semblance of my former self, and then I was so +changed that I was hardly to be recognized as that same joyous, vigorous +lad, who had set out, fowling-piece on shoulder, one fine morning a year +agone. There was grey in my hair, as much as there is now, though I was +but twenty-one; my face was seared and marked as that of a man who had +lived twice my years. It was to my faithful servant that I owed my life, +though I ask myself to-night whether I have cause for gratitude towards +him on that score. + +“So soon as I had regained sufficient strength, I went secretly home, +wishing that men might continue to believe me dead. My father I found +much aged by grief, but he was kind and tender with me beyond all words. +From him I had it that our enemies were gone to France; it would seem +they had thought it better to remain absent for a while. He had learnt +that they were in Paris, and hither I determined forthwith to follow +them. Vainly did my father remonstrate with me; vainly did he urge me +rather: to bear my story to the King at Whitehall and seek for justice. +I had been well advised had I obeyed this counsel, but I burned to take +my vengeance with my own hands, and with this purpose I repaired to +France. + +“Two nights after my arrival in Paris it was my ill-fortune to be +embroiled in a rough-and-tumble in the streets, and by an ill-chance I +killed a man--the first was he of several that I have sent whither I +am going to-morrow. The affair was like to have cost me my life, but by +another of those miracles which have prolonged it, I was sent instead +to the galleys on the Mediterranean. It was only wanting that, after all +that already I had endured, I should become a galley-slave! + +“For twelve long years I toiled at an oar, and waited. If I lived I +would return to England; and if I returned, woe unto those that had +wrecked my life--my body and my soul. I did live, and I did return. The +Civil War had broken out, and I came to throw my sword into the balance +on the King's side: I came, too, to be avenged, but that would wait. + +“Meanwhile, the score had grown heavier. I went home to find the castle +in usurping hands--in the hands of my enemies. My father was dead; he +died a few months after I had gone to France; and those murderers had +advanced a claim that through my marriage with their cousin, since dead, +and through my own death, there being no next of kin, they were +the heirs-at-law. The Parliament allowed their claim, and they were +installed. But when I came they were away, following the fortunes of the +Parliament that had served them so well. And so I determined to let my +vengeance wait until the war were ended and the Parliament destroyed. In +a hundred engagements did I distinguish myself by my recklessness even +as at other seasons I distinguished myself by my debaucheries. + +“Ah, Kenneth, you have been hard upon me for my vices, for my abuses of +the cup, and all the rest. But can you be hard upon me still, knowing +what I had suffered, and what a weight of misery I bore with me? I, +whose life was wrecked beyond salvation; who only lived that I might +slit the throats of those that had so irreparably wronged me. Think you +still that it was so vicious a thing, so unpardonable an offence to seek +the blessed nepenthe of the wine-cup, the heavenly forgetfulness that +its abuses brought me? Is it strange that I became known as the wildest +tantivy boy that rode with the King? What else had I?” + +“In all truth your trials were sore,” said the lad in a voice that +contained a note of sympathy. And yet there was a certain restraint that +caught the Tavern Knight's ear. He turned his head and bent his eyes in +the lad's direction, but it was quite dark by now, and he failed to make +out his companion's face. + +“My tale is told, Kenneth. The rest you can guess. The King did not +prevail and I was forced to fly from England with those others who +escaped from the butchers that had made a martyr of Charles. I took +service in France under the great Conde, and I saw some mighty battles. +At length came the council of Breda and the invitation to Charles the +Second to receive the crown of Scotland. I set out again to follow his +fortunes as I had followed his father's, realizing that by so doing I +followed my own, and that did he prevail I should have the redress and +vengeance so long awaited. To-day has dashed my last hope; to-morrow +at this hour it will not signify. And yet much would I give to have my +fingers on the throats of those two hounds before the hangman's close +around my own.” + +There was a spell of silence as the two men sat, both breathing heavily +in the gloom that enveloped them. At length: + +“You have heard my story, Kenneth,” said Crispin. + +“I have heard, Sir Crispin, and God knows I pity you.” + +That was all, and Galliard felt that it was not enough. He had lacerated +his soul with those grim memories to earn a yet kinder word. He had +looked even to hear the lad suing for pardon for the harsh opinions +wherein he had held him. Strange was this yearning of his for the boy's +sympathy. He who for twenty years had gone unloving and unloved, sought +now in his extremity affection from a fellow-man. + +And so in the gloom he waited for a kinder word that came not; then--so +urgent was his need--he set himself to beg it. + +“Can you not understand now, Kenneth, how I came to fall so low? Can you +not understand this dissoluteness of mine, which led them to dub me the +Tavern Knight after the King conferred upon me the honour of knighthood +for that stand of mine in Fifeshire? You must understand, Kenneth,” + he insisted almost piteously, “and knowing all, you must judge me more +mercifully than hitherto.” + +“It is not mine to judge, Sir Crispin. I pity you with all my heart,” + the lad replied, not ungently. + +Still the knight was dissatisfied. “Yours it is to judge as every man +may judge his fellowman. You mean it is not yours to sentence. But if +yours it were, Kenneth, what then?” + +The lad paused a moment ere he answered. His bigoted Presbyterian +training was strong within him, and although, as he said, he pitied +Galliard, yet to him whose mind was stuffed with life's precepts, and +who knew naught of the trials it brings to some and the temptations to +which they were not human did they not succumb--it seemed that vice was +not to be excused by misfortune. Out of mercy then he paused, and for +a moment he had it even in his mind to cheer his fellow-captive with a +lie. Then, remembering that he was to die upon the morrow, and that +at such a time it was not well to risk the perdition of his soul by an +untruth, however merciful, he answered slowly: + +“Were I to judge you, since you ask me, sir, I should be merciful +because of your misfortunes. And yet, Sir Crispin, your profligacy and +the evil you have wrought in life must weigh heavily against you.” Had +this immaculate bigot, this churlish milksop been as candid with himself +as he was with Crispin, he must have recognized that it was mainly +Crispin's offences towards himself that his mind now dwelt on in deeper +rancour than became one so well acquainted with the Lord's Prayer. + +“You had not cause enough,” he added impressively, “to defile your soul +and risk its eternal damnation because the evil of others had wrecked +your life.” + +Crispin drew breath with the sharp hiss of one in pain, and for a moment +after all was still. Then a bitter laugh broke from him. + +“Bravely answered, reverend sir,” he cried with biting scorn. “I marvel +only that you left your pulpit to gird on a sword; that you doffed your +cassock to don a cuirass. Here is a text for you who deal in texts, my +brave Jack Presbyter--'Judge you your neighbour as you would yourself +be judged; be merciful as you would hope for mercy.' Chew you the cud of +that until the hangman's coming in the morning. Good night to you.” + +And throwing himself back upon the bed, Crispin sought comfort in sleep. +His limbs were heavy and his heart was sick. + +“You misapprehend me, Sir Crispin,” cried the lad, stung almost to shame +by Galliard's reproach, and also mayhap into some fear that hereafter +he should find little mercy for his own lack of it towards a poor +fellow-sinner. “I spoke not as I would judge, but as the Church +teaches.” + +“If the Church teaches no better I rejoice that I was no churchman,” + grunted Crispin. + +“For myself,” the lad pursued, heeding not the irreverent interruption, +“as I have said, I pity you with all my heart. More than that, so deeply +do I feel, so great a loathing and indignation has your story sown in +my heart, that were our liberty now restored us I would willingly join +hands with you in wreaking vengeance on these evildoers.” + +Sir Crispin laughed. He judged the tone rather than the words, and it +rang hollow. + +“Where are your wits, O casuist?” he cried mockingly. “Where are your +doctrines? 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!' Pah!” + +And with that final ejaculation, pregnant with contempt and bitterness, +he composed himself to sleep. + +He was accursed he told himself. He must die alone, as he had lived. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE TWISTED BAR + + +Nature asserted herself, and, despite his condition, Crispin slept. +Kenneth sat huddled on his chair, and in awe and amazement he listened +to his companion's regular breathing. He had not Galliard's nerves nor +Galliard's indifference to death, so that neither could he follow his +example, nor yet so much as realize how one should slumber upon the very +brink of eternity. + +For a moment his wonder stood perilously near to admiration; then his +religious training swayed him, and his righteousness almost drew from +him a contempt of this man's apathy. There was much of the Pharisee's +attitude towards the publican in his mood. + +Anon that regular breathing grew irritating to him; it drew so marked a +contrast 'twixt Crispin's frame of mind and his own. Whilst Crispin had +related his story, the interest it awakened had served to banish the +spectre of fear which the thought of the morrow conjured up. Now that +Crispin was silent and asleep, that spectre returned, and the lad grew +numb and sick with the horror of his position. + +Thought followed thought as he sat huddled there with sunken head and +hands clasped tight between his knees, and they were mostly of his dull +uneventful days in Scotland, and ever and anon of Cynthia, his beloved. +Would she hear of his end? Would she weep for him?--as though it +mattered! And every train of thought that he embarked upon brought him +to the same issue--to-morrow! Shuddering he would clench his hands still +tighter, and the perspiration would stand' out in beads upon his callow +brow. + +At length he flung himself upon his knees to address not so much +a prayer as a maudlin grievance to his Creator. He felt himself a +craven--doubly so by virtue of the peaceful breathing of that sinner he +despised--and he told himself that it was not in fear a gentleman should +meet his end. + +“But I shall be brave to-morrow. I shall be brave,” he muttered, and +knew not that it was vanity begat the thought, and vanity that might +uphold him on the morrow when there were others by, however broken might +be his spirit now. + +Meanwhile Crispin slept. When he awakened the light of a lanthorn was on +his face, and holding it stood beside him a tall black figure in a cloak +and a slouched hat whose broad brim left the features unrevealed. + +Still half asleep, and blinking like an owl, he sat up. + +“I have always held burnt sack to be well enough, but--” + +He stopped short, fully awake at last, and, suddenly remembering his +condition and thinking they were come for him, he drew a sharp breath +and in a voice as indifferent as he could make it: + +“What's o'clock?” he asked. + +“Past midnight, miserable wretch,” was the answer delivered in a deep +droning voice. “Hast entered upon thy last day of life--a day whose sun +thou'lt never see. But five hours more are left thee.” + +“And it is to tell me this that you have awakened me?” demanded Galliard +in such a voice that he of the cloak recoiled a step, as if he thought +a blow must follow. “Out on you for an unmannerly cur to break upon a +gentleman's repose.” + +“I come,” returned the other in his droning voice, “to call upon thee to +repent.” + +“Plague me not,” answered Crispin, with a yawn. “I would sleep.” + +“Soundly enough shalt thou sleep in a few hours' time. Bethink thee, +miserable sinner, of thy soul.” + +“Sir,” cried the Tavern Knight, “I am a man of marvellous short +endurance. But mark you this your ways to heaven are not my ways. +Indeed, if heaven be peopled by such croaking things as you, I shall be +thankful to escape it. So go, my friend, ere I become discourteous.” + +The minister stood in silence for a moment; then setting his lanthorn +upon the table, he raised his hands and eyes towards the low ceiling of +the chamber. + +“Vouchsafe, O Lord,” he prayed, “to touch yet the callous heart of this +obdurate, incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjured and blasphemous +malignant, whose--” + +He got no further. Crispin was upon his feet, his harsh countenance +thrust into the very face of the minister; his eyes ablaze. + +“Out!” he thundered, pointing to the door. “Out! Begone! I would not +be guilty at the end of my life of striking a man in petticoats. But go +whilst I can bethink me of it! Go--take your prayers to hell.” + +The minister fell back before that blaze of passion. For a second he +appeared to hesitate, then he turned towards Kenneth, who stood behind +in silence. But the lad's Presbyterian rearing had taught him to hate a +sectarian as he would a papist or as he would the devil, and he did no +more than echo Galliard's words--though in a gentler key. + +“I pray you go,” he said. “But if you would perform an act of charity, +leave your lanthorn. It will be dark enough hereafter.” + +The minister looked keenly at the boy, and won over by the humility +of his tone, he set the lanthorn on the table. Then moving towards the +door, he stopped and addressed himself to Crispin. + +“I go since you oppose with violence my ministrations. But I shall pray +for you, and I will return anon, when perchance your heart shall be +softened by the near imminence of your end.” + +“Sir,” quoth Crispin wearily, “you would outtalk a woman.” + +“I've done, I've done,” he cried in trepidation, making shift to depart. +On the threshold he paused again. “I leave you the lanthorn,” he +said. “May it light you to a godlier frame of mind. I shall return at +daybreak.” And with that he went. + +Crispin yawned noisily when he was gone, and stretched himself. Then +pointing to the pallet: + +“Come, lad, 'tis your turn,” said he. + +Kenneth shivered. “I could not sleep,” he cried. “I could not.” + +“As you will.” And shrugging his shoulders, Crispin sat down on the edge +of the bed. + +“For cold comforters commend me to these cropeared cuckolds,” he +grumbled. “They are all thought for a man's soul, but for his body they +care nothing. Here am I who for the last ten hours have had neither meat +nor drink. Not that I mind the meat so much, but, 'slife, my throat is +dry as one of their sermons, and I would cheerfully give four of my +five hours of life for a posset of sack. A paltry lot are they, Kenneth, +holding that because a man must die at dawn he need not sup to-night. +Heigho! Some liar hath said that he who sleeps dines, and if I sleep +perchance I shall forget my thirst.” + +He stretched himself upon the bed, and presently he slept again. + +It was Kenneth who next awakened him. He opened his eyes to find the lad +shivering as with an ague. His face was ashen. + +“Now, what's amiss? Oddslife, what ails you?” he cried. + +“Is there no way, Sir Crispin? Is there naught you can do?” wailed the +youth. + +Instantly Galliard sat up. + +“Poor lad, does the thought of the rope affright you?” + +Kenneth bowed his head in silence. + +“Tis a scurvy death, I own. Look you, Kenneth, there is a dagger in my +boot. If you would rather have cold steel, 'tis done. It is the last +service I may render you, and I'll be as gentle as a mistress. Just +there, over the heart, and you'll know no more until you are in +Paradise.” + +Turning down the leather of his right boot, he thrust his hand down the +side of his leg. But Kenneth sprang back with a cry. + +“No, no,” he cried, covering his face with his hands. “Not that! +You don't understand. It is death itself I would cheat. What odds to +exchange one form for another? Is there no way out of this? Is there no +way, Sir Crispin?” he demanded with clenched hands. + +“The approach of death makes you maudlin, sir,” quoth the other, in whom +this pitiful show of fear produced a profound disgust. “Is there no way; +say you? There is the window, but 'tis seventy feet above the river; and +there is the door, but it is locked, and there is a sentry on the other +side.” + +“I might have known it. I might have known that you would mock me. What +is death to you, to whom life offers nothing? For you the prospect of it +has no terrors. But for me--bethink you, sir, I am scarce eighteen years +of age,” he added brokenly, “and life was full of promise for me. O God, +pity me!” + +“True, lad, true,” the knight returned in softened tones. “I had +forgotten that death is not to you the blessed release that it is to me. +And yet, and yet,” he mused, “do I not die leaving a task unfulfilled--a +task of vengeance? And by my soul, I know no greater spur to make a man +cling to life. Ah,” he sighed wistfully, “if indeed I could find a way.” + +“Think, Sir Crispin, think,” cried the boy feverishly. + +“To what purpose? There is the window. But even if the bars were moved, +which I see no manner of accomplishing, the drop to the river is seventy +feet at least. I measured it with my eyes when first we entered here. We +have no rope. Your cloak rent in two and the pieces tied together would +scarce yield us ten feet. Would you care to jump the remaining sixty?” + +At the very thought of it the lad trembled, noting which Sir Crispin +laughed softly. + +“There. And yet, boy, it would be taking a risk which if successful +would mean life--if otherwise, a speedier end than even the rope will +afford you. Oddslife,” he cried, suddenly springing to his feet, and +seizing the lanthorn. “Let us look at these bars.” + +He stepped across to the window, and held the light so that its rays +fell full upon the base of the vertical iron that barred the square. + +“It is much worn by rust, Kenneth,” he muttered. “The removal of this +single piece of iron,” and he touched the lower arm of the cross, +“should afford us passage. Who knows? Hum!” + +He walked back to the table and set the lanthorn down. In a tremble, +Kenneth watched his every movement, but spoke no word. + +“He who throws a main,” said Galliard, “must set a stake upon the board. +I set my life--a stake that is already forfeit--and I throw for liberty. +If I win, I win all; if I lose, I lose naught. 'Slife, I have thrown +many a main with Fate, but never one wherein the odds were more +generous. Come, Kenneth, it is the only way, and we will attempt it if +we can but move the bar.” + +“You mean to leap?” gasped the lad. + +“Into the river. It is the only way.” + +“O God, I dare not. It is a fearsome drop.” + +“Longer, I confess, than they'll give you in an hour's time, if you +remain; but it may lead elsewhere.” + +The boy's mouth was parched. His eyes burned in their sockets, and yet +his limbs shook with cold--but not the cold of that September night. + +“I'll try it,” he muttered with a gulp. Then suddenly clutching +Galliard's arm, he pointed to the window. + +“What ails you now?” quoth Crispin testily. + +“The dawn, Sir Crispin. The dawn.” + +Crispin looked, and there, like a gash in the blackness of the heavens, +he beheld a streak of grey. + +“Quick, Sir Crispin; there is no time to lose. The minister said he +would return at daybreak.” + +“Let him come,” answered Galliard grimly, as he moved towards the +casement. + +He gripped the lower bar with his lean, sinewy hands, and setting his +knee against the masonry beneath it, he exerted the whole of his huge +strength--that awful strength acquired during those years of toil as a +galley-slave, which even his debaucheries had not undermined. He felt +his sinews straining until it seemed that they must crack; the sweat +stood out upon his brow; his breathing grew stertorous. + +“It gives,” he panted at last. “It gives.” + +He paused in his efforts, and withdrew his hands. + +“I must breathe a while. One other effort such as that, and it is done. +'Fore George,” he laughed, “it is the first time water has stood my +friend, for the rains have sadly rusted that iron.” + +Without, their sentry was pacing before the door; his steps came nearer, +passed, and receded; turned, came nigh again, and again passed on. +As once more they grew faint, Crispin seized the bar and renewed his +attempt. This time it was easier. Gradually it ceded to the strain +Galliard set upon it. + +Nearer came the sentry's footsteps, but they went unheeded by him who +toiled, and by him who watched with bated breath and beating heart. He +felt it giving--giving--giving. Crack! + +With a report that rang through the room like a pistol shot, it broke +off in its socket. Both men caught their breath, and stood for a second +crouching, with straining ears. The sentry had stopped at their door. + +Galliard was a man of quick action, swift to think, and as swift to +execute the thought. To thrust Kenneth into a corner, to extinguish the +light, and to fling himself upon the bed was all the work of an instant. + +The key grated in the lock, and Crispin answered it with a resounding +snore. The door opened, and on the threshold stood the Roundhead +trooper, holding aloft a lanthorn whose rays were flashed back by his +polished cuirass. He beheld Crispin on the bed with closed eyes and open +mouth, and he heard his reassuring and melodious snore. He saw Kenneth +seated peacefully upon the floor, with his back against the wall, and +for a moment he was puzzled. + +“Heard you aught?” he asked. + +“Aye,” answered Kenneth, in a strangled voice, “I heard something like a +shot out there.” + +The gesture with which he accompanied the words was fatal. Instinctively +he had jerked his thumb towards the window, thereby drawing the +soldier's eyes in that direction. The fellow's glance fell upon the +twisted bar, and a sharp exclamation of surprise escaped him. + +Had he been aught but a fool he must have guessed at once how it came +so, and having guessed it, he must have thought twice ere he +ventured within reach of a man who could so handle iron. But he was a +slow-reasoning clod, and so far, thought had not yet taken the place of +surprise. He stepped into, the chamber and across to the window, that he +might more closely view that broken bar. + +With eyes that were full of terror and despair, Kenneth watched him; +their last hope had failed them. Then, as he looked, it seemed to him +that in one great leap from his recumbent position on the bed, Crispin +had fallen upon the soldier. + +The lanthorn was dashed from the fellow's hand, and rolled to Kenneth's +feet. The fellow had begun' a cry, which broke off suddenly into a +gurgle as Galliard's fingers closed about his windpipe. He was a big +fellow, and in his mad struggles he carried: Crispin hither and thither +about the room. Together: they hurtled against the table, which would +have: gone crashing over had not Kenneth caught it and drawn it softly +to the wall. + +Both men were now upon the bed. Crispin had guessed the soldier's intent +to fling himself upon the ground so that the ring of his armour might +be heard, and perchance bring others to his aid. To avoid this, Galliard +had swung him towards the bed, and hurled him on to it. There he pinned +him with his knee, and with his fingers he gripped the Roundhead's +throat, pressing the apple inwards with his thumb. + +“The door, Kenneth!” he commanded, in a whisper. “Close the door!” + +Vain were the trooper's struggles to free himself from that throttling +grip. Already his efforts grew his face was purple; his veins stood out +in ropes upon his brow till they seemed upon the point of bursting; his +eyes protruded like a lobster's and there was a horrible grin upon his +mouth; still his heels beat the bed, and still he struggled. With his +fingers he plucked madly at the throttling hands on his neck, and +tore at them with his nails until the blood streamed from them. Still +Galliard held him firmly, and with a smile--a diabolical smile it seemed +to the poor, half-strangled wretch--he gazed upon his choking victim. + +“Someone comes!” gasped Kenneth suddenly. “Someone comes, Sir Crispin!” + he repeated, shaking his hands in a frenzy. + +Galliard listened. Steps were approaching. The soldier heard them also, +and renewed his efforts. Then Crispin spoke. + +“Why stand you there like a fool?” he growled. “Quench the light--stay, +we may want it! Cast your cloak over it! Quick, man, quick!” + +The steps came nearer. The lad had obeyed him, and they were in +darkness. + +“Stand by the door,” whispered Crispin. “Fall upon him as he enters, +and see that no cry escapes him. Take him by the throat, and as you love +your life, do not let him get away.” + +The footsteps halted. Kenneth crawled softly to his post. The soldier's +struggles grew of a sudden still, and Crispin released his throat at +last. Then calmly drawing the fellow's dagger, he felt for the straps +of his cuirass, and these he proceeded to cut. As he did so the door was +opened. + +By the light of the lamp burning in the passage they beheld silhouetted +upon the threshold a black figure crowned by a steeple hat. Then the +droning voice of the Puritan minister greeted them. + +“Your hour is at hand!” he announced. + +“Is it time?” asked Galliard from the bed. And as he put the question he +softly thrust aside the trooper's breastplate, and set his hand to the +fellow's heart. It still beat faintly. + +“In another hour they will come for you,” answered the minister. And +Crispin marvelled anxiously what Kenneth was about. “Repent then, +miserable sinners, whilst yet--” + +He broke off abruptly, awaking out of his religious zeal to a sense +of strangeness at the darkness and the absence of the sentry, which +hitherto he had not remarked. + +“What hath--” he began. Then Galliard heard a gasp, followed by the +noise of a fall, and two struggling men came rolling across the chamber +floor. + +“Bravely done, boy!” he cried, almost mirthfully. “Cling to him, +Kenneth; cling to him a second yet!” + +He leapt from the bed, and guided by the faint light coming through the +door, he sprang across the intervening space and softly closed it. +Then he groped his way along the wall to the spot where he had seen the +lanthorn stand when Kenneth had flung his cloak over it. As he went, the +two striving men came up against him. + +“Hold fast, lad,” he cried, encouraging Kenneth, “hold him yet a moment, +and I will relieve you!” + +He reached the lanthorn at last, and pulling aside the cloak, he lifted +the light and set it upon the table. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE BARGAIN + + +By the lanthorn's yellow glare Crispin beheld the two men-a mass of +writhing bodies and a bunch of waving legs--upon the ground. Kenneth, +who was uppermost, clung purposefully to the parson's throat. The +faces of both were alike distorted, but whilst the lad's breath came in +gasping hisses, the other's came not at all. + +Going over to the bed, Crispin drew the unconscious trooper's +tuck-sword. He paused for a moment to bend over the man's face; his +breath came faintly, and Crispin knew that ere many moments were sped +he would regain consciousness. He smiled grimly to see how well he had +performed his work of suffocation without yet utterly destroying life. + +Sword in hand, he returned to Kenneth and the parson. The Puritan's +struggles were already becoming mere spasmodic twitchings; his face was +as ghastly as the trooper's had been a while ago. + +“Release him, Kenneth,” said Crispin shortly. + +“He struggles still.” + +“Release him, I say,” Galliard repeated, and stooping he caught the +lad's wrist and compelled him to abandon his hold. + +“He will cry out,” exclaimed Kenneth, in apprehension. + +“Not he,” laughed Crispin. “Leastways, not yet awhile. Observe the +wretch.” + +With mouth wide agape, the minister lay gasping like a fish newly +taken from the water. Even now that his throat was free he appeared to +struggle for a moment before he could draw breath. Then he took it in +panting gulps until it seemed that he must choke in his gluttony of air. + +“Fore George,” quoth Crispin, “I was no more than in time. Another +second, and we should have had him, too, unconscious. There, he is +recovering.” + +The blood was receding from the swollen veins of the parson's head, and +his cheeks were paling to their normal hue. Anon they went yet paler +than their wont, as Galliard rested the point of his sword against the +fellow's neck. + +“Make sound or movement,” said Crispin coldly, “and I'll pin you to the +floor like a beetle. Obey me, and no harm shall come to you.” + +“I will obey you,” the fellow answered, in a wheezing whisper. “I swear +I will. But of your charity, good sir, I beseech you remove your sword. +Your hand might slip, sir,” he whined, a wild terror in his eyes. + +Where now was the deep bass of his whilom accents? Where now the +grotesque majesty of his bearing, and the impressive gestures that +erstwhile had accompanied his words of denunciation? + +“Your hand might slip, sir,” he whined again. + +“It might--and, by Gad, it shall if I hear more from you. So that you +are discreet and obedient, have no fear of my hand.” Then, still keeping +his eye upon the fellow: “Kenneth,” he said, “attend to the crop-ear +yonder, he will be recovering. Truss him with the bedclothes, and gag +him with his scarf. See to it, Kenneth, and do it well, but leave his +nostrils free that he may breathe.” + +Kenneth carried out Galliard's orders swiftly and effectively, what time +Crispin remained standing over the recumbent minister. At length, when +Kenneth announced that it was done, he bade the Puritan rise. + +“But have a care,” he added, “or you shall taste the joys of the +Paradise you preach of. Come, sir parson; afoot!” + +A prey to a fear that compelled unquestioning obedience, the fellow rose +with alacrity. + +“Stand there, sir. So,” commanded Crispin, his point within an inch of +the man's Geneva bands. “Take your kerchief, Kenneth, and pinion his +wrists behind him.” + +That done, Crispin bade the lad unbuckle and remove the parson's belt. +Next he ordered that man of texts to be seated upon their only chair, +and with that same belt he commanded Kenneth to strap him to it. When +at length the Puritan was safely bound, Crispin lowered his rapier, and +seated himself upon the table edge beside him. + +“Now, sir parson,” quoth he, “let us talk a while. At your first outcry +I shall hurry you into that future world whither it is your mission to +guide the souls of others. Maybe you'll find it a better world to preach +of than to inhabit, and so, for your own sake, I make no doubt you +will obey me. To your honour, to your good sense and a parson's natural +horror of a lie, I look for truth in answer to what questions I may +set you. Should I find you deceiving me, sir, I shall see that your +falsehood overtakes you.” And eloquently raising his blade, he intimated +the exact course he would adopt. “Now, sir, attend to me. How soon are +our friends likely to discover this topsy-turvydom?” + +“When they come for you,” answered the parson meekly. + +“And how soon, O prophet, will they come?” + +“In an hour's time, or thereabout,” replied the Puritan, glancing +towards the window as he spoke. Galliard followed his glance, and +observed that the light was growing perceptibly stronger. + +“Aye,” he commented, “in an hour's time there should be light enough to +hang us by. Is there no chance of anyone coming sooner?” + +“None that I can imagine. The only other occupants of the house are a +party of half a dozen troopers in the guardroom below.” + +“Where is the Lord General?” + +“Away--I know not where. But he will be here at sunrise.” + +“And the sentry that was at our door--is he not to a changed 'twixt this +and hanging-time?” + +“I cannot say for sure, but I think not. The guard was relieved just +before I came.” + +“And the men in the guardroom--answer me truthfully, O Elijah--what +manner of watch are they keeping?” + +“Alas, sir, they have drunk enough this night to put a rakehelly +Cavalier to shame. I was but exhorting them.” + +When Kenneth had removed the Puritan's girdle, a small Bible--such as +men of his calling were wont to carry--had dropped out. This Kenneth had +placed upon the table. Galliard now took it up, and, holding it before +the Puritan's eyes, he watched him narrowly the while. + +“Will you swear by this book that you have answered nothing but the +truth?” + +Without a moment's hesitation the parson pledged his oath, that, to the +best of his belief, he had answered accurately. + +“That is well, sir. And now, though it grieve me to cause you some +slight discomfort, I must ensure your silence, my friend.” + +And, placing his sword upon the table, he passed behind the Puritan, and +taking the man's own scarf, he effectively gagged him with it. + +“Now, Kenneth,” said he, turning to the lad. Then he stopped abruptly as +if smitten by a sudden thought. Presently--“Kenneth,” he continued in a +different tone, “a while ago I mind me you said that were your liberty +restored you, you would join hands with me in punishing the evildoers +who wrecked my life.” + +“I did, Sir Crispin.” + +For a moment the knight paused. It was a vile thing that he was about to +do, he told himself, and as he realized how vile, his impulse was to say +no more; to abandon the suddenly formed project and to trust to his own +unaided wits and hands. But as again he thought of the vast use this lad +would be to him--this lad who was the betrothed of Cynthia Ashburn--he +saw that the matter was not one hastily to be judged and dismissed. +Carefully he weighed it in the balance of his mind. On the one hand was +the knowledge that did they succeed in making good their escape, +Kenneth would naturally fly for shelter to his friends the Ashburns--the +usurpers of Castle Marleigh. What then more natural than his taking with +him the man who had helped him to escape, and who shared his own danger +of recapture? And with so plausible a motive for admission to Castle +Marleigh, how easy would not his vengeance become? He might at first +wean himself into their good graces, and afterwards-- + +Before his mental eyes there unfolded itself the vista of a great +revenge; one that should be worthy of him, and commensurate with the +foul deed that called for it. + +In the other scale the treacherous flavour of this method weighed +heavily. He proposed to bind the lad to a promise, the shape of whose +fulfilment he would withhold--a promise the lad would readily give, and +yet, one that he must sooner die than enter into, did he but know what +manner of fulfilment would be exacted. It amounted to betraying the lad +into a betrayal of his friends--the people of his future wife. Whatever +the issue for Crispin, 'twas odds Kenneth's prospect of wedding this +Cynthia would be blighted for all time by the action into which Galliard +proposed to thrust him all unconscious. + +So stood the case in Galliard's mind, and the scales fell now on one +side, now on the other. But against his scruples rose the memory of the +treatment which the lad had meted out to him that night; the harshness +of the boy's judgment; the irrevocable contempt wherein he had clearly +seen that he was held by this fatuous milksop. All this aroused his +rancour now, and steeled his heart against the voice of honour. What +was this boy to him, he asked himself, that he should forego for him the +accomplishing of his designs? How had this lad earned any consideration +from him? What did he owe him? Naught! Still, he would not decide in +haste. + +It was characteristic of the man whom Kenneth held to be destitute of +all honourable principles, to stand thus in the midst of perils, when +every second that sped lessened their chances of escape, turning over +in his mind calmly and collectedly a point of conduct. It was in his +passions only that Crispin was ungovernable, in violence only that he +was swift--in all things else was he deliberate. + +Of this Kenneth had now a proof that set him quaking with impatient +fear. Anxiously, his hands clenched and his face pale, he watched his +companion, who stood with brows knit in thought, and his grey +eyes staring at the ground. At length he could brook that, to him, +incomprehensible and mad delay no longer. + +“Sir Crispin,” he whispered, plucking at his sleeve; “Sir Crispin.” + +The knight flashed him a glance that was almost of anger. Then the fire +died out of his eyes; he sighed and spoke. In that second's glance +he had seen the lad's face; the fear and impatience written on it had +disgusted him, and caused the scales to fall suddenly and definitely +against the boy. + +“I was thinking how it might be accomplished,” he said. + +“There is but one way,” cried the lad. + +“On the contrary, there are two, and I wish to choose carefully.” + +“If you delay your choice much longer, none will be left you,” cried +Kenneth impatiently. + +Noting the lad's growing fears, and resolved now upon his course, +Galliard set himself to play upon them until terror should render the +boy as wax in his hands. + +“There speaks your callow inexperience,” said he, with a pitying smile. +“When you shall have lived as long as I have done, and endured as much; +when you shall have set your wits to the saving of your life as often +as have I--you will have learnt that haste is fatal to all enterprises. +Failure means the forfeiture of something; tonight it would mean the +forfeiture of our lives, and it were a pity to let such good efforts as +these”--and with a wave of the hand he indicated their two captors--“go +wasted.” + +“Sir,” exclaimed Kenneth, well-nigh beside himself, “if you come not +with me, I go alone!” + +“Whither?” asked Crispin dryly. + +“Out of this.” + +Galliard bowed slightly. + +“Fare you well, sir. I'll not detain you. Your way is clear, and it is +for you to choose between the door and the window.” + +And with that Crispin turned his back upon his companion and crossed to +the bed, where the trooper lay glaring in mute anger. He stooped, +and unbuckling the soldier's swordbelt--to which the scabbard was +attached--he girt himself with it. Without raising his eyes, and keeping +his back to Kenneth, who stood between him and the door, he went next to +the table, and, taking up the sword that he had left there, he restored +it to the sheath. As the hilt clicked against the mouth of the scabbard: + +“Come, Sir Crispin!” cried the lad. “Are you ready?” + +Galliard wheeled sharply round. + +“How? Not gone yet?” said he sardonically. + +“I dare not,” the lad confessed. “I dare not go alone.” + +Galliard laughed softly; then suddenly waxed grave. + +“Ere we go, Master Kenneth, I would again remind you of your assurance +that were we to regain our liberty you would aid me in the task of +vengeance that lies before me.” + +“Once already have I answered you that it is so.” + +“And pray, are you still of the same mind?” + +“I am, I am! Anything, Sir Crispin; anything so that you come away!” + +“Not so fast, Kenneth. The promise that I shall ask of you is not to +be so lightly given. If we escape I may fairly claim to have saved your +life, 'twixt what I have done and what I may yet do. Is it not so?” + +“Oh, I acknowledge it!” + +“Then, sir, in payment I shall expect your aid hereafter to help me in +that which I must accomplish, that which the hope of accomplishing is +the only spur to my own escape.” + +“You have my promise!” cried the lad. + +“Do not give it lightly, Kenneth,” said Crispin gravely. “It may cause +you much discomfort, and may be fraught with danger even to your life.” + +“I promise.” + +Galliard bowed his head; then, turning, he took the Bible from the +table. + +“With your hand upon this book, by your honour, your faith, and your +every hope of salvation, swear that if I bear you alive out of this +house you will devote yourself to me and to my task of vengeance until +it shall be accomplished or until I perish; swear that you will set +aside all personal matters and inclinations of your own, to serve me +when I shall call upon you. Swear that, and, in return, I will give +my life if need be to save yours to-night, in which case you will be +released from your oath without more ado.” + +The lad paused a moment. Crispin was so impressive, the oath he imposed +so solemn, that for an instant the boy hesitated. His cautious, timid +nature whispered to him that perchance he should know more of this +matter ere he bound himself so irrevocably. But Crispin, noting the +hesitation, stifled it by appealing to the lad's fears. + +“Resolve yourself,” he exclaimed abruptly. “It grows light, and the time +for haste is come.” + +“I swear!” answered Kenneth, overcome by his impatience. “I swear, by my +honour, my faith, and my every hope of heaven to lend you my aid, when +and how you may demand it, until your task be accomplished.” + +Crispin took the Bible from the boy's hands, and replaced it on the +table. His lips were pressed tight, and he avoided the lad's eyes. + +“You shall not find me wanting in my part of the bargain,” he muttered, +as he took up the soldier's cloak and hat. “Come, take that parson's +steeple hat and his cloak, and let us be going.” + +He crossed to the door, and opening it he peered down the passage. A +moment he stood listening. All was still. Then he turned again. In the +chamber the steely light of the breaking day was rendering more yellow +still the lanthorn's yellow flame. + +“Fare you well, sir parson,” he said. “Forgive me the discomfort I have +been forced to put upon you, and pray for the success of our escape. +Commend me to Oliver of the ruby nose. Fare you well, sir. Come, +Kenneth.” + +He held the door for the lad to pass out. As they stood in the dimly +lighted passage he closed it softly after them, and turned the key in +the lock. + +“Come,” he said again, and led the way to the stairs, Kenneth tiptoeing +after him with wildly beating heart. + + + + +CHAPTER X. THE ESCAPE + + +Treading softly, and with ears straining for the slightest sound, the +two men descended to the first floor of the house. They heard nothing +to alarm them as they crept down, and not until they paused on the first +landing to reconnoitre did they even catch the murmur of voices issuing +from the guardroom below. So muffled was the sound that Crispin guessed +how matters stood even before he had looked over the balusters into +the hall beneath. The faint grey of the dawn was the only light that +penetrated the gloom of that pit. + +“The Fates are kind, Kenneth,” he whispered. “Those fools sit with +closed doors. Come.” + +But Kenneth laid his hand upon Galliard's sleeve. “What if the door +should open as we pass?” + +“Someone will die,” muttered Crispin back. “But pray God that it may +not. We must run the risk.” + +“Is there no other way?” + +“Why, yes,” returned Galliard sardonically, “we can linger here until we +are taken. But, oddslife, I'm not so minded. Come.” + +And as he spoke he drew the lad along. + +His foot was upon the topmost stair of the flight, when of a sudden the +stillness of the house was broken by a loud knock upon the street door. +Instantly--as though they had been awaiting it there was a stir of feet +below and the bang of an overturned chair; then a shaft of yellow light +fell athwart the darkness of the hall as the guardroom door was opened. + +“Back!” growled Galliard. “Back, man!” + +They were but in time. Peering over the balusters they saw two troopers +pass out of the guardroom, and cross the hall to the door. A bolt was +drawn and a chain rattled, then followed the creak of hinges, and on the +stone flags rang the footsteps and the jingling of spurs of those that +entered. + +“Is all well?” came a voice, which Crispin recognized as Colonel +Pride's, followed by an affirmative reply from one of the soldiers. + +“Hath a minister visited the malignants?” + +“Master Toneleigh is with them even now.” + +In the hall Crispin could now make out the figures of Colonel Pride and +of three men who came with him. But he had scant leisure to survey them, +for the colonel was in haste. + +“Come, sirs,” he heard him say, “light me to their garret. I would see +them--leastways, one of them, before he dies. They are to hang where +the Moabites hanged Gives yesterday. Had I my way... But, there lead on, +fellow.” + +“Oh, God!” gasped Kenneth, as the soldier set foot upon the stairs. +Under his breath Crispin swore a terrific oath. For an instant it seemed +to him there was naught left but to stand there and await recapture. +Through his mind it flashed that they were five, and he but one; for his +companion was unarmed. + +With that swiftness which thought alone can compass did he weigh the +odds, and judge his chances. He realized how desperate they were did he +remain, and even as he thought he glanced sharply round. + +Dim indeed was the light, but his sight was keen, and quickened by the +imminence of danger. Partly his eyes and partly his instinct told +him that not six paces behind him there must be a door, and if Heaven +pleased it should be unlocked, behind it they must look for shelter. +It even crossed his mind in that second of crowding, galloping thought, +that perchance the room might be occupied. That was a risk he must +take--the lesser risk of the two, the choice of one of which was forced +upon him. He had determined all this ere the soldier's foot was upon the +third step of the staircase, and before the colonel had commenced the +ascent. Kenneth stood palsied with fear, gazing like one fascinated at +the approaching peril. + +Then upon his ear fell the fierce whisper: “Come with me, and tread +lightly as you love your life.” + +In three long strides, and by steps that were softer than a cat's, +Crispin crossed to the door which he had rather guessed than seen. He +ran his hand along until he caught the latch. Softly he tried it; it +gave, and the door opened. Kenneth was by then beside him. He paused to +look back. + +On the opposite wall the light of the trooper's lanthorn fell brightly. +Another moment and the fellow would have reached and turned the corner +of the stairs, and his light must reveal them to him. But ere that +instant was passed Crispin had drawn his companion through, and closed +the door as softly as he had opened it. The chamber was untenanted +and almost bare of furniture, at which discovery Crispin breathed more +freely. + +They stood there, and heard the ascending footsteps, and the clank-clank +of a sword against the stair-rail. A bar of yellow light came under the +door that sheltered them. Stronger it grew and farther it crept along +the floor; then stopped and receded again, as he who bore the lanthorn +turned and began to climb to the second floor. An instant later and the +light had vanished, eclipsed by those who followed in the fellow's wake. + +“The window, Sir Crispin,” cried Kenneth, in an excited whisper--“the +window!” + +“No,” answered Crispin calmly. “The drop is a long one, and we should +but light in the streets, and be little better than we are here. Wait.” + +He listened. The footsteps had turned the corner leading to the floor +above. He opened the door, partly at first, then wide. For an instant +he stood listening again. The steps were well overhead by now; soon they +would mount the last flight, and then discovery must be swift to follow. + +“Now,” was all Crispin said, and, drawing his sword he led the way +swiftly, yet cautiously, to the stairs once more. In passing he glanced +over the rails. The guardroom door stood ajar, and he caught the murmurs +of subdued conversation. But he did not pause. Had the door stood wide +he would not have paused then. There was not a second to be lost; to +wait was to increase the already overwhelming danger. Cautiously, and +leaning well upon the stout baluster, he began the descent. Kenneth +followed him mechanically, with white face and a feeling of suffocation +in his throat. + +They gained the corner, and turning, they began what was truly the +perilous part of their journey. Not more than a dozen steps were there; +but at the bottom stood the guardroom door, and through the chink of +its opening a shaft of light fell upon the nethermost step. Once a stair +creaked, and to their quickened senses it sounded like a pistol-shot. As +loud to Crispin sounded the indrawn breath of apprehension from Kenneth +that followed it. He had almost paused to curse the lad when, thinking +him of how time pressed, he went on. + +Within three steps of the bottom were they, and they could almost +distinguish what was being said in the room, when Crispin stopped, and +turning his head to attract Kenneth's attention, he pointed straight +across the hall to a dimly visible door. It was that of the chamber +wherein he had been brought before Cromwell. Its position had occurred +to him some moments before, and he had determined then upon going that +way. + +The lad followed the indication of his finger, and signified by a nod +that he understood. Another step Galliard descended; then from the +guardroom came a loud yawn, to send the boy cowering against the wall. +It was followed by the sound of someone rising; a chair grated upon the +floor, and there was a movement of feet within the chamber. Had Kenneth +been alone, of a certainty terror would have frozen him to the wall. + +But the calm, unmovable Crispin proceeded as if naught had chanced; he +argued that even if he who had risen were coming towards the door, there +was nothing to be gained by standing still. Their only chance lay now in +passing before it might be opened. + +They that walk through perils in a brave man's company cannot but gain +confidence from the calm of his demeanour. So was it now with Kenneth. +The steady onward march of that tall, lank figure before him drew him +irresistibly after it despite his tremors. And well it was for him that +this was so. They gained the bottom of the staircase at length; they +stood beside the door of the guardroom, they passed it in safety. Then +slowly--painfully slowly--to avoid their steps from ringing upon the +stone floor, they crept across towards the door that meant safety to Sir +Crispin. Slowly, step by step, they moved, and with every stride Crispin +looked behind him, prepared to rush the moment he had sign they were +discovered. But it was not needed. In silence and in safety they were +permitted to reach the door. To Crispin's joy it was unfastened. Quietly +he opened it, then with calm gallantry he motioned to his companion to +go first, holding it for him as he passed in, and keeping watch with eye +and ear the while. + +Scarce had Kenneth entered the chamber when from above came the sound +of loud and excited voices, announcing to them that their flight was at +last discovered. It was responded to by a rush of feet in the guardroom, +and Crispin had but time to dart in after his companion and close the +door ere the troopers poured out into the hall and up the stairs, with +confused shouts that something must be amiss. + +Within the room that sheltered him Crispin chuckled, as he ran his hand +along the edge of the door until he found the bolt, and softly shot it +home. + +“'Slife,” he muttered, “'twas a close thing! Aye, shout, you cuckolds,” + he went on. “Yell yourselves hoarse as the crows you are! You'll hang us +where Gives are hanged, will you?” + +Kenneth tugged at the skirts of his doublet. “What now?” he inquired. + +“Now,” said Crispin, “we'll leave by the window, if it please you.” + +They crossed the room, and a moment or two later they had dropped on +to the narrow railed pathway overlooking the river, which Crispin had +observed from their prison window the evening before. He had observed, +too, that a small boat was moored at some steps about a hundred yards +farther down the stream, and towards that spot he now sped along +the footpath, followed closely by Kenneth. The path sloped in that +direction, so that by the time the spot was reached the water flowed not +more than six feet or so beneath them. Half a dozen steps took them +down this to the moorings of that boat, which fortunately had not been +removed. + +“Get in, Kenneth,” Crispin commanded. “There, I'll take the oars, and +I'll keep under shelter of the bank lest those blunderers should bethink +them of looking out of our prison window. Oddswounds, Kenneth, I am +hungry as a wolf, and as dry--ough, as dry as Dives when he begged for a +sup of water. Heaven send we come upon some good malignant homestead ere +we go far, where a Christian may find a meal and a stoup of ale. 'Tis a +miracle I had strength enough to crawl downstairs. Swounds, but an empty +stomach is a craven comrade in a desperate enterprise. Hey! Have a care, +boy. Now, sink me if this milksop hasn't fainted!” + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE ASHBURNS + + +Gregory Ashburn pushed back his chair and made shift to rise from the +table at which he and his brother had but dined. + +He was a tall, heavily built man, with a coarse, florid countenance set +in a frame of reddish hair that hung straight and limp. In the colour of +their hair lay the only point of resemblance between the brothers. +For the rest Joseph was spare and of middle weight, pale of face, +thin-lipped, and owning a cunning expression that was rendered very evil +by virtue of the slight cast in his colourless eyes. + +In earlier life Gregory had not been unhandsome; debauchery and sloth +had puffed and coarsened him. Joseph, on the other hand, had never been +aught but ill-favoured. + +“Tis a week since Worcester field was fought,” grumbled Gregory, looking +lazily sideways at the mullioned windows as he spoke, “and never a word +from the lad.” + +Joseph shrugged his narrow shoulders and sneered. It was Joseph's habit +to sneer when he spoke, and his words were wont to fit the sneer. + +“Doth the lack of news trouble you?” he asked, glancing across the table +at his brother. + +Gregory rose without meeting that glance. + +“Truth to tell it does trouble me,” he muttered. + +“And yet,” quoth Joseph, “tis a natural thing enough. When battles are +fought it is not uncommon for men to die.” + +Gregory crossed slowly to the window, and stared out at the trees of the +park which autumn was fast stripping. + +“If he were among the fallen--if he were dead then indeed the matter +would be at an end.” + +“Aye, and well ended.” + +“You forget Cynthia,” Gregory reproved him. + +“Forget her? Not I, man. Listen.” And he jerked his thumb in the +direction of the wainscot. + +To the two men in that rich chamber of Castle Marleigh was borne the +sound--softened by distance of a girlish voice merrily singing. + +Joseph laughed a cackle of contempt. + +“Is that the song of a maid whose lover comes not back from the wars?” + he asked. + +“But bethink you, Joseph, the child suspects not the possibility of his +having fallen.” + +“Gadswounds, sir, did your daughter give the fellow a thought she must +be anxious. A week yesterday since the battle, and no word from him. +I dare swear, Gregory, there's little in that to warrant his mistress +singing.” + +“Cynthia is young--a child. She reasons not as you and I, nor seeks to +account for his absence.” + +“Troubles not to account for it,” Joseph amended. + +“Be that as it may,” returned Gregory irritably, “I would I knew.” + +“That which we do not know we may sometimes infer. I infer him to be +dead, and there's the end of it.” + +“What if he should not be?” + +“Then, my good fool, he would be here.” + +“It is unlike you, Joseph, to argue so loosely. What if he should be a +prisoner?” + +“Why, then, the plantations will do that which the battle hath left +undone. So that, dead or captive, you see it is all one.” + +And, lifting his glass to the light, he closed one eye, the better to +survey with the other the rich colour of the wine. Not that Joseph was +curious touching that colour, but he was a juggler in gestures, and at +that moment he could think of no other whereby he might so naturally +convey the utter indifference of his feelings in the matter. + +“Joseph, you are wrong,” said Gregory, turning his back upon the window +and facing his brother. “It is not all one. What if he return some day?” + +“Oh, what if--what if--what if!” cried Joseph testily. “Gregory, what a +casuist you might have been had not nature made you a villain! You +are as full of “what if s” as an egg of meat. Well what if some day he +should return? I fling your question back--what if?” + +“God only knows.” + +“Then leave it to Him,” was the flippant answer; and Joseph drained his +glass. + +“Nay, brother, 'twere too great a risk. I must and I will know whether +Kenneth were slain or not. If he is a prisoner, then we must exert +ourselves to win his freedom.” + +“Plague take it,” Joseph burst out. “Why all this ado? Why did you ever +loose that graceless whelp from his Scottish moor?” + +Gregory sighed with an air of resigned patience. + +“I have more reasons than one,” he answered slowly. “If you need that +I recite them to you, I pity your wits. Look you, Joseph, you have more +influence with Cromwell; more--far more--than have I, and if you are +minded to do so, you can serve me in this.” + +“I wait but to learn how.” + +“Then go to Cromwell, at Windsor or wherever he may be, and seek to +learn from him if Kenneth is a prisoner. If he is not, then clearly he +is dead.” + +Joseph made a gesture of impatience. + +“Can you not leave Fate alone?” + +“Think you I have no conscience, Joseph?” cried the other with sudden +vigour. + +“Pish! you are womanish.” + +“Nay, Joseph, I am old. I am in the autumn of my days, and I would see +these two wed before I die.” + +“And are damned for a croaking, maudlin' craven,” added Joseph. “Pah! +You make me sick.” + +There was a moment's silence, during which the brothers eyed each other, +Gregory with a sternness before which Joseph's mocking eye was forced at +length to fall. + +“Joseph, you shall go to the Lord General.” + +“Well,” said Joseph weakly, “we will say that I go. But if Kenneth be a +prisoner, what then?” + +“You must beg his liberty from Cromwell. He will not refuse you.” + +“Will he not? I am none so confident.” + +“But you can make the attempt, and leastways we shall have some definite +knowledge of what has befallen the boy.” + +“The which definite knowledge seems to me none so necessary. Moreover, +Gregory, bethink you; there has been a change, and the wind carries an +edge that will arouse every devil of rheumatism in my bones. I am not a +lad, Gregory, and travelling at this season is no small matter for a man +of fifty.” + +Gregory approached the table, and leaning his hand upon it: + +“Will you go?” he asked, squarely eyeing his brother. + +Joseph fell a-pondering. He knew Gregory to be a man of fixed ideas, and +he bethought him that were he now to refuse he would be hourly plagued +by Gregory's speculations touching the boy's fate and recriminations +touching his own selfishness. On the other hand, however, the journey +daunted him. He was not a man to sacrifice his creature comforts, and to +be asked to sacrifice them to a mere whim, a shadow, added weight to his +inclination to refuse the undertaking. + +“Since you have the matter so much at heart,” said he at length, “does +it not occur to you that you could plead with greater fervour, and be +the likelier to succeed?” + +“You know that Cromwell will lend a more willing ear to you than to +me--perchance because you know so well upon occasion how to weave your +stock of texts into your discourse,” he added with a sneer. “Will you +go, Joseph?” + +“Bethink you that we know not where he is. I may have to wander for +weeks o'er the face of England.” + +“Will you go?” Gregory repeated. + +“Oh, a pox on it,” broke out Joseph, rising suddenly. “I'll go since +naught else will quiet you. I'll start to-morrow.” + +“Joseph, I am grateful. I shall be more grateful yet if you will start +to-day.” + +“No, sink me, no.” + +“Yes, sink me, yes,” returned Gregory. “You must, Joseph.” + +Joseph spoke of the wind again; the sky, he urged, was heavy with rain. +“What signifies a day?” he whined. + +But Gregory stood his ground until almost out of self-protection the +other consented to do his bidding and set out as soon as he could make +ready. + +This being determined, Joseph left his brother, and cursing Master +Stewart for the amount of discomfort which he was about to endure on his +behoof, he went to prepare for the journey. + +Gregory lingered still in the chamber where they had dined, and sat +staring moodily before him at the table-linen. Anon, with a half-laugh +of contempt, he filled a glass of muscadine, and drained it. As he set +down the glass the door opened, and on the threshold stood a very dainty +girl, whose age could not be more than twenty. Gregory looked on the +fresh, oval face, with its wealth of brown hair crowning the low, broad +forehead, and told himself that in his daughter he had just cause for +pride. He looked again, and told himself that his brother was right; +she had not the air of a maid whose lover returns not from the wars. +Her lips were smiling, and the eyes--low-lidded and blue as the +heavens--were bright with mirth. + +“Why sit you there so glum,” she cried, “whilst my uncle, they tell me, +is going on a journey?” + +Gregory was minded to put her feelings to the test. + +“Kenneth,” he replied with significant emphasis, watching her closely. + +The mirth faded from her eyes, and they took on a grave expression that +added to their charm. But Gregory had looked for fear, leastways deep +concern, and in this he was disappointed. + +“What of him, father?” she asked, approaching. + +“Naught, and that's the rub. It is time we had news, and as none comes, +your uncle goes to seek it.” + +“Think you that ill can have befallen him?” + +Gregory was silent a moment, weighing his answer. Then + +“We hope not, sweetheart,” said he. “He may be a prisoner. We last had +news of him from Worcester, and 'tis a week and more since the battle +was fought there. Should he be a captive, your uncle has sufficient +influence to obtain his enlargement.” + +Cynthia sighed, and moved towards the window. + +“Poor Kenneth,” she murmured gently. “He may be wounded.” + +“We shall soon learn,” he answered. His disappointment grew keener; +where he had looked for grief he found no more than an expression of +pitying concern. Nor was his disappointment lessened when, after a spell +of thoughtful silence, she began to comment upon the condition of the +trees in the park below. Gregory had it in his mind to chide her for +this lack of interest in the fate of her intended husband, but he let +the impulse pass unheeded. After all, if Kenneth lived she should marry +him. Hitherto she had been docile and willing enough to be guided by +him; she had even displayed a kindness for Kenneth; no doubt she would +do so again when Joseph returned with him--unless he were among the +Worcester slain, in which case, perhaps, it would prove best that his +fate was not to cause her any prostration of grief. + +“The sky is heavy, father,” said Cynthia from the window. “Poor uncle! +He will have rough weather for his journey.” + +“I rejoice that someone wastes pity on poor uncle,” growled Joseph, +who re-entered, “this uncle whom your father drives out of doors in all +weathers to look for his daughter's truant lover.” + +Cynthia smiled upon him. + +“It is heroic of you, uncle.” + +“There, there,” he grumbled, “I shall do my best to find the laggard, +lest those pretty eyes should weep away their beauty.” + +Gregory's glance reproved this sneer of Joseph's, whereupon Joseph drew +close to him: + +“Broken-hearted, is she not?” he muttered, to which Gregory returned no +answer. + +An hour later, as Joseph climbed into his saddle, he turned to his +brother again, and directing his eyes upon the girl, who stood patting +the glossy neck of his nag: + +“Come, now,” said he, “you see that matters are as I said.” + +“And yet,” replied Gregory sternly, “I hope to see you return with the +boy. It will be better so.” + +Joseph shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. Then, taking leave of his +brother and his niece, he rode out with two grooms at his heels, and +took the road South. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S + + +It was high noon next day, and Gregory Ashburn was taking the air upon +the noble terrace of Castle Marleigh, when the beat of hoofs, rapidly +approaching up the avenue, arrested his attention. He stopped in his +walk, and, turning, sought to discover who came. His first thought was +of his brother; his second, of Kenneth. Through the half-denuded trees +he made out two mounted figures, riding side by side; and from the fact +of there being two, he adduced that this could not be Joseph returning. + +Even as he waited he was joined by Cynthia, who took her stand beside +him, and voiced the inquiry that was in his mind. But her father could +no more than answer that he hoped it might be Kenneth. + +Then the horsemen passed from behind the screen of trees and came into +the clearing before the terrace, and unto the waiting glances of Ashburn +and his daughter was revealed a curiously bedraggled and ill-assorted +pair. The one riding slightly in advance looked like a Puritan of the +meaner sort, in his battered steeple-hat and cloak of rusty black. The +other was closely wrapped in a red mantle, uptilted behind by a sword of +prodigious length, and for all that his broad, grey hat was unadorned +by any feather, it was set at a rakish, ruffling, damn-me angle that +pronounced him no likely comrade for the piously clad youth beside him. + +But beneath that brave red cloak--alack!--as was presently seen when +they dismounted, that gentleman was in a sorry plight. He wore a leather +jerkin, so cut and soiled that any groom might have disdained it; a pair +of green breeches, frayed to their utmost; and coarse boots of untanned +leather, adorned by rusty spurs. + +On the terrace Gregory paused a moment to call his groom to attend +the new-comers, then he passed down the steps to greet Kenneth with +boisterous effusion. Behind him, slow and stately as a woman of twice +her years, came Cynthia. Calm was her greeting of her lover, contained +in courteous expressions of pleasure at beholding him safe, and +suffering him to kiss her hand. + +In the background, his sable locks uncovered out of deference to the +lady, stood Sir Crispin, his face pale and haggard, his lips parted, and +his grey eyes burning as they fell again, after the lapse of years, upon +the stones of this his home--the castle to which he was now come, hat in +hand, to beg for shelter. + +Gregory was speaking, his hands resting upon Kenneth's shoulder. + +“We have been much exercised concerning you, lad,” he was saying. “We +almost feared the worst, and yesterday Joseph left us to seek news of +you at Cromwell's hands. Where have you tarried?” + +“Anon, sir; you shall learn anon. The story is a long one.” + +“True; you will be tired, and perchance you would first rest a while. +Cynthia will see to it. But what scarecrow have you there? What +tatterdemalion is this?” he cried, pointing to Galliard. He had imagined +him a servant, but the dull flush that overspread Sir Crispin's face +told him of his error. + +“I would have you know, sir,” Crispin began, with some heat, when +Kenneth interrupted him. + +“Tis to this gentleman, sir, that I owe my presence here. He was my +fellow-prisoner, and but for his quick wit and stout arm I should be +stiff by now. Anon, sir, you shall hear the story of it, and I dare +swear it will divert you. This gentleman is Sir Crispin Galliard, lately +a captain of horse with whom I served in Middleton's Brigade.” + +Crispin bowed low, conscious of the keen scrutiny in which Gregory's +eyes were bent upon him. In his heart there arose a fear that, haply +after all, the years that were sped had not wrought sufficient change in +him. + +“Sir Crispin Galliard,” Ashburn was saying, after the manner of one who +is searching his memory. “Galliard, Galliard--not he whom they called +'Rakehelly Galliard,' and who gave us such trouble in the late King's +time?” + +Crispin breathed once more. Ashburn's scrutiny was explained. + +“The same, sir,” he answered, with a smile and a fresh bow. “Your +servant, sir; and yours, madam.” + +Cynthia looked with interest at the lank, soldierly figure. She, too, +had heard--as who had not?--wild stories of this man's achievements. But +of no feat of his had she been told that could rival that of his escape +from Worcester; and when, that same evening, Kenneth related it, as they +supped, her low-lidded eyes grew very wide, and as they fell on Crispin, +admiration had taken now the place of interest. + +Romance swayed as great a portion of her heart as it does of most +women's. She loved the poets and their songs of great deeds; and here +was one who, in the light of that which they related of him, was like an +incarnation of some hero out of a romancer's ballad. + +Kenneth she never yet had held in over high esteem; but of a sudden, in +the presence of this harsh-featured dog of war, this grim, fierce-eyed +ruffler, he seemed to fade, despite his comeliness of face and form, +into a poor and puny insignificance. And when, presently, he unwisely +related how, when in the boat he had fainted, the maiden laughed +outright for very scorn. + +At this plain expression of contempt, her father shot her a quick, +uneasy glance. Kenneth stopped short, bringing his narrative abruptly to +a close. Reproachfully he looked at her, turning first red, then white, +as anger chased annoyance through his soul. Galliard looked on with +quiet relish; her laugh had contained that which for days he had carried +in his heart. He drained his bumper slowly, and made no attempt to +relieve the awkward silence that sat upon the company. + +Truth to tell, there was emotion enough in the soul of him who was wont +to be the life of every board he sat at to hold him silent and even +moody. + +Here, after eighteen years, was he again in his ancestral home of +Marleigh. But how was he returned? As one who came under a feigned name, +to seek from usurping hands a shelter 'neath his own roof; a beggar of +that from others which it should have been his to grant or to deny +those others. As an avenger he came. For justice he came, and armed with +retribution; the flame of a hate unspeakable burning in his heart, and +demanding the lives--no less--of those that had destroyed him and his. +Yet was he forced to sit a mendicant almost at that board whose head was +his by every right; forced to sit and curb his mood, giving no outward +sign of the volcano that boiled and raged within his soul as his eye +fell upon the florid, smiling face and portly, well-fed frame of Gregory +Ashburn. For the time was not yet. He must wait; wait until Joseph's +return, so that he might spend his vengeance upon both together. + +Patient had he been for eighteen years, confident that ere he died, a +just and merciful God would give him this for which he lived and waited. +Yet now that the season was at hand; now upon the very eve of that for +which he had so long been patient, a frenzy of impatience fretted him. + +He drank deep that night, and through deep drinking his manner +thawed--for in his cups it was not his to be churlish to friend or foe. +Anon Cynthia withdrew; next Kenneth, who went in quest of her. Still +Crispin sat on, and drank his host's health above his breath, and his +perdition under it, till in the end Gregory, who never yet had found +his master at the bottle, grew numb and drowsy, and sat blinking at the +tapers. + +Until midnight they remained at table, talking of this and that, and +each understanding little of what the other said. As the last hour of +night boomed out through the great hall, Gregory spoke of bed. + +“Where do I lie to-night?” asked Crispin. + +“In the northern wing,” answered Gregory with a hiccough. + +“Nay, sir, I protest,” cried Galliard, struggling to his feet, and +swaying somewhat as he stood. “I'll sleep in the King's chamber, none +other.” + +“The King's chamber?” echoed Gregory, and his face showed the confused +struggles of his brain. “What know you of the King's chamber?” + +“That it faces the east and the sea, and that it is the chamber I love +best.” + +“What can you know of it since, I take it, you have never seen it!” + +“Have I not?” he began, in a voice that was awful in its threatening +calm. Then, recollecting himself, and shaking some of the drunkenness +from him: “In the old days, when the Marleighs were masters here,” he +mumbled, “I was often within these walls. Roland Marleigh was my friend. +The King's chamber was ever accorded me, and there, for old time's sake, +I'll lay these old bones of mine to-night.” + +“You were Roland Marleigh's friend?” gasped Gregory. He was very white +now, and there was a sheen of moisture on his face. The sound of that +name had well-nigh sobered him. It was almost as if the ghost of Roland +Marleigh stood before him. His knees were loosened, and he sank back +into the chair from which he had but risen. + +“Aye, I was his friend!” assented Crispin. “Poor Roland! He married your +sister, did he not, and it was thus that, having no issue and the family +being extinct, Castle Marleigh passed to you?” + +“He married our cousin,” Gregory amended. “They were an ill-fated +family.” + +“Ill-fated, indeed, an all accounts be true,” returned Crispin in a +maudlin voice. “Poor Roland! Well, for old time's sake, I'll sleep in +the King's chamber, Master Ashburn.” + +“You shall sleep where you list, sir,” answered Gregory, and they rose. + +“Do you look to honour us long at Castle Marleigh, Sir Crispin?” was +Gregory's last question before separating from his guest. + +“Nay, sir, 'tis likely I shall go hence to-morrow,” answered Crispin, +unmindful of what he said. + +“I trust not,” said Gregory, in accents of relief that belied him. “A +friend of Roland Marleigh's must ever be welcome in the house that was +Roland Marleigh's.” + +“The house that was Roland Marleigh's,” Crispin muttered. “Heigho! +Life is precarious as the fall of a die at best an ephemeral business. +To-night you say the house that was Roland Marleigh's; presently men +will be saying the house that the Ashburns lived--aye, and died--in. +Give you good night, Master Ashburn.” + +He staggered off, and stumbled up the broad staircase at the head +of which a servant now awaited, taper in hand, to conduct him to the +chamber he demanded. + +Gregory followed him with a dull, frightened eye. Galliard's halting, +thickly uttered words had sounded like a prophecy in his ears. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH + + +When the morrow came, however, Sir Crispin showed no signs of carrying +out his proposal of the night before, and departing from Castle +Marleigh. Nor, indeed, did he so much as touch upon the subject, bearing +himself rather as one whose sojourn there was to be indefinite. + +Gregory offered no comment upon this; through what he had done for +Kenneth they were under a debt to Galliard, and whilst he was a fugitive +from the Parliament's justice it would ill become Gregory to hasten his +departure. Moreover, Gregory recalled little or nothing of the words +that had passed between them in their cups, save a vague memory that +Crispin had said that he had once known Roland Marleigh. + +Kenneth was content that Galliard should lie idle, and not call upon him +to go forth again to lend him the aid he had pledged himself to render +when Crispin should demand it. He marvelled, as the days wore on, that +Galliard should appear to have forgotten that task of his, and that he +should make no shift to set about it. For the rest, however, it troubled +him but little; enough preoccupation did he find in Cynthia's daily +increasing coldness. Upon all the fine speeches that he made her she +turned an idle ear, or if she replied at all it was but petulantly to +interrupt them, to call him a man of great words and small deeds. All +that he did she found ill done, and told him of it. His sober, godly +garments of sombre hue afforded her the first weapon of scorn wherewith +to wound him. A crow, she dubbed him; a canting, psalm-chanting +hypocrite; a Scripture-monger, and every other contumelious epithet of +like import that she should call to mind. He heard her in amazement. + +“Is it for you, Cynthia,” he cried out in his surprise, “the child of a +God-fearing house, to mock the outward symbols of my faith?” + +“A faith,” she laughed, “that is all outward symbols and naught besides; +all texts and mournings and nose-twangings.” + +“Cynthia!” he exclaimed, in horror. + +“Go your ways, sir,” she answered, half in jest, half in earnest. “What +need hath a true faith of outward symbols? It is a matter that lies +between your God and yourself, and it is your heart He will look at, +not your coat. Why, then, without becoming more acceptable in His eyes, +shall you but render yourself unsightly in the eyes of man?” + +Kenneth's cheeks were flushed with anger. From the terrace where they +walked he let his glance roam towards the avenue that split the park in +twain. Up this at that moment, with the least suspicion of a swagger +in his gait, Sir Crispin Galliard was approaching leisurely; he wore a +claret-coloured doublet edged with silver lace, and a grey hat decked +with a drooping red feather--which garments, together with the rest +of his apparel, he had drawn from the wardrobe of Gregory Ashburn. +His advent afforded Kenneth the retort he needed. Pointing him out to +Cynthia: + +“Would you rather,” he cried hotly, “have me such a man as that?” + +“And, pray, why not?” she taunted him. “Leastways, you would then be a +man.” + +“If, madam, a debauchee, a drunkard, a profligate, a brawler be your +conception of a man, I would in faith you did not account me one.” + +“And what, sir, would you sooner elect to be accounted?” + +“A gentleman, madam,” he answered pompously. + +“I think,” said she quietly, “that you are in as little danger of +becoming the one as the other. A gentleman does not slander a man behind +his back, particularly when he owes that man his life. Kenneth, I am +ashamed of you.” + +“I do not slander,” he insisted hotly. “You yourself know of the drunken +excess wherewith three nights ago he celebrated his coming to Castle +Marleigh. Nor do I forget what I owe him, and payment is to be made in +a manner you little know of. If I said of him what I did, it was but in +answer to your taunts. Think you I could endure comparison with such a +man as that? Know you what name the Royalists give him? They call him +the Tavern Knight.” + +She looked him over with an eye of quiet scorn. + +“And how, sir, do they call you? The pulpit knight? Or is it the knight +of the white feather? Mr. Stewart, you weary me. I would have a man who +with a man's failings hath also a man's redeeming virtues of honesty, +chivalry, and courage, and a record of brave deeds, rather than one who +has nothing of the man save the coat--that outward symbol you lay such +store by.” + +His handsome, weak face was red with fury. + +“Since that is so, madam,” he choked, “I leave you to your swaggering, +ruffling Cavalier.” + +And, without so much as a bow, he swung round on his heel and left her. +It was her turn to grow angry now, and well it was for him that he had +not tarried. She dwelt with scorn upon his parting taunt, bethinking +herself that in truth she had exaggerated her opinions of Galliard's +merits. Her feelings towards that ungodly gentleman were rather of pity +than aught else. A brave, ready-witted man she knew him for, as much +from the story of his escape from Worcester as for the air that clung +to him despite his swagger, and she deplored that one possessing these +ennobling virtues should have fallen notwithstanding upon such evil ways +as those which Crispin trod. Some day, perchance, when she should come +to be better acquainted with him, she would seek to induce him to mend +his course. + +Such root did this thought take in her mind that soon thereafter--and +without having waited for that riper acquaintance which at first she had +held necessary--she sought to lead their talk into the channels of this +delicate subject. But he as sedulously confined it to trivial matter +whenever she approached him in this mood, fencing himself about with a +wall of cold reserve that was not lightly to be overthrown. In this +his conscience was at work. Cynthia was the flaw in the satisfaction he +might have drawn from the contemplation of the vengeance he was there to +wreak. He beheld her so pure, so sweet and fresh, that he marvelled how +she came to be the daughter of Gregory Ashburn. His heart smote him at +the thought of how she--the innocent--must suffer with the guilty, and +at the contemplation of the sorrow which he must visit upon her. Out of +this sprang a constraint when in her company, for other than stiff and +formal he dared not be lest he should deem himself no better than the +Iscariot. + +During the first days he had spent at Marleigh, he had been impatient for +Joseph Ashburn's return. Now he found himself hoping each morning that +Joseph might not come that day. + +A courier reached Gregory from Windsor with a letter wherein his brother +told him that the Lord General, not being at the castle, he was gone on +to London in quest of him. And Gregory, lacking the means to inform him +that the missing Kenneth was already returned, was forced to possess his +soul in patience until his brother, having learnt what was to be learnt +of Cromwell, should journey home. + +And so the days sped on, and a week wore itself out in peace at Castle +Marleigh, none dreaming of the volcano on which they stood. Each night +Crispin and Gregory sat together at the board after Kenneth and Cynthia +had withdrawn, and both drank deep--the one for the vice of it, the +other (as he had always done) to seek forgetfulness. + +He needed it now more than ever, for he feared that the consideration of +Cynthia might yet unman him. Had she scorned and avoided him and having +such evidences of his ways of life he marvelled that she did not--he +might have allowed his considerations of her to weigh less heavily. As +it was, she sought him out, nor seemed rebuffed at his efforts to evade +her, and in every way she manifested a kindliness that drove him almost +to the point of despair, and well-nigh to hating her. + +Kenneth, knowing naught of the womanly purpose that actuated her, +and seeing but the outward signs, which, with ready jealousy, he +misconstrued and magnified, grew sullen and churlish to her, to +Galliard, and even to Gregory. + +For hours he would mope alone, nursing his jealous mood, as though in +this clownish fashion matters were to be mended. Did Cynthia but speak +to Crispin, he scowled; did Crispin answer her, he grit his teeth at the +covert meaning wherewith his fancy invested Crispin's tones; whilst did +they chance to laugh together--a contingency that fortunately for his +sanity was rare--he writhed in fury. He was a man transformed, and at +times there was murder in his heart. Had he been a swordsman of more +than moderate skill and dared to pit himself against the Tavern Knight, +blood would have been shed in Marleigh Park betwixt them. + +It seemed at last as if with his insensate jealousy all the evil +humours that had lain dormant in the boy were brought to the surface, +to overwhelm his erstwhile virtues--if qualities that have bigotry for a +parent may truly be accounted virtues. + +He cast off, not abruptly, but piecemeal, those outward symbols--his +sombre clothes. First 'twas his hat he exchanged for a feather-trimmed +beaver of more sightly hue; then those stiff white bands that reeked of +sanctity and cant for a collar of fine point; next it was his coat that +took on a worldly edge of silver lace. And so, little by little, step +by step, was the metamorphosis effected, until by the end of the week +he came forth a very butterfly of fashion--a gallant, dazzling Cavalier. +Out of a stern, forbidding Covenanter he was transformed in a few days +into a most outrageous fop. He walked in an atmosphere of musk that he +himself exhaled; his fair hair--that a while ago had hung so straight +and limp--was now twisted into monstrous curls, a bunch of which were +gathered by his right ear in a ribbon of pale blue silk. + +Galliard noted the change in amazement, yet, knowing to what follies +youth is driven when it woos, he accounted Cynthia responsible for it, +and laughed in his sardonic way, whereat the boy would blush and scowl +in one. Gregory, too, looked on and laughed, setting it down to the +same cause. Even Cynthia smiled, whereat the Tavern Knight was driven to +ponder. + +With a courtier's raiment Kenneth put on, too, a courtier's ways; he +grew mincing and affected in his speech, and he--whose utterance a while +ago had been marked by a scriptural flavour--now set it off with some of +Galliard's less unseemly oaths. + +Since it was a ruffling gallant Cynthia required, he swore that a +ruffling gallant should she find him; nor had he wit enough to see +that his ribbons, his fopperies, and his capers served but to make him +ridiculous in her eyes. He did indeed perceive, however, that in spite +of this wondrous transformation, he made no progress in her favour. + +“What signify these fripperies?” she asked him, one day, “any more than +did your coat of decent black? Are these also outward symbols?” + +“You may take them for such, madam,” he answered sulkily. “You liked me +not as I was--” + +“And I like you less as you are,” she broke in. + +“Cynthia, you mock me,” he cried angrily. + +“Now, Heaven forbid! I do but mark the change,” she answered airily. +“These scented clothes are but a masquerade, even as your coat of black +and your cant were a masquerade. Then you simulated godliness; now +you simulate Heaven knows what. But now, as then, it is no more than a +simulation, a pretence of something that you are not.” + +He left her in a pet, and went in search of Gregory, into whose ear +he poured the story of his woes that had their source in Cynthia's +unkindness. From this resulted a stormy interview 'twixt Cynthia and her +father, in which Cynthia at last declared that she would not be wedded +to a fop. + +Gregory shrugged his shoulders and laughed cynically, replying that it +was the way of young men to be fools, and that through folly lay the +road to wisdom. + +“Be that as it may,” she answered him with spirit, “this folly +transcends all bounds. Master Stewart may return to his Scottish +heather; at Castle Marleigh he is wasting time.” + +“Cynthia!” he cried. + +“Father,” she pleaded, “why be angry? You would not have me marry +against the inclinations of my heart? You would not have me wedded to a +man whom I despise?” + +“By what right do you despise him?” he demanded, his brow dark. + +“By the right of the freedom of my thoughts--the only freedom that a +woman knows. For the rest it seems she is but a chattel; of no more +consideration to a man than his ox or his ass with which the Scriptures +rank her--a thing to be given or taken, bought or sold, as others shall +decree.” + +“Child, child, what know you of these things?” he cried. “You are +overwrought, sweetheart.” And with the promise to wait until a calmer +frame of mind in her should be more propitious to what he wished to say +further on this score, he left her. + +She went out of doors in quest of solitude among the naked trees of +the park; instead she found Sir Crispin, seated deep in thought upon a +fallen trunk. + +Through the trees she espied him as she approached, whilst the rustle +of her gown announced to him her coming. He rose as she drew nigh, and, +doffing his hat, made shift to pass on. + +“Sir Crispin,” she called, detaining him. He turned. + +“Your servant, Mistress Cynthia.” + +“Are you afraid of me, Sir Crispin?” + +“Beauty, madam, is wont to inspire courage rather than fear,” he +answered, with a smile. + +“That, sir, is an evasion, not an answer.” + +“If read aright, Mistress Cynthia, it is also an answer.” + +“That you do not fear me?” + +“It is not a habit of mine.” + +“Why, then, have you avoided me these three days past?” + +Despite himself Crispin felt his breath quickening--quickening with +a pleasure that he sought not to account for--at the thought that she +should have marked his absence from her side. + +“Because perhaps if I did not,” he answered slowly, “you might come to +avoid me. I am a proud man, Mistress Cynthia.” + +“Satan, sir, was proud, but his pride led him to perdition.” + +“So indeed may mine,” he answered readily, “since it leads me from you.” + +“Nay, sir,” she laughed, “you go from me willingly enough.” + +“Not willingly, Cynthia. Oh, not willingly,” he began. Then of a sudden +he checked his tongue, and asked himself what he was saying. With a +half-laugh and a courtier manner, he continued, “Of two evils, madam, we +must choose the lesser one.” + +“Madam,” she echoed, disregarding all else that he had said. “It is an +ugly word, and but a moment back you called me Cynthia.” + +“Twas a liberty that methought my grey hairs warranted, and for which +you should have reproved me.” + +“You have not grey hairs enough to warrant it, Sir Crispin,” she +answered archly. “But what if even so I account it no liberty?” + +The heavy lids were lifted from her eyes, and as their glance, frank and +kindly, met his, he trembled. Then, with a polite smile, he bowed. + +“I thank you for the honour.” + +For a moment she looked at him in a puzzled way, then moved past him, +and as he stood, stiffly erect, watching her graceful figure, he thought +that she was about to leave him, and was glad of it. But ere she had +taken half a dozen steps: + +“Sir Crispin,” said she, looking back at him over her shoulder, “I am +walking to the cliffs.” + +Never was a man more plainly invited to become an escort; but he ignored +it. A sad smile crept into his harsh face. + +“I shall tell Kenneth if I see him,” said he. + +At that she frowned. + +“But I do not want him,” she protested. “Sooner would I go alone.” + +“Why, then, madam, I'll tell nobody.” + +Was ever man so dull? she asked herself. + +“There is a fine view from the cliffs,” said she. + +“I have always thought so,” he agreed. + +She inclined to call him a fool; yet she restrained herself. She had an +impulse to go her way without him; but, then, she desired his company, +and Cynthia was unused to having her desires frustrated. So finding him +impervious to suggestion: + +“Will you not come with me?” she asked at last, point-blank. + +“Why, yes, if you wish it,” he answered without alacrity. + +“You may remain, sir.” + +Her offended tone aroused him now to the understanding that he was +impolite. Contrite he stood beside her in a moment. + +“With your permission, mistress, I will go with you. I am a dull fellow, +and to-day I know not what mood is on me. So sorry a one that I feared +I should be poor company. Still, if you'll endure me, I'll do my best to +prove entertaining.” + +“By no means,” she answered coldly. “I seek not the company of dull +fellows.” And she was gone. + +He stood where she had left him, and breathed a most ungallant prayer of +thanks. Next he laughed softly to himself, a laugh that was woeful with +bitterness. + +“Fore George!” he muttered, “it is all that was wanting!” + +He reseated himself upon the fallen tree, and there he set himself to +reflect, and to realize that he, war-worn and callous, come to Castle +Marleigh on such an errand as was his, should wax sick at the very +thought of it for the sake of a chit of a maid, with a mind to make a +mock and a toy of him. Into his mind there entered even the possibility +of flight, forgetful of the wrongs he had suffered, abandoning the +vengeance he had sworn. Then with an oath he stemmed his thoughts. + +“God in heaven, am I a boy, beardless and green?” he asked himself. “Am +I turned seventeen again, that to look into a pair of eyes should make +me forget all things but their existence?” Then in a burst of passion: +“Would to Heaven,” he muttered, “they had left me stark on Worcester +Field!” + +He rose abruptly, and set out to walk aimlessly along, until suddenly a +turn in the path brought him face to face with Cynthia. She hailed him +with a laugh. + +“Sir laggard, I knew that willy-nilly you would follow me,” she cried. +And he, taken aback, could not but smile in answer, and profess that she +had conjectured rightly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN + + +Side by side stepped that oddly assorted pair along--the maiden whose +soul was as pure and fresh as the breeze that blew upon them from the +sea, and the man whose life years ago had been marred by a sorrow, the +quest of whose forgetfulness had led him through the mire of untold sin; +the girl upon the threshold of womanhood, her life all before her and +seeming to her untainted mind a joyous, wholesome business; the man +midway on his ill-starred career, his every hope blighted save the one +odious hope of vengeance, which made him cling to a life he had proved +worthless and ugly, and that otherwise he had likely enough cast from +him. And as they walked: + +“Sir Crispin,” she ventured timidly, “you are unhappy, are you not?” + +Startled by her words and the tone of them, Galliard turned his head +that he might observe her. + +“I, unhappy?” he laughed; and it was a laugh calculated to acknowledge +the fitness of her question, rather than to refute it as he intended. +“Am I a clown, Cynthia, to own myself unhappy at such a season and while +you honour me with your company?” + +She made a wry face in protest that he fenced with her. + +“You are happy, then?” she challenged him. + +“What is happiness?” quoth he, much as Pilate may have questioned what +was truth. Then before she could reply he hastened to add: “I have not +been quite so happy these many years.” + +“It is not of the present moment that I speak,” she answered +reprovingly, for she scented no more than a compliment in his words, +“but of your life.” + +Now either was he imbued with a sense of modesty touching the deeds +of that life of his, or else did he wisely realize that no theme could +there be less suited to discourse upon with an innocent maid. + +“Mistress Cynthia,” said he as though he had not heard her question, “I +would say a word to you concerning Kenneth.” + +At that she turned upon him with a pout. + +“But it is concerning yourself that I would have you talk. It is not +nice to disobey a lady. Besides, I have little interest in Master +Stewart.” + +“To have little interest in a future husband augurs ill for the time +when he shall come to be your husband.” + +“I thought that you, at least, understood me. Kenneth will never be +husband of mine, Sir Crispin.” + +“Cynthia!” he exclaimed. + +“Oh, lackaday! Am I to wed a doll?” she demanded. “Is he--is he a man a +maid may love, Sir Crispin?” + +“Indeed, had you but seen the half of life that I have seen,” said he +unthinkingly, “it might amaze you what manner of man a maid may love--or +at least may marry. Come, Cynthia, what fault do you find with him?” + +“Why, every fault.” + +He laughed in unbelief. + +“And whom are we to blame for all these faults that have turned you so +against him?” + +“Whom?” + +“Yourself, Cynthia. You use him ill, child. If his behaviour has been +extravagant, you are to blame. You are severe with him, and he, in his +rash endeavours to present himself in a guise that shall render him +commendable in your eyes, has overstepped discretion.” + +“Has my father bidden you to tell me this?” + +“Since when have I enjoyed your father's confidence to that degree? No, +no, Cynthia. I plead the boy's cause to you because--I know not because +of what.” + +“It is ill to plead without knowing why. Let us forget the valiant +Kenneth. They tell me, Sir Crispin”--and she turned her glorious eyes +upon him in a manner that must have witched a statue into answering +her--“that in the Royal army you were known as the Tavern Knight.” + +“They tell you truly. What of that?” + +“Well, what of it? Do you blush at the very thought?” + +“I blush?” He blinked, and his eyes were full of humour as they met her +grave--almost sorrowing glance. Then a full-hearted peal of laughter +broke from him, and scared a flight of gulls from the rocks of +Sheringham Hithe below. + +“Oh, Cynthia! You'll kill me!” he gasped. “Picture to yourself this +Crispin Galliard blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl beset by her +first lover. Picture it, I say! As well and as easily might you picture +old Lucifer warbling a litany for the edification of a Nonconformist +parson.” + +Her eyes were severe in their reproach. + +“It is always so with you. You laugh and jest and make a mock of +everything. Such I doubt not has been your way from the commencement, +and 'tis thus that you are come to this condition.” + +Again he laughed, but this time it was in bitterness. + +“Nay, sweet mistress, you are wrong--you are very wrong; it was not +always thus. Time was--” He paused. “Bah! 'Tis the coward cries “time +was”! Leave me the past, Cynthia. It is dead, and of the dead we should +speak no ill,” he jested. + +“What is there in your past?” she insisted, despite his words. “What +is there in it so to have warped a character that I am assured was +once--is, indeed, still--of lofty and noble purpose? What is it has +brought you to the level you occupy--you who were born to lead; you +who--” + +“Have done, child. Have done,” he begged. + +“Nay, tell me. Let us sit here.” And taking hold of his sleeve, she sat +herself upon a mound, and made room for him beside her on the grass. +With a half-laugh and a sigh he obeyed her, and there, on the cliff, in +the glow of the September sun, he took his seat at her side. + +A silence prevailed about them, emphasized rather than broken by the +droning chant of a fisherman mending his nets on the beach below, the +intermittent plash of the waves on the shingle, and the scream of the +gulls that circled overhead. Before the eyes of his flesh was stretched +a wide desert of sky and water, and before the eyes of his mind the +hopeless desert of his thirty-eight years. + +He was almost tempted to speak. The note of sympathy in her voice +allured him, and sympathy was to him as drink to one who perishes of +thirst. A passionate, indefinable longing impelled him to pour out the +story that in Worcester he had related unto Kenneth, and thus to set +himself better in her eyes; to have her realize indeed that if he was +come so low it was more the fault of others than his own. The temptation +drew him at a headlong pace, to be checked at last by the memory that +those others who had brought him to so sorry a condition were her own +people. The humour passed. He laughed softly, and shook his head. + +“There is nothing that I can tell you, child. Let us rather talk of +Kenneth.” + +“I do not wish to talk of Kenneth.” + +“Nay, but you must. Willy-nilly must you. Think you it is only a +war-worn, hard-drinking, swashbuckling ruffler that can sin? Does it not +also occur to you that even a frail and tender little maid may do wrong +as well?” + +“What wrong have I done?” she cried in consternation. + +“A grievous wrong to this poor lad. Can you not realize how the only +desire that governs him is the laudable one of appearing favourably in +your eyes?” + +“That desire gives rise, then, to curious manifestations.” + +“He is mistaken in the means he adopts, that is all. In his heart his +one aim is to win your esteem, and, after all, it is the sentiment that +matters, not its manifestation. Why, then, are you unkind to him?” + +“But I am not unkind. Or is it unkindness to let him see that I mislike +his capers? Would it not be vastly more unkind to ignore them and +encourage him to pursue their indulgence? I have no patience with him.” + +“As for those capers, I am endeavouring to show you that you yourself +have driven him to them.” + +“Sir Crispin,” she cried out, “you grow tiresome.” + +“Aye,” said he, “I grow tiresome. I grow tiresome because I preach of +duty. Marry, it is in truth a tiresome topic.” + +“How duty? Of what do you talk?” And a flush of incipient anger spread +now on her fair cheek. + +“I will be clearer,” said he imperturbably. “This lad is your betrothed. +He is at heart a good lad, an honourable and honest lad--at times haply +over-honest and over-honourable; but let that be. To please a whim, a +caprice, you set yourself to flout him, as is the way of your sex when +you behold a man your utter slave. From this--being all unversed in +the obliquity of woman--he conceives, poor boy, that he no longer finds +favour in your eyes, and to win back this, the only thing that in the +world he values, he behaves foolishly. You flout him anew, and because +of it. He is as jealous with you as a hen with her brood.” + +“Jealous?” echoed Cynthia. + +“Why, yes, jealous; and so far does he go as to be jealous even of me,” + he cried, with infinitely derisive relish. “Think of it--he is jealous +of me! Jealous of him they call the Tavern Knight!” + +She did think of it as he bade her. And by thinking she stumbled upon a +discovery that left her breathless. + +Strange how we may bear a sentiment in our hearts without so much as +suspecting its existence, until suddenly a chance word shall so urge it +into life that it reveals itself with unmistakable distinctness. With +her the revelation began in a vague wonder at the scorn with which +Crispin invested the notion that Kenneth should have cause for jealousy +on his score. Was it, she asked herself, so monstrously unnatural? Then +in a flash the answer came--and it was, that far from being a matter for +derision, such an attitude in Kenneth lacked not for foundation. + +In that moment she knew that it was because of Crispin; because of this +man who spoke with such very scorn of self, that Kenneth had become in +her eyes so mean and unworthy a creature. Loved him she haply never had, +but leastways she had tolerated--been even flattered by--his wooing. +By contrasting him now with Crispin she had grown to despise him. His +weakness, his pusillanimity, his meannesses of soul, stood out in sharp +relief by contrast with the masterful strength and the high spirit of +Sir Crispin. + +So easily may our ideals change that the very graces of face and form +that a while ago had pleased her in Kenneth, seemed now effeminate +attributes, well-attuned to a vacillating, purposeless mind. Far greater +beauty did her eyes behold in this grimfaced soldier of fortune; the +man as firm of purpose as he was upright of carriage; gloomy, proud, and +reckless; still young, yet past the callow age of adolescence. Since +the day of his coming to Castle Marleigh she had brought herself to look +upon him as a hero stepped from the romancers' tales that in secret she +had read. The mystery that seemed to envelop him; those hints at a past +that was not good--but the measure of whose evil in her pure innocence +she could not guess; his very melancholy, his misfortunes, and the deeds +she had heard assigned to him, all had served to fire her fancy and more +besides, although, until that moment, she knew it not. + +Subconsciously all this had long dwelt in her mind. And now of a +sudden that self-deriding speech of Crispin's had made her aware of its +presence and its meaning. + +She loved him. That men said his life had not been nice, that he was +a soldier of fortune, little better than an adventurer, a man of no +worldly weight, were matters of no moment then to her. She loved him. +She knew it now because he had mockingly bidden her to think whether +Kenneth had cause to be jealous of him, and because upon thinking of it, +she found that did Kenneth know what was in her heart, he must have more +than cause. + + +She loved him with that rare love that will urge a woman to the last +sacrifice a man may ask; a love that gives and gives, and seeks nothing +in return; that impels a woman to follow the man at his bidding, be his +way through the world cast in places never so rugged; cleaving to him +where all besides shall have abandoned him; and, however dire his lot, +asking of God no greater blessing than that of sharing it. + +And to such a love as this Crispin was blind--blind to the very +possibility of its existence; so blind that he laughed to scorn the idea +of a puny milksop being jealous of him. And so, while she sat, her soul +all mastered by her discovery, her face white and still for very awe of +it, he to whom this wealth was given, pursued the odious task of wooing +her for another. + +“You have observed--you must have observed this insensate jealousy,” he +was saying, “and how do you allay it? You do not. On the contrary, you +excite it at every turn. You are exciting it now by having--and I dare +swear for no other purpose--lured me to walk with you, to sit here with +you and preach your duty to you. And when, through jealousy, he shall +have flown to fresh absurdities, shall you regret your conduct and the +fruits it has borne? Shall you pity the lad, and by kindness induce him +to be wiser? No. You will mock and taunt him into yet worse displays. +And through these displays, which are--though you may not have bethought +you of it--of your own contriving, you will conclude that he is no fit +mate for you, and there will be heart-burnings, and years hence perhaps +another Tavern Knight, whose name will not be Crispin Galliard.” + +She had listened with bent head; indeed, so deeply rapt by her +discovery, that she had but heard the half of what he said. Now, of a +sudden, she looked up, and meeting his glance: + +“Is--is it a woman's fault that you are as you are?” + +“No, it is not. But how does that concern the case of Kenneth?” + +“It does not. I was but curious. I was not thinking of Kenneth.” + +He stared at her, dumfounded. Had he been talking of Kenneth to her with +such eloquence and such fervour, that she should calmly tell him as he +paused that it was not of Kenneth she had been thinking? + +“You will think of him, Cynthia?” he begged. “You will bethink you too +of what I have said, and by being kinder and more indulgent with this +youth you shall make him grow into a man you may take pride in. Deal +fairly with him, child, and if anon you find you cannot truly love him, +then tell him so. But tell him kindly and frankly, instead of using him +as you are doing.” + +She was silent a moment, and in their poignancy her feelings went very +near to anger. Presently: + +“I would, Sir Crispin, you could hear him talk of you,” said she. + +“He talks ill, not a doubt of it, and like enough he has good cause.” + +“Yet you saved his life.” + +The words awoke Crispin, the philosopher of love, to realities. He +recalled the circumstances of his saving Kenneth, and the price the boy +was to pay for that service; and it suddenly came to him that it was +wasted breath to plead Kenneth's cause with Cynthia, when by his own +future actions he was, himself, more than likely to destroy the boy's +every hope of wedding her. The irony of his attitude smote him hard, +and he rose abruptly. The sun hung now a round, red globe upon the very +brink of the sea. + +“Hereafter he may have little cause to thank me,” muttered he. “Come, +Mistress Cynthia, it grows late.” + +She rose in mechanical obedience, and together they retraced their steps +in silence, save for the stray word exchanged at intervals touching +matters of no moment. + +But he had not advocated Kenneth's cause in vain, for all that he little +recked what his real argument had been, what influences he had evoked +to urge her to make her peace with the lad. A melancholy listlessness of +mind possessed her now. Crispin did not see, never would see, what was +in her heart, and it might not be hers to show him. The life that might +have signified was not to be lived, and since that was so it seemed to +matter little what befell. + +It was thus that when on the morrow her father returned to the subject, +she showed herself tractable and docile out of her indifference, and to +Gregory she appeared not averse to listen to what he had to advance +in the boy's favour. Anon Kenneth's own humble pleading, allied to his +contrite and sorrowful appearance, were received by her with that same +indifference, as also with indifference did she allow him later to kiss +her hand and assume the flattering belief that he was rehabilitated in +her favour. + +But pale grew Mistress Cynthia's cheeks, and sad her soul. Wistful she +waxed, sighing at every turn, until it seemed to her--as haply it hath +seemed to many a maid--that all her life must she waste in vain sighs +over a man who gave no single thought to her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN + + +On his side Kenneth strove hard during the days that followed to right +himself in her eyes. But so headlong was he in the attempt, and +so misguided, that presently he overshot his mark by dropping an +unflattering word concerning Crispin, whereby he attributed to the +Tavern Knight's influence and example the degenerate change that had of +late been wrought in him. + +Cynthia's eyes grew hard as he spoke, and had he been wise he had better +served his cause by talking in another vein. But love and jealousy +had so addled what poor brains the Lord had bestowed upon him, that he +floundered on, unmindful of any warning that took not the blunt shape +of words. At length, however, she stemmed the flow of invective that his +lips poured forth. + +“Have I not told you already, Kenneth, that it better becomes a +gentleman not to slander the man to whom he owes his life? In fact, that +a gentleman would scorn such an action?” + +As he had protested before, so did he protest now, that what he had +uttered was no slander. And in his rage and mortification at the way she +used him, and for which he now bitterly upbraided her, he was very near +the point of tears, like the blubbering schoolboy that at heart he was. + +“And as for the debt, madam,” he cried, striking the oaken table of the +hall with his clenched hand, “it is a debt that shall be paid, a debt +which this gentleman whom you defend would not permit me to contract +until I had promised payment--aye, 'fore George!--and with interest, for +in the payment I may risk my very life.” + +“I see no interest in that, since you risk nothing more than what you +owe him,” she answered, with a disdain that brought the impending +tears to his eyes. But if he lacked the manliness to restrain them, he +possessed at least the shame to turn his back and hide them from her. +“But tell me, sir,” she added, her curiosity awakened, “if I am to +judge, what was the nature of this bargain?” + +He was silent for a moment, and took a turn in the hall--mastering +himself to speak--his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes bent +towards the polished floor which the evening sunlight, filtered through +the gules of the leaded windows, splashed here and there with a crimson +stain. She sat in the great leathern chair at the head of the board, +and, watching him, waited. + +He was debating whether he was bound to secrecy in the matter, and in +the end he resolved that he was not. Thereupon, pausing before her, +he succinctly told the story Crispin had related to him that night in +Worcester--the story of a great wrong, that none but a craven could have +left unavenged. He added nothing to it, subtracted nothing from it, but +told the tale as it had been told to him on that dreadful night, the +memory of which had still power to draw a shudder from him. + +Cynthia sat with parted lips and eager eyes, drinking in that touching +narrative of suffering that was rather as some romancer's fabrication +than a true account of what a living man had undergone. Now with sorrow +and pity in her heart and countenance, now with anger and loathing, she +listened until he had done, and even when he ceased speaking, and flung +himself into the nearest chair, she sat on in silence for a spell. + +Then of a sudden she turned a pair of flashing eyes upon the boy, and in +tones charged with a scorn ineffable: + +“You dare,” she cried, “to speak of that man as you do, knowing all +this? Knowing what he has suffered, you dare to rail in his absence +against those sins to which his misfortunes have driven him? How, think +you, would it have fared with you, you fool, had you stood in the shoes +of this unfortunate? Had you fallen on your craven knees, and thanked +the Lord for allowing you to keep your miserable life? Had you succumbed +to the blows of fate with a whine of texts upon your lips? Who are you?” + she went on, rising, breathless in her wrath, which caused him to recoil +in sheer affright before her. “Who are you, and what are you, that +knowing what you know of this man's life, you dare to sit in judgment +upon his actions and condemn them? Answer me, you fool!” + +But never a word had he wherewith to meet that hail of angry, +contemptuous questions. The answer that had been so ready to his lips +that night at Worcester, when, in a milder form the Tavern Knight had +set him the same question, he dared not proffer now. The retort that Sir +Crispin had not cause enough in the evil of others, which had wrecked +his life, to risk the eternal damnation of his soul, he dared no longer +utter. Glibly enough had he said to that stern man that which he dared +not say now to this sterner beauty. Perhaps it was fear of her that +made him dumb, perhaps that at last he knew himself for what he was by +contrast with the man whose vices he had so heartily despised a while +ago. + +Shrinking back before her anger, he racked his shallow mind in vain for +a fitting answer. But ere he had found one, a heavy step sounded in the +gallery that overlooked the hall, and a moment later Gregory Ashburn +descended. His face was ghastly white, and a heavy frown furrowed the +space betwixt his brows. + +In the fleeting glance she bestowed upon her father, she remarked not +the disorder of his countenance; whilst as for Kenneth, he had enough to +hold his attention for the time. + +Gregory's advent set an awkward constraint upon them, nor had he any +word to say as he came heavily up the hall. + +At the lower end of the long table he paused, and resting his hand upon +the board, he seemed on the point of speaking when of a sudden a sound +reached him that caused him to draw a sharp breath; it was the rumble of +wheels and the crack of a whip. + +“It is Joseph!” he cried, in a voice the relief of which was so marked +that Cynthia noticed it. And with that exclamation he flung past them, +and out through the doorway to meet his brother so opportunely returned. + +He reached the terrace steps as the coach pulled up, and the lean figure +of Joseph Ashburn emerged from it. + +“So, Gregory,” he grumbled for greeting, “it was on a fool's errand you +sent me, after all. That knave, your messenger, found me in London at +last when I had outworn my welcome at Whitehall. But, 'swounds, man,” he +cried, remarking the pallor, of his brother's face, “what ails thee?” + +“I have news for you, Joseph,” answered Gregory, in a voice that shook. + +“It is not Cynthia?” he inquired. “Nay, for there she stands-and her +pretty lover by her side. 'Slife, what a coxcomb the lad's grown.” + +And with that he hastened forward to kiss his niece, and congratulate +Kenneth upon being restored to her. + +“I heard of it, lad, in London,” quoth he, a leer upon his sallow +face--“the story of how a fire-eater named Galliard befriended you, +trussed a parson and a trooper, and dragged you out of jail a short hour +before hanging-time.” + +Kenneth flushed. He felt the sneer in Joseph's, words like a stab. The +man's tone implied that another had done for him that which he would +not have dared do for himself, and Kenneth felt that this was so said in +Cynthia's presence with malicious, purpose. + +He was right. Partly it was Joseph's way to be spiteful and venomous +whenever chance afforded him the opportunity. Partly he had been +particularly soured at present by his recent discomforts, suffered in a +cause wherewith he had no, sympathy--that of the union Gregory desired +'twixt Cynthia and Kenneth. + +There was an evil smile on his thin lips, and his crooked eyes rested +tormentingly upon the young man. A fresh taunt trembled on his viperish +tongue, when Gregory plucked at the skirts of his coat, and drew him +aside. They entered the chamber where they had held their last interview +before Joseph had set out for news of Kenneth. With an air of mystery +Gregory closed the door, then turned to face his brother. He stayed him +in the act of unbuckling his sword-belt. + +“Wait, Joseph!” he cried dramatically. “This is no time to disarm. Keep +your sword on your thigh, man; you will need it as you never yet have +needed it.” He paused, took a deep breath, and hurled the news at +his brother. “Roland Marleigh is here.” And he sat down like a man +exhausted. + +Joseph did not start; he did not cry out; he did not so much as change +countenance. A slight quiver of the eyelids was the only outward sign +he gave of the shock that his brother's announcement had occasioned. The +hand that had rested on the buckle of his sword-belt slipped quietly +to his side, and he deliberately stepped up to Gregory, his eyes set +searchingly upon the pale, flabby face before him. A sudden suspicion +darting through his mind, he took his brother by the shoulders and shook +him vigorously. + +“Gregory, you fool, you have drunk overdeep in my absence.” + +“I have, I have,” wailed Gregory, “and, my God, 'twas he was my +table-fellow, and set me the example.” + +“Like enough, like enough,” returned Joseph, with a contemptuous laugh. +“My poor Gregory, the wine has so fouled your worthless wits at last, +that they conjure up phantoms to sit at the table with you. Come, man, +what petticoat business is this? Bestir yourself, fool.” + +At that Gregory caught the drift of Joseph's suspicions. + +“Tis you are the fool,” he retorted angrily, springing to his feet, and +towering above his brother. + +“It was no ghost sat with me, but Roland Marleigh, himself, in the +flesh, and strangely changed by time. So changed that I knew him not, +nor should I know him now but for that which, not ten minutes ago, I +overheard.” + +His earnestness was too impressive, his sanity too obvious, and Joseph's +suspicions were all scattered before it. + +He caught Gregory's wrist in a grip that made him wince, and forced him +back into his seat. + +“Gadslife, man, what is it you mean?” he demanded through set teeth. +“Tell me.” + +And forthwith Gregory told him of the manner of Kenneth's coming to +Sheringham and to Castle Marleigh, accompanied by one Crispin Galliard, +the same that had been known for his mad exploits in the late wars as +“rakehelly Galliard,” and that was now known to the malignants as “The +Tavern Knight” for his debauched habits. Crispin's mention of Roland +Marleigh on the night of his arrival now returned vividly to Gregory's +mind, and he repeated it, ending with the story that that very evening +he had overheard Kenneth telling Cynthia. + +“And this Galliard, then, is none other than that pup of insolence, +Roland Marleigh, grown into a dog of war?” quoth Joseph. + +He was calm--singularly calm for one who had heard such news. + +“There remains no doubt of it.” + +“And you saw this man day by day, sat with him night by night over your +damned sack, and knew him not? Oddswounds, man, where were your eyes?” + +“I may have been blind. But he is greatly changed. I would defy you, +Joseph, to have recognized him.” + +Joseph sneered, and the flash of his eyes told of the contempt wherein +he held his brother's judgment and opinions. + +“Think not that, Gregory. I have cause enough to remember him,” said +Joseph, with an unpleasant laugh. Then as suddenly changing his tone for +one of eager anxiety: + +“But the lad, Gregory, does he suspect, think you?” + +“Not a whit. In that lies this fellow's diabolical cunning. Learning of +Kenneth's relations with us, he seized the opportunity Fate offered him +that night at Worcester, and bound the lad on oath to help him when he +should demand it, without disclosing the names of those against whom he +should require his services. The boy expects at any moment to be bidden +to go forth with him upon his mission of revenge, little dreaming that +it is here that that tragedy is to be played out.” + +“This comes of your fine matrimonial projects for Cynthia,” muttered +Joseph acridly. He laughed his unpleasant laugh again, and for a spell +there was silence. + +“To think, Gregory,” he broke out at last, “that for a fortnight he +should have been beneath this roof, and you should have found no means +of doing more effectively that which was done too carelessly eighteen +years ago.” + +He spoke as coldly as though the matter were a trivial one. Gregory +shuddered and looked at his brother in alarm. + +“What now, fool?” cried Joseph, scowling. “Are you as cowardly as you +are blind? Damn me, sir, it seems well that I am returned. I'll have no +Marleigh plague my old age for me.” He paused a moment, then continued +in a quieter voice, but one whose ring was sinister beyond words: +“Tomorrow I shall find a way to draw this your dog of war to some +secluded ground. I have some skill,” he pursued, tapping his hilt as he +spoke, “besides, you shall be there, Gregory.” And he smiled darkly. “Is +there no other way?” asked Gregory, in distress. + +“There was,” answered Joseph. “There was in Parliament. At Whitehall I +met a man--one Colonel Pride--a bloodthirsty old Puritan soldier, who +would give his right hand to see this Galliard hanged. Galliard, it +seems, slew the fellow's son at Worcester. Had I but known,” he added +regretfully--“had your wits been keener, and you had discovered it and +sent me word, I had found means to help Colonel Pride to his revenge. As +it is”--he shrugged his shoulders--“there is not time.” + +“It may be--” began Gregory, then stopped abruptly with an exclamation +that caused Joseph to wheel sharply round. The door had opened, and on +the threshold Sir Crispin Galliard stood, deferentially, hat in hand. + +Joseph's astonished glance played rapidly over him for a second. Then: + +“Who the devil may you be?” he blurted out. + +Despite his anxiety, Gregory chuckled at the question. The Tavern Knight +came forward. “I am Sir Crispin Galliard, at your service,” said he, +bowing. “I was told that the master of Marleigh was returned, and that +I should find you here, and I hasten, sir, to proffer you my thanks for +the generous shelter this house has given me this fortnight past.” + +Whilst he spoke he measured Joseph with his eyes, and his glance was as +hateful as his words were civil. Joseph was lost in amazement. Little +trace was there in this fellow of the Roland Marleigh he had known. +Moreover, he had looked to find an older man, forgetting that Roland's +age could not exceed thirty-eight. Then, again, the fading light, whilst +revealing the straight, supple lines of his lank figure, softened the +haggardness of the face and made him appear yet younger than the light +of day would have shown him. + +In an instant Joseph had recovered from his surprise, and for all that +his mind misgave him tortured by a desire to learn whether Crispin was +aware of their knowledge concerning him--his smile was serene, and his +tones level and pleasant, as he made answer: + +“Sir, you are very welcome. You have valiantly served one dear to us, +and the entertainment of our poor house for as long as you may deign to +honour it is but the paltriest of returns.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE RECKONING + + +Sir Crispin had heard naught of what was being said as he entered the +room wherein the brothers plotted against him, and he little dreamt that +his identity was discovered. He had but hastened to perform that which, +under ordinary circumstances, would have been a natural enough duty +towards the master of the house. He had been actuated also by an +impatience again to behold this Joseph Ashburn--the man who had dealt +him that murderous sword-thrust eighteen years ago. He watched him +attentively, and gathering from his scrutiny that here was a dangerous, +subtle man, different, indeed, to his dull-witted brother, he had +determined to act at once. + +And so when he appeared in the hall at suppertime, he came armed and +booted, and equipped as for a journey. + +Joseph was standing alone by the huge fire-place, his face to the +burning logs, and his foot resting upon one of the andirons. Gregory and +his daughter were talking together in the embrasure of a window. By the +other window, across the hall, stood Kenneth, alone and disconsolate, +gazing out at the drizzling rain that had begun to fall. + +As Galliard descended, Joseph turned his head, and his eyebrows shot up +and wrinkled his forehead at beholding the knight's equipment. + +“How is this, Sir Crispin?” said he. “You are going a journey?” + +“Too long already have I imposed myself upon the hospitality of Castle +Marleigh,” Crispin answered politely as he came and stood before the +blazing logs. “To-night, Mr. Ashburn, I go hence.” + +A curious expression flitted across Joseph's face. The next moment, +his brows still knit as he sought to fathom his sudden action, he was +muttering the formal regrets that courtesy dictated. But Crispin had +remarked that singular expression on Joseph's face--fleeting though it +had been--and it flashed across his mind that Joseph knew him. And as he +moved away towards Cynthia and her father, he thanked Heaven that he had +taken such measures as he had thought wise and prudent for the carrying +out of his resolve. + +Following him with a glance, Joseph asked himself whether Crispin had +discovered that he was recognized, and had determined to withdraw, +leaving his vengeance for another and more propitious season. In +answer--little knowing the measure of the man he dealt with--he told +himself it must be so, and having arrived at that conclusion, he there +and then determined that Crispin should not depart free to return and +plague them when he listed. Since Galliard shrank from forcing matters +to an issue, he himself would do it that very night, and thereby settle +for all time his business. And so ere he sat down to sup Joseph looked +to it that his sword lay at hand behind his chair at the table-head. + +The meal was a quiet one enough. Kenneth was sulking 'neath the fresh +ill-usage--as he deemed it--that he had suffered at Cynthia's hands. +Cynthia, in her turn, was grave and silent. That story of Sir Crispin's +sufferings gave her much to think of, as did also his departure, and +more than once did Galliard find her eyes fixed upon him with a look +half of pity, half of some other feeling that he was at a loss to +interpret. Gregory's big voice was little heard. The sinister glitter +in his brother's eye made him apprehensive and ill at ease. For him the +hour was indeed in travail and like to bring forth strange doings--but +not half so much as it was for Crispin and Joseph, each bent upon +forcing matters to a head ere they quitted that board. And yet but for +these two the meal would have passed off in dismal silence. Joseph +was at pains to keep suspicion from his guest, and with that intent he +talked gaily of this and that, told of slight matters that had befallen +him on his recent journey and of the doings that in London he had +witnessed, investing each trifling incident with a garb of wit that +rendered it entertaining. + +And Galliard--actuated by the same motives grew reminiscent whenever +Joseph paused and let his nimble tongue--even nimblest at a table amuse +those present, or seem to amuse them, by a score of drolleries. + +He drank deeply too, and this Joseph observed with satisfaction. But +here again he misjudged his man. Kenneth, who ate but little, seemed +also to have developed an enormous thirst, and Crispin grew at length +alarmed at that ever empty goblet so often filled. He would have need +of Kenneth ere the hour was out, and he rightly feared that did matters +thus continue, the lad's aid was not to be reckoned with. Had Kenneth +sat beside him he might have whispered a word of restraint in his eat, +but the lad was on the other side of the board. + +At one moment Crispin fancied that a look of intelligence passed from +Joseph to Gregory, and when presently Gregory set himself to ply both +him and the boy with wine, his suspicions became certainties, and he +grew watchful and wary. + +Anon Cynthia rose. Upon the instant Galliard was also on his feet. He +escorted her to the foot of the staircase, and there: + +“Permit me, Mistress Cynthia,” said he, “to take my leave of you. In an +hour or so I shall be riding away from Castle Marleigh.” + +Her eyes sought the ground, and had he been observant of her he might +have noticed that she paled slightly. + +“Fare you well, sir,” said she in a low voice. “May happiness attend +you.” + +“Madam, I thank you. Fare you well.” + +He bowed low. She dropped him a slight curtsey, and ascended the stairs. +Once as she reached the gallery above she turned. He had resumed his +seat at table, and was in the act of filling his glass. The servants had +withdrawn, and for half an hour thereafter they sat on, sipping their +wine, and making conversation--while Crispin drained bumper after +bumper and grew every instant more boisterous, until at length his +boisterousness passed into incoherence. His eyelids drooped heavily, and +his chin kept ever and anon sinking forward on to his breast. + +Kenneth, flushed with wine, yet master of his wits, watched him with +contempt. This was the man Cynthia preferred to him! Contempt was there +also in Joseph Ashburn's eye, mingled with satisfaction. He had not +looked to find the task so easy. At length he deemed the season ripe. + +“My brother tells me that you were once acquainted with Roland +Marleigh,” said he. + +“Aye,” he answered thickly. “I knew the dog--a merry, reckless soul, +d--n me. 'Twas his recklessness killed him, poor devil--that and your +hand, Mr. Ashburn, so the story goes.” + +“What story?” + +“What story?” echoed Crispin. “The story that I heard. Do you say I +lie?” And, swaying in his chair, he sought to assume an air of defiance. + +Joseph laughed in a fashion that made Kenneth's blood run cold. + +“Why, no, I don't deny it. It was in fair fight he fell. Moreover, he +brought the duel upon himself.” + +Crispin spoke no word in answer, but rose unsteadily to his feet, so +unsteadily that his chair was overset and fell with a crash behind him. +For a moment he surveyed it with a drunken leer, then went lurching +across the hall towards the door that led to the servants' quarters. +The three men sat on, watching his antics in contempt, curiosity, and +amusement. They saw him gain the heavy oaken door and close it. They +heard the bolts rasp as he shot them home, and the lock click; and they +saw him withdraw the key and slip it into his pocket. + +The cold smile still played round Joseph's lips as Crispin turned to +face them again, and on Joseph's lips did that same smile freeze as he +saw him standing there, erect and firm, his drunkenness all vanished, +and his eyes keen and fierce; as he heard the ring of his metallic +voice: + +“You lie, Joseph Ashburn. It was no fair fight. It was no duel. It was +a foul, murderous stroke you dealt him in the back, thinking to butcher +him as you butchered his wife and his babe. But there is a God, Master +Ashburn,” he went on in an ever-swelling voice, “and I lived. Like a +salamander I came through the flames in which you sought to destroy all +trace of your vile deed. I lived, and I, Crispin Galliard, the debauched +Tavern Knight that was once Roland Marleigh, am here to demand a +reckoning.” + +The very incarnation was he then of an avenger, as he stood towering +before them, his grim face livid with the passion into which he had +lashed himself as he spoke, his blazing eyes watching them in that +cunning, half-closed way that was his when his mood was dangerous. +And yet the only one that quailed was Kenneth, his ally, upon whom +comprehension burst with stunning swiftness. + +Joseph recovered quickly from the surprise of Crispin's suddenly +reassumed sobriety. He understood the trick that Galliard had played +upon them so that he might cut off their retreat in the only direction +in which they might have sought assistance, and he cursed himself for +not having foreseen it. Still, anxiety he felt none; his sword was to +his hand, and Gregory was armed; at the very worst they were two calm +and able men opposed to a half-intoxicated boy, and a man whom fury, he +thought, must strip of half his power. Probably, indeed, the lad would +side with them, despite his plighted word. Again, he had but to raise +his voice, and, though the door that Crispin had fastened was a stout +one, he never doubted but that his call would penetrate it and bring +his servants to his rescue. + +And so, a smile of cynical unconcern returned to his lips and his answer +was delivered in a cold, incisive voice. + +“The reckoning you have come to demand shall be paid you, sir. Rakehelly +Galliard is the hero of many a reckless deed, but my judgment is much +at fault if this prove not his crowning recklessness and his last one. +Gadswounds, sir, are you mad to come hither single-handed to beard the +lion in his den?” + +“Rather the cur in his kennel,” sneered Crispin back. “Blood and wounds, +Master Joseph, think you to affright me with words?” + +Still Joseph smiled, deeming himself master of the situation. + +“Were help needed, the raising of my voice would bring it me. But it is +not. We are three to one.” + +“You reckon wrongly. Mr. Stewart belongs to me to-night--bound by an +oath that 'twould damn his soul to break, to help me when and where I +may call upon him; and I call upon him now. Kenneth, draw your sword.” + +Kenneth groaned as he stood by, clasping and unclasping his hands. + +“God's curse on you,” he burst out. “You have tricked me, you have +cheated me.” + +“Bear your oath in mind,” was the cold answer. “If you deem yourself +wronged by me, hereafter you shall have what satisfaction you demand. +But first fulfil me what you have sworn. Out with your blade, man.” + +Still Kenneth hesitated, and but for Gregory's rash action at that +critical juncture, it is possible that he would have elected to +break his plighted word. But Gregory fearing that he might determine +otherwise, resolved there and then to remove the chance of it. Whipping +out his sword, he made a vicious pass at the lad's breast. Kenneth +avoided it by leaping backwards, but in an instant Gregory had sprung +after him, and seeing himself thus beset, Kenneth was forced to draw +that he might protect himself. + +They stood in the space between the table and that part of the hall that +abutted on to the terrace; opposite to them, by the door which he +had closed, stood Crispin. At the table-head Joseph still sat cool, +self-contained, even amused. + +He realized the rashness of Gregory's attack upon one that might yet +have been won over to their side; but he never doubted that a few passes +would dispose of the lad's opposition, and he sought not to interfere. +Then he saw Crispin advancing towards him slowly, his rapier naked in +his hand, and he was forced to look to himself. He caught at the sword +that stood behind him, and leaping to his feet he sprang forward to +meet his grim antagonist. Galliard's eyes flashed out a look of joy, he +raised his rapier, and their blades met. + +To the clash of their meeting came an echoing clash from beyond the +table. + +“Hold, sir!” Kenneth had cried, as Gregory bore down upon him. But +Gregory's answer had been a lunge which the boy had been forced to +parry. Taking that crossing of blades for a sign of opposition, Gregory +thrust again more viciously. Kenneth parried narrowly, his blade +pointing straight at his aggressor. He saw the opening, and both +instinct and the desire to repel Gregory's onslaught drew him into +attempting a riposte, which drove Gregory back until his shoulders +touched the panels of the wall. Simultaneously the boy's foot struck the +back of the chair which in rising Crispin had overset, and he stumbled. +How it happened he scarcely knew, but as he hurtled forward his blade +slid along his opponent's, and entering Gregory's right shoulder pinned +him to the wainscot. + +Joseph heard the tinkle of a falling blade, and assumed it to be +Kenneth's. For the rest he was just then too busy to dare withdraw for +a second his eyes from Crispin's. Until that hour Joseph Ashburn had +accounted himself something of a swordsman, and more than a match +for most masters of the weapon. But in Crispin he found a fencer of a +quality such as he had never yet encountered. Every feint, every botte +in his catalogue had he paraded in quick succession, yet ever with the +same result--his point was foiled and put aside with ease. + +Desperately he fought now, darting that point of his hither and thither +in and out whenever the slightest opening offered; yet ever did it +meet the gentle averting pressure of Crispin's blade. He fought on and +marvelled as the seconds went by that Gregory came not to his aid. Then +the sickening thought that perhaps Gregory was overcome occurred to +him. In such a case he must reckon upon himself alone. He cursed +the over-confidence that had led him into that ever-fatal error of +underestimating his adversary. He might have known that one who had +acquired Sir Crispin's fame was no ordinary man, but one accustomed to +face great odds and master them. He might call for help. + +He marvelled as the thought occurred to him that the clatter of their +blades had not drawn his servants from their quarters. Fencing still, he +raised his voice: + +“Ho, there! John, Stephen!” + +“Spare your breath,” growled the knight. “I dare swear you'll have need +of it. None will hear you, call as you will. I gave your four henchmen +a flagon of wine wherein to drink to my safe journey hence. They have +emptied it ere this, I make no doubt, and a single glass of it would set +the hardest toper asleep for the round of the clock.” + +An oath was Joseph's only answer--a curse it was upon his own folly and +assurance. A little while ago he had thought to have drawn so tight +a net about this ruler, and here was he now taken in its very toils, +well-nigh exhausted and in his enemy's power. + +It occurred to him then that Crispin stayed his hand. That he fenced +only on the defensive, and he wondered what might his motive be. He +realized that he was mastered, and that at any moment Galliard might +send home his blade. He was bathed from head to foot in a sweat that was +at once of exertion and despair. A frenzy seized him. Might he not yet +turn to advantage this hesitancy of Crispin's to strike the final blow? + +He braced himself for a supreme effort, and turning his wrist from a +simulated thrust in the first position, he doubled, and stretching out, +lunged vigorously in quarte. As he lengthened his arm in the stroke +there came a sudden twitch at his wrist; the weapon was twisted from his +grasp, and he stood disarmed at Crispin's mercy. + +A gurgling cry broke despite him from his lips, and his eyes grew wide +in a sickly terror as they encountered the knight's sinister glance. Not +three paces behind him was the wall, and on it, within the hand's easy +reach, hung many a trophied weapon that might have served him then. But +the fascination of fear was upon him, benumbing his wits and paralysing +his limbs, with the thought that the next pulsation of his tumultuous +heart would prove its last. The calm, unflinching courage that had +been Joseph's only virtue was shattered, and his iron will that had +unscrupulously held hitherto his very conscience in bondage was turned +to water now that he stood face to face with death. + +Eons of time it seemed to him were sped since the sword was wrenched +from his hand, and still the stroke he awaited came not; still Crispin +stood, sinister and silent before him, watching him with magnetic, +fascinating eyes--as the snake watches the bird--eyes from which Joseph +could not withdraw his own, and yet before which it seemed to him that +he quaked and shrivelled. + +The candles were burning low in their sconces, and the corners of that +ample, gloomy hall were filled with mysterious shadows that formed a +setting well attuned to the grim picture made by those two figures--the +one towering stern and vengeful, the other crouching palsied and livid. + +Beyond the table, and with the wounded Gregory--lying unconscious and +bleeding--at his feet, stood Kenneth looking on in silence, in wonder +and in some horror too. + +To him also, as he watched, the seconds seemed minutes from the time +when Crispin had disarmed his opponent until with a laugh--short and +sudden as a stab--he dropped his sword and caught his victim by the +throat. + +However fierce the passion that had actuated Crispin, it had been held +hitherto in strong subjection. But now at last it suddenly welled up and +mastered him, causing him to cast all restraint to the winds, to abandon +reason, and to give way to the lust of rage that rendered ungovernable +his mood. + +Like a burst of flame from embers that have been smouldering was the +upleaping of his madness, transfiguring his face and transforming his +whole being. A new, unconquerable strength possessed him; his pulses +throbbed swiftly and madly with the quickened coursing of his blood, and +his soul was filled with the cruel elation that attends a lust about to +be indulged the elation of the beast about to rend its prey. + +He was pervaded by the desire to wreak slowly and with his hands the +destruction of his broken enemy. To have passed his sword through him +would have been too swiftly done; the man would have died, and Crispin +would have known nothing of his sufferings. But to take him thus by +the throat; slowly to choke the life's breath out of him; to feel his +desperate, writhing struggles; to be conscious of every agonized twitch +of his sinews, to watch the purpling face, the swelling veins, the +protruding eyes filled with the dumb horror of his agony; to hold him +thus--each second becoming a distinct, appreciable division of time--and +thus to take what payment he could for all the blighted years that lay +behind him--this he felt would be something like revenge. + +Meanwhile the shock of surprise at the unlooked-for movement had +awakened again the man in Joseph. For a second even Hope knocked at +his heart. He was sinewy and active, and perchance he might yet make +Galliard repent that he had discarded his rapier. The knight's reason +for doing so he thought he had in Crispin's contemptuous words: + +“Good steel were too great an honour for you, Mr. Ashburn.” + +And as he spoke, his lean, nervous fingers tightened about Joseph's +throat in a grip that crushed the breath from him, and with it the +new-born hope of proving master in his fresh combat. He had not reckoned +with this galley-weaned strength of Crispin's, a strength that was a +revelation to Joseph as he felt himself almost lifted from the ground, +and swung this way and that, like a babe in the hands of a grown man. +Vain were his struggles. His strength ebbed fast; the blood, held +overlong in his head, was already obscuring his vision, when at last the +grip relaxed, and his breathing was freed. As his sight cleared again +he found himself back in his chair at the table-head, and beside him Sir +Crispin, his left hand resting upon the board, his right grasping once +more the sword, and his eyes bent mockingly and evilly upon his victim. + +Kenneth, looking on, could not repress a shudder. He had known Crispin +for a tempestuous man quickly moved to wrath, and he had oftentimes seen +anger make terrible his face and glance. But never had he seen aught +in him to rival this present frenzy; it rendered satanical the baleful +glance of his eyes and the awful smile of hate and mockery with which he +gazed at last upon the helpless quarry that he had waited eighteen +years to bring to earth. “I would,” said Crispin, in a harsh, deliberate +voice, “that you had a score of lives, Master Joseph. As it is I have +done what I could. Two agonies have you undergone already, and I am +inclined to mercy. The end is at hand. If you have prayers to say, say +them, Master Ashburn, though I doubt me it will be wasted breath--you +are over-ripe for hell.” + +“You mean to kill me,” he gasped, growing yet a shade more livid. + +“Does the suspicion of it but occur to you?” laughed Crispin, “and yet +twice already have I given you a foretaste of death. Think you I but +jested?” + +Joseph's teeth clicked together in a snap of determination. That sneer +of Crispin's acted upon him as a blow--but as a blow that arouses the +desire to retaliate rather than lays low. He braced himself for fresh +resistance; not of action, for that he realized was futile, but of +argument. + +“It is murder that you do,” he cried. + +“No; it is justice. It has been long on the way, but it has come at +last.” + +“Bethink you, Mr. Marleigh--” + +“Call me not by that name,” cried the other harshly, fearfully. “I have +not borne it these eighteen years, and thanks to what you have made +me, it is not meet that I should bear it now.” There was a pause. Then +Joseph spoke again with great calm and earnestness. + +“Bethink you, Sir Crispin, of what you are about to do. It can benefit +you in naught.” + +“Oddslife, think you it cannot? Think you it will benefit me naught to +see you earn at last your reward?” + +“You may have dearly to pay for what at best must prove a fleeting +satisfaction.” + +“Not a fleeting one, Joseph,” he laughed. “But one the memory of which +shall send me rejoicing through what years or days of life be left me. A +satisfaction that for eighteen years I have been waiting to experience; +though the moment after it be mine find me stark and cold.” + +“Sir Crispin, you are in enmity with the Parliament--an outlaw almost. I +have some influence much influence. By exerting it--” + +“Have done, sir!” cried Crispin angrily. “You talk in vain. What to +me is life, or aught that life can give? If I have so long endured the +burden of it, it has been so that I might draw from it this hour. Do you +think there is any bribe you could offer would turn me from my purpose?” + +A groan from Gregory, who was regaining consciousness, drew his +attention aside. + +“Truss him up, Kenneth,” he commanded, pointing to the recumbent +figure. “How? Do you hesitate? Now, as God lives, I'll be obeyed; or you +shall have an unpleasant reminder of the oath you swore me!” + +With a look of loathing the lad dropped on his knees to do as he was +bidden. Then of a sudden: + +“I have not the means,” he announced. + +“Fool, does he not wear a sword-belt and a sash? Come, attend to it!” + +“Why do you force me to do this?” the lad still protested passionately. +“You have tricked and cheated me, yet I have kept my oath and rendered +you the assistance you required. They are in your power now, can you not +do the rest yourself?” + +“On my soul, Master Stewart, I am over-patient with you! Are we to +wrangle at every step before you'll take it? I will have your assistance +through this matter as you swore to give it. Come, truss me that fellow, +and have done with words.” + +His fierceness overthrew the boy's outburst of resistance. Kenneth had +wit enough to see that his mood was not one to brook much opposition, +and so, with an oath and a groan, he went to work to pinion Gregory. + +Then Joseph spoke again. “Weigh well this act of yours, Sir Crispin,” + he cried. “You are still young; much of life lies yet before you. Do not +wantonly destroy it by an act that cannot repair the past.” + +“But it can avenge it, Joseph. As for my life, you destroyed it years +ago. The future has naught to offer me; the present has this.” And he +drew back his sword to strike. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN + + +A new terror leapt into Joseph's eyes at that movement of Crispin's, +and for the third time that night did he taste the agony that is Death's +forerunner. Yet Galliard delayed the stroke. He held his sword poised, +the point aimed at Joseph's breast, and holding, he watched him, marking +each phase of the terror reflected upon his livid countenance. He was +loth to strike, for to strike would mean to end this exquisite torture +of horror to which he was subjecting him. + +Broken Joseph had been before and passive; now of a sudden he grew +violent again, but in a different way. He flung himself upon his knees +before Sir Crispin, and passionately he pleaded for the sparing of his +miserable life. + +Crispin looked on with an eye both of scorn and of cold relish. It was +thus he wished to see him, broken and agonized, suffering thus something +of all that which he himself had suffered through despair in the years +that were sped. With satisfaction then he watched his victim's agony; +he watched it too with scorn and some loathing--for a craven was in his +eyes an ugly sight, and Joseph in that moment was truly become as vile a +coward as ever man beheld. His parchment-like face was grey and mottled, +his brow bedewed with sweat; his lips were blue and quivering, his eyes +bloodshot and almost threatening tears. + +In the silence of one who waits stood Crispin, listening, calm and +unmoved, as though he heard not, until Joseph's whining prayers +culminated in an offer to make reparation. Then Crispin broke in at +length with an impatient gesture. + +“What reparation can you make, you murderer? Can you restore to me the +wife and child you butchered eighteen years ago?” + +“I can restore your child at least,” returned the other. “I can and will +restore him to you if you but stay your hand. That and much more will I +do to repair the past.” + +Unconsciously Crispin lowered his sword-arm, and for a full minute he +stood and stared at Joseph. His jaw was fallen and the grim firmness all +gone from his face, and replaced by amazement, then unbelief followed +by inquiry; then unbelief again. The pallor of his cheeks seemed to +intensify. At last, however, he broke into a hard laugh. + +“What lie is this you offer me? Zounds, man, are you not afraid?” + +“It is no lie,” Joseph cried, in accents so earnest that some of the +unbelief passed again from Galliard's face. “It is the truth-God's +truth. Your son lives.” + +“Hell-hound, it is a lie! On that fell night, as I swooned under +your cowardly thrust, I heard you calling to your brother to slit the +squalling bastard's throat. Those were your very words, Master Joseph.” + +“I own I bade him do it, but I was not obeyed. He swore we should give +the babe a chance of life. It should never know whose son it was, he +said, and I agreed. We took the boy away. He has lived and thrived.” + +The knight sank on to a chair as though bereft of strength. He sought to +think, but thinking coherently he could not. At last: + +“How shall I know that you are not lying? What proof can you advance?” + he demanded hoarsely. + +“I swear that what I have told you is true. I swear it by the cross +of our Redeemer!” he protested, with a solemnity that was not without +effect upon Crispin. Nevertheless, he sneered. + +“I ask for proofs, man, not oaths. What proofs can you afford me?” + +“There are the man and the woman whom the lad was reared by.” + +“And where shall I find them?” + +Joseph opened his lips to answer, then closed them again. In his +eagerness he had almost parted with the information which he now +proposed to make the price of his life. He regained confidence at +Crispin's tone and questions, gathering from both that the knight was +willing to believe if proof were set before him. He rose to his feet, +and when next he spoke his voice had won back much of its habitual calm +deliberateness. + +“That,” said he, “I will tell you when you have promised to go hence, +leaving Gregory and me unharmed. I will supply you with what money you +may need, and I will give you a letter to those people, so couched +that what they tell you by virtue of it shall be a corroboration of my +words.” + +His elbow resting upon the table, and his hand to his brow so that it +shaded his eyes, sat Crispin long in thought, swayed by emotions and +doubts, the like of which he had never yet known in the whole of his +chequered life. Was Joseph lying to him? + +That was the question that repeatedly arose, and oddly enough, for all +his mistrust of the man, he was inclined to account true the ring of his +words. Joseph watched him with much anxiety and some hope. + +At length Crispin withdrew his hands from eyes that were grown haggard, +and rose. + +“Let us see the letter that you will write,” said he. “There you have +pen, ink, and paper. Write.” + +“You promise?” asked Joseph. + +“I will tell you when you have written.” + +In a hand that shook somewhat, Joseph wrote a few lines, then handed +Crispin the sheet, whereon he read: + +The bearer of this is Sir Crispin Galliard, who is intimately interested +in the matter that lies betwixt us, and whom I pray you answer fully and +accurately the questions he may put you in that connexion. + +“I understand,” said Crispin slowly. “Yes, it will serve. Now the +superscription.” And he returned the paper. + +Ashburn was himself again by now. He realized the advantage he had +gained, and he would not easily relinquish it. + +“I shall add the superscription,” said he calmly, “when you swear to +depart without further molesting us.” + +Crispin paused a moment, weighing the position well in his mind. If +Joseph lied to him now, he would find means to return, he told himself, +and so he took the oath demanded. + +Joseph dipped his pen, and paused meditatively to watch a drop of ink, +wherewith it was overladen, fall back into the horn. The briefest of +pauses was it, yet it was not the accident it appeared to be. Hitherto +Joseph had been as sincere as he had been earnest, intent alone upon +saving his life at all costs, and forgetting in his fear of the present +the dangers that the future might hold for him were Crispin Galliard +still at large. But in that second of dipping his quill, assured that +the peril of the moment was overcome, and that Crispin would go forth as +he said, the devil whispered in his ear a cunning and vile suggestion. +As he watched the drop of ink roll from his pen-point, he remembered +that in London there dwelt at the sign of the Anchor, in Thames Street, +one Colonel Pride, whose son this Galliard had slain, and who, did he +once lay hands upon him, was not like to let him go again. In a second +was the thought conceived and the determination taken, and as he folded +the letter and set upon it the superscription, Joseph felt that he could +have cried out in his exultation at the cunning manner in which he was +outwitting his enemy. + +Crispin took the package, and read thereon: + +This is to Mr. Henry Lane, at the sign of the Anchor, Thames Street, +London. + +The name was a fictitious one--one that Joseph had set down upon the +spur of the moment, his intention being to send a messenger that should +outstrip Sir Crispin, and warn Colonel Pride of his coming. + +“It is well,” was Crispin's only comment. He, too, was grown calm again +and fully master of himself. He placed the letter carefully within the +breast of his doublet. + +“If you have lied to me, if this is but a shift to win your miserable +life, rest assured, Master Ashburn, that you have but put off the day +for a very little while.” + +It was on Joseph's lips to answer that none of us are immortal, but +he bethought him that the pleasantry might be ill-timed, and bowed in +silence. + +Galliard took his hat and cloak from the chair on which he had placed +them upon descending that evening. Then he turned again to Joseph. + +“You spoke of money a moment ago,” he said, in the tones of one +demanding what is his own the tones of a gentleman speaking to his +steward. “I will take two hundred Caroluses. More I cannot carry in +comfort.” + +Joseph gasped at the amount. For a second it even entered his mind to +resist the demand. Then he remembered that there was a brace of pistols +in his study; if he could get those he would settle matters there and +then without the aid of Colonel Pride. + +“I will fetch the money,” said he, betraying his purpose by his +alacrity. + +“By your leave, Master Ashburn, I will come with you.” + +Joseph's eyes flashed him a quick look of baffled hate. + +“As you will,” said he, with an ill grace. + +As they passed out, Crispin turned to Kenneth. + +“Remember, sir, you are still in my service. See that you keep good +watch.” + +Kenneth bent his head without replying. But Master Gregory required +little watching. He lay a helpless, half-swooning heap upon the floor, +which he had smeared with the blood oozing from his wounded shoulder. +Even were he untrussed, there was little to be feared from him. + +During the brief while they were alone together, Kenneth did not so much +as attempt to speak to him. He sat himself down upon the nearest chair, +and with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees he pondered +over the miserable predicament into which Sir Crispin had got him, and +more bitter than ever it had been was his enmity at that moment towards +the knight. That Galliard should be upon the eve of finding his son, and +a sequel to the story he had heard from him that night in Worcester, +was to Kenneth a thing of no interest or moment. Galliard had ruined him +with these Ashburns. He could never now hope to win the hand of Cynthia, +to achieve which he had been willing to turn both fool and knave--aye, +had turned both. There was naught left him but to return him to the +paltry Scottish estate of his fathers, there to meet the sneers of those +who no doubt had heard that he was gone South to marry a great English +heiress. + +That at such a season he could think of this but serves to prove the +shallow nature of his feelings. A love was his that had gain and +vanity for its foundation--in fact, it was no love at all. For what he +accounted love for Cynthia was but the love of himself, which through +Cynthia he sought to indulge. + +He cursed the ill-luck that had brought Crispin into his life. He cursed +Crispin for the evil he had suffered from him, forgetting that but for +Crispin he would have been carrion a month ago and more. + +Deep at his bitter musings was he when the door opened again to admit +Joseph, followed by Galliard. The knight came across the hall and +stooped to look at Gregory. + +“You may untruss him, Kenneth, when I am gone,” said he. “And in a +quarter of an hour from now you are released from your oath to me. Fare +you well,” he added with unusual gentleness, and turning a glance that +was almost regretful upon the lad. “We are not like to meet again, but +should we, I trust it may be in happier times. If I have harmed you in +this business, remember that my need was great. Fare you well.” And he +held out his hand. + +“Take yourself to hell, sir!” answered Kenneth, turning his back upon +him. The ghost of an evil smile played round Joseph Ashburn's lips as he +watched them. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT + + +So soon as Sir Crispin had taken his departure, and whilst yet the beat +of his horse's hoofs was to be distinguished above the driving storm of +rain and wind without, Joseph hastened across the hall to the servants' +quarters. There he found his four grooms slumbering deeply, their faces +white and clammy, and their limbs twisted into odd, helpless attitudes. +Vainly did he rain down upon them kicks and curses; arouse them he could +not from the stupor in whose thrall they lay. + +And so, seizing a lanthorn, he passed out to the stables, whence Crispin +had lately taken his best nag, and with his own hands he saddled a +horse. His lips were screwed into a curious smile--a smile that still +lingered upon them when presently he retraced his steps to the room +where his brother sat with Kenneth. + +In his absence the lad had dressed Gregory's wound; he had induced him +to take a little wine, and had set him upon a chair, in which he now lay +back, white and exhausted. + +“The quarter of an hour is passed, sir,” said Joseph coldly, as he +entered. + +Kenneth made no sign that he heard. He sat on like a man in a dream. His +eyes that saw nothing were bent upon Gregory's pale, flabby face. + +“The quarter of an hour is passed, sir,” Joseph repeated in a louder +voice. + +Kenneth looked up, then rose and sighed, passing his hand wearily across +his forehead. + +“I understand, sir,” he replied in a low voice. “You mean that I must +go?” + +Joseph waited a moment before replying. Then: + +“It is past midnight,” he said slowly, “and the weather is wild. You may +lie here until morning, if you are so minded. But go you must then,” + he added sternly. “I need scarce say, sir, that you must have no speech +with Mistress Cynthia, nor that never again must you set foot within +Castle Marleigh.” + +“I understand, sir; I understand. But you deal hardly with me.” + +Joseph raised his eyebrows in questioning surprise. + +“I was the victim of my oath, given when I knew not against whom my hand +was to be lifted. Oh, sir, am I to suffer all my life for a fault that +was not my own? You, Master Gregory,” he cried, turning passionately to +Cynthia's father, “you are perchance more merciful? You understand my +position--how I was forced into it.” + +Gregory opened his heavy eyes. + +“A plague on you, Master Stewart,” he groaned. “I understand that you +have given me a wound that will take a month to heal.” + +“It was an accident, sir. I swear it was an accident!” + +“To swear this and that appears to be your chief diversion in life,” + growled Gregory for answer. “You had best go; we are not likely to +listen to excuses.” + +“Did you rather suggest a remedy,” Joseph put in quietly, “we might hear +you.” + +Kenneth swung round and faced him, hope brightening his eyes. + +“What remedy is there? How can I undo what I have done? Show me but the +way, and I'll follow it, no matter where it leads!” + +Such protestations had Joseph looked to hear, and he was hard put to +it to dissemble his satisfaction. For a while he was silent, making +pretence to ponder. At length: + +“Kenneth,” he said, “you may in some measure repair the evil you have +done, and if you are ready to undergo some slight discomfort, I shall be +willing on my side to forget this night.” + +“Tell me how, sir, and whatever the cost I will perform it!” + +He gave no thought to the fact that Crispin's grievance against the +Ashburns was well-founded; that they had wrecked his life even as they +had sought to destroy it; even as eighteen years ago they had destroyed +his wife's. His only thought was Cynthia; his only wish was to possess +her. Besides that, justice and honour itself were of small account. + +“It is but a slight matter,” answered Joseph. “A matter that I might +entrust to one of my grooms.” + +That whilst his grooms lay drugged the matter was so pressing that his +messenger must set out that very night, Joseph did not think of adding. + +“I would, sir,” answered the boy, “that the task were great and +difficult.” + +“Yes, yes,” answered Joseph with biting sarcasm, “we are acquainted with +both your courage and your resource.” He sat silent and thoughtful for +some moments, then with a sudden sharp glance at the lad: + +“You shall have this chance of setting yourself right with us,” he said. +Then abruptly he added. + +“Go make ready for a journey. You must set out within the hour for +London. Take what you may require and arm yourself; then return to me +here.” + +Gregory, who, despite his sluggish wits, divined--partly, at least--what +was afoot, made shift to speak. But his brother silenced him with a +glance. + +“Go,” Joseph said to the boy. And, without comment, Kenneth rose and +left them. + +“What would you do?” asked Gregory when the door had closed. + +“Make doubly sure of that ruffian,” answered Joseph coldly. “Colonel +Pride might be absent when he arrives, and he might learn that none +of the name of Lane dwells at the Anchor in Thames Street. It would be +fatal to awaken his suspicions and bring him back to us.” + +“But surely Richard or Stephen might carry your errand?” + +“They might were they not so drugged that they cannot be aroused. I +might even go myself, but it is better so.” He laughed softly. “There is +even comedy in it. Kenneth shall outride our bloodthirsty knight to warn +Pride of his coming, and when he comes he will walk into the hands of +the hangman. It will be a surprise for him. For the rest I shall keep +my promise concerning his son. He shall have news of him from Pride--but +when too late to be of service.” + +Gregory shuddered. + +“Fore God, Joseph, 'tis a foul thing you do,” he cried. “Sooner would I +never set eyes on the lad again. Let him go his ways as you intended.” + +“I never did intend it. What trustier messenger could I find now that +I have lent him zest by fright? To win Cynthia, we may rely upon him +safely to do that in which another might fail.” + +“Joseph, you will roast in hell for it.” + +Joseph laughed him to scorn. + +“To bed with you, you canting hypocrite; your wound makes you +light-headed.” + +It was a half-hour ere Kenneth returned, booted, cloaked, and ready for +his journey. He found Joseph alone, busily writing, and in obedience to +a sign he sat him down to wait. + +A few minutes passed, then, with a final scratch and splutter Joseph +flung down his pen. With the sandbox tilted in the air, like a dicer +about to make his throw, he looked at the lad. + +“You will spare neither whip nor spur until you arrive in London, Master +Kenneth. You must ride night and day; the matter is of the greatest +urgency.” + +Kenneth nodded that he understood, and Joseph sprinkled the sand over +the written page. + +“I know not when you should reach London so that you may be in time, +but,” he continued, and as he spoke he creased the paper and poured +the superfluous sand back into the box, “I should say that by midnight +to-morrow your message should be delivered. Aye,” he continued, in +answer to the lad's gasp of surprise, “it is hard riding, I know, but +if you would win Cynthia you must do it. Spare neither money nor +horseflesh, and keep to the saddle until you are in Thames Street.” + +He folded the letter, sealed it, and wrote the superscription: “This to +Colonel Pride, at the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street.” + +He rose and handed the package to Kenneth, to whom the superscription +meant nothing, since he had not seen that borne by the letter which +Crispin had received. + +“You will deliver this intact, and with your own hands, to Colonel Pride +in person--none other. Should he be absent from Thames Street upon your +arrival, seek him out instantly, wherever he may be, and give him this. +Upon your faithful observance of these conditions remember that your +future depends. If you are in time, as indeed I trust and think you will +be, you may account yourself Cynthia's husband. Fail and--well, you need +not return here.” + +“I shall not fail, sir,” cried Kenneth. “What man can do to accomplish +the journey within twenty-four hours, I will do.” + +He would have stopped to thank Joseph for the signal favour of this +chance of rehabilitation, but Joseph cut him short. + +“Take this purse,” he cried impatiently. “You will find a horse ready +saddled in the stables. Ride it hard. It will bear you to Norton at +least. There get you a fresh one, and when that is done, another. Now be +off.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY + + +When the Tavern Knight left the gates of Marleigh Park behind him on +that wild October night, he drove deep the rowels of his spurs, and set +his horse at a perilous gallop along the road to Norwich. The action was +of instinct rather than of thought. In the turbulent sea of his mind, +one clear current there was, and one only--the knowledge that he was +bound for London for news of this son of his whom Joseph told him lived. +He paused not even to speculate what manner of man his child was grown, +nor yet what walk of life he had been reared to tread. He lived: he was +somewhere in the world; that for the time sufficed him. The Ashburns +had not, it seemed, destroyed quite everything that made his life worth +enduring--the life that so often and so wantonly he had exposed. + +His son lived, and in London he should have news of him. To London then +must he get himself with all dispatch, and he swore to take no rest +until he reached it. And with that firm resolve to urge him, he ploughed +his horse's flanks, and sped on through the night. The rain beat in +his face, yet he scarce remarked it, as again more by instinct than by +reason--he buried his face to the eyes in the folds of his cloak. + +Later the rain ceased, and clearer grew the line of light betwixt the +hedgerows, by which his horse had steered its desperate career. Fitfully +a crescent moon peered out from among the wind-driven clouds. The poor +ruffler was fallen into meditation, and noted not that his nag did no +more than amble. He roused himself of a sudden when half-way down +a gentle slope some five miles from Norwich, and out of temper at +discovering the sluggishness of the pace, he again gave the horse a +taste of the spurs. The action was fatal. The incline was become a bed +of sodden clay, and he had not noticed with what misgivings his horse +pursued the treacherous footing. The sting of the spur made the animal +bound forward, and the next instant a raucous oath broke from Crispin +as the nag floundered and dropped on its knees. Like a stone from a +catapult Galliard flew over its head and rolled down the few remaining +yards of the slope into a very lake of slimy water at the bottom. + +Down this same hill, some twenty minutes later, came Kenneth Stewart +with infinite precaution. He was in haste--a haste more desperate +far than even Crispin's. But his character held none of Galliard's +recklessness, nor were his wits fogged by such news as Crispin had heard +that night. He realized that to be swift he must be cautious in his +night-riding. And so, carefully he came, with a firm hand on the reins, +yet leaving it to his horse to find safe footing. + +He had reached the level ground in safety, and was about to put his nag +to a smarter pace, when of a sudden from the darkness of the hedge he +was hailed by a harsh, metallic voice, the sound of which sent a tremor +through him. + +“Sir, you are choicely met, whoever you may be. I have suffered a +mischance down that cursed hill, and my horse has gone lame.” + +Kenneth kept his cloak over his mouth, trusting that the muffling would +sufficiently disguise his accents as he made answer. + +“I am in haste, my master. What is your will?” + +“Why, marry, so am I in haste. My will is your horse, sir. Oh, I'm no +robber. I'll pay you for it, and handsomely. But have it I must. 'Twill +be no great discomfort for you to walk to Norwich. You may do it in an +hour.” + +“My horse, sir, is not for sale,” was Kenneth's brief answer. “Give you +good night.” + +“Hold, man! Blood and hell, stop! If you'll not sell the worthless beast +to serve a gentleman, I'll shoot it under you. Make your choice.” + +Kenneth caught the gleam of a pistol-barrel pointed at him from the +hedge, and he shivered. What was he to do? Every instant was precious to +him. As in a flash it came to him that perchance Sir Crispin also rode +to London, and that it was expected of him to arrive there first if he +were to be in time. Swiftly he weighed the odds in his mind, and took +the determination to dash past Sir Crispin, risking his aim and trusting +to the dark to befriend him. + +But even as he determined thus, what moon there was became unveiled, and +the light of it fell upon his face, which was turned towards Galliard. +An exclamation of surprise escaped Sir Crispin. + +“'Slife, Master Stewart, I knew not your voice. Whither do you ride?” + +“What is it to you? Have you not wrought enough of evil for me? Am I +never to be rid of you? Castle Marleigh,” he added, with well-feigned +anger, “has closed its doors upon me. What does it signify to you +whither I ride? Suffer me leastways to pass unmolested, and to leave +you.” + +Kenneth's passionate reproaches cut Galliard keenly. He held himself at +that moment a very knave for having dragged this boy into his work of +vengeance, and thereby cast a blight upon his life. He sought for words +wherein to give expression to something of what he felt, then realizing +how futile and effete all words must prove, he waved his hand in the +direction of the road. + +“Go, Master Stewart,” he muttered. “Your way is clear.” + +And Kenneth, waiting for no second invitation, rode on and left him. He +rode with gratitude in his heart to the Providence that had caused him +so easily to overcome an obstacle that at first he had held impassable. +Stronger grew in his mind the conviction that to fulfil the mission +Joseph required of him, he must reach London before Sir Crispin. The +knowledge that he was ahead of him, and that he must derive an ample +start from Galliard's mishap, warmed him like wine. + +His mind thus relieved from its weight of anxiety, he little recked +fatigue, and such excellent use did he make of his horse that he reached +Newmarket on it an hour before the morrow's moon. + +An hour he rested there, and broke his fast. Then on a fresh horse--a +powerful and willing animal he set out once more. + +By half-past two he was at Newport. But so hard had he ridden that man +and beast alike were in a lather of sweat, and whilst he himself felt +sick and tired, the horse was utterly unfit to bear him farther. For +half an hour he rested there, and made a meal whose chief constituent +was brandy. Then on a third horse he started upon the last stage of his +journey. + +The wind was damp and penetrating; the roads veritable morasses of mud, +and overhead gloomy banks of dark, grey clouds moved sluggishly, the +light that was filtered through them giving the landscape a bleak and +dreary aspect. In his jaded condition Kenneth soon became a prey to the +depression of it. His lightness of heart of some dozen hours ago was +now all gone, and not even the knowledge that his mission was well-nigh +accomplished sufficed to cheer him. To add to his discomfort a fine +rain set in towards four o'clock, and when a couple of hours later he +clattered along the road cut through a wooded slope in the direction of +Waltham, he was become a very limp and lifeless individual. + +He noticed not the horsemen moving cautiously among the closely-set +trees on either side of the road. It was growing prematurely dark, and +objects were none too distinct. And thus it befell that when from the +reverie of dejection into which he had fallen he was suddenly aroused by +the thud of hoofs, he looked up to find two mounted men barring the road +some ten yards in front of him. Their attitude was unmistakable, and it +crossed poor Kenneth's mind that he was beset by robbers. But a second +glance showed him their red cloaks and military steel caps, and he knew +them for soldiers of the Commonwealth. + +Hearing the beat of hoofs behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see +four other troopers closing rapidly down upon him. Clearly he was the +object of their attention. He had been a fool not to have perceived this +earlier, and his heart misgave him, for all that had he paused to think +he must have realized that he had naught to fear, and that in this some +mistake must lie. + +“Halt!” thundered the deep voice of the sergeant, who, with a trooper, +held the road in front. + +Kenneth drew up within a yard of them, conscious that the man's dark +eyes were scanning him sharply from beneath his morion. + +“Who are you, sir?” the bass voice demanded. + +Alas for the vanity of poor human mites! Even Kenneth, who never yet had +achieved aught for the cause he served, grew of a sudden chill to think +that perchance this sergeant might recognize his name for one that he +had heard before associated with deeds performed on the King's behalf. + +For a second he hesitated; then: + +“Blount,” he stammered, “Jasper Blount.” + +He little thought how that fruit of his vanity was to prove his undoing +thereafter. + +“Verily,” sneered the sergeant, “it almost seemed you had forgotten it.” + And from that sneer Kenneth gathered with fresh dread that the fellow +mistrusted him. + +“Whence are you, Master Blount?” + +Again Kenneth hesitated. Then recalling Ashburn's high favour with the +Parliament, and seeing that it could but advance his cause to state the +true sum of his journey: + +“From Castle Marleigh,” he replied. + +“Verily, sir, you seem yet in some doubt. Whither do you go?” + +“To London.” + +“On what errand?” The sergeant's questions fell swift as sword-strokes. + +“With letters for Colonel Pride.” + +The reply, delivered more boldly than Kenneth had spoken hitherto, was +not without its effect. + +“From whom are these letters?” + +“From Mr. Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh.” + +“Produce them.” + +With trembling fingers Kenneth complied. This the sergeant observed as +he took the package. + +“What ails you, man?” quoth he. + +“Naught, sir 'tis the cold.” + +The sergeant scanned the package and its seal. In a measure it was a +passport, and he was forced to the conclusion that this man was indeed +the messenger he represented himself. Certainly he had not the air nor +the bearing of him for whom they waited, nor did the sergeant think that +their quarry would have armed himself with a dummy package against such +a strait. And yet the sergeant was not master after all, and did he let +this fellow pursue his journey, he might reap trouble for it hereafter; +whilst likewise if he detained him, Colonel Pride, he knew, was not an +over-patient man. He was still debating what course to take, and had +turned to his companion with the muttered question: “What think you, +Peter?” when by his precipitancy Kenneth ruined his slender chance of +being permitted to depart. + +“I pray you, sir, now that you know my errand, suffer me to pass on.” + +There was an eager tremor in his voice that the sergeant mistook for +fear. He noted it, and remembering the boy's hesitancy in answering his +earlier questions, he decided upon his course of action. + +“We shall not delay your journey, sir,” he answered, eyeing Kenneth +sharply, “and as your way must lie through Waltham, I will but ask you +to suffer us to ride with you thus far, so that there you may answer any +questions our captain may have to ask ere you proceed.” + +“But, sir--” + +“No more, master courier,” snarled the sergeant. Then, beckoning a +trooper to his side, he whispered an order in his ear. + +As the man withdrew they wheeled their horses, and at a sharp word +of command Kenneth rode on towards Waltham between the sergeant and a +trooper. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE CONVERTED HOGAN + + +Night black and impenetrable had set in ere Kenneth and his escort +clattered over the greasy stones of Waltham's High Street, and drew up +in front of the Crusader Inn. + +The door stood wide and hospitable, and a warm shaft of light fell from +it and set a glitter upon the wet street. Avoiding the common-room, the +sergeant led Kenneth through the inn-yard, and into the hostelry by a +side entrance. He urged the youth along a dimly-lighted passage. On a +door at the end of this he knocked, then, lifting the latch, he ushered +Kenneth into a roomy, oak-panelled chamber. + +At the far end a huge fire burnt cheerfully, and with his back to it, +his feet planted wide apart upon the hearth, stood a powerfully built +man of medium height, whose youthful face and uprightness of carriage +assorted ill with the grey of his hair, pronouncing that greyness +premature. He seemed all clad in leather, for where his jerkin stopped +his boots began. A cuirass and feathered headpiece lay in a corner, +whilst on the table Kenneth espied a broad-brimmed hat, a huge sword, +and a brace of pistols. + +As the boy's eyes came back to the burly figure on the hearth, he was +puzzled by a familiar, intangible something in the fellow's face. + +He was racking his mind to recall where last he had seen it, when with +slightly elevated eyebrows and a look of recognition in his somewhat +prominent blue eyes. + +“Soul of my body,” exclaimed the man in surprise, “Master Stewart, as I +live.” + +“Stuart!” cried both sergeant and trooper in a gasp, starting forward to +scan their prisoner's face. + +At that the burly captain broke into a laugh. + +“Not the young man Charles Stuart,” said he; “no, no. Your captive is +none so precious. It is only Master Kenneth Stewart, of Bailienochy.” + +“Then it is not even our man,” grumbled the soldier. + +“But Stewart is not the name he gave,” cried the sergeant. “Jasper +Blount he told me he was called. It seems that after all we have +captured a malignant, and that I was well advised to bring him to you.” + +The captain made a gesture of disdain. In that moment Kenneth recognized +him. He was Harry Hogan--the man whose life Galliard had saved in +Penrith. + +“Bah, a worthless capture, Beddoes,” he said. + +“I know not that,” retorted the sergeant. “He carries papers which he +states are from Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh, to Colonel +Pride. Colonel Pride's name is on the package, but may not that be a +subterfuge? Why else did he say he was called Blount?” + +Hogan's brows were of a sudden knit. + +“Faith, Beddoes, you are right. Remove his sword and search him.” + +Calmly Kenneth suffered them to carry out this order. Inwardly he boiled +at the delay, and cursed himself for having so needlessly given the +name of Blount. But for that, it was likely Hogan would have straightway +dismissed him. He cheered himself with the thought that after all they +would not long detain him. Their search made, and finding nothing upon +him but Ashburn's letter, surely they would release him. + +But their search was very thorough. They drew off his boots, and +well-nigh stripped him naked, submitting each article of his apparel to +a careful examination. At length it was over, and Hogan held Ashburn's +package, turning it over in his hands with a thoughtful expression. + +“Surely, sir, you will now allow me to proceed,” cried Kenneth. “I +assure you the matter is of the greatest urgency, and unless I am in +London by midnight I shall be too late.” + +“Too late for what?” asked Hogan. + +“I--I don't know.” + +“Oh?” The Irishman laughed unpleasantly. Colonel Pride and he were +on anything but the best of terms. The colonel knew him for a godless +soldier of fortune bound to the Parliament's cause by no interest beyond +that of gain; and, himself a zealot, Colonel Pride had with distasteful +frequency shown Hogan the quality of his feelings towards him. That +Hogan was not afraid of him, was because it was not in Hogan's nature to +be afraid of anyone. But he realized at least that he had cause to be, +and at the present moment it occurred to him that it would be passing +sweet to find a flaw in the old Puritan's armour. If the package were +harmless his having opened it was still a matter that the discharge of +his duty would sanction. Thus he reasoned; and he resolved to break the +seal and make himself master of the contents of that letter. + +Hogan's unpleasant laugh startled Kenneth. It suggested to him that +perhaps, after all, his delay was by no means at an end; that Hogan +suspected him of something--he could not think of what. + +Then in a flash an idea came to him. + +“May I speak to you privately for a moment, Captain Hogan?” he inquired +in such a tone of importance--imperiousness, almost--that the Irishman +was impressed by it. He scented disclosure. + +“Faith, you may if you have aught to tell me,” and he signed to Beddoes +and his companion to withdraw. + +“Now, Master Hogan,” Kenneth began resolutely as soon as they were +alone, “I ask you to let me go my way unmolested. Too long already has +the stupidity of your followers detained me here unjustly. That I reach +London by midnight is to me a matter of the gravest moment, and you +shall let me.” + +“Soul of my body, Mr. Stewart, what a spirit you have acquired since +last we met.” + +“In your place I should leave our last meeting unmentioned, master +turncoat.” + +The Irishman's eyebrows shot up. + +“By the Mass, young cockerel, I mislike your tone--” + +“You'll have cause to dislike it more if you detain me.” He was +desperate now. “What would your saintly, crop-eared friends say if they +knew as much of your past history as I do?” + +“Tis a matter for conjecture,” said Hogan, humouring him. + +“How think you would they welcome the story of the roystering rake and +debauchee who deserted the army of King Charles because they were about +to hang him for murder?” + +“Ah! how, indeed?” sighed Hogan. + +“What manner of reputation, think you, that for a captain of the godly +army of the Commonwealth?” + +“A vile one, truly,” murmured Hogan with humility. + +“And now, Mr. Hogan,” he wound up loftily, “you had best return me that +package, and be rid of me before I sow mischief enough to bring you a +crop of hemp.” + +Hogan stared at the lad's flushed face with a look of whimsical +astonishment, and for a brief spell there was silence between them. +Slowly then, with his eyes still fixed upon Kenneth's, the captain +unsheathed a dagger. The boy drew back, with a sudden cry of alarm. +Hogan vented a horse-laugh, and ran the blade under the seal of +Ashburn's letter. + +“Be not afraid, my man of threats,” he said pleasantly. “I have no +thought of hurting you--leastways, not yet.” He paused in the act of +breaking the seal. “Lest you should treasure uncomfortable delusions, +dear Master Stewart, let me remind you that I am an Irishman--not a +fool. Do you conceive my fame to be so narrow a thing that when I left +the beggarly army of King Charles for that of the Commonwealth, I did +not realize how at any moment I might come face to face with someone who +had heard of my old exploits, and would denounce me? You do not find me +masquerading under an assumed name. I am here, sir, as Harry Hogan, a +sometime dissolute follower of the Egyptian Pharaoh, Charles Stuart; +an erstwhile besotted, blinded soldier in the army of the Amalekite, +a whilom erring malignant, but converted by a crowning mercy into +a zealous, faithful servant of Israel. There were vouchsafings and +upliftings, and the devil knows what else, when this stray lamb was +gathered to the fold.” + +He uttered the words with a nasal intonation, and a whimsical look at +Kenneth. + +“Now, Mr. Stewart, tell them what you will, and they will tell you yet +more in return, to show you how signally the light of grace hath been +shed over me.” + +He laughed again, and broke the seal. Kenneth, crestfallen and abashed, +watched him, without attempting further interference. Of what avail? + +“You had been better advised, young sir, had you been less hasty and +anxious. It is a fatal fault of youth's, and one of which nothing but +time--if, indeed, you live--will cure you. Your anxiety touching this +package determines me to open it.” + +Kenneth sneered at the man's conclusions, and, shrugging his shoulders, +turned slightly aside. + +“Perchance, master wiseacres, when you have read it, you will appreciate +how egotism may also lead men into fatal errors. Haply, too, you will be +able to afford Colonel Pride some satisfactory reason for tampering with +his correspondence.” + +But Hogan heard him not. He had unfolded the letter, and at the first +words he beheld, a frown contracted his brows. As he read on the frown +deepened, and when he had done, an oath broke from his lips. “God's +life!” he cried, then again was silent, and so stood a moment with bent +head. At last he raised his eyes, and let them rest long and searchingly +upon Kenneth, who now observed him in alarm. + +“What--what is it?” the lad asked, with hesitancy. + +But Hogan never answered. He strode past him to the door, and flung it +wide. + +“Beddoes!” he called. A step sounded in the passage, and the sergeant +appeared. “Have you a trooper there?” + +“There is Peter, who rode with me.” + +“Let him look to this fellow. Tell him to set him under lock and bolt +here in the inn until I shall want him, and tell him that he shall +answer for him with his neck.” + +Kenneth drew back in alarm. + +“Sir--Captain Hogan--will you explain?” + +“Marry, you shall have explanations to spare before morning, else I'm +a fool. But have no fear, for we intend you no hurt,” he added more +softly. “Take him away, Beddoes; then return to me here.” + +When Beddoes came back from consigning Kenneth into the hands of his +trooper, he found Hogan seated in the leathern arm-chair, with Ashburn's +letter spread before him on the table. + +“I was right in my suspicions, eh?” ventured Beddoes complacently. + +“You were more than right, Beddoes, you were Heaven-inspired. It is no +State matter that you have chanced upon, but one that touches a man in +whom I am interested very nearly.” + +The sergeant's eyes were full of questions, but Hogan enlightened him no +further. + +“You will ride back to your post at once, Beddoes,” he commanded. +“Should Lord Oriel fall into your hands, as we hope, you will send him +to me. But you will continue to patrol the road, and demand the business +of all comers. I wish one Crispin Galliard, who should pass this way ere +long, detained, and brought to me. He is a tall, lank man--” + +“I know him, sir,” Beddoes interrupted. “The Tavern Knight they called +him in the malignant army--a rakehelly, dissolute brawler. I saw him in +Worcester when he was taken after the fight.” + +Hogan frowned. The righteous Beddoes knew overmuch. “That is the man,” + he answered calmly. “Go now, and see that he does not ride past you. I +have great and urgent need of him.” + +Beddoes' eyes were opened in surprise. + +“He is possessed of valuable information,” Hogan explained. “Away with +you, man.” + +When alone, Harry Hogan turned his arm-chair sideways towards the fire. +Then, filling himself a pipe--for in his foreign campaigning he had +acquired the habit of tobacco-smoking--he stretched his sinewy legs +across a second chair, and composed himself for meditation. An hour went +by; the host looked in to see if the captain required anything. Another +hour sped on, and the captain dozed. + +He awoke with a start. The fire had burned low, and the hands of the +huge clock in the corner pointed to midnight. From the passage came to +him the sound of steps and angry voices. + +Before Hogan could rise, the door was flung wide, and a tall, gaunt man +was hustled across the threshold by two soldiers. His head was bare, +and his hair wet and dishevelled. His doublet was torn and his shoulder +bleeding, whilst his empty scabbard hung like a lambent tail behind him. + +“We have brought him, captain,” one of the men announced. + +“Aye, you crop-eared, psalm-whining cuckolds, you've brought me, d--n +you,” growled Sir Crispin, whose eyes rolled fiercely. + +As his angry glance lighted upon Hogan's impressive face, he abruptly +stemmed the flow of invective that rushed to his lips. + +The Irishman rose, and looked past him at the troopers. “Leave us,” he +commanded shortly. + +He remained standing by the hearth until the footsteps of his men had +died away, then he crossed the chamber, passed Crispin without a word, +and quietly locked the door. That done, he turned a friendly smile on +his tanned face--and holding out his hand: + +“At last, Cris, it is mine to thank you and to repay you in some measure +for the service you rendered me that night at Penrith.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE + + +In bewilderment Crispin took the outstretched hand of his old +fellow-roysterer. + +“Oddslife,” he growled, “if to have me waylaid, dragged from my horse +and wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be your manner of +expressing gratitude, I'd as lief you had let me go unthanked.” + +“And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another hour is +sped. Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle of strong waters +yonder--” + +Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the black jack +and poured half a glass of its contents, which he handed Crispin. + +“Drink, man,” he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath, obeyed him. + +Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's back, +pushed a chair over to the table, and bade him sit. Again, nothing +loath, Crispin did as he was bidden. He was stiff from long riding, and +so with a sigh of satisfaction he settled himself down and stretched out +his long legs. + +Hogan slowly took the seat opposite to him, and coughed. He was at a +loss how to open the parlous subject, how to communicate to Crispin the +amazing news upon which he had stumbled. + +“Slife' Hogan,” laughed Crispin dreamily, “I little thought it was to +you those crop-ears carried me with such violence. I little thought, +indeed, ever to see you again. But you have prospered, you knave, since +that night you left Penrith.” + +And he turned his head the better to survey the Irishman. + +“Aye, I have prospered,” Hogan assented. “My life is a sort of parable +of the fatted son and the prodigal calf. They tell me there is greater +joy in heaven over the repentance of a sinner than--than--Plague on it! +How does it go?” + +“Than over the downfall of a saint?” suggested Crispin. + +“I'll swear that's not the text, but any of my troopers could quote it +you; every man of them is an incarnate Church militant.” He paused, +and Crispin laughed softly. Then abruptly: “And so you were riding to +London?” said he. + +“How know you that?” + +“Faith, I know more--much more. I can even tell you to what house you +rode, and on what errand. You were for the sign of the Anchor in Thames +Street, for news of your son, whom Joseph Ashburn hath told you lives.” + +Crispin sat bolt upright, a look of mingled wonder and suspicion on his +face. + +“You are well informed, you gentlemen of the Parliament,” he said. + +“On the matter of your errand,” the Irishman returned quietly, “I am +much better informed than are you. Shall I tell you who lives at the +sign of the Anchor--not whom you have been told lives there, but who +really does occupy the house?” Hogan paused a second as though awaiting +some reply; then softly he answered his own question: “Colonel Pride.” + And he sat back to await results. + +There were none. For the moment the name awoke no recollections, +conveyed no meaning to Crispin. + +“Who may Colonel Pride be?” he asked, after a pause. + +Hogan was visibly disappointed. + +“A certain powerful and vindictive member of the Rump, whose son you +killed at Worcester.” + +This time the shaft went home. Galliard sprang out of the chair, his +brows darkening, and his cheeks pale beyond their wont. + +“Zounds, Hogan, do you mean that Joseph Ashburn was betraying me into +this man's hands?” + +“You have said it.” + +“But--” + +Crispin stopped short. The pallor of his face increased; it became +ashen, and his eyes glittered as though a fever consumed him. He sank +back into his chair, and setting both hands upon the table before him, +he looked straight at Hogan. + +“But my son, Hogan, my son?” he pleaded, and his voice was broken as no +man had heard it yet. “Oh, God in heaven!” he cried in a sudden frenzy. +“What hell's work is this?” + +Behind his blue lips his teeth were chattering now. His hands shook as +he held them, still clenched, before him. Then, in a dull, concentrated +voice: + +“Hogan,” he vowed, “I'll kill him for it. Fool, blind, pitiful fool that +I am.” + +Then--his face distorted by passion--he broke into a torrent of +imprecations that was at length stemmed by Hogan. + +“Wait, Cris,” said he, laying his hand upon the other's arm. “It is not +all false. Joseph Ashburn sought, it is true, to betray you into the +hands of Colonel Pride, sending you to the sign of the Anchor with the +assurance that there you should have news of your son. That was false; +yet not all false. Your son does live, and at the sign of the Anchor it +is likely you would have had the news of him you sought. But that news +would have come when too late to have been of value to you.” + +Crispin tried to speak, but failed. Then, mastering himself by an +effort, and in a voice that was oddly shaken: + +“Hogan,” he cried, “you are torturing me! What is the sum of your +knowledge?” + +At last the Irishman produced Ashburn's letter to Colonel Pride. + +“My men,” said he, “are patrolling the roads in wait for a malignant +that has incurred the Parliament's displeasure. We have news that he is +making for Harwich, where a vessel lies waiting to carry him to France, +and we expect that he will ride this way. Three hours ago a young man +unable clearly to account for himself rode into our net, and was brought +to me. He was the bearer of a letter to Colonel Pride from Joseph +Ashburn. He had given my sergeant a wrong name, and betrayed such +anxiety to be gone that I deemed his errand a suspicious one, and broke +the seal of that letter. You may thank God, Galliard, every night of +your life that I did so.” + +“Was this youth Kenneth Stewart?” asked Crispin. + +“You have guessed it.” + +“D--n the lad,” he began furiously. Then repressing himself, he sighed, +and in an altered tone, “No, no,” said he. “I have grievously wronged +him! have wrecked his life--or at least he thinks so now. I can hardly +blame him for seeking to be quits with me.” + +“The lad,” returned Hogan, “must be himself a dupe. He can have had no +suspicion of the message he carried. Let me read it to you; it will make +all clear.” + +Hogan drew a taper nearer, and spreading the paper upon the table, he +smoothed it out, and read: + +HONOURED SIR, + +The bearer of the present should, if he rides well, outstrip another +messenger I have dispatched to you upon a fool's errand, with a letter +addressed to one Mr. Lane at the sign of the Anchor. The bearer of that +is none other than the notorious malignant, Sir Crispin Galliard, by +whose hand your son was slain under your very eyes at Worcester, whose +capture I know that you warmly desire and with whom I doubt not you will +know how to deal. To us he has been a source of no little molestation; +his liberty, in fact, is a perpetual menace to our lives. For some +eighteen years this Galliard has believed dead a son that my cousin bore +him. News of this son, whom I have just informed him lives--as indeed he +does--is the bait wherewith I have lured him to your address. Forewarned +by the present, I make no doubt you will prepare to receive him +fittingly. But ere that justice he escaped at Worcester be meted out +to him at Tyburn or on Tower Hill, I would have you give him that news +touching his son which I am sending him to you to receive. Inform him, +sir, that his son, Jocelyn Marleigh... + +Hogan paused, and shot a furtive glance at Galliard. The knight was +leaning forward now, his eyes strained, his forehead beaded with +perspiration, and his breathing heavy. + +“Read on,” he begged hoarsely. + +His son, Jocelyn Marleigh, is the bearer of this letter, the man whom +he has injured and who detests him, the youth with whom he has, by a +curious chance, been in much close association, and whom he has known as +Kenneth Stewart. + +“God!” gasped Crispin. Then with sudden vigour, “Oh, 'tis a lie,” he +cried, “a fresh invention of that lying brain to torture me.” + +Hogan held up his hand. + +“There is a little more,” he said, and continued: + +Should he doubt this, bid him look closely into the lad's face, and ask +him, after he has scrutinized it, what image it evokes. Should he still +doubt thereafter, thinking the likeness to which he has been singularly +blind to be no more than accidental, bid them strip the lad's right +foot. It bears a mark that I think should convince him. For the rest, +honoured sir, I beg you to keep all information touching his parentage +from the boy himself, wherein I have weighty ends to serve. Within a +few days of your receipt of this letter, I look to have the honour of +waiting upon you. In the meanwhile, honoured sir, believe that while I +am, I am your obedient servant, + +JOSEPH ASHBURN + + +Across the narrow table the two men's glances met--Hogan's full of +concern and pity, Crispin's charged with amazement and horror. A little +while they sat thus, then Crispin rose slowly to his feet, and with +steps uncertain as a drunkard's he crossed to the window. He pushed it +open, and let the icy wind upon his face and head, unconscious of its +sting. Moments passed, during which the knight went over the last few +months of his turbulent life since his first meeting at Perth with +Kenneth Stewart. He recalled how strangely and unaccountably he had been +drawn to the boy when first he beheld him in the castle yard, and how, +owing to a feeling for which he could not account, since the lad's +character had little that might commend him to such a man as Crispin, he +had contrived that Kenneth should serve in his company. + +He recalled how at first--aye, and often afterwards even--he had sought +to win the boy's affection, despite the fact that there was naught +in the boy that he truly admired, and much that he despised. Was +it possible that these his feelings were dictated by Nature to his +unconscious mind? It must indeed be so, and the written words of Joseph +Ashburn to Colonel Pride were true. Kenneth was indeed his son; the +conviction was upon him. He conjured up the lad's face, and a cry of +discovery escaped him. How blind he had been not to have seen before the +likeness of Alice--his poor, butchered girl-wife of eighteen years ago. +How dull never before to have realized that that likeness it was had +drawn him to the boy. + +He was calm by now, and in his calm he sought to analyse his thoughts, +and he was shocked to find that they were not joyous. He yearned--as he +had yearned that night in Worcester--for the lad's affection, and yet, +for all his yearning, he realized that with the conviction that Kenneth +was his offspring came a dull sense of disappointment. He was not such +a son as the rakehelly knight would have had him. Swiftly he put the +thought from him. The craven hands that had reared the lad had warped +his nature; he would guide it henceforth; he would straighten it out +into a nobler shape. + +Then he smiled bitterly to himself. What manner of man was he to train +a youth to loftiness and honour?--he, a debauched ruler with a nickname +for which, had he any sense of shame, he would have blushed! Again he +remembered the lad's disposition towards himself; but these, he thought, +he hoped, he knew that he would now be able to overcome. + +He closed the window, and turned to face his companion. He was himself +again, and calm, for all that his face was haggard beyond its wont. + +“Hogan, where is the boy?” + +“I have detained him in the inn. Will you see him now?” + +“At once, Hogan. I am convinced.” + +The Irishman crossed the chamber, and opening the door he called an +order to the trooper waiting in the passage. + +Some minutes they waited, standing, with no word uttered between them. +At last steps sounded in the corridor, and a moment later Kenneth was +rudely thrust into the room. Hogan signed to the trooper, who closed the +door and withdrew. + +As Kenneth entered, Crispin advanced a step and paused, his eyes +devouring the lad and receiving in exchange a glance that was full of +malevolence. + +“I might have known, sir, that you were not far away,” he exclaimed +bitterly, forgetting for the moment how he had left Crispin behind him +on the previous night. “I might have guessed that my detention was your +work.” + +“Why so?” asked Crispin quietly, his eyes ever scanning the lad's face +with a pathetic look. + +“Because it is your way, I know not why, to work my ruin in all things. +Not satisfied with involving me in that business at Castle Marleigh, you +must needs cross my path again when I am about to make amends, and so +blight my last chance. My God, sir, am I never to be rid of you? What +harm have I done you?” + +A spasm of pain, like a ripple over water, crossed the knight's swart +face. + +“If you but consider, Kenneth,” he said, speaking very quietly, “you +must see the injustice of your words. Since when has Crispin Galliard +served the Parliament, that Roundhead troopers should do his bidding as +you suggest? And touching that business at Sheringham you are over-hard +with me. It was a compact you made, and but for which, you forget that +you had been carrion these three weeks.” + +“Would to Heaven that I had been,” the boy burst out, “sooner than pay +such a price for keeping my life!” + +“As for my presence here,” Crispin continued, leaving the outburst +unheeded, “it has naught to do with your detention.” + +“You lie!” + +Hogan caught his breath with a sharp hiss, and a dead silence followed. +That silence struck terror into Kenneth's heart. He encountered +Crispin's eye bent upon him with a look he could not fathom, and much +would he now have given to recall the two words that had burst from him +in the heat of his rage. He bethought him of the unscrupulous, deadly +character attributed to the man to whom he had addressed them, and in +his coward's fancy he saw already payment demanded. Already he +pictured himself lying cold and stark in the streets of Waltham with +a sword-wound through his middle. His face went grey and his lips +trembled. + +Then Galliard spoke at last, and the mildness of his tone filled Kenneth +with a new dread. In his experience of Crispin's ways he had come to +look upon mildness as the man's most dangerous phase: + +“You are mistaken,” Crispin said. “I spoke the truth; it is a habit of +mine--haply the only gentlemanly habit left me. I repeat, I have had +naught to do with your detention. I arrived here half an hour ago, as +the captain will inform you, and I was conducted hither by force, having +been seized by his men, even as you were seized. No,” he added, with a +sigh, “it was not my hand that detained you; it was the hand of Fate.” + Then suddenly changing his voice to a more vehement key, “Know you on +what errand you rode to London?” he demanded. “To betray your father +into the hands of his enemies; to deliver him up to the hangman.” + +Kenneth's eyes grew wide; his mouth fell open, and a frown of perplexity +drew his brows together. Dully, uncomprehendingly he met Sir Crispin's +sad gaze. + +“My father,” he gasped at last. “'Sdeath, sir, what is it you mean? My +father has been dead these ten years. I scarce remember him.” + +Crispin's lips moved, but no word did he utter. Then with a sudden +gesture of despair he turned to Hogan, who stood apart, a silent +witness. + +“My God, Hogan,” he cried. “How shall I tell him?” + +In answer to the appeal, the Irishman turned to Kenneth. + +“You have been in error, sir, touching your parentage,” quoth he +bluntly. “Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, was not your father.” + +Kenneth looked from one to the other of them. + +“Sirs, is this a jest?” he cried, reddening. Then, remarking at length +the solemnity of their countenances, he stopped short. Crispin came +close up to him, and placed a hand upon his shoulder. The boy shrank +visibly beneath the touch, and again an expression of pain crossed the +poor ruffler's face. + +“Do you recall, Kenneth,” he said slowly, almost sorrowfully, “the story +that I told you that night in Worcester, when we sat waiting for dawn +and the hangman?” + +The lad nodded vacantly. + +“Do you remember the details? Do you remember I told you how, when I +swooned beneath the stroke of Joseph Ashburn's sword, the last words +I heard were those in which he bade his brother slit the throat of the +babe in the cradle? You were, yourself, present yesternight at Castle +Marleigh when Joseph Ashburn told me Gregory had been mercifully +inclined; that my child had not died; that if I gave him his life he +would restore him to me. You remember?” + +Again Kenneth nodded. A vague, numbing fear was creeping round his +heart, and his blood seemed chilled by it and stagnant. With fascinated +eyes he watched the knight's face--drawn and haggard. + +“It was a trap that Joseph Ashburn set for me. Yet he did not altogether +lie. The child Gregory had indeed spared, and it seems from what I have +learned within the last half-hour that he had entrusted his rearing to +Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, seeking afterwards--I take it--to wed him +to his daughter, so that should the King come to his own again, they +should have the protection of a Marleigh who had served his King.” + +“You mean,” the lad almost whispered, and his accents were unmistakably +of horror, “you mean that I am your--Oh, God, I'll not believe it!” he +cried out, with such sudden loathing and passion that Crispin recoiled +as though he had been struck. A dull flush crept into his cheeks to fade +upon the instant and give place to a pallor, if possible, intenser than +before. + +“I'll not believe it! I'll not believe it!” the boy repeated, as if +seeking by that reiteration to shut out a conviction by which he was +beset. “I'll not believe it!” he cried again; and now his voice had lost +its passionate vehemence, and was sunk almost to a moan. + +“I found it hard to believe myself,” was Crispin's answer, and his +voice was not free from bitterness. “But I have a proof here that seems +incontestable, even had I not the proof of your face to which I have +been blind these months. Blind with the eyes of my body, at least. The +eyes of my soul saw and recognized you when first they fell on you in +Perth. The voice of the blood ordered me then to your side, and though +I heard its call, I understood not what it meant. Read this letter, +boy--the letter that you were to have carried to Colonel Pride.” + +With his eyes still fixed in a gaze of stupefaction upon Galliard's +face, Kenneth took the paper. Then slowly, involuntarily almost it +seemed, he dropped his glance to it, and read. He was long in reading, +as though the writing presented difficulties, and his two companions +watched him the while, and waited. At last he turned the paper over, +and examined seal and superscription as if suspicious that he held a +forgery. + +But in some subtle, mysterious way--that voice of the blood perchance +to which Crispin had alluded--he felt conviction stealing down upon his +soul. Mechanically he moved across to the table, and sat down. Without a +word, and still holding the crumpled letter in his clenched hand, he set +his elbows on the table, and, pressing his temples to his palms, he sat +there dumb. Within him a very volcano raged, and its fires were fed with +loathing--loathing for this man whom he had ever hated, yet never as he +hated him now, knowing him to be his father. It seemed as if to all +the wrongs which Crispin had done him during the months of their +acquaintanceship he had now added a fresh and culminating wrong by +discovering this parentage. + +He sat and thought, and his soul grew sick. He probed for some flaw, +sought for some mistake that might have been made. And yet the more +he thought, the more he dwelt upon his youth in Scotland, the more +convinced was he that Crispin had told him the truth. Pre-eminent +argument of conviction to him was the desire of the Ashburns that he +should marry Cynthia. Oft he had marvelled that they, wealthy, and even +powerful, selfish and ambitious, should have selected him, the scion of +an obscure and impoverished Scottish house, as a bridegroom for their +daughter. The news now before him made their motives clear; indeed, no +other motive could exist, no other explanation could there be. He was +the heir of Castle Marleigh, and the usurpers sought to provide against +the day when another revolution might oust them and restore the rightful +owners. + +Some elation his shallow nature felt at realizing this, but that +elation was short-lived, and dashed by the thought that this ruler, this +debauchee, this drunken, swearing, roaring tavern knight was his father; +dashed by the knowledge that meanwhile the Parliament was master, +and that whilst matters stood so, the Ashburns could defy--could even +destroy him, did they learn how much he knew; dashed by the memory that +Cynthia, whom in his selfish way--out of his love for himself--he loved, +was lost to him for all time. + +And here, swinging in a circle, his thoughts reverted to the cause of +this--Crispin Galliard, the man who had betrayed him into yesternight's +foul business and destroyed his every chance of happiness; the man whom +he hated, and whom, had he possessed the courage as he was possessed +by the desire, he had risen up and slain; the man that now announced +himself his father. + +And thinking thus, he sat on in silent, resentful vexation. He started +to feel a hand upon his shoulder, and to hear the voice of Galliard +evidently addressing him, yet using a name that was new to him. + +“Jocelyn, my boy,” the voice trembled. “You have thought, and you have +realized--is it not so? I too thought, and thought brought me conviction +that what that paper tells is true.” + +Vaguely then the boy remembered that Jocelyn was the name the letter +gave him. He rose abruptly, and brushed the caressing hand from his +shoulder. His voice was hard--possibly the knowledge that he had +gained told him that he had nothing to fear from this man, and in that +assurance his craven soul grew brave and bold and arrogant. + +“I have realized naught beyond the fact that I owe you nothing but +unhappiness and ruin. By a trick, by a low fraud, you enlisted me into +a service that has proved my undoing. Once a cheat always a cheat. What +credit in the face of that can I give this paper?” he cried, talking +wildly. “To me it is incredible, nor do I wish to credit it, for though +it were true, what then? What then?” he repeated, raising his voice into +accents of defiance. + +Grief and amazement were blended in Galliard's glance, and also, maybe, +some reproach. + +Hogan, standing squarely upon the hearth, was beset by the desire to +kick Master Kenneth, or Master Jocelyn, into the street. His lip curled +into a sneer of ineffable contempt, for his shrewd eyes read to the +bottom of the lad's mean soul and saw there clearly writ the confidence +that emboldened him to voice that insult to the man he must know for his +father. Standing there, he compared the two, marvelling deeply how they +came to be father and son. A likeness he saw now between them, yet +a likeness that seemed but to mark the difference. The one harsh, +resolute, and manly, for all his reckless living and his misfortunes; +the other mild, effeminate, hypocritical and shifty. He read it not on +their countenances alone, but in every line of their figures as they +stood, and in his heart he cursed himself for having been the instrument +to disclose the relationship in which they stood. + +The youth's insolent question was followed by a spell of silence. +Crispin could not believe that he had heard aright. At last he stretched +out his hands in a gesture of supplication--he who throughout his +thirty-eight years of life, and despite the misfortunes that had been +his, had never yet stooped to plead from any man. + +“Jocelyn,” he cried, and the pain in his voice must have melted a heart +of steel, “you are hard. Have you forgotten the story of my miserable +life, the story that I told you in Worcester? Can you not understand how +suffering may destroy all that is lofty in a man; how the forgetfulness +of the winecup may come to be his only consolation; the hope of +vengeance his only motive for living on, withholding him from +self-destruction? Can you not picture such a life, and can you not pity +and forgive much of the wreck that it may make of a man once virtuous +and honourable?” + +Pleadingly he looked into the lad's face. It remained cold and unmoved. + +“I understand,” he continued brokenly, “that I am not such a man as any +lad might welcome for a father. But you who know what my life has been, +Jocelyn, you can surely find it in your heart to pity. I had naught +that was good or wholesome to live for, Jocelyn; naught to curb the evil +moods that sent me along evil ways to seek forgetfulness and reparation. + +“But from to-night, Jocelyn, my life in you must find a new interest, a +new motive. I will abandon my old ways. For your sake, Jocelyn, I will +seek again to become what I was, and you shall have no cause to blush +for your father.” + +Still the lad stood silent. + +“Jocelyn! My God, do I talk in vain?” cried the wretched man. “Have you +no heart, no pity, boy?” + +At last the youth spoke. He was not moved. The agony of this strong man, +the broken pleading of one whom he had ever known arrogant and strong +had no power to touch his mean, selfish mind, consumed as it was by the +contemplation of his undoing--magnified a hundredfold--which this man +had wrought. + +“You have ruined my life,” was all he said. + +“I will rebuild it, Jocelyn,” cried Galliard eagerly. “I have friends in +France--friends high in power who lack neither the means nor the will to +aid me. You are a soldier, Jocelyn.” + +“As much a soldier as I'm a saint,” sneered Hogan to himself. + +“Together we will find service in the armies of Louis,” Crispin pursued. +“I promise it. Service wherein you shall gain honour and renown. There +we will abide until this England shakes herself out of her rebellious +nightmare. Then, when the King shall come to his own, Castle Marleigh +will be ours again. Trust in me, Jocelyn.” Again his arms went out +appealingly: “Jocelyn my son!” + +But the boy made no move to take the outstretched hands, gave no sign of +relenting. His mind nurtured its resentment--cherished it indeed. + +“And Cynthia?” he asked coldly. + +Crispin's hands fell to his sides; they grew clenched, and his eyes +lighted of a sudden. + +“Forgive me, Jocelyn. I had forgotten! I understand you now. Yes, I +dealt sorely with you there, and you are right to be resentful. What, +after all, am I to you what can I be to you compared with her whose +image fills your soul? What is aught in the world to a man, compared +with the woman on whom his heart is set? Do I not know it? Have I not +suffered for it? + +“But mark me, Jocelyn”--and he straightened himself suddenly--“even in +this, that which I have done I will undo. As I have robbed you of your +mistress, so will I win her back for you. I swear it. And when that is +done, when thus every harm I have caused you is repaired, then, Jocelyn, +perhaps you will come to look with less repugnance upon your father, and +to feel less resentment towards him.” + +“You promise much, sir,” quoth the boy, with an illrepressed sneer. “How +will you accomplish it?” + +Hogan grunted audibly. Crispin drew himself up, erect, lithe and +supple--a figure to inspire confidence in the most despairing. He placed +a hand, nervous, and strong as steel, upon the boy's shoulder, and the +clutch of his fingers made Jocelyn wince. + +“Low though your father be fallen,” said he sternly, “he has never yet +broken his word. I have pledged you mine, and to-morrow I shall set out +to perform what I have promised. I shall see you ere I start. You will +sleep here, will you not?” + +Jocelyn shrugged his shoulders. + +“It signifies little where I lie.” + +Crispin smiled sadly, and sighed. + +“You have no faith in me yet. But I shall earn it, or”--and his voice +fell suddenly--“or rid you of a loathsome parent. Hogan, can you find +him quarters?” + +Hogan replied that there was the room he had already been confined in, +and that he could lie in it. And deeming that there was nothing to be +gained by waiting, he thereupon led the youth from the room and down +the passage. At the foot of the stairs the Irishman paused in the act of +descending, and raised the taper aloft so that its light might fall full +upon the face of his companion. + +“Were I your father,” said he grimly, “I would kick you from one end of +Waltham to the other by way of teaching you filial piety! And were you +not his son, I would this night read you a lesson you'd never live to +practise. I would set you to sleep a last long sleep in the kennels +of Waltham streets. But since you are--marvellous though it seem--his +offspring, and since I love him and may not therefore hurt you, I +must rest content with telling you that you are the vilest thing that +breathes. You despise him for a roysterer, for a man of loose ways. Let +me, who have seen something of men, and who read you to-night to the +very dregs of your contemptible soul, tell you that compared with you he +is a very god. Come, you white-livered cur!” he ended abruptly. “I will +light you to your chamber.” + +When presently Hogan returned to Crispin he found the Tavern +Knight--that man of iron in whom none had ever seen a trace of fear +or weakness seated with his arms before him on the table, and his face +buried in them, sobbing like a poor, weak woman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING + + +Through the long October night Crispin and Hogan sat on, and neither +sought his bed. Crispin's quick wits his burst of grief once over--had +been swift to fasten on a plan to accomplish that which he had +undertaken. + +One difficulty confronted him, and until he had mentioned it to Hogan +seemed unsurmountable he had need of a ship. But in this the Irishman +could assist him. He knew of a vessel then at Greenwich, whose master +was in his debt, which should suit the purpose. Money, however, would +be needed. But when Crispin announced that he was master of some two +hundred Caroluses, Hogan, with a wave of the hand, declared the matter +settled. Less than half that sum would hire the man he knew of. That +determined, Crispin unfolded his project to Hogan, who laughed at the +simplicity of it, for all that inwardly he cursed the risk Sir Crispin +must run for the sake of one so unworthy. + +“If the maid loves him, the thing is as good as done.” + +“The maid does not love him; leastways, I fear not.” + +Hogan was not surprised. + +“Why, then it will be difficult, well-nigh impossible.” And the Irishman +became grave. + +But Crispin laughed unpleasantly. Years and misfortune had made him +cynical. + +“What is the love of a maid?” quoth he derisively. “A caprice, a fancy, +a thing that may be guided, overcome or compelled as the occasion shall +demand. Opportunity is love's parent, Hogan, and given that, any maid +may love any man. Cynthia shall love my son.” + +“But if she prove rebellious? If she say nay to your proposals? There +are such women.” + +“How then? Am I not the stronger? In such a case it shall be mine to +compel her, and as I find her, so shall I carry her away. It will be +none so poor a vengeance on the Ashburns after all.” His brow grew +clouded. “But not what I had dreamed of; what I should have taken had +he not cheated me. To forgo it now--after all these years of waiting--is +another sacrifice I make to Jocelyn. To serve him in this matter I must +proceed cautiously. Cynthia may fret and fume and stamp, but willy-nilly +I shall carry her away. Once she is in France, friendless, alone, I make +no doubt that she will see the convenience of loving Jocelyn--leastways +of wedding him and thus shall I have more than repaired the injuries I +have done him.” + +The Irishman's broad face was very grave; his reckless merry eye fixed +Galliard with a look of sorrow, and this grey-haired, sinning soldier of +fortune, who had never known a conscience, muttered softly: + +“It is not a nice thing you contemplate, Cris.” + +Despite himself, Galliard winced, and his glance fell before Hogan's. +For a moment he saw the business in its true light, and he wavered in +his purpose. Then, with a short bark of laughter: + +“Gadso, you are sentimental, Harry!” said he, to add, more gravely: +“There is my son, and in this lies the only way to his heart.”. + +Hogan stretched a hand across the table, and set it upon Crispin's arm. + +“Is he worth such a stain upon your honour, Crispin?” + +There was a pause. + +“Is it not late in the day, Hogan, for you and me to prate of honour?” + asked Crispin bitterly, yet with averted gaze. “God knows my honour is +as like honour as a beggar's rags are like unto a cloak of ermine. What +signifies another splash, another rent in that which is tattered beyond +all semblance of its original condition?” + +“I asked you,” the Irishman persisted, “whether your son was worth the +sacrifice that the vile deed you contemplate entails?” + +Crispin shook his arm from the other's grip, and rose abruptly. He +crossed to the window, and drew back the curtain. + +“Day is breaking,” said he gruffly. Then turning, and facing Hogan +across the room, “I have pledged my word to Jocelyn,” he said. “The +way I have chosen is the only one, and I shall follow it. But if your +conscience cries out against it, Hogan, I give you back your promise of +assistance, and I shall shift alone. I have done so all my life.” + +Hogan shrugged his massive shoulders, and reached out for the bottle of +strong waters. + +“If you are resolved, there is an end to it. My conscience shall not +trouble me, and upon what aid I have promised and what more I can give, +you may depend. I drink to the success of your undertaking.” + +Thereafter they discussed the matter of the vessel that Crispin would +require, and it was arranged between them that Hogan should send a +message to the skipper, bidding him come to Harwich, and there await and +place himself at the command of Sir Crispin Galliard. For fifty pounds +Hogan thought that he would undertake to land Sir Crispin in France. The +messenger might be dispatched forthwith, and the Lady Jane should be at +Harwich, two days later. + +By the time they had determined upon this, the inmates of the hostelry +were astir, and from the innyard came to them the noise of bustle and +preparation for the day. + +Presently they left the chamber where they had sat so long, and at the +yard pump the Tavern Knight performed a rude morning toilet. Thereafter, +on a simple fare of herrings and brown ale, they broke their fast; and +ere that meal was done, Kenneth, pale and worn, with dark circles round +his eyes, entered the common room, and sat moodily apart. But when later +Hogan went to see to the dispatching of his messenger, Crispin rose and +approached the youth. + +Kenneth watched him furtively, without pausing in his meal. He had spent +a very miserable night pondering over the future, which looked +gloomy enough, and debating whether--forgetting and ignoring what had +passed--he should return to the genteel poverty of his Scottish home, or +accept the proffered service of this man who announced himself--and whom +he now believed--to be his father. He had thought, but he was far from +having chosen between Scotland and France, when Crispin now greeted him, +not without constraint. + +“Jocelyn,” he said, speaking slowly, almost humbly. “In an hour's time I +shall set out to return to Marleigh to fulfil my last night's promise to +you. How I shall accomplish it I scarce know as yet; but accomplish it +I shall. I have arranged to have a vessel awaiting me, and within three +days--or four at the most--I look to cross to France, bearing your bride +with me.” + +He paused for some reply, but none came. The boy sat on with an +impassive face, his eyes glued to the table, but his mind busy enough +upon that which his father was pouring into his ear. Presently Crispin +continued: + +“You cannot refuse to do as I suggest, Jocelyn. I shall make you the +fullest amends for the harm that I have done you, if you but obey my +directions. You must quit this place as soon as possible, and proceed on +your way to London. There you must find a boat to carry you to France, +and you will await me at the Auberge du Soleil at Calais. You are +agreed, Jocelyn?” + +There was a slight pause, and Jocelyn took his resolution. Yet there was +still a sullen look in the eyes he lifted to his father's face. + +“I have little choice, sir,” he made answer, “and so I must agree. If +you accomplish what you promise, I own that you will have made amends, +and I shall crave your pardon for my yesternight's want of faith. I +shall await you at Calais.” + +Crispin sighed, and for a second his face hardened. It was not the +answer to which he held himself entitled, and for a moment it rose to +the lips of this man of fierce and sudden moods to draw back and let +the son, whom at the moment he began to detest, go his own way, which +assuredly would lead him to perdition. But a second's thought sufficed +to quell that mood of his. + +“I shall not fail you,” he said coldly. “Have you money for the +journey?” + +The boy flushed as he remembered that little was left of what Joseph +Ashburn had given him. Crispin saw the flush, and reading aright its +meaning, he drew from his pocket a purse that he had been fingering, +and placed it quietly upon the table. “There are fifty Caroluses in that +bag. That should suffice to carry you to France. Fare you well until we +meet at Calais.” + +And without giving the boy time to utter thanks that might be unwilling, +he quickly left the room. + +Within the hour he was in the saddle, and his horse's head was turned +northwards once more. + +He rode through Newport some three hours later without drawing rein. By +the door of the Raven Inn stood a travelling carriage, upon which he did +not so much as bestow a look. + +By the merest thread hangs at times the whole of a man's future life, +the destinies even of men as yet unborn. So much may depend indeed upon +a glance, that had not Crispin kept his eyes that morning upon the grey +road before him, had he chanced to look sideways as he passed the Raven +Inn at Newport, and seen the Ashburn arms displayed upon the panels of +that coach, he would of a certainty have paused. And had he done so, his +whole destiny would assuredly have shaped a different course from that +which he was unconsciously steering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. GREGORY'S ATTRITION + + +Joseph's journey to London was occasioned by his very natural anxiety to +assure himself that Crispin was caught in the toils of the net he had so +cunningly baited for him, and that at Castle Marleigh he would trouble +them no more. To this end he quitted Sheringham on the day after +Crispin's departure. + +Not a little perplexed was Cynthia at the topsy-turvydom in which that +morning she had found her father's house. Kenneth was gone; he had left +in the dead of night, and seemingly in haste and suddenness, since on +the previous evening there had been no talk of his departing. Her father +was abed with a wound that made him feverish. Their grooms were all +sick, and wandered in a dazed and witless fashion about the castle, +their faces deadly pale and their eyes lustreless. In the hall she had +found a chaotic disorder upon descending, and one of the panels of the +wainscot she saw was freshly cracked. + +Slowly the idea forced itself upon her mind that there had been brawling +the night before, yet was she far from surmising the motives that could +have led to it. The conclusion she came to in the end was that the men +had drunk deep, that in their cups they had waxed quarrelsome, and that +swords had been drawn. + +Of Joseph then she sought enlightenment, and Joseph lied right +handsomely, like the ready-witted knave he was. A wondrously plausible +story had he for her ear; a story that played cunningly upon her +knowledge of the compact that existed between Kenneth and Sir Crispin. + +“You may not know,” said he--full well aware that she did know--“that +when Galliard saved Kenneth's life at Worcester he exacted from the +lad the promise that in return Kenneth should aid him in some vengeful +business he had on hand.” + +Cynthia nodded that she understood or that she knew, and glibly Joseph +pursued: + +“Last night, when on the point of departing, Crispin, who had drunk +over-freely, as is his custom, reminded Kenneth of his plighted word, +and demanded of the boy that he should upon the instant go forth with +him. Kenneth replied that the hour was overlate to be setting out upon +a journey, and he requested Galliard to wait until to-day, when he +would be ready to fulfil what he had promised. But Crispin retorted that +Kenneth was bound by his oath to go with him when he should require it, +and again he bade the boy make ready at once. Words ensued between them, +the boy insisting upon waiting until to-day, and Crispin insisting upon +his getting his boots and cloak and coming with him there and then. More +heated grew the argument, till in the end Galliard, being put out of +temper, snatched at his sword, and would assuredly have spitted the +boy had not your father interposed, thereby getting himself wounded. +Thereafter, in his drunken lust Sir Crispin went the length of wantonly +cracking that panel with his sword by way of showing Kenneth what he +had to expect unless he obeyed him. At that I intervened, and using my +influence, I prevailed upon Kenneth to go with Galliard as he demanded. +To this, for all his reluctance, Kenneth ended by consenting, and so +they are gone.” + +By that most glib and specious explanation Cynthia was convinced. True, +she added a question touching the amazing condition of the grooms, in +reply to which Joseph afforded her a part of the truth. + +“Sir Crispin sent them some wine, and they drank to his departure so +heartily that they are not rightly sober yet.” + +Satisfied with this explanation Cynthia repaired to her father. + +Now Gregory had not agreed with Joseph what narrative they were to offer +Cynthia, for it had never crossed his dull mind that the disorder of +the hall and the absence of Kenneth might cause her astonishment. And so +when she touched upon the matter of his wound, like the blundering fool +he was, he must needs let his tongue wag upon a tale which, if no less +imaginative than Joseph's, was vastly its inferior in plausibility and +had yet the quality of differing from it totally in substance. + +“Plague on that dog, your lover, Cynthia,” he growled from the mountain +of pillows that propped him. “If he should come to wed my daughter after +pinning me to the wainscot of my own hall may I be for ever damned.” + +“How?” quoth she. “Do you say that Kenneth did it?” + +“Aye, did he. He ran at me ere I could draw, like the coward he is, sink +him, and had me through the shoulder in the twinkling of an eye.” + +Here was something beyond her understanding. What were they concealing +from her? She set her wits to the discovery and plied her father with +another question. + +“How came you to quarrel?” + +“How? 'Twas--'twas concerning you, child,” replied Gregory at random, +and unable to think of a likelier motive. + +“How, concerning me?” + +“Leave me, Cynthia,” he groaned in despair. “Go, child. I am grievously +wounded. I have the fever, girl. Go; let me sleep.” + +“But tell me, father, what passed.” + +“Unnatural child,” whined Gregory feebly, “will you plague a sick man +with questions? Would you keep him from the sleep that may mean recovery +to him?” + +“Father, dear,” she murmured softly, “if I thought it was as you say, +I would leave you. But you know that you are but attempting to conceal +something from me something that I should know, that I must know. +Bethink you that it is of my lover that you have spoken.” + +By a stupendous effort Gregory shaped a story that to him seemed likely. + +“Well, then, since know you must,” he answered, “this is what befell: +we had all drunk over-deep to our shame do I confess it--and growing +tenderhearted for you, and bethinking me of your professed distaste to +Kenneth's suit, I told him that for all the results that were likely +to attend his sojourn at Castle Marleigh, he might as well bear Crispin +company in his departure. He flared up at that, and demanded of me that +I should read him my riddle. Faith, I did by telling him that we were +like to have snow on midsummer's day ere he 'became your husband. That +speech of mine so angered him, being as he was all addled with wine and +ripe for any madness, that he sprang up and drew on me there and then. +The others sought to get between us, but he was over-quick, and before I +could do more than rise from the table his sword was through my shoulder +and into the wainscot at my back. After that it was clear he could +not remain here, and I demanded that he should leave upon the instant. +Himself he was nothing loath, for he realized his folly, and he misliked +the gleam of Joseph's eye--which can be wondrous wicked upon occasion. +Indeed, but for my intercession Joseph had laid him stark.” + +That both her uncle and her father had lied to her--the one cunningly, +the other stupidly--she had never a doubt, and vaguely uneasy was +Cynthia to learn the truth. Later that day the castle was busy with the +bustle of Joseph's departure, and this again was a matter that puzzled +her. + +“Whither do you journey, uncle?” she asked of him as he was in the act +of stepping out to enter the waiting carriage. + +“To London, sweet cousin,” was his brisk reply. “I am, it seems, +becoming a very vagrant in my old age. Have you commands for me?” + +“What is it you look to do in London?” + +“There, child, let that be for the present. I will tell you perhaps when +I return. The door, Stephen.” + +She watched his departure with uneasy eyes and uneasy heart. A fear +pervaded her that in all that had befallen, in all that was befalling +still--what ever it might be--some evil was at work, and an evil that +had Crispin for its scope. She had neither reason nor evidence from +which to draw this inference. It was no more than the instinct whose +voice cries out to us at times a presage of ill, and oftentimes compels +our attention in a degree far higher than any evidence could command. + +The fear that was in her urged her to seek what information she could +on every hand, but without success. From none could she cull the merest +scrap of evidence to assist her. + +But on the morrow she had information as prodigal as it was +unlooked-for, and from the unlikeliest of sources--her father himself. +Chafing at his inaction and lured into indiscretions by the subsiding of +the pain of his wound, Gregory quitted his bed and came below that +night to sup with his daughter. As his wont had been for years, he drank +freely. That done, alive to the voice of his conscience, and seeking to +drown its loud-tongued cry, he drank more freely still, so that in the +end his henchman, Stephen, was forced to carry him to bed. + +This Stephen had grown grey in the service of the Ashburns, and amongst +much valuable knowledge that he had amassed, was a skill in dealing with +wounds and a wide understanding of the ways to go about healing +them. This knowledge made him realize how unwise at such a season was +Gregory's debauch, and sorrowfully did he wag his head over his master's +condition of stupor. + +Stephen had grave fears concerning him, and these fears were realized +when upon the morrow Gregory awoke on fire with the fever. They summoned +a leech from Sheringham, and this cunning knave, with a view to adding +importance to the cure he was come to effect, and which in reality +presented no alarming difficulty, shook his head with ominous gravity, +and whilst promising to do “all that his skill permitted,” he spoke of a +clergyman to help Gregory make his peace with God. For the leech had no +cause to suspect that the whole of the Sacred College might have found +the task beyond its powers. + +A wild fear took Gregory in its grip. How could he die with such a load +as that which he now carried upon his soul? And the leech, seeing how +the matter preyed upon his patient's mind, made shift--but too late--to +tranquillize him with assurances that he was not really like to die, and +that he had but mentioned a parson so that Gregory in any case should be +prepared. + +The storm once raised, however, was not so easily to be allayed, and the +conviction remained with Gregory that his sands were well-nigh run, and +that the end could be but a matter of days in coming. + +Realizing as he did how richly he had earned damnation, a frantic terror +was upon him, and all that day he tossed and turned, now blaspheming, +now praying, now weeping. His life had been indeed one protracted course +of wrong-doing, and many had suffered by Gregory's evil ways--many a man +and many a woman. But as the stars pale and fade when the sun mounts the +sky, so too were the lesser wrongs that marked his earthly pilgrimage of +sin rendered pale or blotted into insignificance by the greater wrong +he had done Ronald Marleigh--a wrong which was not ended yet, but whose +completion Joseph was even then working to effect. If only he could save +Crispin even now in the eleventh hour; if by some means he could warn +him not to repair to the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street. His +disordered mind took no account of the fact that in the time that was +sped since Galliard's departure, the knight should already have reached +London. + +And so it came about that, consumed at once by the desire to make +confession to whomsoever it might be, and the wish to attempt yet to +avert the crowning evil of whose planning he was partly guilty inasmuch +as he had tacitly consented to Joseph's schemes, Gregory called for his +daughter. She came readily enough, hoping for exactly that which was +about to take place, yet fearing sorely that her hopes would suffer +frustration, and that she would learn nothing from her father. + +“Cynthia,” he cried, in mingled dread and sorrow, “Cynthia, my child, I +am about to die.” + +She knew both from Stephen and from the leech that this was far from +being his condition. Nevertheless her filial piety was at that moment a +touching sight. She smoothed his pillows with a gentle grace that was +in itself a soothing caress, even as her soft sympathetic voice was +a caress. She took his hand, and spoke to him endearingly, seeking to +relieve the sombre mood whose prey he was become, assuring him that the +leech had told her his danger was none so imminent, and that with quiet +and a little care he would be up and about again ere many days were +sped. But Gregory rejected hopelessly all efforts at consolation. + +“I am on my death-bed, Cynthia,” he insisted, “and when I am gone I know +not whom there may be to cheer and comfort your lot in life. Your lover +is away on an errand of Joseph's, and it may well betide that he will +never again cross the threshold of Castle Marleigh. Unnatural though I +may seem, sweetheart, my dying wish is that this may be so.” + +She looked up in some surprise. + +“Father, if that be all that grieves you, I can reassure you. I do not +love Kenneth.” + +“You apprehend me amiss,” said he tartly. “Do you recall the story of +Sir Crispin Galliard's life that you had from Kenneth on the night of +Joseph's return?” His voice shook as he put the question. + +“Why, yes. I am not like to forget it, and nightly do I pray,” she went +on, her tongue outrunning discretion and betraying her feelings +for Galliard, “that God may punish those murderers who wrecked his +existence.” + +“Hush, girl,” he whispered in a quavering voice. “You know not what you +say.” + +“Indeed I do; and as there is a just God my prayer shall be answered.” + +“Cynthia,” he wailed. His eyes were wild, and the hand that rested in +hers trembled violently. “Do you know that it is against your father and +your father's brother that you invoke God's vengeance?” + +She had been kneeling at his bedside; but now, when he pronounced those +words, she rose slowly and stood silent for a spell, her eyes seeking +his with an awful look that he dared not meet. At last: + +“Oh, you rave,” she protested, “it is the fever.” + +“Nay, child, my mind is clear, and what I have said is true.” + +“True?” she echoed, no louder than a whisper, and her eyes grew round +with horror. “True that you and my uncle are the butchers who slew their +cousin, this man's wife, and sought to murder him as well--leaving him +for dead? True that you are the thieves who claiming kinship by virtue +of that very marriage have usurped his estates and this his castle +during all these years, whilst he himself went an outcast, homeless and +destitute? Is that what you ask me to believe?” + +“Even so,” he assented, with a feeble sob. + +Her face was pale--white to the very lips, and her blue eyes smouldered +behind the shelter of her drooping lids. She put her hand to her breast, +then to her brow, pushing back the brown hair by a mechanical gesture +that was pathetic in the tale of pain it told. For support she was +leaning now against the wall by the head of his couch. In silence she +stood so while you might count to twenty; then with a sudden vehemence +revealing the passion of anger and grief that swayed her: + +“Why,” she cried, “why in God's name do you tell me this?” + +“Why?” His utterance was thick, and his eyes, that were grown dull as a +snake's, stared straight before him, daring not to meet his daughter's +glance. “I tell it you,” he said, “because I am a dying man.” And he +hoped that the consideration of that momentous fact might melt her, and +might by pity win her back to him--that she was lost to him he realized. + +“I tell you because I am a dying man,” he repeated. “I tell it you +because in such an hour I fain would make confession and repent, that +God may have mercy upon my soul. I tell it you, too, because the tragedy +begun eighteen years ago is not yet played out, and it may yet be mine +to avert the end we had prepared--Joseph and I. Thus perhaps a merciful +God will place it in my power to make some reparation. Listen, child. +It was against us, as you will have guessed, that Galliard enlisted +Kenneth's services, and here on the night of Joseph's return he called +upon the boy to fulfil him what he had sworn. The lad had no choice but +to obey; indeed, I forced him to it by attacking him and compelling him +to draw, which is how I came by this wound. + +“Crispin had of a certainty killed Joseph but that your uncle bethought +him of telling him that his son lived.” + +“He saved his life by a lie! That was worthy of him,” said Cynthia +scornfully. + +“Nay, child, he spoke the truth, and when Joseph offered to restore the +boy to him, he had every intention of so doing. But in the moment of +writing the superscription to the letter Crispin was to bear to those +that had reared the child, Joseph bethought him of a foul scheme for +Galliard's final destruction. And so he has sent him to London instead, +to a house in Thames Street, where dwells one Colonel Pride, who +bears Sir Crispin a heavy grudge, and into whose hands he will be thus +delivered. Can aught be done, Cynthia, to arrest this--to save Sir +Crispin from Joseph's snare?” + +“As well might you seek to restore the breath to a dead man,” she +answered, and her voice was so oddly calm, so cold and bare of +expression, that Gregory shuddered to hear it. + +“Do not delude yourself,” she added. “Sir Crispin will have reached +London long ere this, and by now Joseph will be well on his way to see +that there is no mistake made, and that the life you ruined hopelessly +years ago is plucked at last from this unfortunate man. Merciful God! am +I truly your daughter?” she cried. “Is my name indeed Ashburn, and have +I been reared upon the estates that by crime you gained possession of? +Estates that by crime you hold--for they are his; every stone, every +stick that goes to make the place belongs to him, and now he has gone to +his death by your contriving.” + +A moan escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. A moment +she stood rocking there--a fair, lissom plant swept by a gale of +ineffable emotion. Then the breath seemed to go all out of her in one +great sigh, and Gregory, who dared not look her way, heard the swish of +her gown, followed by a thud as she collapsed and lay swooning on the +ground. + +So disturbed at that was Gregory's spirit that, forgetting his wound, +his fever, and the death which he had believed impending, he leapt from +his couch, and throwing wide the door, bellowed lustily for Stephen. In +frightened haste came his henchman to answer the petulant summons, and +in obedience to Gregory's commands he went off again as quickly in quest +of Catherine--Cynthia's woman. + +Between them they bore the unconscious girl to her chamber, leaving +Gregory to curse himself for having been lured into a confession that +it now seemed to him had been unnecessary, since in his newly found +vitality he realized that death was none so near a thing as that +scoundrelly fool of a leech had led him to believe. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA + + +Cynthia's swoon was after all but brief. Upon recovering consciousness +her first act was to dismiss her woman. She had need to be alone--the +need of the animal that is wounded to creep into its lair and hide +itself. And so alone with her sorrow she sat through that long day. + +That her father's condition was grievous she knew to be untrue, so that +concerning him there was not even that pity that she might have felt had +she believed--as he would have had her believe that he was dying. + +As she pondered the monstrous disclosure he had made, her heart hardened +against him, and even as she had asked him whether indeed she was his +daughter, so now she vowed to herself that she would be his daughter no +longer. She would leave Castle Marleigh, never again to set eyes upon +her father, and she hoped that during the little time she must yet +remain there--a day, or two at most--she might be spared the ordeal of +again meeting a parent for whom respect was dead, and who inspired her +with just that feeling of horror she must have for any man who confessed +himself a murderer and a thief. + +She resolved to repair to London to a sister of her mother's, where for +her dead mother's sake she would find a haven extended readily. + +At eventide she came at last from her chamber. + +She had need of air, need of the balm that nature alone can offer in +solitude to poor wounded human souls. + +It was a mild and sunny evening, worthy rather of August than of +October, and aimlessly Mistress Cynthia wandered towards the cliffs +overlooking Sheringham Hithe. There she sate herself in sad dejection +upon the grass, and gazed wistfully seaward, her mind straying now from +the sorry theme that had held dominion in it, to the memories that very +spot evoked. + +It was there, sitting as she sat now, her eyes upon the shimmering waste +of sea, and the gulls circling overhead, that she had awakened to +the knowledge of her love for Crispin. And so to him strayed now her +thoughts, and to the fate her father had sent him to; and thus back +again to her father and the evil he had wrought. It is matter for +conjecture whether her loathing for Gregory would have been as intense +as it was, had another than Crispin Galliard been his victim. + +Her life seemed at an end as she sat that October evening on the cliffs. +No single interest linked her to existence; nothing, it seemed, was left +her to hope for till the end should come--and no doubt it would be long +in coming, for time moves slowly when we wait. + +Wistful she sat and thought, and every thought begat a sigh, and then +of a sudden--surely her ears had tricked her, enslaved by her +imagination--a crisp, metallic voice rang out close behind her. + +“Why are we pensive, Mistress Cynthia?” + +There was a catch in her breath as she turned her head. Her cheeks took +fire, and for a second were aflame. Then they went deadly white, and +it seemed that time and life and the very world had paused in its +relentless progress towards eternity. For there stood the object of her +thoughts and sighs, sudden and unexpected, as though the earth had cast +him up on to her surface. + +His thin lips were parted in a smile that softened wondrously the +harshness of his face, and his eyes seemed then to her alight with +kindness. A moment's pause there was, during which she sought her voice, +and when she had found it, all that she could falter was: + +“Sir, how came you here? They told me that you rode to London.” + +“Why, so I did. But on the road I chanced to halt, and having halted I +discovered reason why I should return.” + +He had discovered a reason. She asked herself breathlessly what might +that reason be, and finding herself no answer to the question, she put +it next to him. + +He drew near to her before replying. “May I sit with you awhile, +Cynthia?” + +She moved aside to make room for him, as though the broad cliff had been +a narrow ledge, and with the sigh of a weary man finding a resting-place +at last, he sank down beside her. + +There was a tenderness in his voice that set her pulses stirring wildly. +Did she guess aright the reason that had caused him to break his journey +and return? That he had done so--no matter what the reason--she thanked +God from her inmost heart, as for a miracle that had saved him from the +doom awaiting him in London town. + +“Am I presumptuous, child, to think that haply the meditation in which +I found you rapt was for one, unworthy though he be, who went hence but +some few days since?” + +The ambiguous question drove every thought from her mind, filling it to +overflowing with the supreme good of his presence, and the frantic hope +that she had read aright the reason of it. + +“Have I conjectured rightly?” he asked, since she kept silence. + +“Mayhap you have,” she whispered in return, and then, marvelling at her +boldness, blushed. He glanced sharply at her from narrowing eyes. It was +not the answer he had looked to hear. + +As a father might have done he took the slender hand that rested upon +the grass beside him, and she, poor child, mistaking the promptings of +that action, suffered it to lie in his strong grasp. With averted head +she gazed upon the sea below, until a mist of tears rose up to blot it +out. The breeze seemed full of melody and gladness. God was very good +to her, and sent her in her hour of need this great consolation--a +consolation indeed that must have served to efface whatever sorrow could +have beset her. + +“Why then, sweet lady, is my task that I had feared to find all fraught +with difficulty, grown easy indeed.” + +And hearing him pause: + +“What task is that, Sir Crispin?” she asked, intent on helping him. + +He did not reply at once. He found it difficult to devise an answer. +To tell her brutally that he was come to bear her away, willing +or unwilling, on behalf of another, was not easy. Indeed, it was +impossible, and he was glad that inclinations in her which he had little +dreamt of, put the necessity aside. + +“My task, Mistress Cynthia, is to bear you hence. To ask you to resign +this peaceful life, this quiet home in a little corner of the world, +and to go forth to bear life's hardships with one who, whatever be his +shortcomings, has the all-redeeming virtue of loving you beyond aught +else in life.” + +He gazed intently at her as he spoke, and her eyes fell before his +glance. He noted the warm, red blood suffusing her cheeks, her brow, her +very neck; and he could have laughed aloud for joy at finding so simple +that which he had feared would prove so hard. Some pity, too, crept +unaccountably into his stern heart, fathered by the little faith which +in his inmost soul he reposed in Jocelyn. And where, had she resisted +him, he would have grown harsh and violent, her acquiescence struck +the weapons from his hands, and he caught himself well-nigh warning her +against accompanying him. + +“It is much to ask,” he said. “But love is selfish, and love asks much.” + +“No, no,” she protested softly, “it is not much to ask. Rather is it +much to offer.” + +At that he was aghast. Yet he continued: + +“Bethink you, Mistress Cynthia, I have ridden back to Sheringham to ask +you to come with me into France, where my son awaits us?” + +He forgot for the moment that she was in ignorance of his relationship +to him he looked upon as her lover, whilst she gave this mention of his +son, of whose existence she had already heard from her; father, little +thought at that moment. The hour was too full of other things that +touched her more nearly. + +“I ask you to abandon the ease and peace of Sheringham for a life as a +soldier's bride that may be rough and precarious for a while, though, +truth to tell, I have some influence at the Luxembourg, and friends upon +whose assistance I can safely count, to find your husband honourable +employment, and set him on the road to more. And how, guided by so sweet +a saint, can he but mount to fame and honour?” + +She spoke no word, but the hand resting in his entwined his fingers in +an answering pressure. + +“Dare I then ask so much?” cried he. And as if the ambiguity which +had marked his speech were not enough, he must needs, as he put this +question, bend in his eagerness towards her until her brown tresses +touched his swart cheek. Was it then strange that the eagerness +wherewith he urged another's suit should have been by her interpreted as +her heart would have had it? + +She set her hands upon his shoulders, and meeting his eager gaze with +the frank glance of the maid who, out of trust, is fearless in her +surrender: + +“Throughout my life I shall thank God that you have dared it,” she made +answer softly. + +A strange reply he deemed it, yet, pondering, he took her meaning to be +that since Jocelyn had lacked the courage to woo boldly, she was glad +that he had sent an ambassador less timid. + +A pause followed, and for a spell they sat silent, he thinking of how +to frame his next words; she happy and content to sit beside him without +speech. + +She marvelled somewhat at the strangeness of his wooing, which was +like unto no wooing her romancer's tales had told her of, but then +she reflected how unlike he was to other men, and therein she saw the +explanation. + +“I wish,” he mused, “that matters were easier; that it might be mine +to boldly sue your hand from your father, but it may not be. Even had +events not fallen out as they have done, it had been difficult; as it +is, it is impossible.” + +Again his meaning was obscure, and when he spoke of suing for her hand +from her father, he did not think of adding that he would have sued it +for his son. + +“I have no father,” she replied. “This very day have I disowned him.” + And observing the inquiry with which his eyes were of a sudden charged: +“Would you have me own a thief, a murderer, my father?” she demanded, +with a fierceness of defiant shame. + +“You know, then?” he ejaculated. + +“Yes,” she answered sorrowfully, “I know all there is to be known. I +learnt it all this morning. All day have I pondered it in my shame to +end in the resolve to leave Sheringham. I had intended going to London +to my mother's sister. You are very opportunely come.” She smiled up at +him through the tears that were glistening in her eyes. “You come even +as I was despairing--nay, when already I had despaired.” + +Sir Crispin was no longer puzzled by the readiness of her acquiescence. +Here was the explanation of it. Forced by the honesty of her pure soul +to abandon the house of a father she knew at last for what he was, the +refuge Crispin now offered her was very welcome. She had determined +before he came to quit Castle Marleigh, and timely indeed was his offer +of the means of escape from a life that was grown impossible. A great +pity filled his heart. She was selling herself, he thought; accepting +the proposal which, on his son's behalf, he made, and from which at any +other season, he feared, she would have shrunk in detestation. + +That pity was reflected on his countenance now, and noting its +solemnity, and misconstruing it, she laughed outright, despite herself. +He did not ask her why she laughed, he did not notice it; his thoughts +were busy already upon another matter. + +When next he spoke, it was to describe to her the hollow of the road +where on the night of his departure from the castle he had been flung +from his horse. She knew the spot, she told him, and there at dusk upon +the following day she would come to him. Her woman must accompany her, +and for all that he feared such an addition to the party might retard +their flight, yet he could not gainsay her resolution. Her uncle, he +learnt from her, was absent from Sheringham; he had set out four days +ago for London. For her father she would leave a letter, and in this +matter Crispin urged her to observe circumspection, giving no indication +of the direction of her journey. + +In all he said, now that matters were arranged he was calm, practical, +and unloverlike, and for all that she would he had been less +self-possessed, her faith in him caused her, upon reflection, even to +admire this which she conceived to be restraint. Yet, when at parting he +did no more than courteously bend before her, and kiss her hand as any +simpering gallant might have done, she was all but vexed, and not to be +outdone in coldness, she grew frigid. But it was lost upon him. He had +not a lover's discernment, quickened by anxious eyes that watch for each +flitting change upon his mistress's face. + +They parted thus, and into the heart of Mistress Cynthia there crept +that night a doubt that banished sleep. Was she wise in entrusting +herself so utterly to a man of whom she knew but little, and that learnt +from rumours which had not been good? But scarcely was it because +of that that doubts assailed her. Rather was it because of his cool +deliberateness which argued not the great love wherewith she fain would +fancy him inspired. + +For consolation she recalled a line that had it great fires were soon +burnt out, and she sought to reassure herself that the flame of his +love, if not all-consuming, would at least burn bright and steadfastly +until the end of life. And so she fell asleep, betwixt hope and fear, +yet no longer with any hesitancy touching the morrow's course. + +In the morning she took her woman into her confidence, and scared her +with it out of what little sense the creature owned. Yet to such purpose +did she talk, that when that evening, as Crispin waited by the coach he +had taken, in the hollow of the road, he saw approaching him a portly, +middle-aged dame with a valise. This was Cynthia's woman, and Cynthia +herself was not long in following, muffled in a long, black cloak. + +He greeted her warmly--affectionately almost yet with none of the +rapture to which she held herself entitled as some little recompense for +all that on his behalf she left behind. + +Urbanely he handed her into the coach, and, after her, her woman. Then +seeing that he made shift to close the door: + +“How is this?” she cried. “Do you not ride with us?” + +He pointed to a saddled horse standing by the roadside, and which she +had not noticed. + +“It will be better so. You will be at more comfort in the carriage +without me. Moreover, it will travel the lighter and the swifter, and +speed will prove our best friend.” + +He closed the door, and stepped back with a word of command to the +driver. The whip cracked, and Cynthia flung herself back almost in a +pet. What manner of lover, she asked herself, was thin and what manner +of woman she, to let herself be borne away by one who made so little use +of the arts and wiles of sweet persuasion? To carry her off, and yet not +so much as sit beside her, was worthy only of a man who described such a +journey as tedious. She marvelled greatly at it, yet more she marvelled +at herself that she did not abandon this mad undertaking. + +The coach moved on and the flight from Sheringham was begun. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT + + +Throughout the night they went rumbling on their way at a pace whose +sluggishness elicited many an oath from Crispin as he rode a few yards +in the rear, ever watchful of the possibility of pursuit. But there was +none, nor none need he have feared, since whilst he rode through the +cold night, Gregory Ashburn slept as peacefully as a man may with the +fever and an evil conscience, and imagined his dutiful daughter safely +abed. + +With the first streaks of steely light came a thin rain to heighten +Crispin's discomfort, for of late he had been overmuch in the saddle, +and strong though he was, he was yet flesh and blood, and subject to +its ills. Towards ten o'clock they passed through Denham. When they were +clear of it Cynthia put her head from the window. She had slept well, +and her mood was lighter and happier. As Crispin rode a yard or so +behind, he caught sight of her fresh, smiling face, and it affected him +curiously. The tenderness that two days ago had been his as he talked +to her upon the cliffs was again upon him, and the thought that anon she +would be linked to him by the ties of relationship, was pleasurable. +She gave him good morrow prettily, and he, spurring his horse to the +carriage door, was solicitous to know of her comfort. Nor did he again +fall behind until Stafford was reached at noon. Here, at the sign of the +Suffolk Arms, he called a halt, and they broke their fast on the best +the house could give them. + +Cynthia was gay, and so indeed was Crispin, yet she noted in him that +coolness which she accounted restraint, and gradually her spirits sank +again before it. + +To Crispin's chagrin there were no horses to be had. Someone in great +haste had ridden through before them, and taken what relays the hostelry +could give, leaving four jaded beasts in the stable. It seemed, indeed, +that they must remain there until the morrow, and in coming to that +conclusion, Sir Crispin's temper suffered sorely. + +“Why need it put you so about,” cried Cynthia, in arch reproach, “since +I am with you?” + +“Blood and fire, madam,” roared Galliard, “it is precisely for that +reason that I am exercised. What if your father came upon us here?” + +“My father, sir, is abed with a sword-wound and a fever,” she replied, +and he remembered then how Kenneth had spitted Gregory through the +shoulder. + +“Still,” he returned, “he will have discovered your flight, and I dare +swear we shall have his myrmidons upon our heels. Should they come up +with us we shall hardly find them more gentle than he would be.” + +She paled at that, and for a second there was silence. Then her hand +stole forth upon his arm, and she looked at him with tightened lips and +a defiant air. + +“What, indeed, if they do? Are you not with me?” A king had praised +his daring, and for his valour had dubbed him knight upon a field of +stricken battle; yet the honour of it had not brought him the elation +those words--expressive of her utter faith in him and his prowess--begat +in his heart. Upon the instant the delay ceased to fret him. + +“Madam,” he laughed, “since you put it so, I care not who comes. The +Lord Protector himself shall not drag you from me.” + +It was the nearest he had gone to a passionate speech since they had +left Sheringham, and it pleased her; yet in uttering it he had stood a +full two yards away, and in that she had taken no pleasure. + +Bidding her remain and get what rest she might, he left her, and she, +following his straight, lank figure--so eloquent of strength--and the +familiar poise of his left hand upon the pummel of his sword, felt proud +indeed that he belonged to her, and secure in his protection. She sat +herself at the window when he was gone, and whilst she awaited his +return, she hummed a gay measure softly to herself. Her eyes were +bright, and there was a flush upon her cheeks. Not even in the wet, +greasy street could she find any unsightliness that afternoon. But as +she waited, and the minutes grew to hours, that flush faded, and the +sparkle died gradually from her eyes. The measure that she had hummed +was silenced, and her shapely mouth took on a pout of impatience, which +anon grew into a tighter mould, as he continued absent. + +A frown drew her brows together, and Mistress Cynthia's thoughts were +much as they had been the night before she left Castle Marleigh. Where +was he? Why came he not? She took up a book of plays that lay upon the +table, and sought to while away the time by reading. The afternoon faded +into dusk, and still he did not come. Her woman appeared, to ask whether +she should call for lights and at that Cynthia became almost violent. + +“Where is Sir Crispin?” she demanded. And to the dame's quavering answer +that she knew not, she angrily bade her go ascertain. + +In a pet, Cynthia paced the chamber whilst Catherine was gone upon that +errand. Did this man account her a toy to while away the hours for which +he could find no more profitable diversion, and to leave her to die of +ennui when aught else offered? Was it a small thing that he had asked of +her, to go with him into a strange land, that he should show himself so +little sensible of the honour done him? + +With such questions did she plague herself, and finding them either +unanswerable, or answerable only by affirmatives, she had well-nigh +resolved upon leaving the inn, and making her way back to London to seek +out her aunt, when the door opened and her woman reappeared. + +“Well?” cried Cynthia, seeing her alone. “Where is Sir Crispin?” + +“Below, madam.” + +“Below?” echoed she. “And what, pray, doth he below?” + +“He is at dice with a gentleman from London.” + +In the dim light of the October twilight the woman saw not the sudden +pallor of her mistress's cheeks, but she heard the gasp of pain that +was almost a cry. In her mortification, Cynthia could have wept had she +given way to her feelings. The man who had induced her to elope with him +sat at dice with a gentleman from London! Oh, it was monstrous! At the +thought of it she broke into a laugh that appalled her tiring-woman; +then mastering her hysteria, she took a sudden determination. + +“Call me the host,” she cried, and the frightened Catherine obeyed her +at a run. + +When the landlord came, bearing lights, and bending his aged back +obsequiously: + +“Have you a pillion?” she asked abruptly. “Well, fool, why do you stare? +Have you a pillion?” + +“I have, madam.” + +“And a knave to ride with me, and a couple more as escort?” + +“I might procure them, but--” + +“How soon?” + +“Within half an hour, but--” + +“Then go see to it,” she broke in, her foot beating the ground +impatiently. + +“But, madam--” + +“Go, go, go!” she cried, her voice rising at each utterance of that +imperative. + +“But, madam,” the host persisted despairingly, and speaking quickly so +that he might get the words out, “I have no horses fit to travel ten +miles.” + +“I need to go but five,” she retorted quickly, her only thought being to +get the beasts, no matter what their condition. “Now, go, and come not +back until all is ready. Use dispatch and I will pay you well, and above +all, not a word to the gentleman who came hither with me.” + +The sorely-puzzled host withdrew to do her bidding, won to it by her +promise of good payment. + +Alone she sat for half an hour, vainly fostering the hope that ere +the landlord returned to announce the conclusion of his preparations, +Crispin might have remembered her and come. But he did not appear, and +in her solitude this poor little maid was very miserable, and shed +some tears that had still more of anger than sorrow in their source. At +length the landlord came. She summoned her woman, and bade her follow by +post on the morrow. The landlord she rewarded with a ring worth twenty +times the value of the service, and was led by him through a side door +into the innyard. + +Here she found three horses, one equipped with the pillion on which she +was to ride behind a burly stableboy. The other two were mounted by +a couple of stalwart and well-armed men, one of whom carried a +funnel-mouthed musketoon with a swagger that promised prodigies of +valour. + +Wrapped in her cloak, she mounted behind the stable-boy, and bade him +set out and take the road to Denham. Her dream was at an end. + +Master Quinn, the landlord, watched her departure with eyes that +were charged with doubt and concern. As he made fast the door of the +stableyard after she had passed out, he ominously shook his hoary head +and muttered to himself humble, hostelry-flavoured philosophies touching +the strange ways of men with women, and the stranger ways of women with +men. Then, taking up his lanthorn, he slowly retraced his steps to the +buttery where his wife was awaiting him. + +With sleeves rolled high above her pink and deeply-dimpled elbows stood +Mistress Quinn at work upon the fashioning of a pastry, when her husband +entered and set down his lanthorn with a sigh. + +“To be so plagued,” he growled. “To be browbeaten by a slip of a +wench--a fine gentleman's baggage with the airs and vapours of a lady of +quality. Am I not a fool to have endured it?” + +“Certainly you are a fool,” his wife agreed, kneading diligently, +“whatever you may have endured. What now?” + +His fat face was puckered into a thousand wrinkles. His little eyes +gazed at her with long-suffering malice. + +“You are my wife,” he answered pregnantly, as who would say: Thus is +my folly clearly proven! and seeing that the assertion was not one that +admitted of dispute, Mistress Quinn was silent. + +“Oh, 'tis ill done!” he broke out a moment later. “Shame on me for it; +it is ill done!” + +“If you have done it 'tis sure to be ill done, and shame on you in good +sooth--but for what?” put in his wife. + +“For sending those poor jaded beasts upon the road.” + +“What beasts?” + +“What beasts? Do I keep turtles? My horses, woman.” + +“And whither have you sent them?” + +“To Denham with the baggage that came hither this morning in the company +of that very fierce gentleman who was in such a pet because we had no +horses.” + +“Where is he?” inquired the hostess. + +“At dice with those other gallants from town.” + +“At dice quotha? And she's gone, you say?” asked Mrs. Quinn, pausing in +her labours squarely to face her husband. + +“Aye,” said he. + +“Stupid!” rejoined his docile spouse, vexed by his laconic assent. “Do +you mean she has run away?” + +“Tis what anyone might take from what I have told you,” he answered +sweetly. + +“And you have lent her horses and helped her to get away, and you leave +her husband at play in there?” + +“You have seen her marriage lines, I make no doubt,” he sneered +irrelevantly. + +“You dolt! If the gentleman horsewhips you, you will have richly earned +it.” + +“Eh? What?” gasped he, and his rubicund cheeks lost something of their +high colour, for here was a possibility that had not entered into his +calculations. But Mistress Quinn stayed not to answer him. Already she +was making for the door, wiping the dough from her hands on to her apron +as she went. A suspicion of her purpose flashed through her husband's +mind. + +“What would you do?” he inquired nervously. + +“Tell the gentleman what has taken place.” + +“Nay,” he cried, resolutely barring her way. “Nay. That you shall not. +Would you--would you ruin me?” + +She gave him a look of contempt, and dodging his grasp she gained the +door and was half-way down the passage towards the common room before he +had overtaken her and caught her round the middle. + +“Are you mad, woman?” he shouted. “Will you undo me?” + +“Do you undo me,” she bade him, snatching at his hands. But he clutched +with the tightness of despair. + +“You shall not go,” he swore. “Come back and leave the gentleman to +make the discovery for himself. I dare swear it will not afflict him +overmuch. He has abandoned her sorely since they came; not a doubt of +it but that he is weary of her. At least he need not know I lent her +horses. Let him think she fled a-foot, when he discovers her departure.” + +“I will go,” she answered stubbornly, dragging him with her a yard or +two nearer the door. “The gentleman shall be warned. Is a woman to run +away from her husband in my house, and the husband never be warned of +it?” + +“I promised her,” he began. + +“What care I for your promises?” she asked. “I will tell him, so that he +may yet go after her and bring her back.” + +“You shall not,” he insisted, gripping her more closely. But at that +moment a delicately mocking voice greeted their ears. + +“Marry, 'tis vastly diverting to hear you,” it said. They looked round, +to find one of the party of town sparks that had halted at the inn +standing arms akimbo in the narrow passage, clearly waiting for them +to make room. “A touching sight, sir,” said he sardonically to the +landlord. “A wondrous touching sight to behold a man of your years +playing the turtle-dove to his good wife like the merest fledgeling. +It grieves me to intrude myself so harshly upon your cooing, though +if you'll but let me pass you may resume your chaste embrace without +uneasiness, for I give you my word I'll never look behind me.” + +Abashed, the landlord and his dame fell apart. Then, ere the gentleman +could pass her, Mistress Quinn, like a true opportunist, sped swiftly +down the passage and into the common room before her husband could again +detain her. + +Now, within the common room of the Suffolk Arms Sir Crispin sat face to +face with a very pretty fellow, all musk and ribbons, and surrounded by +some half-dozen gentlemen on their way to London who had halted to rest +at Stafford. + +The pretty gentleman swore lustily, affected a monstrous wicked look, +assured that he was impressing all who stood about with some conceit of +the rakehelly ways he pursued in town. + +A game started with crowns to while away the tedium of the enforced +sojourn at the inn had grown to monstrous proportions. Fortune had +favoured the youth at first, but as the stakes grew her favours to him +diminished, and at the moment that Cynthia rode out of the inn-yard, Mr. +Harry Foster flung his last gold piece with an oath upon the table. + +“Rat me,” he groaned, “there's the end of a hundred.” + +He toyed sorrowfully with the red ribbon in his black hair, and Crispin, +seeing that no fresh stake was forthcoming, made shift to rise. But the +coxcomb detained him. + +“Tarry, sir,” he cried, “I've not yet done. 'Slife, we'll make a night +of it.” + +He drew a ring from his finger, and with a superb gesture of disdain +pushed it across the board. + +“What'll ye stake?” And, in the same breath, “Boy, another stoup,” he +cried. + +Crispin eyed the gem carelessly. + +“Twenty Caroluses,” he muttered. + +“Rat me, sir, that nose of yours proclaims you a jew, without more. Say +twenty-five, and I'll cast.” + +With a tolerant smile, and the shrug of a man to whom twenty-five or +a hundred are of like account, Crispin consented. They threw; Crispin +passed and won. + +“What'll ye stake?” cried Mr. Foster, and a second ring followed the +first. + +Before Crispin could reply, the door leading to the interior of the inn +was flung open, and Mrs. Quinn, breathless with exertion and excitement, +came scurrying across the room. In the doorway stood the host in +hesitancy and fear. Bending to Crispin's ear, Mrs. Quinn delivered her +message in a whisper that was heard by most of those who were about. + +“Gone!” cried Crispin in consternation. + +The woman pointed to her husband, and Crispin, understanding from this +that she referred him to the host, called to him. + +“What know you, landlord?” he shouted. “Come hither, and tell me whither +is she gone!” + +“I know not,” replied the quaking host, adding the particulars of +Cynthia's departure, and the information that the lady seemed in great +anger. + +“Saddle me a horse,” cried Crispin, leaping to his feet, and pitching +Mr. Foster's trinket upon the table as though it were a thing of no +value. “Towards Denham you say they rode? Quick, man!” And as the host +departed he swept the gold and the ring he had won into his pockets +preparing to depart. + +“Hoity toity!” cried Mr. Foster. “What sudden haste is this?” + +“I am sorry, sir, that Fortune has been unkind to you, but I must go. +Circumstances have arisen which--” + +“D--n your circumstances!” roared Foster, get ting on his feet. “You'll +not leave me thus!” + +“With your permission, sir, I will.” + +“But you shall not have my permission!” + +“Then I shall be so unfortunate as to go without it. But I shall +return.” + +“Sir, 'tis an old legend, that!” + +Crispin turned about in despair. To be embroiled now might ruin +everything, and by a miracle he kept his temper. He had a moment to +spare while his horse was being saddled. + +“Sir,” he said, “if you have upon your pretty person trinkets to half +the value of what I have won from you, I'll stake the whole against +them on one throw, after which, no matter what the result, I take my +departure. Are you agreed?” + +There was a murmur of admiration from those present at the recklessness +and the generosity of the proposal, and Foster was forced to accept it. +Two more rings he drew forth, a diamond from the ruffles at his throat, +and a pearl that he wore in his ear. The lot he set upon the board, and +Crispin threw the winning cast as the host entered to say that his horse +was ready. + +He gathered the trinkets up, and with a polite word of regret he was +gone, leaving Mr. Harry Foster to meditate upon the pledging of one of +his horses to the landlord in discharge of his lodging. + +And so it fell out that before Cynthia had gone six miles along the road +to Denham, one of her attendants caught a rapid beat of hoofs behind +them, and drew her attention to it, suggesting that they were being +followed. Faster Cynthia bade them travel, but the pursuer gained +upon them at every stride. Again the man drew her attention to it, and +proposed that they should halt and face him who followed. The possession +of the musketoon gave him confidence touching the issue. But Cynthia +shuddered at the thought, and again, with promises of rich reward, urged +them to go faster. Another mile they went, but every moment brought the +pursuing hoof-beats nearer and nearer, until at last a hoarse challenge +rang out behind them, and they knew that to go farther would be vain; +within the next half-mile, ride as they might, their pursuer would be +upon them. + +The night was moonless, yet sufficiently clear for objects to be +perceived against the sky, and presently the black shadow of him who +rode behind loomed up upon the road, not a hundred paces off. + +Despite Cynthia's orders not to fire, he of the musketoon raised his +weapon under cover of the darkness and blazed at the approaching shadow. + +Cynthia cried out--a shriek of dismay it was; the horses plunged, and +Sir Crispin laughed aloud as he bore down upon them. He of the musketoon +heard the swish of a sword being drawn, and saw the glitter of the blade +in the dark. A second later there was a shock as Crispin's horse dashed +into his, and a crushing blow across the forehead, which Galliard +delivered with the hilt of his rapier, sent him hurtling from the +saddle. His comrade clapped spurs to his horse at that and was running a +race with the night wind in the direction of Denham. + +Before Cynthia quite knew what had happened the seat on the pillion in +front of her was empty, and she was riding back to Stafford with Crispin +beside her, his hand upon the bridle of her horse. + +“You little fool!” he said half-angrily, half-gibingly; and thereafter +they rode in silence--she too mortified with shame and anger to venture +upon words. + +That journey back to Stafford was a speedy one, and soon they stood +again in the inn-yard out of which she had ridden but an hour ago. +Avoiding the common room, Crispin ushered her through the side door by +which she had quitted the house. The landlord met them in the passage, +and looking at Crispin's face the pallor and fierceness of it drove him +back without a word. + +Together they ascended to the chamber where in solitude she had +spent the day. Her feelings were those of a child caught in an act of +disobedience, and she was angry with herself and her weakness that +it should be so. Yet within the room she stood with bent head, never +glancing at her companion, in whose eyes there was a look of blended +anger and amazement as he observed her. At length in calm, level tones: + +“Why did you run away?” he asked. + +The question was to her anger as a gust of wind to a smouldering fire. +She threw back her head defiantly, and fixed him with a glance as fierce +as his own. + +“I will tell you,” she cried, and suddenly stopped short. The fire died +from her eyes, and they grew wide in wonder--in fascinated wonder--to +see a deep stain overspreading one side of his grey doublet, from the +left shoulder downwards. Her wonder turned to horror as she realized the +nature of that stain and remembered that one of her men had fired upon +him. + +“You are wounded?” she faltered. + +A sickly smile came into his face, and seemed to accentuate its pallor. +He made a deprecatory gesture. Then, as if in that gesture he had +expended his last grain of strength, he swayed suddenly as he stood. +He made as if to reach a chair, but at the second step he stumbled, and +without further warning he fell prone at her feet, his left hand upon +his heart, his right outstretched straight from the shoulder. The loss +of blood he had sustained, following upon the fatigue and sleeplessness +that had been his of late, had demanded its due from him, man of iron +though he was. + +Upon the instant her anger vanished. A great fear that he was dead +descended upon her, and to heighten the horror of it came the thought +that he had received his death-wound through her agency. With a moan of +anguish she went down upon her knees beside him. She raised his head +and pillowed it in her lap, calling to him by name, as though her +voice alone must suffice to bring him back to life and consciousness. +Instinctively she unfastened his doublet at the neck, and sought to draw +it away that she might see the nature of his hurt and staunch the wound +if possible, but her strength ebbed away from her, and she abandoned her +task, unable to do more than murmur his name. + +“Crispin, Crispin, Crispin!” + +She stooped and kissed the white, clammy forehead, then his lips, and +as she did so a tremor ran through her, and he opened his eyes. A moment +they looked dull and lifeless, then they waxed questioning. + +A second ago these two had stood in anger with the width of the room +betwixt them; now, in a flash, he found his head on her lap, her lips on +his. How came he there? What meant it? + +“Crispin, Crispin,” she cried, “thank God you did but swoon!” + +Then the awakening of his soul came swift upon the awakening of his +body. He lay there, oblivious of his wound, oblivious of his mission, +oblivious of his son. He lay with senses still half dormant and +comprehension dulled, but with a soul alert he lay, and was supremely +happy with a happiness such as he had never known in all his ill-starred +life. + +In a feeble voice he asked: + +“Why did you run away?” + +“Let us forget it,” she answered softly. + +“Nay--tell me first.” + +“I thought--I thought--” she stammered; then, gathering courage, “I +thought you did not really care, that you made a toy of me,” said she. +“When they told me that you sat at dice with a gentleman from London I +was angry at your neglect. If you loved me, I told myself, you would not +have used me so, and left me to mope alone.” + +For a moment Crispin let his grey eyes devour her blushing face. Then +he closed them and pondered what she had said, realization breaking upon +him now like a great flood. The light came to him in one blinding yet +all-illuming flash. A hundred things that had puzzled him in the last +two days grew of a sudden clear, and filled him with a joy unspeakable. +He dared scarce believe that he was awake, and Cynthia by him--that he +had indeed heard aright what she had said. How blind he had been, how +nescient of himself! + +Then, as his thoughts travelled on to the source of the misapprehension +he remembered his son, and the memory was like an icy hand upon his +temples that chilled him through and through. Lying there with eyes +still closed he groaned. Happiness was within his grasp at last. Love +might be his again did he but ask it, and the love of as pure and sweet +a creature as ever God sent to chasten a man's life. A great tenderness +possessed him. A burning temptation to cast to the winds his plighted +word, to make a mock of faith, to deride honour, and to seize this woman +for his own. She loved him he knew it now; he loved her--the knowledge +had come as suddenly upon him. Compared with this what could his faith, +his word, his honour give him? What to him, in the face of this, was +that paltry fellow, his son, who had spurned him! + +The hardest fight he ever fought, he fought it there, lying supine upon +the ground, his head in her lap. + +Had he fought it out with closed eyes, perchance honour and his plighted +word had won the day; but he opened them, and they met Cynthia's. + +A while they stayed thus; the hungry glance of his grey eyes peering +into the clear blue depths of hers; and in those depths his soul was +drowned, his honour stifled. + +“Cynthia,” he cried, “God pity me, I love you!” And he swooned again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. TO FRANCE + + +That cry, which she but half understood, was still ringing in her ears, +when the door was of a sudden flung open, and across the threshold a +very daintily arrayed young gentleman stepped briskly, the expostulating +landlord following close upon his heels. + +“I tell thee, lying dog,” he cried, “I saw him ride into the yard, and, +'fore George, he shall give me the chance of mending my losses. Be off +to your father, you Devil's natural.” + +Cynthia looked up in alarm, whereupon that merry blood catching sight of +her, halted in some confusion at what he saw. + +“Rat me, madam,” he cried, “I did not know--I had not looked to--” He +stopped, and remembering at last his manners he made her a low bow. + +“Your servant, madam,” said he, “your servant Harry Foster.” + +She gazed at him, her eyes full of inquiry, but said nothing, whereat +the pretty gentleman plucked awkwardly at his ruffles and wished himself +elsewhere. + +“I did not know, madam, that your husband was hurt.” + +“He is not my husband, sir,” she answered, scarce knowing what she said. + +“Gadso!” he ejaculated. “Yet you ran away from him?” + +Her cheeks grew crimson. + +“The door, sir, is behind you.” + +“So, madam, is that thief the landlord,” he made answer, no whit +abashed. “Come hither, you bladder of fat, the gentleman is hurt.” + +Thus courteously summoned, the landlord shuffled forward, and Mr. +Foster begged Cynthia to allow him with the fellow's aid to see to the +gentleman's wound. Between them they laid Crispin on a couch, and the +town spark went to work with a dexterity little to have been expected +from his flippant exterior. He dressed the wound, which was in the +shoulder and not in itself of a dangerous character, the loss of blood +it being that had brought some gravity to the knight's condition. They +propped his head upon a pillow, and presently he sighed and, opening his +eyes, complained of thirst, and was manifestly surprised at seeing the +coxcomb turned leech. + +“I came in search of you to pursue our game,” Foster explained when they +had ministered to him, “and, 'fore George, I am vastly grieved to find +you in this condition.” + +“Pish, sir, my condition is none so grievous--a scratch, no more, and +were my heart itself pierced the knowledge that I have gained--” He +stopped short. “But there, sir,” he added presently, “I am grateful +beyond words for your timely ministration, and if to my debt you will +add that of leaving me awhile to rest, I shall appreciate it.” + +His glance met Cynthia's and he smiled. The host coughed significantly, +and shuffled towards the door. But Master Foster made no shift to move; +but stood instead beside Galliard, though in apparent hesitation. + +“I should like a word with you ere I go,” he said at length. Then +turning and perceiving the landlord standing by the door in an attitude +of eloquent waiting: “Take yourself off,” he cried to him. “Crush me, +may not one gentleman say a word to another without being forced to +speak into your inquisitive ears as well? You will forgive my heat, +madam, but, God a'mercy, that greasy rascal tries me sorely.” + +“Now, sir,” he resumed, when the host was gone. “I stand thus: I have +lost to you to-day a sum of money which, though some might account +considerable, is in itself no more than a trifle. + +“I am, however, greatly exercised at the loss of certain trinkets which +have to me a peculiar value, and which, to be frank, I staked in a +moment of desperation. I had hoped, sir, to retrieve my losses o'er a +friendly main this evening, for I have still to stake a coach and four +horses--as noble a set of beasts as you'll find in England, aye rat +me. Your wound, sir, renders it impossible for me to ask you to give +yourself the fatigue of obliging me. I come, then, to propose that you +return me those trinkets against my note of hand for the amount that was +staked on them. I am well known in town, sir,” he added hurriedly, “and +you need have no anxiety.” + +Crispin stopped him with a wave of the hand. + +“I have none, sir, in that connexion, and I am willing to do as you +suggest.” He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew forth the rings, +the brooch and the ear-ring he had won. “Here, sir, are your trinkets.” + +“Sir,” cried Mr. Foster, thrown into some confusion by Galliard's +unquestioning generosity, “I am indebted to you. Rat me, sir, I am +indeed. You shall have my note of hand on the instant. How much shall we +say?” + +“One moment, Mr. Foster,” said Crispin, an idea suddenly occurring to +him. “You mentioned horses. Are they fresh?” + +“As June roses.” + +“And you are returning to London, are you not?” + +“I am.” + +“When do you wish to proceed?” + +“To-morrow.” + +“Why, then, sir, I have a proposal to make which will remove the need of +your note of hand. Lend me your horses, sir, to reach Harwich. I wish to +set out at once!” + +“But your wound?” cried Cynthia. “You are still faint.” + +“Faint! Not I. I am awake and strong. My wound is no wound, for a +scratch may not be given that name. So there, sweetheart.” He laughed, +and drawing down her head, he whispered the words: “Your father.” Then +turning again to Foster. “Now, sir,” he continued, “there are four +tolerable posthorses of mine below, on which you can follow tomorrow to +Harwich, there exchanging them again for your own, which you shall find +awaiting you, stabled at the Garter Inn. For this service, to me of +immeasurable value, I will willingly cede those gewgaws to you.” + +“But, rat me, sir,” cried Foster in bewilderment, “tis too +generous--'pon honour it is. I can't consent to it. No, rat me, I +can't.” + +“I have told you how great a boon you will confer. Believe me, sir, to +me it is worth twice, a hundred times the value of those trinkets.” + +“You shall have my horses, sir, and my note of hand as well,” said +Foster firmly. + +“Your note of hand is of no value to me, sir. I look to leave England +to-morrow, and I know not when I may return.” + +Thus in the end it came about that the bargain was concluded. Cynthia's +maid was awakened and bidden to rise. The horses were harnessed to +Crispin's coach, and Crispin, leaning upon Harry Foster's arm, descended +and took his place within the carriage. + +Leaving the London blood at the door of the Suffolk Arms, crushing, +burning, damning and ratting himself at Crispin's magnificence, they +rolled away through the night in the direction of Ipswich. + +Ten o'clock in the morning beheld them at the door of the Garter Inn at +Harwich. But the jolting of the coach had so hardly used Crispin that he +had to be carried into the hostelry. He was much exercised touching the +Lady Jane and his inability to go down to the quay in quest of her, when +he was accosted by a burly, red-faced individual who bluntly asked him +was he called Sir Crispin Galliard. Ere he could frame an answer the man +had added that he was Thomas Jackson, master of the Lady Jane--at which +piece of good news Crispin felt like to shout for joy. + +But his reflection upon his present position, when at last he lay in the +schooner's cabin, brought him the bitter reverse of pleasure. He had set +out to bring Cynthia to his son; he had pledged his honour to accomplish +it. How was he fulfilling his trust? In his despondency, during a moment +when alone, he cursed the knave that had wounded him for his clumsiness +in not having taken a lower aim when he fired, and thus solved him this +ugly riddle of life for all time. + +Vainly did he strive to console himself and endeavour to palliate the +wrong he had done with the consideration that he was the man Cynthia +loved, and not his son; that his son was nothing to her, and that she +would never have accompanied him had she dreamt that he wooed her for +another. + +No. The deed was foul, and rendered fouler still by virtue of those +other wrongs in whose extenuation it had been undertaken. For a moment +he grew almost a coward. He was on the point of bidding Master Jackson +avoid Calais and make some other port along the coast. But in a moment +he had scorned the craven argument of flight, and determined that come +what might he would face his son, and lay the truth before him, leaving +him to judge how strong fate had been. As he lay feverish and fretful in +the vessel's cabin, he came well-nigh to hating Kenneth; he remembered +him only as a poor, mean creature, now a bigot, now a fop, now a +psalm-monger, now a roysterer, but ever a hypocrite, ever a coward, +and never such a man as he could have taken pride in presenting as his +offspring. + +They had a fair wind, and towards evening Cynthia, who had been absent +from his side a little while, came to tell him that the coast of France +grew nigh. + +His answer was a sigh, and when she chid him for it, he essayed a smile +that was yet more melancholy. For a second he was tempted to confide +in her; to tell her of the position in which he found himself and to +lighten his load by sharing it with her. But this he dared not do. +Cynthia must never know. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. THE AUBERGE DU SOLEIL + + +In a room of the first floor of the Auberge du Soleil, at Calais, the +host inquired of Crispin if he were milord Galliard. At that question +Crispin caught his breath in apprehension, and felt himself turn pale. +What it portended, he guessed; and it stifled the hope that had been +rising in him since his arrival, and because he had not found his +son awaiting him either on the jetty or at the inn. He dared ask no +questions, fearing that the reply would quench that hope, which rose +despite himself, and begotten of a desire of which he was hardly +conscious. + +He sighed before replying, and passing his brown, nervous hand across +his brow, he found it moist. + +“My name, M. l'hote, is Crispin Galliard. What news have you for me?” + +“A gentleman--a countryman of milord's--has been here these three days +awaiting him.” + +For a little while Crispin sat quite still, stripped of his last rag of +hope. Then suddenly bracing himself, he sprang up, despite his weakness. + +“Bring him to me. I will see him at once.” + +“Tout-a-l'heure, monsieur,” replied the landlord. “At the moment he is +absent. He went out to take the air a couple of hours ago, and is not +yet returned.” + +“Heaven send he has walked into the sea!” Crispin broke out +passionately. Then as passionately he checked himself. “No, no, my +God--not that! I meant not that.” + +“Monsieur will sup?” + +“At once, and let me have lights.” The host withdrew, to return a moment +later with a couple of lighted tapers, which he set upon the table. + +As he was retiring, a heavy step sounded on the stair, accompanied by +the clank of a scabbard against the baluster. + +“Here comes milord's countryman,” the landlord announced. + +And Crispin, looking up in apprehension, saw framed in the doorway the +burly form of Harry Hogan. + +He sat bolt upright, staring as though he beheld an apparition. With +a sad smile, Hogan advanced, and set his hand affectionately upon +Galliard's shoulder. + +“Welcome to France, Crispin,” said he. “If not him whom you looked to +find, you have at least a loyal friend to greet you.” + +“Hogan!” gasped the knight. “What make you here? How came you here? +Where is Jocelyn?” + +The Irishman looked at him gravely for a moment, then sighed and sank +down upon a chair. “You have brought the lady?” he asked. + +“She is here. She will be with us presently.” + +Hogan groaned and shook his grey head sorrowfully. + +“But where is Jocelyn?” cried Galliard again, and his haggard face +looked very wan and white as he turned it inquiringly upon his +companion. “Why is he not here?” + +“I have bad news.” + +“Bad news?” muttered Crispin, as though he understood not the meaning of +the words. “Bad news?” he repeated musingly. Then bracing himself, “What +is this news?” + +“And you have brought the lady too!” Hogan complained. “Faith, I had +hoped that you had failed in that at least.” + +“Sdeath, Harry,” Crispin exclaimed. “Will you tell me the news?” + +Hogan pondered a moment. Then: + +“I will relate the story from the very beginning,” said he. “Some four +hours after your departure from Waltham) my men brought in the malignant +we were hunting. I dispatched my sergeant and the troop forthwith to +London with the prisoner, keeping just two troopers with me. An hour or +so later a coach clattered into the yard, and out of it stepped a short, +lean man in black, with a very evil face and a crooked eye, who bawled +out that he was Joseph Ashburn of Castle Marleigh, a friend of the Lord +General's, and that he must have horses on the instant to proceed upon +his journey to London. I was in the yard at the time, and hearing the +full announcement I guessed what his business in London was. He entered +the inn to refresh himself and I followed him. In the common room the +first man his eyes lighted on was your son. He gasped at sight of him, +and when he had recovered his breath he let fly as round a volley of +blasphemy as ever I heard from the lips of a Puritan. When that was +over, “Fool,” he yells, “what make you here?” The lad stammered and grew +confused. At last--“I was detained here,” says he. “Detained!” thunders +the other, “and by whom?” “By my father, you murdering villain!” was the +hot answer. + +“At that Master Ashburn grows very white and very evil-looking. “So,” he +says, in a playful voice, “you have learnt that, have you? Well, by God! +the lesson shall profit neither you nor that rascal your father. But +I'll begin with you, you cur.” And with that he seizes a jug of ale that +stood on the table, and empties it over the boy's face. Soul of my body! +The lad showed such spirit then as I had never looked to find in him. +“Outside,” yells he, tugging at his sword with one hand, and pointing +to the door with the other. “Outside, you hound, where I can kill you!” + Ashburn laughed and cursed him, and together they flung past me into the +yard. The place was empty at the moment, and there, before the clash of +their blades had drawn interference, the thing was over--and Ashburn had +sent his sword through Jocelyn's heart.” + +Hogan paused, and Crispin sat very still and white, his soul in torment. + +“And Ashburn?” he asked presently, in a voice that was singularly hoarse +and low. “What became of him? Was he not arrested?” + +“No,” said Hogan grimly, “he was not arrested. He was buried. Before he +had wiped his blade I had stepped up to him and accused him of murdering +a beardless boy. I remembered the reckoning he owed you, I remembered +that he had sought to send you to your death; I saw the boy's body still +warm and bleeding upon the ground, and I struck him with my knuckles on +the mouth. Like the cowardly ruffian he was, he made a pass at me with +his sword before I had got mine out. I avoided it narrowly, and we set +to work. + +“People rushed in and would have stopped us, but I cursed them so whilst +I fenced, swearing to kill any man that came between us, that they held +off and waited. I didn't keep them overlong. I was no raw youngster +fresh from the hills of Scotland. I put the point of my sword through +Joseph Ashburn's throat within a minute of our engaging. + +“It was then as I stood in that shambles and looked down upon my +handiwork that I recalled in what favour Master Ashburn was held by the +Parliament, and I grew sick to think of what the consequences might be. +To avoid them I got me there and then to horse, and rode in a straight +line for Greenwich, hoping to find the Lady Jane still there. But my +messenger had already sent her to Harwich for you. I was well ahead of +possible pursuit, and so I pushed on to Dover, and thence I crossed, +arriving here three days ago.” + +Crispin rose and stepped up to Hogan. “The last time you came to me +after killing a man, Harry, I was of some service to you. You shall find +me no less useful now. You will come to Paris with me?” + +“But the lady?” gasped Hogan, amazed at Crispin's lack of thought for +her. + +“I hear her step upon the stairs. Leave me now, Harry, but as you go, +desire the landlord to send for a priest. The lady remains.” + +One look of utter bewilderment did Hogan bestow upon Sir Crispin, and +for once his glib, Irish tongue could shape no other words than: + +“Soul of my body!” + +He wrung Crispin's hand, and in a state of ineffable perplexity he +hurried from the room to do what was required of him. + +For a moment Crispin stood by the window, and looking out into the night +he thanked God from his heart for his solution of the monstrous riddle +that had been set him. + +Then the rustle of a gown drew his attention, and he swung round to find +Cynthia smiling upon him from the threshold. + +He advanced to meet her, and setting his hands upon her shoulders, he +held her at arm's length, looking down into her eyes. + +“Cynthia, my Cynthia!” he cried. And she, breaking past the barrier of +his grasp, nestled up to him with a sigh of sweet and unalloyed content. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tavern Knight, by Rafael Sabatini + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TAVERN KNIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 3030-0.txt or 3030-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/3/3030/ + +Produced by Polly Stratton + +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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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/3030-0.zip b/3030-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b784e74 --- /dev/null +++ b/3030-0.zip diff --git a/3030-h.zip b/3030-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0107794 --- /dev/null +++ b/3030-h.zip diff --git a/3030-h/3030-h.htm b/3030-h/3030-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..88e9d48 --- /dev/null +++ b/3030-h/3030-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10472 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Tavern Knight, by Rafael Sabatini + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tavern Knight, by Rafael Sabatini + +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: The Tavern Knight + +Author: Rafael Sabatini + +Release Date: February 28, 2009 [EBook #3030] +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TAVERN KNIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Polly Stratton, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE TAVERN KNIGHT + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Rafael Sabatini + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE TAVERN KNIGHT</b> </a> <br /><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> ON THE MARCH <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> ARCADES AMBO <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> THE LETTER <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> AT THE SIGN OF THE + MITRE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> AFTER + WORCESTER FIELD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> COMPANIONS + IN MISFORTUNE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> THE + TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. + </a> THE TWISTED BAR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> + CHAPTER IX. </a> THE BARGAIN <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> THE ESCAPE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> THE ASHBURNS <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> THE HOUSE THAT WAS + ROLAND MARLEIGH'S <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> THE + METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER + XIV. </a> THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> JOSEPH'S RETURN <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> THE RECKONING + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> JOSEPH + DRIVES A BARGAIN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> COUNTER-PLOT + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE + INTERRUPTED JOURNEY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> THE + CONVERTED HOGAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE + MESSAGE KENNETH BORE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. + </a> SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> GREGORY'S ATTRITION + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> THE + WOOING OF CYNTHIA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> CYNTHIA'S + FLIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> TO + FRANCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE + AUBERGE DU SOLEIL <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE TAVERN KNIGHT + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. ON THE MARCH + </h2> + <p> + He whom they called the Tavern Knight laughed an evil laugh—such a + laugh as might fall from the lips of Satan in a sardonic moment. + </p> + <p> + He sat within the halo of yellow light shed by two tallow candles, whose + sconces were two empty bottles, and contemptuously he eyed the youth in + black, standing with white face and quivering lip in a corner of the mean + chamber. Then he laughed again, and in a hoarse voice, sorely suggestive + of the bottle, he broke into song. He lay back in his chair, his long, + spare legs outstretched, his spurs jingling to the lilt of his ditty whose + burden ran: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On the lip so red of the wench that's sped + His passionate kiss burns, still-O! + For 'tis April time, and of love and wine + Youth's way is to take its fill-O! + Down, down, derry-do! + + So his cup he drains and he shakes his reins, + And rides his rake-helly way-O! + She was sweet to woo and most comely, too, + But that was all yesterday-O! + Down, down, derry-do! +</pre> + <p> + The lad started forward with something akin to a shiver. + </p> + <p> + “Have done,” he cried, in a voice of loathing, “or, if croak you must, + choose a ditty less foul!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” The ruffler shook back the matted hair from his lean, harsh face, + and a pair of eyes that of a sudden seemed ablaze glared at his companion; + then the lids drooped until those eyes became two narrow slits—catlike + and cunning—and again he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Gad's life, Master Stewart, you have a temerity that should save you from + grey hairs! What is't to you what ditty my fancy seizes on? 'Swounds, man, + for three weary months have I curbed my moods, and worn my throat dry in + praising the Lord; for three months have I been a living monument of + Covenanting zeal and godliness; and now that at last I have shaken the + dust of your beggarly Scotland from my heels, you—the veriest + milksop that ever ran tottering from its mother's lap would chide me + because, yon bottle being done, I sing to keep me from waxing sad in the + contemplation of its emptiness!” + </p> + <p> + There was scorn unutterable on the lad's face as he turned aside. + </p> + <p> + “When I joined Middleton's horse and accepted service under you, I held + you to be at least a gentleman,” was his daring rejoinder. + </p> + <p> + For an instant that dangerous light gleamed again from his companion's + eye. Then, as before, the lids drooped, and, as before, he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Gentleman!” he mocked. “On my soul, that's good! And what may you know of + gentlemen, Sir Scot? Think you a gentleman is a Jack Presbyter, or a + droning member of your kirk committee, strutting it like a crow in the + gutter? Gadswounds, boy, when I was your age, and George Villiers lived—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have done!” broke in the youth impetuously. “Suffer me to leave you, + Sir Crispin, to your bottle, your croaking, and your memories.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, go your ways, sir; you'd be sorry company for a dead man—the + sorriest ever my evil star led me into. The door is yonder, and should you + chance to break your saintly neck on the stairs, it is like to be well for + both of us.” + </p> + <p> + And with that Sir Crispin Galliard lay back in his chair once more, and + took up the thread of his interrupted song + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But, heigh-o! she cried, at the Christmas-tide, + That dead she would rather be-O! + Pale and wan she crept out of sight, and wept + + 'Tis a sorry— +</pre> + <p> + A loud knock that echoed ominously through the mean chamber, fell in that + instant upon the door. And with it came a panting cry of— + </p> + <p> + “Open, Cris! Open, for the love of God!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Crispin's ballad broke off short, whilst the lad paused in the act of + quitting the room, and turned to look to him for direction. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my master,” quoth Galliard, “for what do you wait?” + </p> + <p> + “To learn your wishes, sir,” was the answer sullenly delivered. + </p> + <p> + “My wishes! Rat me, there's one without whose wishes brook less waiting! + Open, fool!” + </p> + <p> + Thus rudely enjoined, the lad lifted the latch and set wide the door, + which opened immediately upon the street. Into the apartment stumbled a + roughly clad man of huge frame. He was breathing hard, and fear was writ + large upon his rugged face. An instant he paused to close the door after + him, then turning to Galliard, who had risen and who stood eyeing him in + astonishment— + </p> + <p> + “Hide me somewhere, Cris,” he panted—his accent proclaiming his + Irish origin. “My God, hide me, or I'm a dead man this night!” + </p> + <p> + “'Slife, Hogan! What is toward? Has Cromwell overtaken us?” + </p> + <p> + “Cromwell, quotha? Would to Heaven 'twere no worse! I've killed a man!” + </p> + <p> + “If he's dead, why run?” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman made an impatient gesture. + </p> + <p> + “A party of Montgomery's foot is on my heels. They've raised the whole of + Penrith over the affair, and if I'm taken, soul of my body, 'twill be a + short shrift they'll give me. The King will serve me as poor Wrycraft was + served two days ago at Kendal. Mother of Mercy!” he broke off, as his ear + caught the clatter of feet and the murmur of voices from without. “Have + you a hole I can creep into?” + </p> + <p> + “Up those stairs and into my room with you!” said Crispin shortly. “I will + try to head them off. Come, man, stir yourself; they are here.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as with nimble alacrity Hogan obeyed him and slipped from the room, + he turned to the lad, who had been a silent spectator of what had passed. + From the pocket of his threadbare doublet he drew a pack of greasy playing + cards. + </p> + <p> + “To table,” he said laconically. + </p> + <p> + But the boy, comprehending what was required of him, drew back at sight of + those cards as one might shrink from a thing unclean. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” he began. “I'll not defile—” + </p> + <p> + “To table, fool!” thundered Crispin, with a vehemence few men could have + withstood. “Is this a time for Presbyterian scruples? To table, and help a + me play this game, or, by the living God, I'll—” Without completing + his threat he leaned forward until Kenneth felt his hot, wine-laden breath + upon his cheek. Cowed by his words, his gesture, and above all, his + glance, the lad drew up a chair, mumbling in explanation—intended as + an excuse to himself for his weakness—that he submitted since a + man's life was at stake. + </p> + <p> + Opposite him Galliard resumed his seat with a mocking smile that made him + wince. Taking up the cards, he flung a portion of them to the boy, whilst + those he retained he spread fanwise in his hand as if about to play. + Silently Kenneth copied his actions. + </p> + <p> + Nearer and louder grew the sounds of the approach, lights flashed before + the window, and the two men, feigning to play, sat on and waited. + </p> + <p> + “Have a care, Master Stewart,” growled Crispin sourly, then in a louder + voice—for his quick eye had caught a glimpse of a face that watched + them from the window—“I play the King of Spades!” he cried, with + meaning look. + </p> + <p> + A blow was struck upon the door, and with it came the command to “Open in + the King's name!” Softly Sir Crispin rapped out an oath. Then he rose, and + with a last look of warning to Kenneth, he went to open. And as he had + greeted Hogan he now greeted the crowd mainly of soldiers—that + surged about the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Sirs, why this ado? Hath the Sultan Oliver descended upon us?” + </p> + <p> + In one hand he still held his cards, the other he rested upon the edge of + the open door. It was a young ensign who stood forward to answer him. + </p> + <p> + “One of Lord Middleton's officers hath done a man to death not half an + hour agone; he is an Irishman Captain Hogan by name.” + </p> + <p> + “Hogan—Hogan?” repeated Crispin, after the manner of one who fumbles + in his memory. “Ah, yes—an Irishman with a grey head and a hot + temper. And he is dead, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, he has done the killing.” + </p> + <p> + “That I can better understand. 'Tis not the first time, I'll be sworn.” + </p> + <p> + “But it will be the last, Sir Crispin.” + </p> + <p> + “Like enough. The King is severe since we crossed the Border.” Then in a + brisker tone: “I thank you for bringing me this news,” said he, “and I + regret that in my poor house there be naught I can offer you wherein to + drink His Majesty's health ere you proceed upon your search. Give you good + night, sir.” And by drawing back a pace he signified his wish to close the + door and be quit of them. + </p> + <p> + “We thought,” faltered the young officer, “that—that perchance you + would assist us by—” + </p> + <p> + “Assist you!” roared Crispin, with a fine assumption of anger. “Assist you + take a man? Sink me, sir, I would have you know I am a soldier, not a + tipstaff!” + </p> + <p> + The ensign's cheeks grew crimson under the sting of that veiled insult. + </p> + <p> + “There are some, Sir Crispin, that have yet another name for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Like enough—when I am not by,” sneered Crispin. “The world is full + of foul tongues in craven heads. But, sirs, the night air is chill and you + are come inopportunely, for, as you'll perceive, I was at play. Haply + you'll suffer me to close the door.” + </p> + <p> + “A moment, Sir Crispin. We must search this house. He is believed to have + come this way.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin yawned. “I will spare you the trouble. You may take it from me + that he could not be here without my knowledge. I have been in this room + these two hours past.” + </p> + <p> + “Twill not suffice,” returned the officer doggedly. “We must satisfy + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Satisfy yourselves?” echoed the other, in tones of deep amazement. “What + better satisfaction can I afford you than my word? 'Swounds, sir + jackanapes,” he added, in a roar that sent the lieutenant back a pace as + though he had been struck, “am I to take it that your errand is a + trumped-up business to affront me? First you invite me to turn tipstaff, + then you add your cursed innuendoes of what people say of me, and now you + end by doubting me! You must satisfy yourself!” he thundered, waxing + fiercer at every word. “Linger another moment on that threshold, and d——n + me, sir, I'll give you satisfaction of another flavour! Be off!” + </p> + <p> + Before that hurricane of passion the ensign recoiled, despite himself. + </p> + <p> + “I will appeal to General Montgomery,” he threatened. + </p> + <p> + “Appeal to the devil! Had you come hither with your errand in a seemly + fashion you had found my door thrown wide in welcome, and I had received + you courteously. As it is, sir, the cause for complaint is on my side, and + complain I will. We shall see whether the King permits an old soldier who + has followed the fortunes of his family these eighteen years to be flouted + by a malapert bantam of yesterday's brood!” + </p> + <p> + The subaltern paused in dismay. Some demur there was in the gathered + crowd. Then the officer fell back a pace, and consulted an elderly trooper + at his elbow. The trooper was of opinion that the fugitive must have gone + farther. Moreover, he could not think, from what Sir Crispin had said, + that it would have been possible for Hogan to have entered the house. With + this, and realizing that much trouble and possible loss of time must + result from Sir Crispin's obstinacy, did they attempt to force a way into + the house, and bethinking himself, also, maybe, how well this rascally + ruffler stood with Lord Middleton, the ensign determined to withdraw, and + to seek elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + And so he took his leave with a venomous glance, and a parting threat to + bring the matter to the King's ears, upon which Galliard slammed the door + before he had finished. + </p> + <p> + There was a curious smile on Crispin's face as he walked slowly to the + table, and resumed his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Master Stewart,” he whispered, as he spread his cards anew, “the comedy + is not yet played out. There is a face glued to the window at this moment, + and I make little doubt that for the next hour or so we shall be spied + upon. That pretty fellow was born to be a thief-taker.” + </p> + <p> + The boy turned a glance of sour reproof upon his companion. He had not + stirred from his chair while Crispin had been at the door. + </p> + <p> + “You lied to them,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Sh! Not so loud, sweet youth,” was the answer that lost nothing of menace + by being subdued. “Tomorrow, if you please, I will account to you for + offending your delicate soul by suggesting a falsehood in your presence. + To-night we have a man's life to save, and that, I think, is work enough. + Come, Master Stewart, we are being watched. Let us resume our game.” + </p> + <p> + His eye, fixed in cold command upon the boy, compelled obedience. And the + lad, more out of awe of that glance than out of any desire to contribute + to the saving of Hogan, mutely consented to keep up this pretence. But in + his soul he rebelled. He had been reared in an atmosphere of honourable + and religious bigotry. Hogan was to him a coarse ruffler; an evil man of + the sword; such a man as he abhorred and accounted a disgrace to any army—particularly + to an army launched upon England under the auspices of the Solemn League + and Covenant. + </p> + <p> + Hogan had been guilty of an act of brutality; he had killed a man; and + Kenneth deemed himself little better, since he assisted in harbouring + instead of discovering him, as he held to be his duty. But 'neath the + suasion of Galliard's inexorable eye he sat limp and docile, vowing to + himself that on the morrow he would lay the matter before Lord Middleton, + and thus not only endeavour to make amends for his present guilty silence, + but rid himself also of the companionship of this ruffianly Sir Crispin, + to whom no doubt a hempen justice would be meted. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, he sat on and left his companion's occasional sallies + unanswered. In the street men stirred and lanthorns gleamed fitfully, + whilst ever and anon a face surmounted by a morion would be pressed + against the leaded panes of the window. + </p> + <p> + Thus an hour wore itself out during which poor Hogan sat above, alone with + his anxiety and unsavoury thoughts. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. ARCADES AMBO + </h2> + <p> + Towards midnight at last Sir Crispin flung down his cards and rose. It was + close upon an hour and a half since Hogan's advent. In the streets the + sounds had gradually died down, and peace seemed to reign again in + Penrith. Yet was Sir Crispin cautious—for to be cautious and + mistrustful of appearances was the lesson life had taught him. + </p> + <p> + “Master Stewart,” said he, “it grows late, and I doubt me you would be + abed. Give you good night!” + </p> + <p> + The lad rose. A moment he paused, hesitating, then— + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, Sir Crispin—” he began. But Crispin cut him short. + </p> + <p> + “Leave to-morrow till it dawn, my friend. Give you good night. Take one of + those noisome tapers with you, and go.” + </p> + <p> + In sullen silence the boy took up one of the candle-bearing bottles and + passed out through the door leading to the stairs. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Crispin remained standing by the table, and in that moment + the expression of his face was softened. A momentary regret of his + treatment of the boy stirred in him. Master Stewart might be a milksop, + but Crispin accounted him leastways honest, and had a kindness for him in + spite of all. He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide he leaned + out, as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed the refrain + of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance listeners. + </p> + <p> + For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the occasion + to let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were alert for the least + movement among the shadows of the street. Reassured at last that the house + was no longer being watched, he drew back, and closed the lattice. + </p> + <p> + Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his bed, awaiting + him. + </p> + <p> + “Soul of my body!” cried Hogan ruefully, “I was never nearer being afraid + in my life.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale of what + had passed. + </p> + <p> + “Tis simple enough, faith,” said Hogan coolly. “The landlord of The Angel + hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his inn—who owns a + pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a man saw perdition in. She + hath, moreover, a taste for dalliance, and my brave looks and martial + trappings did for her what her bold eyes had done for me. We were becoming + the sweetest friends, when, like an incarnate fiend, that loutish clown, + her lover, sweeps down upon us, and, with more jealousy than wit, struck + me—struck me, Harry Hogan! Soul of my body, think of it, Cris!” And + he grew red with anger at the recollection. “I took him by the collar of + his mean smock and flung him into the kennel—the fittest bed he ever + lay in. Had he remained there it had been well for him; but the fool, + accounting himself affronted, came up to demand satisfaction. I gave it + him, and plague on it—he's dead!” + </p> + <p> + “An ugly tale,” was Crispin's sour comment. + </p> + <p> + “Ugly, maybe,” returned Hogan, spreading out his palms, “but what choice + had I? The fool came at me, bilbo in hand, and I was forced to draw.' + </p> + <p> + “But not to slay, Hogan!” + </p> + <p> + “Twas an accident. Sink me, it was! I sought his sword-arm; but the light + was bad, and my point went through his chest instead.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Crispin stood frowning, then his brow cleared, as though he + had put the matter from him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well—since he's dead, there's an end to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven rest his soul!” muttered the Irishman, crossing himself piously. + And with that he dismissed the subject of the great wrong that through + folly he had wrought—the wanton destruction of a man's life, and the + poisoning of a woman's with a remorse that might be everlasting. + </p> + <p> + “It will tax our wits to get you out of Penrith,” said Crispin. Then, + turning and looking into the Irishman's great, good-humoured face—“I + am sorry you leave us, Hogan,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Not so am I,” quoth Hogan with a shrug. “Such a march as this is little + to my taste. Bah! Charles Stuart or Oliver Cromwell, 'tis all one to me. + What care I whether King or Commonwealth prevail? Shall Harry Hogan be the + better or the richer under one than under the other? Oddslife, Cris, I + have trailed a pike or handled a sword in well-nigh every army in Europe. + I know more of the great art of war than all the King's generals rolled + into one. Think you, then, I can rest content with a miserable company of + horse when plunder is forbidden, and even our beggarly pay doubtful? + Whilst, should things go ill—as well they may, faith, with an army + ruled by parsons—the wage will be a swift death on field or gallows, + or a lingering one in the plantations, as fell to the lot of those poor + wretches Noll drove into England after Dunbar. Soul of my body, it is not + thus that I had looked to fare when I took service at Perth. I had looked + for plunder, rich and plentiful plunder, according to the usages of + warfare, as a fitting reward for a toilsome march and the perils gone + through. + </p> + <p> + “Thus I know war, and for this have I followed the trade these twenty + years. Instead, we have thirty thousand men, marching to battle as prim + and orderly as a parcel of acolytes in a Corpus-Christi procession. 'Twas + not so bad in Scotland haply because the country holds naught a man may + profitably plunder—but since we have crossed the Border, 'slife, + they'll hang you if you steal so much as a kiss from a wench in passing.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, true,” laughed Crispin, “the Second Charles hath an over-tender + stomach. He will not allow that we are marching through an enemy's + country; he insists that England is his kingdom, forgetting that he has + yet to conquer it, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Was it not also his father's kingdom?” broke in the impetuous Hogan. “Yet + times are sorely changed since we followed the fortunes of the Martyr. In + those days you might help yourself to a capon, a horse, a wench, or any + other trifle of the enemy's, without ever a word of censure or a question + asked. Why, man, it is but two days since His Majesty had a poor devil + hanged at Kendal for laying violent hands upon a pullet. Pox on it, Cris, + my gorge rises at the thought! When I saw that wretch strung up, I swore + to fall behind at the earliest opportunity, and to-night's affair makes + this imperative.” + </p> + <p> + “And what may your plans be?” asked Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “War is my trade, not a diversion, as it is with Wilmot and Buckingham and + the other pretty gentlemen of our train. And since the King's army is like + to yield me no profit, faith, I'll turn me to the Parliament's. If I get + out of Penrith with my life, I'll shave my beard and cut my hair to a + comely and godly length; don a cuckoldy steeple hat and a black coat, and + carry my sword to Cromwell with a line of text.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Crispin fell to pondering. Noting this, and imagining that he guessed + aright the reason: + </p> + <p> + “I take it, Cris,” he put in, keenly glancing at the other, “that you are + much of my mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I am,” replied Crispin carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then,” cried Hogan, “need we part company?” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden eagerness in his tone, born of the admiration in which + this rough soldier of fortune held one whom he accounted his better in + that same harsh trade. But Galliard answered coldly: + </p> + <p> + “You forget, Harry.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so! Surely on Cromwell's side your object—” + </p> + <p> + “T'sh! I have well considered. My fortunes are bound up with the King's. + In his victory alone lies profit for me; not the profit of pillage, Hogan, + but the profit of those broad lands that for nigh upon twenty years have + been in usurping hands. The profit I look for, Hogan, is my restoration to + Castle Marleigh, and of this my only hope lies in the restoration of King + Charles. If the King doth not prevail—which God forfend!—why, + then, I can but die. I shall have naught left to hope for from life. So + you see, good Hogan,” he ended with a regretful smile, “my going with you + is not to be dreamed of.” + </p> + <p> + Still the Irishman urged him, and a good half-hour did he devote to it, + but in vain. Realizing at last the futility of his endeavours, he sighed + and moved uneasily in his chair, whilst the broad, tanned face was clouded + with regret. Crispin saw this, and approaching him, he laid a hand upon + his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I had counted upon your help to clear the Ashburns from Castle Marleigh + and to aid me in my grim work when the time is ripe. But if you go—” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, I may aid you yet. Who shall say?” Then of a sudden there crept + into the voice of this hardened pike-trader a note of soft concern. “Think + you there be danger to yourself in remaining?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Danger? To me?” echoed Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “Aye—for having harboured me. That whelp of Montgomery's Foot + suspects you.” + </p> + <p> + “Suspects? Am I a man of straw to be overset by a breath of suspicion?” + </p> + <p> + “There is your lieutenant, Kenneth Stewart.” + </p> + <p> + “Who has been a party to your escape, and whose only course is therefore + silence, lest he set a noose about his own neck. Come, Harry,” he added, + briskly, changing his manner, “the night wears on, and we have your safety + to think of.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan rose with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a horse,” said he, “and by God's grace tomorrow shall find me in + Cromwell's camp. Heaven prosper and reward you, Cris.” + </p> + <p> + “We must find you clothes more fitting than these—a coat more staid + and better attuned to the Puritan part you are to play.” + </p> + <p> + “Where have you such a coat?” + </p> + <p> + “My lieutenant has. He affects the godly black, from a habit taken in that + Presbyterian Scotland of his.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am twice his bulk!” + </p> + <p> + “Better a tight coat to your back than a tight rope to your neck, Harry. + Wait.” + </p> + <p> + Taking a taper, he left the room, to return a moment later with the coat + that Kenneth had worn that day, and which he had abstracted from the + sleeping lad's chamber. + </p> + <p> + “Off with your doublet,” he commanded, and as he spoke he set himself to + empty the pocket of Kenneth's garment; a handkerchief and a few papers he + found in them, and these he tossed carelessly on the bed. Next he assisted + the Irishman to struggle into the stolen coat. + </p> + <p> + “May the Lord forgive my sins,” groaned Hogan, as he felt the cloth + straining upon his back and cramping his limbs. “May He forgive me, and + see me safely out of Penrith and into Cromwell's camp, and never again + will I resent the resentment of a clown whose sweetheart I have made too + free with.” + </p> + <p> + “Pluck that feather from your hat,” said Crispin. + </p> + <p> + Hogan obeyed him with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Truly it is written in Scripture that man in his time plays many parts. + Who would have thought to see Harry Hogan playing the Puritan?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless you improve your acquaintance with Scripture you are not like to + play it long,” laughed Crispin, as he surveyed him. “There, man, you'll do + well enough. Your coat is somewhat tight in the back, somewhat short in + the skirt; but neither so tight nor so short but that it may be preferred + to a winding-sheet, and that is the alternative, Harry.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan replied by roundly cursing the coat and his own lucklessness. That + done—and in no measured terms—he pronounced himself ready to + set out, whereupon Crispin led the way below once more, and out into a hut + that did service as a stable. + </p> + <p> + By the light of a lanthorn he saddled one of the two nags that stood + there, and led it into the yard. Opening the door that abutted on to a + field beyond, he bade Hogan mount. He held his stirrup for him, and + cutting short the Irishman's voluble expressions of gratitude, he gave him + “God speed,” and urged him to use all dispatch in setting as great a + distance as possible betwixt himself and Penrith before the dawn. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE LETTER + </h2> + <p> + It was with a countenance sadly dejected that Crispin returned to his + chamber and sate himself wearily upon the bed. With elbows on his knees + and chin in his palms he stared straight before him, the usual steely + brightness of his grey eyes dulled by the despondency that sat upon his + face and drew deep furrows down his fine brow. + </p> + <p> + With a sigh he rose at last and idly fingered the papers he had taken from + the pocket of Kenneth's coat. As he did so his glance was arrested by the + signature at the foot of one. “Gregory Ashburn” was the name he read. + </p> + <p> + Ashen grew his cheeks as his eyes fastened upon that name, whilst the + hand, to which no peril ever brought a tremor, shook now like an aspen. + Feverishly he spread the letter on his knee, and with a glance, from dull + that it had been, grown of a sudden fierce and cruel, he read the + contents. + </p> + <p> + DEAR KENNETH, + </p> + <p> + Again I write in the hope that I may prevail upon you to quit Scotland and + your attachment to a king, whose fortunes prosper not, nor can prosper. + Cynthia is pining, and if you tarry longer from Castle Marleigh she must + perforce think you but a laggard lover. Than this I have no more powerful + argument wherewith to draw you from Perth to Sheringham, but this I think + should prevail where others have failed me. We await you then, and whilst + we wait we daily drink your health. Cynthia commends herself to your + memory as doth my brother, and soon we hope to welcome you at Castle + Marleigh. Believe, my dear Kenneth, that whilst I am, I am yours in + affection. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + GREGORY ASHBURN +</pre> + <p> + Twice Crispin read the letter through. Then with set teeth and straining + eyes he sat lost in thought. + </p> + <p> + Here indeed was a strange chance! This boy whom he had met at Perth, and + enrolled in his company, was a friend of Ashburn's—the lover of + Cynthia. Who might this Cynthia be? + </p> + <p> + Long and deep were his ponderings upon the unfathomable ways of Fate—for + Fate he now believed was here at work to help him, revealing herself by + means of this sign even at the very moment when he decried his luck. In + memory he reviewed his meeting with the lad in the yard of Perth Castle a + fortnight ago. Something in the boy's bearing, in his air, had caught + Crispin's eye. He had looked him over, then approached, and bluntly asked + his name and on what business he was come there. The youth had answered + him civilly enough that he was Kenneth Stewart of Bailienochy, and that he + was come to offer his sword to the King. Thereupon he had interested + himself in the lad's behalf and had gained him a lieutenancy in his own + company. Why he was attracted to a youth on whom never before had he set + eyes was a matter that puzzled him not a little. Now he held, he thought, + the explanation of it. It was the way of Fate. + </p> + <p> + This boy was sent into his life by a Heaven that at last showed compassion + for the deep wrongs he had suffered; sent him as a key wherewith, should + the need occur, to open him the gates of Castle Marleigh. + </p> + <p> + In long strides he paced the chamber, turning the matter over in his mind. + Aye, he would use the lad should the need arise. Why scruple? Had he ever + received aught but disdain and scorn at the hands of Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + Day was breaking ere he sought his bed, and already the sun was up when at + length he fell into a troubled sleep, vowing that he would mend his wild + ways and seek to gain the boy's favour against the time when he might have + need of him. + </p> + <p> + When later he restored the papers to Kenneth, explaining to what use he + had put the coat, he refrained from questioning him concerning Gregory + Ashburn. The docility of his mood on that occasion came as a surprise to + Kenneth, who set it down to Sir Crispin's desire to conciliate him into + silence touching the harbouring of Hogan. In that same connexion Crispin + showed him calmly and clearly that he could not now inform without + involving himself to an equally dangerous extent. And partly through the + fear of this, partly won over by Crispin's persuasions, the lad determined + to hold his peace. + </p> + <p> + Nor had he cause to regret it thereafter, for throughout that tedious + march he found his roystering companion singularly meek and kindly. Indeed + he seemed a different man. His old swagger and roaring bluster + disappeared; he drank less, diced less, blasphemed less, and stormed less + than in the old days before the halt at Penrith; but rode, a silent, + thoughtful figure, so self-contained and of so godly a mien as would have + rejoiced the heart of the sourest Puritan. The wild tantivy boy had + vanished, and the sobriquet of “Tavern Knight” was fast becoming a + misnomer. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth felt drawn more towards him, deeming him a penitent that had seen + at last the error of his ways. And thus things prevailed until the almost + triumphal entry into the city of Worcester on the twenty-third of August. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. AT THE SIGN OF THE MITRE + </h2> + <p> + For a week after the coming of the King to Worcester, Crispin's relations + with Kenneth steadily improved. By an evil chance, however, there befell + on the eve of the battle that which renewed with heightened intensity the + enmity which the lad had fostered for him, but which lately he had almost + overcome. + </p> + <p> + The scene of this happening—leastways of that which led to it—was + The Mitre Inn, in the High Street of Worcester. + </p> + <p> + In the common-room one day sat as merry a company of carousers as ever + gladdened the soul of an old tantivy boy. Youthful ensigns of Lesley's + Scottish horse—caring never a fig for the Solemn League and Covenant—rubbed + shoulders with beribboned Cavaliers of Lord Talbot's company; gay young + lairds of Pitscottie's Highlanders, unmindful of the Kirk's harsh + commandments of sobriety, sat cheek by jowl with rakehelly officers of + Dalzell's Brigade, and pledged the King in many a stoup of canary and many + a can of stout March ale. + </p> + <p> + On every hand spirits ran high and laughter filled the chamber, the mirth + of some having its source in a neighbour's quip, that of others having no + source at all save in the wine they had taken. + </p> + <p> + At one table sat a gentleman of the name of Faversham, who had ridden on + the previous night in that ill-fated camisado that should have resulted in + the capture of Cromwell at Spetchley, but which, owing to a betrayal—when + was a Stuart not betrayed and sold?—miscarried. He was relating to + the group about him the details of that disaster. + </p> + <p> + “Oddslife, gentlemen,” he was exclaiming, “I tell you that, but for that + roaring dog, Sir Crispin Galliard, the whole of Middleton's regiment had + been cut to pieces. There we stood on Red Hill, trapped as ever fish in a + net, with the whole of Lilburne's men rising out of the ground to enclose + and destroy us. A living wall of steel it was, and on every hand the call + to surrender. There was dismay in my heart, as I'll swear there was dismay + in the heart of every man of us, and I make little doubt, gentlemen, that + with but scant pressing we had thrown down our arms, so disheartened were + we by that ambush. Then of a sudden there arose above the clatter of steel + and Puritan cries, a loud, clear, defiant shout of 'Hey for Cavaliers!'” + </p> + <p> + “I turned, and there in his stirrups stood that madman Galliard, waving + his sword and holding his company together with the power of his will, his + courage, and his voice. The sight of him was like wine to our blood. 'Into + them, gentlemen; follow me!' he roared. And then, with a hurricane of + oaths, he hurled his company against the pike-men. The blow was + irresistible, and above the din of it came that voice of his again: 'Up, + Cavaliers! Slash the cuckolds to ribbons, gentlemen!' The cropears gave + way, and like a river that has burst its dam, we poured through the + opening in their ranks and headed back for Worcester.” + </p> + <p> + There was a roar of voices as Faversham ended, and around that table “The + Tavern Knight” was for some minutes the only toast. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile half a dozen merry-makers at a table hard by, having drunk + themselves out of all sense of fitness, were occupied in baiting a + pale-faced lad, sombrely attired, who seemed sadly out of place in that + wild company—indeed, he had been better advised to have avoided it. + </p> + <p> + The matter had been set afoot by a pleasantry of Ensign Tyler's, of + Massey's dragoons, with a playful allusion to a letter in a feminine hand + which Kenneth had let fall, and which Tyler had restored to him. Quip had + followed quip until in their jests they transcended all bounds. Livid with + passion and unable to endure more, Kenneth had sprung up. + </p> + <p> + “Damnation!” he blazed, bringing his clenched hand down upon the table. + “One more of your foul jests and he that utters it shall answer to me!” + </p> + <p> + The suddenness of his action and the fierceness of his tone and gesture—a + fierceness so grotesquely ill-attuned to his slender frame and clerkly + attire left the company for a moment speechless with amazement. Then a + mighty burst of laughter greeted him, above which sounded the shrill voice + of Tyler, who held his sides, and down whose crimson cheeks two tears of + mirth were trickling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, fie, fie, good Master Stewart!” he gasped. “What think you would the + reverend elders say to this bellicose attitude and this profane tongue of + yours?” + </p> + <p> + “And what think you would the King say to this drunken poltroonery of + yours?” was the hot unguarded answer. “Poltroonery, I say,” he repeated, + embracing the whole company in his glance. + </p> + <p> + The laughter died down as Kenneth's insult penetrated their befuddled + minds. An instant's lull there was, like the lull in nature that precedes + a clap of thunder. Then, as with one accord, a dozen of them bore down + upon him. + </p> + <p> + It was a vile thing they did, perhaps; but then they had drunk deep, and + Kenneth Stewart counted no friend amongst them. In an instant they had + him, kicking and biting, on the floor; his doublet was torn rudely open, + and from his breast Tyler plucked the letter whose existence had led to + this shameless scene. + </p> + <p> + But ere he could so much as unfold it, a voice rang harsh and imperative: + </p> + <p> + “Hold!” + </p> + <p> + Pausing, they turned to confront a tall, gaunt man in a leather jerkin and + a broad hat decked by goose-quill, who came slowly forward. + </p> + <p> + “The Tavern Knight,” cried one, and the shout of “A rouse for the hero of + Red Hill!” was taken up on every hand. For despite his sour visage and + ungracious ways there was not a roysterer in the Royal army to whom he was + not dear. + </p> + <p> + But as he now advanced, the coldness of his bearing and the forbidding set + of his face froze them into silence. + </p> + <p> + “Give me that letter,” he demanded sternly of Tyler. + </p> + <p> + Taken aback, Tyler hesitated for a second, whilst Crispin waited with hand + outstretched. Vainly did he look round for sign or word of help or + counsel. None was afforded him by his fellow-revellers, who one and all + hung back in silence. + </p> + <p> + Seeing himself thus unsupported, and far from wishing to try conclusions + with Galliard, Tyler with an ill grace surrendered the paper; and, with a + pleasant bow and a word of thanks, delivered with never so slight a + saturnine smile, Crispin turned on his heel and left the tavern as + abruptly as he had entered it. + </p> + <p> + The din it was that had attracted him as he passed by on his way to the + Episcopal Palace where a part of his company was on guard duty. Thither he + now pursued his way, bearing with him the letter which so opportunely he + had become possessed of, and which he hoped might throw further light upon + Kenneth's relations with the Ashburns. + </p> + <p> + But as he reached the palace there was a quick step behind him, and a hand + fell upon his arm. He turned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, 'tis you, Kenneth,” he muttered, and would have passed on, but the + boy's hand took him by the sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin,” said he, “I came to thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done nothing to deserve your thanks. Give you good evening.” And + he made shift to mount the steps when again Kenneth detained him. + </p> + <p> + “You are forgetting the letter, Sir Crispin,” he ventured, and he held out + his hand to receive it. + </p> + <p> + Galliard saw the gesture, and for a moment it crossed his mind in + self-reproach that the part he chose to play was that of a bully. A second + he hesitated. Should he surrender the letter unread, and fight on without + the aid of the information it might bring him? Then the thought of Ashburn + and of his own deep wrongs that cried out for vengeance, overcame and + stifled the generous impulse. His manner grew yet more frozen as he made + answer: + </p> + <p> + “There has been too much ado about this letter to warrant my so lightly + parting with it. First I will satisfy myself that I have been no + unconscious abettor of treason. You shall have your letter tomorrow, + Master Stewart.” + </p> + <p> + “Treason!” echoed Kenneth. And before that cold rebuff of Crispin's his + mood changed from conciliatory to resentful—resentful towards the + fates that made him this man's debtor. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, on my honour,” said he, mastering his feelings, “that this + is but a letter from the lady I hope to make my wife. Assuredly, sir, you + will not now insist upon reading it.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly I shall.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “Master Stewart, I am resolved, and were you to talk from now till + doomsday, you would not turn me from my purpose. So good night to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin,” cried the boy, his voice quavering with passion, “while I + live you shall not read that letter!” + </p> + <p> + “Hoity-toity, sir! What words! What heroics! And yet you would have me + believe this paper innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “As innocent as the hand that penned it, and if I so oppose your reading + it, it is because thus much I owe her. Believe me, sir,” he added, his + accents returning to a beseeching key, “when again I swear that it is no + more than such a letter any maid may write her lover. I thought that you + had understood all this when you rescued me from those bullies at The + Mitre. I thought that what you did was a noble and generous deed. Instead—” + The lad paused. + </p> + <p> + “Continue, sir,” Galliard requested coldly. “Instead?” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no instead, Sir Crispin. You will not mar so good an action + now. You will give me my letter, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + Callous though he was, Crispin winced. The breeding of earlier days—so + sadly warped, alas!—cried out within him against the lie that he was + acting by pretending to suspect treason in that woman's pothooks. + Instincts of gentility and generosity long dead took life again, + resuscitated by that call of conscience. He was conquered. + </p> + <p> + “There, take your letter, boy, and plague me no more,” he growled, as he + held it out to Kenneth. And without waiting for reply or acknowledgment, + he turned on his heel, and entered the palace. But he had yielded overlate + to leave a good impression and, as Kenneth turned away, it was with a + curse upon Galliard, for whom his detestation seemed to increase at every + step. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. AFTER WORCESTER FIELD + </h2> + <p> + The morn of the third of September—that date so propitious to + Cromwell, so disastrous to Charles—found Crispin the centre of a + company of gentlemen in battle-harness, assembled at The Mitre Inn. For a + toast he gave them “The damnation of all crop-ears.” + </p> + <p> + “Sirs,” quoth he, “a fair beginning to a fair day. God send the evening + find us as merry.” + </p> + <p> + It was not to be his good fortune, however, to be in the earlier work of + the day. Until afternoon he was kept within the walls of Worcester, + chafing to be where hard knocks were being dealt—with Montgomery at + Powick Bridge, or with Pittscottie on Bunn's Hill. But he was forced to + hold his mood in curb, and wait until Charles and his advisers should + elect to make the general attack. + </p> + <p> + It came at last, and with it came the disastrous news that Montgomery was + routed, and Pittscottie in full retreat, whilst Dalzell had surrendered, + and Keith was taken. Then was it that the main body of the Royal army + formed up at the Sidbury Gate, and Crispin found himself in the centre, + which was commanded by the King in person. In the brilliant charge that + followed there was no more conspicuous figure, no voice rang louder in + encouragement to the men. For the first time that day Cromwell's Ironsides + gave back before the Royalists, who in that fierce, irresistible charge, + swept all before them until they had reached the battery on Perry Wood, + and driven the Roundheads from it hell-to-leather. + </p> + <p> + It was a glorious moment, a moment in which the fortunes of the day hung + in the balance; the turn of the tide it seemed to them at last. + </p> + <p> + Crispin was among the first to reach the guns, and with a great shout of + “Hurrah for Cavaliers!” he had cut down two gunners that yet lingered. His + cry lacked not an echo, and a deafening cheer broke upon the clamorous air + as the Royalists found themselves masters of the position. Up the hill on + either side pressed the Duke of Hamilton and the Earl of Derby to support + the King. It but remained for Lesley's Scottish horse to follow and + complete the rout of the Parliamentarian forces. Had they moved at that + supreme moment who shall say what had been the issue of Worcester field? + But they never stirred, and the Royalists waiting on Perry Wood cursed + Lesley for a foul traitor who had sold his King. + </p> + <p> + With bitterness did they then realize that their great effort was to be + barren, their gallant charge in vain. Unsupported, their position grew + fast untenable. + </p> + <p> + And presently, when Cromwell had gathered his scattered Ironsides, that + gallant host was driven fighting, down the hill and back to the shelter of + Worcester. With the Roundheads pressing hotly upon them they gained at + last the Sidbury Gate, but only to find that an overset ammunition wagon + blocked the entrance. In this plight, and without attempting to move it, + they faced about to make a last stand against the Puritan onslaught. + </p> + <p> + Charles had flung himself from his charger and climbed the obstruction, + and in this he was presently followed by others, amongst whom was Crispin. + </p> + <p> + In the High Street Galliard came upon the King, mounted on a fresh horse, + addressing a Scottish regiment of foot. The soldiers had thrown down their + arms and stood sullenly before him, refusing to obey his command to take + them up again and help him attempt, even at that late hour, to retrieve + the fortunes of the day. Crispin looked on in scorn and loathing. His + passions awakened at the sight of Lesley's inaction needed but this last + breath to fan it into a very blaze of wrath. And what he said to them + touching themselves, their country, and the Kirk Committee that had made + sheep of them, was so bitter and contemptuous that none but men in the + most parlous and pitiable of conditions could have suffered it. + </p> + <p> + He was still hurling vituperations at them when Colonel Pride with a troop + of Parliamentarian horse—having completely overcome the resistance + at the Sidbury Gate—rode into the town. At the news of this, Crispin + made a last appeal to the infantry. + </p> + <p> + “Afoot, you Scottish curs!” he thundered. “Would you rather be cut to + pieces as you stand? Up, you dogs, and since you know not how to live, die + at least without shame!” + </p> + <p> + But in vain did he rail. In sullen quiet they remained, their weapons on + the ground before them. And then, as Crispin was turning away to see to + his own safety, the King rode up again, and again he sought to revive the + courage that was dead in those Scottish hearts. If they would not stand by + him, he cried at last, let them slay him there, sooner than that he should + be taken captive to perish on the scaffold. + </p> + <p> + While he was still urging them, Crispin unceremoniously seized his bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Will you stand here until you are taken, sire?” he cried. “Leave them, + and look to your safety.” + </p> + <p> + Charles turned a wondering eye upon the resolute, battle-grimed face of + the man that thus addressed him. A faint, sad smile parted his lips. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, sir,” he made answer. “Attend me.” And turning about he + rode down a side street with Galliard following closely in his wake. + </p> + <p> + With the intention of doffing his armour and changing his apparel, he made + for the house in New Street where he had been residing. As they drew up + before the door, Crispin, chancing to look over his shoulder, rapped out + an oath. + </p> + <p> + “Hasten, sire,” he exclaimed, “here is a portion of Colonel's Pride's + troop.” + </p> + <p> + The King looked round, and at sight of the Parliamentarians, “It is + ended,” he muttered despairingly. But already Crispin had sprung from his + horse. + </p> + <p> + “Dismount, sire,” he roared, and he assisted him so vigorously as to + appear to drag him out of the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Which way?” demanded Charles, looking helplessly from left to right. + “Which way?” + </p> + <p> + But Crispin's quick mind had already shaped a plan. Seizing the royal arm—for + who in such straits would deal ceremoniously?—he thrust the King + across the threshold, and, following, closed the door and shot its only + bolt. But the shout set up by the Puritans announced to them that their + movement had been detected. + </p> + <p> + The King turned upon Sir Crispin, and in the half-light of the passage + wherein they stood Galliard made out the frown that bent the royal brows. + </p> + <p> + “And now?” demanded Charles, a note almost of reproach in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “And now begone, sire,” returned the knight. “Begone ere they come.” + </p> + <p> + “Begone?” echoed Charles, in amazement. “But whither, sir? Whither and + how?” + </p> + <p> + His last words were almost drowned in the din without, as the Roundheads + pulled up before the house. + </p> + <p> + “By the back, sire,” was the impatient answer. “Through door or window—as + best you can. The back must overlook the Corn-Market; that is your way. + But hasten—in God's name hasten!—ere they bethink them of it + and cut off your retreat.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke a violent blow shook the door. + </p> + <p> + “Quick, Your Majesty,” he implored, in a frenzy. + </p> + <p> + Charles moved to depart, then paused. “But you, sir? Do you not come with + me?” + </p> + <p> + Crispin stamped his foot, and turned a face livid with impatience upon his + King. In that moment all distinction of rank lay forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “I must remain,” he answered, speaking quickly. “That crazy door will not + hold for a second once a stout man sets his shoulder to it. After the door + they will find me, and for your sake I trust I may prove of stouter stuff. + Fare you well, sire,” he ended in a softer tone. “God guard Your Majesty + and send you happier days.” + </p> + <p> + And, bending his knee, Crispin brushed the royal hand with his hot lips. + </p> + <p> + A shower of blows clattered upon the timbers of the door, and one of its + panels was splintered by a musket-shot. Charles saw it, and with a + muttered word that was not caught by Crispin, he obeyed the knight, and + fled. + </p> + <p> + Scarce had he disappeared down that narrow passage, when the door gave way + completely and with a mighty crash fell in. Over the ruins of it sprang a + young Puritan-scarce more than a boy—shouting: “The Lord of Hosts!” + </p> + <p> + But ere he had taken three strides the point of Crispin's tuck-sword gave + him pause. + </p> + <p> + “Halt! You cannot pass this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Back, son of Moab!” was the Roundhead's retort. “Hinder me not, at your + peril.” + </p> + <p> + Behind him, in the doorway, pressed others, who cried out to him to cut + down the Amalekite that stood between them and the young man Charles + Stuart. But Crispin laughed grimly for answer, and kept the officer in + check with his point. + </p> + <p> + “Back, or I cut you down,” threatened the Roundhead. “I am seeking the + malignant Stuart.” + </p> + <p> + “If by those blasphemous words you mean his sacred Majesty, learn that he + is where you will never be—in God's keeping.” + </p> + <p> + “Presumptuous hound,” stormed the lad, “giveway!” + </p> + <p> + Their swords met, and for a moment they ground one against the other; then + Crispin's blade darted out, swift as a lightning flash, and took his + opponent in the throat. + </p> + <p> + “You would have it so, rash fool,” he deprecated. + </p> + <p> + The boy hurtled back into the arms of those behind, and as he fell he + dropped his rapier, which rolled almost to Crispin's feet. The knight + stooped, and when again he stood erect, confronting the rebels in that + narrow passage, he held a sword in either hand. + </p> + <p> + There was a momentary pause in the onslaught, then to his dismay Crispin + saw the barrel of a musket pointed at him over the shoulder of one of his + foremost assailants. He set his teeth for what was to come, and braced + himself with the hope that the King might already have made good his + escape. + </p> + <p> + The end was at hand, he thought, and a fitting end, since his last hope of + redress was gone-destroyed by that fatal day's defeat. + </p> + <p> + But of a sudden a cry rang out in a voice wherein rage and anguish were + blended fearfully, and simultaneously the musket barrel was dashed aside. + </p> + <p> + “Take him alive!” was the cry of that voice. “Take him alive!” It was + Colonel Pride himself, who having pushed his way forward, now beheld the + bleeding body of the youth Crispin had slain. “Take him alive!” roared the + old man. Then his voice changing to one of exquisite agony—“My son, + my boy,” he moaned. + </p> + <p> + At a glance Crispin caught the situation; but the old Puritan's grief left + him unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “You must have me alive?” he laughed grimly. “Gadslife, but the honour is + like to cost you dear. Well, sirs? Who will be next to court the + distinction of dying by the sword of a gentleman?” he mocked them. “Come + on, you sons of dogs!” + </p> + <p> + His answer was an angry growl, and straightway two men sprang forward. + More than two could not attack him at once by virtue of the narrowness of + the passage. Again steel clashed on steel. Crispin—lithe as a + panther crouched low, and took one of their swords on each of his. + </p> + <p> + A disengage and a double he foiled with ease, then by a turn of the wrist + he held for a second one opponent's blade; and before the fellow could + disengage again, he had brought his right-hand sword across, and stabbed + him in the neck. Simultaneously his other opponent had rushed in and + thrust. It was a risk Crispin was forced to take, trusting to his armour + to protect him. It did him the service he hoped from it; the trooper's + sword glanced harmlessly aside, whilst the fellow himself, overbalanced by + the fury of his onslaught, staggered helplessly forward. Ere he could + recover, Crispin had spitted him from side to side betwixt the straps that + held his back and breast together. + </p> + <p> + As the two men went down, one after the other, the watching troopers set + up a shout of rage, and pressed forward in a body. But the Tavern Knight + stood his ground, and his points danced dangerously before the eyes of the + two foremost. Alarmed, they shouted to those behind to give them room to + handle their swords; but too late. Crispin had seen the advantage, and + taken it. Twice he had thrust, and another two sank bleeding to the + ground. + </p> + <p> + At that there came a pause, and somewhere in the street a knot of them + expostulated with Colonel Pride, and begged to be allowed to pick off that + murderous malignant with their pistols. But the grief-stricken father was + obdurate. He would have the Amalekite alive that he might cause him to die + a hundred deaths in one. + </p> + <p> + And so two more were sent in to try conclusions with the indomitable + Galliard. They went to work more warily. He on the left parried Crispin's + stroke, then knocking up the knight's blade, he rushed in and seized his + wrist, shouting to those behind to follow up. But even as he did so, + Crispin sent back his other antagonist, howling and writhing with the pain + of a transfixed sword-arm, and turned his full attention upon the foe that + clung to him. Not a second did he waste in thought. To have done so would + have been fatal. Instinctively he knew that whilst he shortened his blade, + others would rush in; so, turning his wrist, he caught the man a crushing + blow full in the face with the pommel of his disengaged sword. + </p> + <p> + Fulminated by that terrific stroke, the man reeled back into the arms of + another who advanced. + </p> + <p> + Again there fell a pause. Then silently a Roundhead charged Sir Crispin + with a pike. He leapt nimbly aside, and the murderous lunge shot past him; + as he did so he dropped his left-hand sword and caught at the halberd. + Exerting his whole strength in a mighty pull, he brought the fellow that + wielded it toppling forward, and received him on his outstretched blade. + </p> + <p> + Covered with blood—the blood of others—Crispin stood before + them now. He was breathing hard and sweating at every pore, but still grim + and defiant. His strength, he realized, was ebbing fast. Yet he shook + himself, and asked them with a gibing laugh did they not think that they + had better shoot him. + </p> + <p> + The Roundheads paused again. The fight had lasted but a few moments, and + already five of them were stretched upon the ground, and a sixth disabled. + There was something in the Tavern Knight's attitude and terrific, + blood-bespattered appearance that deterred them. From out of his + powder-blackened face his eyes flashed fiercely, and a mocking diabolical + smile played round the corners of his mouth. What manner of man, they + asked themselves, was this who could laugh in such an extremity? + Superstition quickened their alarm as they gazed upon his undaunted front, + and told themselves this was no man they fought against, but the foul + fiend himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sirs,” he mocked them presently. “How long am I to await your + pleasure?” + </p> + <p> + They snarled for answer, yet hung back until Colonel Pride's voice shook + them into action. In a body they charged him now, so suddenly and + violently that he was forced to give way. Cunningly did he ply his sword + before them, but ineffectually. They had adopted fresh tactics, and + engaging his blade they acted cautiously and defensively, advancing + steadily, and compelling him to fall back. + </p> + <p> + Sir Crispin guessed their scheme at last, and vainly did he try to hold + his ground; his retreat slackened perhaps, but it was still a retreat, and + their defensive action gave him no opening. Vainly, yet by every trick of + fence he was master of, did he seek to lure the two foremost into + attacking him; stolidly they pursued the adopted plan, and steadily they + impelled him backward. + </p> + <p> + At last he reached the staircase, and he realized that did he allow + himself to go farther he was lost irretrievably. Yet farther was he + driven; despite the strenuous efforts he put forth, until on his right + there was room for a man to slip on to the stairs and take him in the + flank. Twice one of his opponents essayed it, and twice did Galliard's + deadly point repel him. But at the third attempt the man got through, + another stepped into his place in front, and thus from two, Crispin's + immediate assailants became increased to three. + </p> + <p> + He realized that the end was at hand, and wildly did he lay about him, but + to no purpose. And presently, he who had gained the stairs leaped suddenly + upon him sideways, and clung to his swordarm. Before he could make a move + to shake himself free, the two that faced him had caught at his other arm. + </p> + <p> + Like one possessed he struggled then, for the sheer lust of striving; but + they that held him gripped effectively. + </p> + <p> + Thrice they bore him struggling to the ground, and thrice he rose again + and sought to shake them from him as a bull shakes off a pack of dogs. But + they held fast, and again they forced him down; others sprang to their + aid, and the Tavern Knight could rise no more. + </p> + <p> + “Disarm the dog!” cried Pride. “Disarm and truss him hand and foot.” + </p> + <p> + “Sirs, you need not,” he answered, gasping. “I yield me. Take my sword. + I'll do your bidding.” + </p> + <p> + The fight was fought and lost, but it had been a great Homeric struggle, + and he rejoiced almost that upon so worthy a scene of his life was the + curtain to fall, and again to hope that, thanks to the stand he had made, + the King should have succeeded in effecting his escape. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE + </h2> + <p> + Through the streets of Worcester the Roundheads dragged Sir Crispin, and + for all that he was as hard and callous a man as any that ever buckled on + a cuirass, the horrors that in going he beheld caused him more than once + to shudder. + </p> + <p> + The place was become a shambles, and the very kennels ran with blood. The + Royalist defeat was by now complete, and Cromwell's fanatic butchers + overran the town, vying to outdo one another in savage cruelty and murder. + Houses were being broken into and plundered, and their inmates—resisting + or unresisting; armed or unarmed; men, women and children alike were + pitilessly being put to the sword. Charged was the air of Worcester with + the din of that fierce massacre. The crashing of shivered timbers, as + doors were beaten in, mingled with the clatter and grind of sword on + sword, the crack of musket and pistol, the clank of armour, and the + stamping of men and horses in that troubled hour. + </p> + <p> + And above all rang out the fierce, raucous blasphemy of the slayers, and + the shrieks of agony, the groans, the prayers, and curses of their + victims. + </p> + <p> + All this Sir Crispin saw and heard, and in the misery of it all, he for + the while forgot his own sorry condition, and left unheeded the pike-butt + wherewith the Puritan at his heels was urging him along. + </p> + <p> + They paused at length in a quarter unknown to him before a tolerably large + house. Its doors hung wide, and across the threshold, in and out, moved + two continuous streams of officers and men. + </p> + <p> + A while Crispin and his captors stood in the spacious hall; then they + ushered him roughly into one of the abutting rooms. Here he was brought + face to face with a man of middle height, red and coarse of countenance + and large of nose, who stood fully armed in the centre of the chamber. His + head was uncovered, and on the table at his side stood the morion he had + doffed. He looked up as they entered, and for a few seconds rested his + glance sourly upon the lank, bold-eyed prisoner, who coldly returned his + stare. + </p> + <p> + “Whom have we here?” he inquired at length, his scrutiny having told him + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “One whose offence is too heinous to have earned him a soldier's death, my + lord,” answered Pride. + </p> + <p> + “Therein you lie, you damned rebel!” cried Crispin. “If accuse you must, + announce the truth. Tell Master Cromwell”—for he had guessed the + man's identity—“that single-handed I held my own against you and a + score of you curs, and that not until I had cut down seven of them was I + taken. Tell him that, master psalm-singer, and let him judge whether you + lied or not. Tell him, too, that you, who—” + </p> + <p> + “Have done!” cried Cromwell at length, stamping his foot. “Peace, or I'll + have you gagged. Now, Colonel, let us hear your accusation.” + </p> + <p> + At great length, and with endless interlarding of proverbs did Pride + relate how this impious malignant had been the means of the young man, + Charles Stuart, making good his escape when otherwise he must have fallen + into their hands. He accused him also of the murder of his son and of four + other stout, God-fearing troopers, and urged Cromwell to let him deal with + the malignant as he deserved. + </p> + <p> + The Lord General's answer took expression in a form that was little + puritanical. Then, checking himself: + </p> + <p> + “He is the second they have brought me within ten minutes charged with the + same offence,” said he. “The other one is a young fool who gave Charles + Stuart his horse at Saint Martin's Gate. But for him again the young man + had been taken.” + </p> + <p> + “So he has escaped!” cried Crispin. “Now, God be praised!” + </p> + <p> + Cromwell stared at him blankly for a moment, then: + </p> + <p> + “You will do well, sir,” he muttered sourly, “to address the Lord on your + own behalf. As for that young man of Baal, your master, rejoice not yet in + his escape. By the same crowning mercy in which the Lord hath vouchsafed + us victory to-day shall He also deliver the malignant youth into my hands. + For your share in retarding his capture your life, sir, shall pay forfeit. + You shall hang at daybreak together with that other malignant who assisted + Charles at the Saint Martin's Gate.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall at least hang in good company,” said Crispin pleasantly, “and for + that, sir, I give you thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “You will pass the night with that other fool,” Cromwell continued, + without heeding the interruption, “and I pray that you may spend it in + such meditation as shall fit you for your end. Take him away.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my lord,” exclaimed Pride, advancing. + </p> + <p> + “What now?” + </p> + <p> + Crispin caught not his answer, but his half-whispered words were earnest + and pleading. Cromwell shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot sanction it. Let it satisfy you that he dies. I condole with you + in your bereavement, but it is the fortune of war. Let the thought that + your son died in a godly cause be of comfort to you. Bear in mind, Colonel + Pride, that Abraham hesitated not to offer up his child to the Lord. And + so, fare you well.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pride's face worked oddly, and his eyes rested for a second upon + the stern, unmoved figure of the Tavern Knight in malice and + vindictiveness. Then, shrugging his shoulders in token of unwilling + resignation, he withdrew, whilst Crispin was led out. + </p> + <p> + In the hall again they kept him waiting for some moments, until at length + an officer came up, and bidding him follow, led the way to the guardroom. + Here they stripped him of his back-and-breast, and when that was done the + officer again led the way, and Crispin followed between two troopers. They + made him mount three flights of stairs, and hurried him along a passage to + a door by which a soldier stood mounting guard. At a word from the officer + the sentry turned, and unfastening the heavy bolts, he opened the door. + Roughly the officer bade Sir Crispin enter, and stood aside that he might + pass. + </p> + <p> + Crispin obeyed him silently, and crossed the threshold to find himself + within a mean, gloomy chamber, and to hear the heavy door closed and made + fast again behind him. His stout heart sank a little as he realized that + that closed door shut out to him the world for ever; but once again would + he cross that threshold, and that would be the preface to the crossing of + the greater threshold of eternity. + </p> + <p> + Then something stirred in one of that room's dark corners, and he started, + to see that he was not alone, remembering that Cromwell had said he was to + have a companion in his last hours. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” came a dull voice—a voice that was eloquent of + misery. + </p> + <p> + “Master Stewart!” he exclaimed, recognizing his companion. “So it was you + gave the King your horse at the Saint Martin's Gate! May Heaven reward + you. Gadswounds,” he added, “I had little thought to meet you again this + side the grave.” + </p> + <p> + “Would to Heaven you had not!” was the doleful answer. “What make you + here?” + </p> + <p> + “By your good leave and with your help I'll make as merry as a man may + whose sands are all but run. The Lord General—whom the devil roast + in his time will make a pendulum of me at daybreak, and gives me the night + in which to prepare.” + </p> + <p> + The lad came forward into the light, and eyed Sir Crispin sorrowfully. + </p> + <p> + “We are companions in misfortune, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Were we ever companions in aught else? Come, sir, be of better cheer. + Since it is to be our last night in this poor world, let us spend it as + pleasantly as may be.” + </p> + <p> + “Pleasantly?” + </p> + <p> + “Twill clearly be difficult,” answered Crispin, with a laugh. “Were we in + Christian hands they'd not deny us a black jack over which to relish our + last jest, and to warm us against the night air, which must be chill in + this garret. But these crop-ears...” He paused to peer into the pitcher on + the table. “Water! Pah! A scurvy lot, these psalm-mongers!” + </p> + <p> + “Merciful Heaven! Have you no thought for your end?” + </p> + <p> + “Every thought, good youth, every thought, and I would fain prepare me for + the morning's dance in a more jovial and hearty fashion than Old Noll will + afford me—damn him!” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth drew back in horror. His old dislike for Crispin was all aroused + by this indecent flippancy at such a time. Just then the thought of + spending the night in his company almost effaced the horror of the gallows + whereof he had been a prey. + </p> + <p> + Noting the movement, Crispin laughed disdainfully, and walked towards the + window. It was a small opening, by which two iron bars, set crosswise, + defied escape. Moreover, as Crispin looked out, he realized that a more + effective barrier lay in the height of the window itself. The house + overlooked the river on that side; it was built upon an embankment some + thirty feet high; around this, at the base of the edifice, and some forty + feet below the window, ran a narrow pathway protected by an iron railing. + But so narrow was it, that had a man sprung from the casement of Crispin's + prison, it was odds he would have fallen into the river some seventy feet + below. Crispin turned away with a sigh. He had approached the window + almost in hope; he quitted it in absolute despair. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well,” said he, “we will hang, and there's the end of it.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth had resumed his seat in the corner, and, wrapped in his cloak, he + sat steeped in meditation, his comely young face seared with lines of + pain. As Crispin looked upon him then, his heart softened and went out to + the lad—went out as it had done on the night when first he had + beheld him in the courtyard of Perth Castle. + </p> + <p> + He recalled the details of that meeting; he remembered the sympathy that + had drawn him to the boy, and how Kenneth had at first appeared to + reciprocate that feeling, until he came to know him for the rakehelly, + godless ruffler that he was. He thought of the gulf that gradually had + opened up between them. The lad was righteous and God-fearing, truthful + and sober, filled with stern ideals by which he sought to shape his life. + He had taxed Crispin with his dissoluteness, and Crispin, despising him + for a milksop, had returned to his disgust with mockery, and had found a + fiendish pleasure in arousing that disgust at every turn. + </p> + <p> + To-night, as Crispin eyed the youth, and remembered that at dawn he was to + die in his company, he realized that he had used him ill, that his + behaviour towards him had been that of the dissolute ruffler he was + become, rather than of the gentleman he had once accounted himself. + </p> + <p> + “Kenneth,” he said at length, and his voice bore so unusually mild a ring + that the lad looked up in surprise. “I have heard tell that it is no + uncommon thing for men upon the threshold of eternity to seek to repair + some of the evil they may have done in life.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth shuddered. Crispin's words reminded him again of his approaching + end. The ruffler paused a moment, as if awaiting a reply or a word of + encouragement. Then, as none came, he continued: + </p> + <p> + “I am not one of your repentant sinners, Kenneth. I have lived my life—God, + what a life!—and as I have lived I shall die, unflinching and + unchanged. Dare one to presume that a few hours spent in whining prayers + shall atone for years of reckless dissoluteness? 'Tis a doctrine of + cravens, who, having lacked in life the strength to live as conscience + bade them, lack in death the courage to stand by that life's deeds. I am + no such traitor to myself. If my life has been vile my temptations have + been sore, and the rest is in God's hands. But in my course I have sinned + against many men; many a tall fellow's life have I wantonly wrecked; some, + indeed, I have even taken in wantonness or anger. They are not by, nor, + were they, could I now make amends. But you at least are here, and what + little reparation may lie in asking pardon I can make. When I first saw + you at Perth it was my wish to make you my friend—a feeling I have + not had these twenty years towards any man. I failed. How else could it + have been? The dove may not nest with the carrion bird.” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, sir,” cried Kenneth, genuinely moved, and still more amazed + by this curious humility in one whom he had never known other than + arrogant and mocking. “I beseech you, say no more. For what trifling + wrongs you may have done me I forgive you as freely as I would be + forgiven. Is it not written that it shall be so?” And he held out his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “A little more I must say, Kenneth,” answered the other, leaving the + outstretched hand unheeded. “The feeling that was born in me towards you + at Perth Castle is on me again. I seek not to account for it. Perchance it + springs from my recognition of the difference betwixt us; perchance I see + in you a reflection of what once I was myself—honourable and true. + But let that be. The sun is setting over yonder, and you and I will behold + it no more. That to me is a small thing. I am weary. Hope is dead; and + when that is dead what does it signify that the body die also? Yet in + these last hours that we shall spend together I would at least have your + esteem. I would have you forget my past harshness and the wrongs that I + may have done you down to that miserable affair of your sweetheart's + letter, yesterday. I would have you realize that if I am vile, I am but + such as a vile world hath made me. And tomorrow when we go forth together, + I would have you see in me at least a man in whose company you are not + ashamed to die.” + </p> + <p> + Again the lad shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you my story, Kenneth? I have a strong desire to go over + this poor life of mine again in memory, and by giving my thoughts + utterance it may be that they will take more vivid shape. For the rest my + tale may wile away a little of the time that's left, and when you have + heard me you shall judge me, Kenneth. What say you?” + </p> + <p> + Despite the parlous condition whereunto the fear of the morrow had reduced + him, this new tone of Galliard's so wrought upon him then that he was + almost eager in his request that Sir Crispin should unfold his story. And + this the Tavern Knight then set himself to do. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY + </h2> + <p> + Sir Crispin walked from the window by which he had been standing, to the + rough bed, and flung himself full length upon it. The only chair that + dismal room contained was occupied by Kenneth. Galliard heaved a sigh of + physical satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Fore George, I knew not I was so tired,” he murmured. And with that he + lapsed for some moments into silence, his brows contracted in the frown of + one who collects his thoughts. At length he began, speaking in calm, + unemotional tones that held perchance deeper pathos than a more passionate + utterance could have endowed them with: + </p> + <p> + “Long ago—twenty years ago—I was, as I have said, an + honourable lad, to whom the world was a fair garden, a place of rosebuds, + fragrant with hope. Those, Kenneth, were my illusions. They are the + illusions of youth; they are youth itself, for when our illusions are gone + we are no longer young no matter what years we count. Keep your illusions, + Kenneth; treasure them, hoard them jealously for as long as you may.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare swear, sir,” answered the lad, with bitter humour, “that such + illusions as I have I shall treasure all my life. You forget, Sir + Crispin.” + </p> + <p> + “'Slife, I had indeed forgotten. For the moment I had gone back twenty + years, and to-morrow was none so near.” He laughed softly, as though his + lapse of memory amused him. Then he resumed: + </p> + <p> + “I was the only son, Kenneth, of the noblest gentleman that ever lived—the + heir to an ancient, honoured name, and to a castle as proud and lands as + fair and broad as any in England. + </p> + <p> + “They lie who say that from the dawn we may foretell the day. Never was + there a brighter dawn than that of my life; never a day so wasted; never + an evening so dark. But let that be. + </p> + <p> + “Our lands were touched upon the northern side by those of a house with + which we had been at feud for two hundred years and more. Puritans they + were, stern and haughty in their ungodly righteousness. They held us + dissolute because we enjoyed the life that God had given us, and there I + am told the hatred first began. + </p> + <p> + “When I was a lad of your years, Kenneth, the hall—ours was the + castle, theirs the hall—was occupied by two young sparks who made + little shift to keep up the pious reputation of their house. They dwelt + there with their mother—a woman too weak to check their ways, and + holding, mayhap, herself, views not altogether puritanical. They discarded + the sober black their forbears had worn for generations, and donned gay + Cavalier garments. They let their love-locks grow; set plumes in their + castors and jewels in their ears; they drank deep, ruffled it with the + boldest and decked their utterance with great oaths—for to none doth + blasphemy come more readily than to lips that in youth have been overmuch + shaped in unwilling prayer. + </p> + <p> + “Me they avoided as they would a plague, and when at times we met, our + salutations were grave as those of, men on the point of crossing swords. I + despised them for their coarse, ruffling apostasy more than ever my father + had despised their father for a bigot, and they guessing or knowing by + instinct what was in my mind held me in deeper rancour even than their + ancestors had done mine. And more galling still and yet a sharper spur to + their hatred did those whelps find in the realization that all the + countryside held, as it had held for ages, us to be their betters. A hard + blow to their pride was that, but their revenge was not long in coming. + </p> + <p> + “It chanced they had a cousin—a maid as sweet and fair and pure as + they were hideous and foul. We met in the meads—she and I. Spring + was the time—God! It seems but yesterday!—and each in our + bearing towards the other forgot the traditions of the names we bore. And + as at first we had met by chance, so did we meet later by contrivance, not + once or twice, but many times. God, how sweet she was! How sweet was all + the world! How sweet it was to live and to be young! We loved. How else + could it have been? What to us were traditions, what to us the hatred that + for centuries had held our families asunder? In us it lay to set aside all + that. + </p> + <p> + “And so I sought my father. He cursed me at first for an unnatural son who + left unheeded the dictates of our blood. But anon, when on my knees I had + urged my cause with all the eloquent fervour that is but of youth—youth + that loves—my father cursed no more. His thoughts went back maybe to + the days of his own youth, and he bade me rise and go a-wooing as I + listed. Nay, more than that he did. The first of our name was he out of + ten generations to set foot across the threshold of the hall; he went on + my behalf to sue for their cousin's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Then was their hour. To them that had been taught the humiliating lesson + that we were their betters, one of us came suing. They from whom the + countryside looked for silence when one of us spoke, had it in their hands + at length to say us nay. And they said it. What answer my father made + them, Kenneth, I know not, but very white was his face when I met him on + the castle steps on his return. In burning words he told me of the insult + they had put upon him, then silently he pointed to the Toledo that two + years before he had brought me out of Spain, and left me. But I had + understood. Softly I unsheathed that virgin blade and read the Spanish + inscription, that through my tears of rage and shame seemed blurred; a + proud inscription was it, instinct with the punctilio of proud Spain—'Draw + me not without motive, sheathe me not without honour.' Motive there was + and to spare; honour I swore there should be; and with that oath, and that + brave sword girt to me, I set out to my first combat.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Crispin paused and a sigh escaped him, followed by a laugh of + bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “I lost that sword years ago,” said he musingly. “The sword and I have + been close friends in life, but my companion has been a blade of coarser + make, carrying no inscriptions to prick at a man's conscience and make a + craven of him.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again, and again he fell a-musing, till Kenneth's voice aroused + him. + </p> + <p> + “Your story, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Twilight shadows were gathering in their garret, and as he turned his face + towards the youth, he was unable to make out his features; but his tone + had been eager, and Crispin noted that he sat with head bent forward and + that his eyes shone feverishly. + </p> + <p> + “It interests you, eh? Ah, well—hot foot I went to the hall, and + with burning words I called upon those dogs to render satisfaction for the + dishonour they had put upon my house. Will you believe, Kenneth, that they + denied me? They sheltered their craven lives behind a shield of mock + valour. They would not fight a boy, they said, and bade me get my beard + grown when haply they would give ear to my grievance. + </p> + <p> + “And so, a shame and rage a hundredfold more bitter than that which I had + borne thither did I carry thence. My father bade me treasure up the memory + of it against the time when my riper years should compel them to attend + me, and this, by my every hope of heaven, I swore to do. He bade me + further efface for ever from my mind all thought or hope of union with + their cousin, and though I made him no answer at the time, yet in my heart + I promised to obey him in that, too. But I was young—scarce twenty. + A week without sight of my mistress and I grew sick with despair. Then at + length I came upon her, pale and tearful, one evening, and in an agony of + passion and hopelessness I flung myself at her feet, and implored her to + keep true to me and wait, and she, poor maid, to her undoing swore that + she would. You are yourself a lover, Kenneth, and you may guess something + of the impatience that anon beset me. How could I wait? I asked her this. + </p> + <p> + “Some fifty miles from the castle there was a little farm, in the very + heart of the country, which had been left me by a sister of my mother's. + Thither I now implored her to repair with me. I would find a priest to wed + us, and there we should live a while in happiness, in solitude, and in + love. An alluring picture did I draw with all a lover's cunning, and to + the charms of it she fell a victim. We fled three days later. + </p> + <p> + “We were wed in the village that pays allegiance to the castle, and + thereafter we travelled swiftly and undisturbed to that little homestead. + There in solitude, with but two servants—a man and a maid whom I + could trust—we lived and loved, and for a season, brief as all + happiness is doomed to be, we were happy. Her cousins had no knowledge of + that farm of mine, and though they searched the country for many a mile + around, they searched in vain. My father knew—as I learned + afterwards—but deeming that what was done might not be undone, he + held his peace. In the following spring a babe was born to us, and our + bliss made heaven of that cottage. + </p> + <p> + “Twas a month or so after the birth of our child that the blow descended. + I was away, enjoying alone the pleasures of the chase; my man was gone a + journey to the nearest town, whence he would not return until the morrow. + Oft have I cursed the folly that led me to take my gun and go forth into + the woods, leaving no protector for my wife but one weak woman. + </p> + <p> + “I returned earlier than I had thought to do, led mayhap by some angel + that sought to have me back in time. But I came too late. At my gate I + found two freshly ridden horses tethered, and it was with a dull + foreboding in my heart that I sprang through the open door. Within—O + God, the anguish of it!—stretched on the floor I beheld my love, a + gaping sword-wound in her side, and the ground all bloody about her. For a + moment I stood dumb in the spell of that horror, then a movement beyond, + against the wall, aroused me, and I beheld her murderers cowering there, + one with a naked sword in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “In that fell hour, Kenneth, my whole nature changed, and one who had ever + been gentle was transformed into the violent, passionate man that you have + known. As my eye encountered then her cousins, my blood seemed on the + instant curdled in my veins; my teeth were set hard; my nerves and sinews + knotted; my hands instinctively shifted to the barrel of my fowling-piece + and clutched it with the fierceness that was in me—the fierceness of + the beast about to spring upon those that have brought it to bay. + </p> + <p> + “For a moment I stood swaying there, my eyes upon them, and holding their + craven glances fascinated. Then with a roar I leapt forward, the stock of + my fowling-piece swung high above my head. And, as God lives, Kenneth, I + had sent them straight to hell ere they could have raised a hand or made a + cry to stay me. But as I sprang my foot slipped in the blood of my + beloved, and in my fall I came close to her where she lay. The + fowling-piece had escaped my grasp and crashed against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “I scarce knew what I did, but as I lay beside her it came to me that I + did not wish to rise again—that already I had lived overlong. It + came to me that, seeing me fallen, haply those cowards would seize the + chance to make an end of me as I lay. I wished it so in that moment's + frenzy, for I made no attempt to rise or to defend myself; instead I set + my arms about my poor murdered love, and against her cold cheek I set my + face that was well-nigh as cold. + </p> + <p> + “And thus I lay, nor did they keep me long. A sword was passed through me + from back to breast, whilst he who did it cursed me with a foul oath. The + room grew dim; methought it swayed and that the walls were tottering; + there was a buzz of sound in my ears, then a piercing cry in a baby voice. + At the sound of it I vaguely wished for the strength to rise. As in the + distance, I heard one of those butchers cry, “Haste, man; slit me that + squalling bastard's throat!” And then I must have swooned.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “My God, how horrible!” he cried. “But you were avenged, Sir Crispin,” he + added eagerly; “you were avenged?” + </p> + <p> + “When I regained consciousness,” Crispin continued, as if he had not heard + Kenneth's exclamation, “the cottage was in flames, set alight by them to + burn the evidence of their foul deed. What I did I know not. I have tried + to urge my memory along from the point of my awakening, but in vain. By + what miracle I crawled forth, I cannot tell; but in the morning I was + found by my man lying prone in the garden, half a dozen paces from the + blackened ruins of the cottage, as near death as man may go and live. + </p> + <p> + “God willed that I should not die, but it was close upon a year before I + was restored to any semblance of my former self, and then I was so changed + that I was hardly to be recognized as that same joyous, vigorous lad, who + had set out, fowling-piece on shoulder, one fine morning a year agone. + There was grey in my hair, as much as there is now, though I was but + twenty-one; my face was seared and marked as that of a man who had lived + twice my years. It was to my faithful servant that I owed my life, though + I ask myself to-night whether I have cause for gratitude towards him on + that score. + </p> + <p> + “So soon as I had regained sufficient strength, I went secretly home, + wishing that men might continue to believe me dead. My father I found much + aged by grief, but he was kind and tender with me beyond all words. From + him I had it that our enemies were gone to France; it would seem they had + thought it better to remain absent for a while. He had learnt that they + were in Paris, and hither I determined forthwith to follow them. Vainly + did my father remonstrate with me; vainly did he urge me rather: to bear + my story to the King at Whitehall and seek for justice. I had been well + advised had I obeyed this counsel, but I burned to take my vengeance with + my own hands, and with this purpose I repaired to France. + </p> + <p> + “Two nights after my arrival in Paris it was my ill-fortune to be + embroiled in a rough-and-tumble in the streets, and by an ill-chance I + killed a man—the first was he of several that I have sent whither I + am going to-morrow. The affair was like to have cost me my life, but by + another of those miracles which have prolonged it, I was sent instead to + the galleys on the Mediterranean. It was only wanting that, after all that + already I had endured, I should become a galley-slave! + </p> + <p> + “For twelve long years I toiled at an oar, and waited. If I lived I would + return to England; and if I returned, woe unto those that had wrecked my + life—my body and my soul. I did live, and I did return. The Civil + War had broken out, and I came to throw my sword into the balance on the + King's side: I came, too, to be avenged, but that would wait. + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile, the score had grown heavier. I went home to find the castle in + usurping hands—in the hands of my enemies. My father was dead; he + died a few months after I had gone to France; and those murderers had + advanced a claim that through my marriage with their cousin, since dead, + and through my own death, there being no next of kin, they were the + heirs-at-law. The Parliament allowed their claim, and they were installed. + But when I came they were away, following the fortunes of the Parliament + that had served them so well. And so I determined to let my vengeance wait + until the war were ended and the Parliament destroyed. In a hundred + engagements did I distinguish myself by my recklessness even as at other + seasons I distinguished myself by my debaucheries. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Kenneth, you have been hard upon me for my vices, for my abuses of + the cup, and all the rest. But can you be hard upon me still, knowing what + I had suffered, and what a weight of misery I bore with me? I, whose life + was wrecked beyond salvation; who only lived that I might slit the throats + of those that had so irreparably wronged me. Think you still that it was + so vicious a thing, so unpardonable an offence to seek the blessed + nepenthe of the wine-cup, the heavenly forgetfulness that its abuses + brought me? Is it strange that I became known as the wildest tantivy boy + that rode with the King? What else had I?” + </p> + <p> + “In all truth your trials were sore,” said the lad in a voice that + contained a note of sympathy. And yet there was a certain restraint that + caught the Tavern Knight's ear. He turned his head and bent his eyes in + the lad's direction, but it was quite dark by now, and he failed to make + out his companion's face. + </p> + <p> + “My tale is told, Kenneth. The rest you can guess. The King did not + prevail and I was forced to fly from England with those others who escaped + from the butchers that had made a martyr of Charles. I took service in + France under the great Conde, and I saw some mighty battles. At length + came the council of Breda and the invitation to Charles the Second to + receive the crown of Scotland. I set out again to follow his fortunes as I + had followed his father's, realizing that by so doing I followed my own, + and that did he prevail I should have the redress and vengeance so long + awaited. To-day has dashed my last hope; to-morrow at this hour it will + not signify. And yet much would I give to have my fingers on the throats + of those two hounds before the hangman's close around my own.” + </p> + <p> + There was a spell of silence as the two men sat, both breathing heavily in + the gloom that enveloped them. At length: + </p> + <p> + “You have heard my story, Kenneth,” said Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard, Sir Crispin, and God knows I pity you.” + </p> + <p> + That was all, and Galliard felt that it was not enough. He had lacerated + his soul with those grim memories to earn a yet kinder word. He had looked + even to hear the lad suing for pardon for the harsh opinions wherein he + had held him. Strange was this yearning of his for the boy's sympathy. He + who for twenty years had gone unloving and unloved, sought now in his + extremity affection from a fellow-man. + </p> + <p> + And so in the gloom he waited for a kinder word that came not; then—so + urgent was his need—he set himself to beg it. + </p> + <p> + “Can you not understand now, Kenneth, how I came to fall so low? Can you + not understand this dissoluteness of mine, which led them to dub me the + Tavern Knight after the King conferred upon me the honour of knighthood + for that stand of mine in Fifeshire? You must understand, Kenneth,” he + insisted almost piteously, “and knowing all, you must judge me more + mercifully than hitherto.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not mine to judge, Sir Crispin. I pity you with all my heart,” the + lad replied, not ungently. + </p> + <p> + Still the knight was dissatisfied. “Yours it is to judge as every man may + judge his fellowman. You mean it is not yours to sentence. But if yours it + were, Kenneth, what then?” + </p> + <p> + The lad paused a moment ere he answered. His bigoted Presbyterian training + was strong within him, and although, as he said, he pitied Galliard, yet + to him whose mind was stuffed with life's precepts, and who knew naught of + the trials it brings to some and the temptations to which they were not + human did they not succumb—it seemed that vice was not to be excused + by misfortune. Out of mercy then he paused, and for a moment he had it + even in his mind to cheer his fellow-captive with a lie. Then, remembering + that he was to die upon the morrow, and that at such a time it was not + well to risk the perdition of his soul by an untruth, however merciful, he + answered slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Were I to judge you, since you ask me, sir, I should be merciful because + of your misfortunes. And yet, Sir Crispin, your profligacy and the evil + you have wrought in life must weigh heavily against you.” Had this + immaculate bigot, this churlish milksop been as candid with himself as he + was with Crispin, he must have recognized that it was mainly Crispin's + offences towards himself that his mind now dwelt on in deeper rancour than + became one so well acquainted with the Lord's Prayer. + </p> + <p> + “You had not cause enough,” he added impressively, “to defile your soul + and risk its eternal damnation because the evil of others had wrecked your + life.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin drew breath with the sharp hiss of one in pain, and for a moment + after all was still. Then a bitter laugh broke from him. + </p> + <p> + “Bravely answered, reverend sir,” he cried with biting scorn. “I marvel + only that you left your pulpit to gird on a sword; that you doffed your + cassock to don a cuirass. Here is a text for you who deal in texts, my + brave Jack Presbyter—'Judge you your neighbour as you would yourself + be judged; be merciful as you would hope for mercy.' Chew you the cud of + that until the hangman's coming in the morning. Good night to you.” + </p> + <p> + And throwing himself back upon the bed, Crispin sought comfort in sleep. + His limbs were heavy and his heart was sick. + </p> + <p> + “You misapprehend me, Sir Crispin,” cried the lad, stung almost to shame + by Galliard's reproach, and also mayhap into some fear that hereafter he + should find little mercy for his own lack of it towards a poor + fellow-sinner. “I spoke not as I would judge, but as the Church teaches.” + </p> + <p> + “If the Church teaches no better I rejoice that I was no churchman,” + grunted Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “For myself,” the lad pursued, heeding not the irreverent interruption, + “as I have said, I pity you with all my heart. More than that, so deeply + do I feel, so great a loathing and indignation has your story sown in my + heart, that were our liberty now restored us I would willingly join hands + with you in wreaking vengeance on these evildoers.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Crispin laughed. He judged the tone rather than the words, and it rang + hollow. + </p> + <p> + “Where are your wits, O casuist?” he cried mockingly. “Where are your + doctrines? 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!' Pah!” + </p> + <p> + And with that final ejaculation, pregnant with contempt and bitterness, he + composed himself to sleep. + </p> + <p> + He was accursed he told himself. He must die alone, as he had lived. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE TWISTED BAR + </h2> + <p> + Nature asserted herself, and, despite his condition, Crispin slept. + Kenneth sat huddled on his chair, and in awe and amazement he listened to + his companion's regular breathing. He had not Galliard's nerves nor + Galliard's indifference to death, so that neither could he follow his + example, nor yet so much as realize how one should slumber upon the very + brink of eternity. + </p> + <p> + For a moment his wonder stood perilously near to admiration; then his + religious training swayed him, and his righteousness almost drew from him + a contempt of this man's apathy. There was much of the Pharisee's attitude + towards the publican in his mood. + </p> + <p> + Anon that regular breathing grew irritating to him; it drew so marked a + contrast 'twixt Crispin's frame of mind and his own. Whilst Crispin had + related his story, the interest it awakened had served to banish the + spectre of fear which the thought of the morrow conjured up. Now that + Crispin was silent and asleep, that spectre returned, and the lad grew + numb and sick with the horror of his position. + </p> + <p> + Thought followed thought as he sat huddled there with sunken head and + hands clasped tight between his knees, and they were mostly of his dull + uneventful days in Scotland, and ever and anon of Cynthia, his beloved. + Would she hear of his end? Would she weep for him?—as though it + mattered! And every train of thought that he embarked upon brought him to + the same issue—to-morrow! Shuddering he would clench his hands still + tighter, and the perspiration would stand' out in beads upon his callow + brow. + </p> + <p> + At length he flung himself upon his knees to address not so much a prayer + as a maudlin grievance to his Creator. He felt himself a craven—doubly + so by virtue of the peaceful breathing of that sinner he despised—and + he told himself that it was not in fear a gentleman should meet his end. + </p> + <p> + “But I shall be brave to-morrow. I shall be brave,” he muttered, and knew + not that it was vanity begat the thought, and vanity that might uphold him + on the morrow when there were others by, however broken might be his + spirit now. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Crispin slept. When he awakened the light of a lanthorn was on + his face, and holding it stood beside him a tall black figure in a cloak + and a slouched hat whose broad brim left the features unrevealed. + </p> + <p> + Still half asleep, and blinking like an owl, he sat up. + </p> + <p> + “I have always held burnt sack to be well enough, but—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short, fully awake at last, and, suddenly remembering his + condition and thinking they were come for him, he drew a sharp breath and + in a voice as indifferent as he could make it: + </p> + <p> + “What's o'clock?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Past midnight, miserable wretch,” was the answer delivered in a deep + droning voice. “Hast entered upon thy last day of life—a day whose + sun thou'lt never see. But five hours more are left thee.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is to tell me this that you have awakened me?” demanded Galliard + in such a voice that he of the cloak recoiled a step, as if he thought a + blow must follow. “Out on you for an unmannerly cur to break upon a + gentleman's repose.” + </p> + <p> + “I come,” returned the other in his droning voice, “to call upon thee to + repent.” + </p> + <p> + “Plague me not,” answered Crispin, with a yawn. “I would sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Soundly enough shalt thou sleep in a few hours' time. Bethink thee, + miserable sinner, of thy soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” cried the Tavern Knight, “I am a man of marvellous short endurance. + But mark you this your ways to heaven are not my ways. Indeed, if heaven + be peopled by such croaking things as you, I shall be thankful to escape + it. So go, my friend, ere I become discourteous.” + </p> + <p> + The minister stood in silence for a moment; then setting his lanthorn upon + the table, he raised his hands and eyes towards the low ceiling of the + chamber. + </p> + <p> + “Vouchsafe, O Lord,” he prayed, “to touch yet the callous heart of this + obdurate, incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjured and blasphemous + malignant, whose—” + </p> + <p> + He got no further. Crispin was upon his feet, his harsh countenance thrust + into the very face of the minister; his eyes ablaze. + </p> + <p> + “Out!” he thundered, pointing to the door. “Out! Begone! I would not be + guilty at the end of my life of striking a man in petticoats. But go + whilst I can bethink me of it! Go—take your prayers to hell.” + </p> + <p> + The minister fell back before that blaze of passion. For a second he + appeared to hesitate, then he turned towards Kenneth, who stood behind in + silence. But the lad's Presbyterian rearing had taught him to hate a + sectarian as he would a papist or as he would the devil, and he did no + more than echo Galliard's words—though in a gentler key. + </p> + <p> + “I pray you go,” he said. “But if you would perform an act of charity, + leave your lanthorn. It will be dark enough hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + The minister looked keenly at the boy, and won over by the humility of his + tone, he set the lanthorn on the table. Then moving towards the door, he + stopped and addressed himself to Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “I go since you oppose with violence my ministrations. But I shall pray + for you, and I will return anon, when perchance your heart shall be + softened by the near imminence of your end.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” quoth Crispin wearily, “you would outtalk a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I've done, I've done,” he cried in trepidation, making shift to depart. + On the threshold he paused again. “I leave you the lanthorn,” he said. + “May it light you to a godlier frame of mind. I shall return at daybreak.” + And with that he went. + </p> + <p> + Crispin yawned noisily when he was gone, and stretched himself. Then + pointing to the pallet: + </p> + <p> + “Come, lad, 'tis your turn,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth shivered. “I could not sleep,” he cried. “I could not.” + </p> + <p> + “As you will.” And shrugging his shoulders, Crispin sat down on the edge + of the bed. + </p> + <p> + “For cold comforters commend me to these cropeared cuckolds,” he grumbled. + “They are all thought for a man's soul, but for his body they care + nothing. Here am I who for the last ten hours have had neither meat nor + drink. Not that I mind the meat so much, but, 'slife, my throat is dry as + one of their sermons, and I would cheerfully give four of my five hours of + life for a posset of sack. A paltry lot are they, Kenneth, holding that + because a man must die at dawn he need not sup to-night. Heigho! Some liar + hath said that he who sleeps dines, and if I sleep perchance I shall + forget my thirst.” + </p> + <p> + He stretched himself upon the bed, and presently he slept again. + </p> + <p> + It was Kenneth who next awakened him. He opened his eyes to find the lad + shivering as with an ague. His face was ashen. + </p> + <p> + “Now, what's amiss? Oddslife, what ails you?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Is there no way, Sir Crispin? Is there naught you can do?” wailed the + youth. + </p> + <p> + Instantly Galliard sat up. + </p> + <p> + “Poor lad, does the thought of the rope affright you?” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth bowed his head in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Tis a scurvy death, I own. Look you, Kenneth, there is a dagger in my + boot. If you would rather have cold steel, 'tis done. It is the last + service I may render you, and I'll be as gentle as a mistress. Just there, + over the heart, and you'll know no more until you are in Paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Turning down the leather of his right boot, he thrust his hand down the + side of his leg. But Kenneth sprang back with a cry. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he cried, covering his face with his hands. “Not that! You don't + understand. It is death itself I would cheat. What odds to exchange one + form for another? Is there no way out of this? Is there no way, Sir + Crispin?” he demanded with clenched hands. + </p> + <p> + “The approach of death makes you maudlin, sir,” quoth the other, in whom + this pitiful show of fear produced a profound disgust. “Is there no way; + say you? There is the window, but 'tis seventy feet above the river; and + there is the door, but it is locked, and there is a sentry on the other + side.” + </p> + <p> + “I might have known it. I might have known that you would mock me. What is + death to you, to whom life offers nothing? For you the prospect of it has + no terrors. But for me—bethink you, sir, I am scarce eighteen years + of age,” he added brokenly, “and life was full of promise for me. O God, + pity me!” + </p> + <p> + “True, lad, true,” the knight returned in softened tones. “I had forgotten + that death is not to you the blessed release that it is to me. And yet, + and yet,” he mused, “do I not die leaving a task unfulfilled—a task + of vengeance? And by my soul, I know no greater spur to make a man cling + to life. Ah,” he sighed wistfully, “if indeed I could find a way.” + </p> + <p> + “Think, Sir Crispin, think,” cried the boy feverishly. + </p> + <p> + “To what purpose? There is the window. But even if the bars were moved, + which I see no manner of accomplishing, the drop to the river is seventy + feet at least. I measured it with my eyes when first we entered here. We + have no rope. Your cloak rent in two and the pieces tied together would + scarce yield us ten feet. Would you care to jump the remaining sixty?” + </p> + <p> + At the very thought of it the lad trembled, noting which Sir Crispin + laughed softly. + </p> + <p> + “There. And yet, boy, it would be taking a risk which if successful would + mean life—if otherwise, a speedier end than even the rope will + afford you. Oddslife,” he cried, suddenly springing to his feet, and + seizing the lanthorn. “Let us look at these bars.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped across to the window, and held the light so that its rays fell + full upon the base of the vertical iron that barred the square. + </p> + <p> + “It is much worn by rust, Kenneth,” he muttered. “The removal of this + single piece of iron,” and he touched the lower arm of the cross, “should + afford us passage. Who knows? Hum!” + </p> + <p> + He walked back to the table and set the lanthorn down. In a tremble, + Kenneth watched his every movement, but spoke no word. + </p> + <p> + “He who throws a main,” said Galliard, “must set a stake upon the board. I + set my life—a stake that is already forfeit—and I throw for + liberty. If I win, I win all; if I lose, I lose naught. 'Slife, I have + thrown many a main with Fate, but never one wherein the odds were more + generous. Come, Kenneth, it is the only way, and we will attempt it if we + can but move the bar.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to leap?” gasped the lad. + </p> + <p> + “Into the river. It is the only way.” + </p> + <p> + “O God, I dare not. It is a fearsome drop.” + </p> + <p> + “Longer, I confess, than they'll give you in an hour's time, if you + remain; but it may lead elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The boy's mouth was parched. His eyes burned in their sockets, and yet his + limbs shook with cold—but not the cold of that September night. + </p> + <p> + “I'll try it,” he muttered with a gulp. Then suddenly clutching Galliard's + arm, he pointed to the window. + </p> + <p> + “What ails you now?” quoth Crispin testily. + </p> + <p> + “The dawn, Sir Crispin. The dawn.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin looked, and there, like a gash in the blackness of the heavens, he + beheld a streak of grey. + </p> + <p> + “Quick, Sir Crispin; there is no time to lose. The minister said he would + return at daybreak.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him come,” answered Galliard grimly, as he moved towards the + casement. + </p> + <p> + He gripped the lower bar with his lean, sinewy hands, and setting his knee + against the masonry beneath it, he exerted the whole of his huge strength—that + awful strength acquired during those years of toil as a galley-slave, + which even his debaucheries had not undermined. He felt his sinews + straining until it seemed that they must crack; the sweat stood out upon + his brow; his breathing grew stertorous. + </p> + <p> + “It gives,” he panted at last. “It gives.” + </p> + <p> + He paused in his efforts, and withdrew his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I must breathe a while. One other effort such as that, and it is done. + 'Fore George,” he laughed, “it is the first time water has stood my + friend, for the rains have sadly rusted that iron.” + </p> + <p> + Without, their sentry was pacing before the door; his steps came nearer, + passed, and receded; turned, came nigh again, and again passed on. As once + more they grew faint, Crispin seized the bar and renewed his attempt. This + time it was easier. Gradually it ceded to the strain Galliard set upon it. + </p> + <p> + Nearer came the sentry's footsteps, but they went unheeded by him who + toiled, and by him who watched with bated breath and beating heart. He + felt it giving—giving—giving. Crack! + </p> + <p> + With a report that rang through the room like a pistol shot, it broke off + in its socket. Both men caught their breath, and stood for a second + crouching, with straining ears. The sentry had stopped at their door. + </p> + <p> + Galliard was a man of quick action, swift to think, and as swift to + execute the thought. To thrust Kenneth into a corner, to extinguish the + light, and to fling himself upon the bed was all the work of an instant. + </p> + <p> + The key grated in the lock, and Crispin answered it with a resounding + snore. The door opened, and on the threshold stood the Roundhead trooper, + holding aloft a lanthorn whose rays were flashed back by his polished + cuirass. He beheld Crispin on the bed with closed eyes and open mouth, and + he heard his reassuring and melodious snore. He saw Kenneth seated + peacefully upon the floor, with his back against the wall, and for a + moment he was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Heard you aught?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” answered Kenneth, in a strangled voice, “I heard something like a + shot out there.” + </p> + <p> + The gesture with which he accompanied the words was fatal. Instinctively + he had jerked his thumb towards the window, thereby drawing the soldier's + eyes in that direction. The fellow's glance fell upon the twisted bar, and + a sharp exclamation of surprise escaped him. + </p> + <p> + Had he been aught but a fool he must have guessed at once how it came so, + and having guessed it, he must have thought twice ere he ventured within + reach of a man who could so handle iron. But he was a slow-reasoning clod, + and so far, thought had not yet taken the place of surprise. He stepped + into, the chamber and across to the window, that he might more closely + view that broken bar. + </p> + <p> + With eyes that were full of terror and despair, Kenneth watched him; their + last hope had failed them. Then, as he looked, it seemed to him that in + one great leap from his recumbent position on the bed, Crispin had fallen + upon the soldier. + </p> + <p> + The lanthorn was dashed from the fellow's hand, and rolled to Kenneth's + feet. The fellow had begun' a cry, which broke off suddenly into a gurgle + as Galliard's fingers closed about his windpipe. He was a big fellow, and + in his mad struggles he carried: Crispin hither and thither about the + room. Together: they hurtled against the table, which would have: gone + crashing over had not Kenneth caught it and drawn it softly to the wall. + </p> + <p> + Both men were now upon the bed. Crispin had guessed the soldier's intent + to fling himself upon the ground so that the ring of his armour might be + heard, and perchance bring others to his aid. To avoid this, Galliard had + swung him towards the bed, and hurled him on to it. There he pinned him + with his knee, and with his fingers he gripped the Roundhead's throat, + pressing the apple inwards with his thumb. + </p> + <p> + “The door, Kenneth!” he commanded, in a whisper. “Close the door!” + </p> + <p> + Vain were the trooper's struggles to free himself from that throttling + grip. Already his efforts grew his face was purple; his veins stood out in + ropes upon his brow till they seemed upon the point of bursting; his eyes + protruded like a lobster's and there was a horrible grin upon his mouth; + still his heels beat the bed, and still he struggled. With his fingers he + plucked madly at the throttling hands on his neck, and tore at them with + his nails until the blood streamed from them. Still Galliard held him + firmly, and with a smile—a diabolical smile it seemed to the poor, + half-strangled wretch—he gazed upon his choking victim. + </p> + <p> + “Someone comes!” gasped Kenneth suddenly. “Someone comes, Sir Crispin!” he + repeated, shaking his hands in a frenzy. + </p> + <p> + Galliard listened. Steps were approaching. The soldier heard them also, + and renewed his efforts. Then Crispin spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Why stand you there like a fool?” he growled. “Quench the light—stay, + we may want it! Cast your cloak over it! Quick, man, quick!” + </p> + <p> + The steps came nearer. The lad had obeyed him, and they were in darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Stand by the door,” whispered Crispin. “Fall upon him as he enters, and + see that no cry escapes him. Take him by the throat, and as you love your + life, do not let him get away.” + </p> + <p> + The footsteps halted. Kenneth crawled softly to his post. The soldier's + struggles grew of a sudden still, and Crispin released his throat at last. + Then calmly drawing the fellow's dagger, he felt for the straps of his + cuirass, and these he proceeded to cut. As he did so the door was opened. + </p> + <p> + By the light of the lamp burning in the passage they beheld silhouetted + upon the threshold a black figure crowned by a steeple hat. Then the + droning voice of the Puritan minister greeted them. + </p> + <p> + “Your hour is at hand!” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “Is it time?” asked Galliard from the bed. And as he put the question he + softly thrust aside the trooper's breastplate, and set his hand to the + fellow's heart. It still beat faintly. + </p> + <p> + “In another hour they will come for you,” answered the minister. And + Crispin marvelled anxiously what Kenneth was about. “Repent then, + miserable sinners, whilst yet—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off abruptly, awaking out of his religious zeal to a sense of + strangeness at the darkness and the absence of the sentry, which hitherto + he had not remarked. + </p> + <p> + “What hath—” he began. Then Galliard heard a gasp, followed by the + noise of a fall, and two struggling men came rolling across the chamber + floor. + </p> + <p> + “Bravely done, boy!” he cried, almost mirthfully. “Cling to him, Kenneth; + cling to him a second yet!” + </p> + <p> + He leapt from the bed, and guided by the faint light coming through the + door, he sprang across the intervening space and softly closed it. Then he + groped his way along the wall to the spot where he had seen the lanthorn + stand when Kenneth had flung his cloak over it. As he went, the two + striving men came up against him. + </p> + <p> + “Hold fast, lad,” he cried, encouraging Kenneth, “hold him yet a moment, + and I will relieve you!” + </p> + <p> + He reached the lanthorn at last, and pulling aside the cloak, he lifted + the light and set it upon the table. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE BARGAIN + </h2> + <p> + By the lanthorn's yellow glare Crispin beheld the two men-a mass of + writhing bodies and a bunch of waving legs—upon the ground. Kenneth, + who was uppermost, clung purposefully to the parson's throat. The faces of + both were alike distorted, but whilst the lad's breath came in gasping + hisses, the other's came not at all. + </p> + <p> + Going over to the bed, Crispin drew the unconscious trooper's tuck-sword. + He paused for a moment to bend over the man's face; his breath came + faintly, and Crispin knew that ere many moments were sped he would regain + consciousness. He smiled grimly to see how well he had performed his work + of suffocation without yet utterly destroying life. + </p> + <p> + Sword in hand, he returned to Kenneth and the parson. The Puritan's + struggles were already becoming mere spasmodic twitchings; his face was as + ghastly as the trooper's had been a while ago. + </p> + <p> + “Release him, Kenneth,” said Crispin shortly. + </p> + <p> + “He struggles still.” + </p> + <p> + “Release him, I say,” Galliard repeated, and stooping he caught the lad's + wrist and compelled him to abandon his hold. + </p> + <p> + “He will cry out,” exclaimed Kenneth, in apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Not he,” laughed Crispin. “Leastways, not yet awhile. Observe the + wretch.” + </p> + <p> + With mouth wide agape, the minister lay gasping like a fish newly taken + from the water. Even now that his throat was free he appeared to struggle + for a moment before he could draw breath. Then he took it in panting gulps + until it seemed that he must choke in his gluttony of air. + </p> + <p> + “Fore George,” quoth Crispin, “I was no more than in time. Another second, + and we should have had him, too, unconscious. There, he is recovering.” + </p> + <p> + The blood was receding from the swollen veins of the parson's head, and + his cheeks were paling to their normal hue. Anon they went yet paler than + their wont, as Galliard rested the point of his sword against the fellow's + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Make sound or movement,” said Crispin coldly, “and I'll pin you to the + floor like a beetle. Obey me, and no harm shall come to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I will obey you,” the fellow answered, in a wheezing whisper. “I swear I + will. But of your charity, good sir, I beseech you remove your sword. Your + hand might slip, sir,” he whined, a wild terror in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Where now was the deep bass of his whilom accents? Where now the grotesque + majesty of his bearing, and the impressive gestures that erstwhile had + accompanied his words of denunciation? + </p> + <p> + “Your hand might slip, sir,” he whined again. + </p> + <p> + “It might—and, by Gad, it shall if I hear more from you. So that you + are discreet and obedient, have no fear of my hand.” Then, still keeping + his eye upon the fellow: “Kenneth,” he said, “attend to the crop-ear + yonder, he will be recovering. Truss him with the bedclothes, and gag him + with his scarf. See to it, Kenneth, and do it well, but leave his nostrils + free that he may breathe.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth carried out Galliard's orders swiftly and effectively, what time + Crispin remained standing over the recumbent minister. At length, when + Kenneth announced that it was done, he bade the Puritan rise. + </p> + <p> + “But have a care,” he added, “or you shall taste the joys of the Paradise + you preach of. Come, sir parson; afoot!” + </p> + <p> + A prey to a fear that compelled unquestioning obedience, the fellow rose + with alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “Stand there, sir. So,” commanded Crispin, his point within an inch of the + man's Geneva bands. “Take your kerchief, Kenneth, and pinion his wrists + behind him.” + </p> + <p> + That done, Crispin bade the lad unbuckle and remove the parson's belt. + Next he ordered that man of texts to be seated upon their only chair, and + with that same belt he commanded Kenneth to strap him to it. When at + length the Puritan was safely bound, Crispin lowered his rapier, and + seated himself upon the table edge beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir parson,” quoth he, “let us talk a while. At your first outcry I + shall hurry you into that future world whither it is your mission to guide + the souls of others. Maybe you'll find it a better world to preach of than + to inhabit, and so, for your own sake, I make no doubt you will obey me. + To your honour, to your good sense and a parson's natural horror of a lie, + I look for truth in answer to what questions I may set you. Should I find + you deceiving me, sir, I shall see that your falsehood overtakes you.” And + eloquently raising his blade, he intimated the exact course he would + adopt. “Now, sir, attend to me. How soon are our friends likely to + discover this topsy-turvydom?” + </p> + <p> + “When they come for you,” answered the parson meekly. + </p> + <p> + “And how soon, O prophet, will they come?” + </p> + <p> + “In an hour's time, or thereabout,” replied the Puritan, glancing towards + the window as he spoke. Galliard followed his glance, and observed that + the light was growing perceptibly stronger. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” he commented, “in an hour's time there should be light enough to + hang us by. Is there no chance of anyone coming sooner?” + </p> + <p> + “None that I can imagine. The only other occupants of the house are a + party of half a dozen troopers in the guardroom below.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is the Lord General?” + </p> + <p> + “Away—I know not where. But he will be here at sunrise.” + </p> + <p> + “And the sentry that was at our door—is he not to a changed 'twixt + this and hanging-time?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say for sure, but I think not. The guard was relieved just + before I came.” + </p> + <p> + “And the men in the guardroom—answer me truthfully, O Elijah—what + manner of watch are they keeping?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, sir, they have drunk enough this night to put a rakehelly Cavalier + to shame. I was but exhorting them.” + </p> + <p> + When Kenneth had removed the Puritan's girdle, a small Bible—such as + men of his calling were wont to carry—had dropped out. This Kenneth + had placed upon the table. Galliard now took it up, and, holding it before + the Puritan's eyes, he watched him narrowly the while. + </p> + <p> + “Will you swear by this book that you have answered nothing but the + truth?” + </p> + <p> + Without a moment's hesitation the parson pledged his oath, that, to the + best of his belief, he had answered accurately. + </p> + <p> + “That is well, sir. And now, though it grieve me to cause you some slight + discomfort, I must ensure your silence, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + And, placing his sword upon the table, he passed behind the Puritan, and + taking the man's own scarf, he effectively gagged him with it. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Kenneth,” said he, turning to the lad. Then he stopped abruptly as + if smitten by a sudden thought. Presently—“Kenneth,” he continued in + a different tone, “a while ago I mind me you said that were your liberty + restored you, you would join hands with me in punishing the evildoers who + wrecked my life.” + </p> + <p> + “I did, Sir Crispin.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the knight paused. It was a vile thing that he was about to + do, he told himself, and as he realized how vile, his impulse was to say + no more; to abandon the suddenly formed project and to trust to his own + unaided wits and hands. But as again he thought of the vast use this lad + would be to him—this lad who was the betrothed of Cynthia Ashburn—he + saw that the matter was not one hastily to be judged and dismissed. + Carefully he weighed it in the balance of his mind. On the one hand was + the knowledge that did they succeed in making good their escape, Kenneth + would naturally fly for shelter to his friends the Ashburns—the + usurpers of Castle Marleigh. What then more natural than his taking with + him the man who had helped him to escape, and who shared his own danger of + recapture? And with so plausible a motive for admission to Castle + Marleigh, how easy would not his vengeance become? He might at first wean + himself into their good graces, and afterwards— + </p> + <p> + Before his mental eyes there unfolded itself the vista of a great revenge; + one that should be worthy of him, and commensurate with the foul deed that + called for it. + </p> + <p> + In the other scale the treacherous flavour of this method weighed heavily. + He proposed to bind the lad to a promise, the shape of whose fulfilment he + would withhold—a promise the lad would readily give, and yet, one + that he must sooner die than enter into, did he but know what manner of + fulfilment would be exacted. It amounted to betraying the lad into a + betrayal of his friends—the people of his future wife. Whatever the + issue for Crispin, 'twas odds Kenneth's prospect of wedding this Cynthia + would be blighted for all time by the action into which Galliard proposed + to thrust him all unconscious. + </p> + <p> + So stood the case in Galliard's mind, and the scales fell now on one side, + now on the other. But against his scruples rose the memory of the + treatment which the lad had meted out to him that night; the harshness of + the boy's judgment; the irrevocable contempt wherein he had clearly seen + that he was held by this fatuous milksop. All this aroused his rancour + now, and steeled his heart against the voice of honour. What was this boy + to him, he asked himself, that he should forego for him the accomplishing + of his designs? How had this lad earned any consideration from him? What + did he owe him? Naught! Still, he would not decide in haste. + </p> + <p> + It was characteristic of the man whom Kenneth held to be destitute of all + honourable principles, to stand thus in the midst of perils, when every + second that sped lessened their chances of escape, turning over in his + mind calmly and collectedly a point of conduct. It was in his passions + only that Crispin was ungovernable, in violence only that he was swift—in + all things else was he deliberate. + </p> + <p> + Of this Kenneth had now a proof that set him quaking with impatient fear. + Anxiously, his hands clenched and his face pale, he watched his companion, + who stood with brows knit in thought, and his grey eyes staring at the + ground. At length he could brook that, to him, incomprehensible and mad + delay no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin,” he whispered, plucking at his sleeve; “Sir Crispin.” + </p> + <p> + The knight flashed him a glance that was almost of anger. Then the fire + died out of his eyes; he sighed and spoke. In that second's glance he had + seen the lad's face; the fear and impatience written on it had disgusted + him, and caused the scales to fall suddenly and definitely against the + boy. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking how it might be accomplished,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “There is but one way,” cried the lad. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, there are two, and I wish to choose carefully.” + </p> + <p> + “If you delay your choice much longer, none will be left you,” cried + Kenneth impatiently. + </p> + <p> + Noting the lad's growing fears, and resolved now upon his course, Galliard + set himself to play upon them until terror should render the boy as wax in + his hands. + </p> + <p> + “There speaks your callow inexperience,” said he, with a pitying smile. + “When you shall have lived as long as I have done, and endured as much; + when you shall have set your wits to the saving of your life as often as + have I—you will have learnt that haste is fatal to all enterprises. + Failure means the forfeiture of something; tonight it would mean the + forfeiture of our lives, and it were a pity to let such good efforts as + these”—and with a wave of the hand he indicated their two captors—“go + wasted.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” exclaimed Kenneth, well-nigh beside himself, “if you come not with + me, I go alone!” + </p> + <p> + “Whither?” asked Crispin dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Out of this.” + </p> + <p> + Galliard bowed slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Fare you well, sir. I'll not detain you. Your way is clear, and it is for + you to choose between the door and the window.” + </p> + <p> + And with that Crispin turned his back upon his companion and crossed to + the bed, where the trooper lay glaring in mute anger. He stooped, and + unbuckling the soldier's swordbelt—to which the scabbard was + attached—he girt himself with it. Without raising his eyes, and + keeping his back to Kenneth, who stood between him and the door, he went + next to the table, and, taking up the sword that he had left there, he + restored it to the sheath. As the hilt clicked against the mouth of the + scabbard: + </p> + <p> + “Come, Sir Crispin!” cried the lad. “Are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + Galliard wheeled sharply round. + </p> + <p> + “How? Not gone yet?” said he sardonically. + </p> + <p> + “I dare not,” the lad confessed. “I dare not go alone.” + </p> + <p> + Galliard laughed softly; then suddenly waxed grave. + </p> + <p> + “Ere we go, Master Kenneth, I would again remind you of your assurance + that were we to regain our liberty you would aid me in the task of + vengeance that lies before me.” + </p> + <p> + “Once already have I answered you that it is so.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, are you still of the same mind?” + </p> + <p> + “I am, I am! Anything, Sir Crispin; anything so that you come away!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so fast, Kenneth. The promise that I shall ask of you is not to be so + lightly given. If we escape I may fairly claim to have saved your life, + 'twixt what I have done and what I may yet do. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I acknowledge it!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir, in payment I shall expect your aid hereafter to help me in + that which I must accomplish, that which the hope of accomplishing is the + only spur to my own escape.” + </p> + <p> + “You have my promise!” cried the lad. + </p> + <p> + “Do not give it lightly, Kenneth,” said Crispin gravely. “It may cause you + much discomfort, and may be fraught with danger even to your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + Galliard bowed his head; then, turning, he took the Bible from the table. + </p> + <p> + “With your hand upon this book, by your honour, your faith, and your every + hope of salvation, swear that if I bear you alive out of this house you + will devote yourself to me and to my task of vengeance until it shall be + accomplished or until I perish; swear that you will set aside all personal + matters and inclinations of your own, to serve me when I shall call upon + you. Swear that, and, in return, I will give my life if need be to save + yours to-night, in which case you will be released from your oath without + more ado.” + </p> + <p> + The lad paused a moment. Crispin was so impressive, the oath he imposed so + solemn, that for an instant the boy hesitated. His cautious, timid nature + whispered to him that perchance he should know more of this matter ere he + bound himself so irrevocably. But Crispin, noting the hesitation, stifled + it by appealing to the lad's fears. + </p> + <p> + “Resolve yourself,” he exclaimed abruptly. “It grows light, and the time + for haste is come.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear!” answered Kenneth, overcome by his impatience. “I swear, by my + honour, my faith, and my every hope of heaven to lend you my aid, when and + how you may demand it, until your task be accomplished.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin took the Bible from the boy's hands, and replaced it on the table. + His lips were pressed tight, and he avoided the lad's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You shall not find me wanting in my part of the bargain,” he muttered, as + he took up the soldier's cloak and hat. “Come, take that parson's steeple + hat and his cloak, and let us be going.” + </p> + <p> + He crossed to the door, and opening it he peered down the passage. A + moment he stood listening. All was still. Then he turned again. In the + chamber the steely light of the breaking day was rendering more yellow + still the lanthorn's yellow flame. + </p> + <p> + “Fare you well, sir parson,” he said. “Forgive me the discomfort I have + been forced to put upon you, and pray for the success of our escape. + Commend me to Oliver of the ruby nose. Fare you well, sir. Come, Kenneth.” + </p> + <p> + He held the door for the lad to pass out. As they stood in the dimly + lighted passage he closed it softly after them, and turned the key in the + lock. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said again, and led the way to the stairs, Kenneth tiptoeing + after him with wildly beating heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. THE ESCAPE + </h2> + <p> + Treading softly, and with ears straining for the slightest sound, the two + men descended to the first floor of the house. They heard nothing to alarm + them as they crept down, and not until they paused on the first landing to + reconnoitre did they even catch the murmur of voices issuing from the + guardroom below. So muffled was the sound that Crispin guessed how matters + stood even before he had looked over the balusters into the hall beneath. + The faint grey of the dawn was the only light that penetrated the gloom of + that pit. + </p> + <p> + “The Fates are kind, Kenneth,” he whispered. “Those fools sit with closed + doors. Come.” + </p> + <p> + But Kenneth laid his hand upon Galliard's sleeve. “What if the door should + open as we pass?” + </p> + <p> + “Someone will die,” muttered Crispin back. “But pray God that it may not. + We must run the risk.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no other way?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” returned Galliard sardonically, “we can linger here until we + are taken. But, oddslife, I'm not so minded. Come.” + </p> + <p> + And as he spoke he drew the lad along. + </p> + <p> + His foot was upon the topmost stair of the flight, when of a sudden the + stillness of the house was broken by a loud knock upon the street door. + Instantly—as though they had been awaiting it there was a stir of + feet below and the bang of an overturned chair; then a shaft of yellow + light fell athwart the darkness of the hall as the guardroom door was + opened. + </p> + <p> + “Back!” growled Galliard. “Back, man!” + </p> + <p> + They were but in time. Peering over the balusters they saw two troopers + pass out of the guardroom, and cross the hall to the door. A bolt was + drawn and a chain rattled, then followed the creak of hinges, and on the + stone flags rang the footsteps and the jingling of spurs of those that + entered. + </p> + <p> + “Is all well?” came a voice, which Crispin recognized as Colonel Pride's, + followed by an affirmative reply from one of the soldiers. + </p> + <p> + “Hath a minister visited the malignants?” + </p> + <p> + “Master Toneleigh is with them even now.” + </p> + <p> + In the hall Crispin could now make out the figures of Colonel Pride and of + three men who came with him. But he had scant leisure to survey them, for + the colonel was in haste. + </p> + <p> + “Come, sirs,” he heard him say, “light me to their garret. I would see + them—leastways, one of them, before he dies. They are to hang where + the Moabites hanged Gives yesterday. Had I my way... But, there lead on, + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God!” gasped Kenneth, as the soldier set foot upon the stairs. Under + his breath Crispin swore a terrific oath. For an instant it seemed to him + there was naught left but to stand there and await recapture. Through his + mind it flashed that they were five, and he but one; for his companion was + unarmed. + </p> + <p> + With that swiftness which thought alone can compass did he weigh the odds, + and judge his chances. He realized how desperate they were did he remain, + and even as he thought he glanced sharply round. + </p> + <p> + Dim indeed was the light, but his sight was keen, and quickened by the + imminence of danger. Partly his eyes and partly his instinct told him that + not six paces behind him there must be a door, and if Heaven pleased it + should be unlocked, behind it they must look for shelter. It even crossed + his mind in that second of crowding, galloping thought, that perchance the + room might be occupied. That was a risk he must take—the lesser risk + of the two, the choice of one of which was forced upon him. He had + determined all this ere the soldier's foot was upon the third step of the + staircase, and before the colonel had commenced the ascent. Kenneth stood + palsied with fear, gazing like one fascinated at the approaching peril. + </p> + <p> + Then upon his ear fell the fierce whisper: “Come with me, and tread + lightly as you love your life.” + </p> + <p> + In three long strides, and by steps that were softer than a cat's, Crispin + crossed to the door which he had rather guessed than seen. He ran his hand + along until he caught the latch. Softly he tried it; it gave, and the door + opened. Kenneth was by then beside him. He paused to look back. + </p> + <p> + On the opposite wall the light of the trooper's lanthorn fell brightly. + Another moment and the fellow would have reached and turned the corner of + the stairs, and his light must reveal them to him. But ere that instant + was passed Crispin had drawn his companion through, and closed the door as + softly as he had opened it. The chamber was untenanted and almost bare of + furniture, at which discovery Crispin breathed more freely. + </p> + <p> + They stood there, and heard the ascending footsteps, and the clank-clank + of a sword against the stair-rail. A bar of yellow light came under the + door that sheltered them. Stronger it grew and farther it crept along the + floor; then stopped and receded again, as he who bore the lanthorn turned + and began to climb to the second floor. An instant later and the light had + vanished, eclipsed by those who followed in the fellow's wake. + </p> + <p> + “The window, Sir Crispin,” cried Kenneth, in an excited whisper—“the + window!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Crispin calmly. “The drop is a long one, and we should but + light in the streets, and be little better than we are here. Wait.” + </p> + <p> + He listened. The footsteps had turned the corner leading to the floor + above. He opened the door, partly at first, then wide. For an instant he + stood listening again. The steps were well overhead by now; soon they + would mount the last flight, and then discovery must be swift to follow. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” was all Crispin said, and, drawing his sword he led the way + swiftly, yet cautiously, to the stairs once more. In passing he glanced + over the rails. The guardroom door stood ajar, and he caught the murmurs + of subdued conversation. But he did not pause. Had the door stood wide he + would not have paused then. There was not a second to be lost; to wait was + to increase the already overwhelming danger. Cautiously, and leaning well + upon the stout baluster, he began the descent. Kenneth followed him + mechanically, with white face and a feeling of suffocation in his throat. + </p> + <p> + They gained the corner, and turning, they began what was truly the + perilous part of their journey. Not more than a dozen steps were there; + but at the bottom stood the guardroom door, and through the chink of its + opening a shaft of light fell upon the nethermost step. Once a stair + creaked, and to their quickened senses it sounded like a pistol-shot. As + loud to Crispin sounded the indrawn breath of apprehension from Kenneth + that followed it. He had almost paused to curse the lad when, thinking him + of how time pressed, he went on. + </p> + <p> + Within three steps of the bottom were they, and they could almost + distinguish what was being said in the room, when Crispin stopped, and + turning his head to attract Kenneth's attention, he pointed straight + across the hall to a dimly visible door. It was that of the chamber + wherein he had been brought before Cromwell. Its position had occurred to + him some moments before, and he had determined then upon going that way. + </p> + <p> + The lad followed the indication of his finger, and signified by a nod that + he understood. Another step Galliard descended; then from the guardroom + came a loud yawn, to send the boy cowering against the wall. It was + followed by the sound of someone rising; a chair grated upon the floor, + and there was a movement of feet within the chamber. Had Kenneth been + alone, of a certainty terror would have frozen him to the wall. + </p> + <p> + But the calm, unmovable Crispin proceeded as if naught had chanced; he + argued that even if he who had risen were coming towards the door, there + was nothing to be gained by standing still. Their only chance lay now in + passing before it might be opened. + </p> + <p> + They that walk through perils in a brave man's company cannot but gain + confidence from the calm of his demeanour. So was it now with Kenneth. The + steady onward march of that tall, lank figure before him drew him + irresistibly after it despite his tremors. And well it was for him that + this was so. They gained the bottom of the staircase at length; they stood + beside the door of the guardroom, they passed it in safety. Then slowly—painfully + slowly—to avoid their steps from ringing upon the stone floor, they + crept across towards the door that meant safety to Sir Crispin. Slowly, + step by step, they moved, and with every stride Crispin looked behind him, + prepared to rush the moment he had sign they were discovered. But it was + not needed. In silence and in safety they were permitted to reach the + door. To Crispin's joy it was unfastened. Quietly he opened it, then with + calm gallantry he motioned to his companion to go first, holding it for + him as he passed in, and keeping watch with eye and ear the while. + </p> + <p> + Scarce had Kenneth entered the chamber when from above came the sound of + loud and excited voices, announcing to them that their flight was at last + discovered. It was responded to by a rush of feet in the guardroom, and + Crispin had but time to dart in after his companion and close the door ere + the troopers poured out into the hall and up the stairs, with confused + shouts that something must be amiss. + </p> + <p> + Within the room that sheltered him Crispin chuckled, as he ran his hand + along the edge of the door until he found the bolt, and softly shot it + home. + </p> + <p> + “'Slife,” he muttered, “'twas a close thing! Aye, shout, you cuckolds,” he + went on. “Yell yourselves hoarse as the crows you are! You'll hang us + where Gives are hanged, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth tugged at the skirts of his doublet. “What now?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Crispin, “we'll leave by the window, if it please you.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed the room, and a moment or two later they had dropped on to + the narrow railed pathway overlooking the river, which Crispin had + observed from their prison window the evening before. He had observed, + too, that a small boat was moored at some steps about a hundred yards + farther down the stream, and towards that spot he now sped along the + footpath, followed closely by Kenneth. The path sloped in that direction, + so that by the time the spot was reached the water flowed not more than + six feet or so beneath them. Half a dozen steps took them down this to the + moorings of that boat, which fortunately had not been removed. + </p> + <p> + “Get in, Kenneth,” Crispin commanded. “There, I'll take the oars, and I'll + keep under shelter of the bank lest those blunderers should bethink them + of looking out of our prison window. Oddswounds, Kenneth, I am hungry as a + wolf, and as dry—ough, as dry as Dives when he begged for a sup of + water. Heaven send we come upon some good malignant homestead ere we go + far, where a Christian may find a meal and a stoup of ale. 'Tis a miracle + I had strength enough to crawl downstairs. Swounds, but an empty stomach + is a craven comrade in a desperate enterprise. Hey! Have a care, boy. Now, + sink me if this milksop hasn't fainted!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE ASHBURNS + </h2> + <p> + Gregory Ashburn pushed back his chair and made shift to rise from the + table at which he and his brother had but dined. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall, heavily built man, with a coarse, florid countenance set in + a frame of reddish hair that hung straight and limp. In the colour of + their hair lay the only point of resemblance between the brothers. For the + rest Joseph was spare and of middle weight, pale of face, thin-lipped, and + owning a cunning expression that was rendered very evil by virtue of the + slight cast in his colourless eyes. + </p> + <p> + In earlier life Gregory had not been unhandsome; debauchery and sloth had + puffed and coarsened him. Joseph, on the other hand, had never been aught + but ill-favoured. + </p> + <p> + “Tis a week since Worcester field was fought,” grumbled Gregory, looking + lazily sideways at the mullioned windows as he spoke, “and never a word + from the lad.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph shrugged his narrow shoulders and sneered. It was Joseph's habit to + sneer when he spoke, and his words were wont to fit the sneer. + </p> + <p> + “Doth the lack of news trouble you?” he asked, glancing across the table + at his brother. + </p> + <p> + Gregory rose without meeting that glance. + </p> + <p> + “Truth to tell it does trouble me,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” quoth Joseph, “tis a natural thing enough. When battles are + fought it is not uncommon for men to die.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory crossed slowly to the window, and stared out at the trees of the + park which autumn was fast stripping. + </p> + <p> + “If he were among the fallen—if he were dead then indeed the matter + would be at an end.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, and well ended.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget Cynthia,” Gregory reproved him. + </p> + <p> + “Forget her? Not I, man. Listen.” And he jerked his thumb in the direction + of the wainscot. + </p> + <p> + To the two men in that rich chamber of Castle Marleigh was borne the sound—softened + by distance of a girlish voice merrily singing. + </p> + <p> + Joseph laughed a cackle of contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the song of a maid whose lover comes not back from the wars?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “But bethink you, Joseph, the child suspects not the possibility of his + having fallen.” + </p> + <p> + “Gadswounds, sir, did your daughter give the fellow a thought she must be + anxious. A week yesterday since the battle, and no word from him. I dare + swear, Gregory, there's little in that to warrant his mistress singing.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia is young—a child. She reasons not as you and I, nor seeks + to account for his absence.” + </p> + <p> + “Troubles not to account for it,” Joseph amended. + </p> + <p> + “Be that as it may,” returned Gregory irritably, “I would I knew.” + </p> + <p> + “That which we do not know we may sometimes infer. I infer him to be dead, + and there's the end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What if he should not be?” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my good fool, he would be here.” + </p> + <p> + “It is unlike you, Joseph, to argue so loosely. What if he should be a + prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, the plantations will do that which the battle hath left + undone. So that, dead or captive, you see it is all one.” + </p> + <p> + And, lifting his glass to the light, he closed one eye, the better to + survey with the other the rich colour of the wine. Not that Joseph was + curious touching that colour, but he was a juggler in gestures, and at + that moment he could think of no other whereby he might so naturally + convey the utter indifference of his feelings in the matter. + </p> + <p> + “Joseph, you are wrong,” said Gregory, turning his back upon the window + and facing his brother. “It is not all one. What if he return some day?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what if—what if—what if!” cried Joseph testily. “Gregory, + what a casuist you might have been had not nature made you a villain! You + are as full of “what if s” as an egg of meat. Well what if some day he + should return? I fling your question back—what if?” + </p> + <p> + “God only knows.” + </p> + <p> + “Then leave it to Him,” was the flippant answer; and Joseph drained his + glass. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, brother, 'twere too great a risk. I must and I will know whether + Kenneth were slain or not. If he is a prisoner, then we must exert + ourselves to win his freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “Plague take it,” Joseph burst out. “Why all this ado? Why did you ever + loose that graceless whelp from his Scottish moor?” + </p> + <p> + Gregory sighed with an air of resigned patience. + </p> + <p> + “I have more reasons than one,” he answered slowly. “If you need that I + recite them to you, I pity your wits. Look you, Joseph, you have more + influence with Cromwell; more—far more—than have I, and if you + are minded to do so, you can serve me in this.” + </p> + <p> + “I wait but to learn how.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go to Cromwell, at Windsor or wherever he may be, and seek to learn + from him if Kenneth is a prisoner. If he is not, then clearly he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph made a gesture of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Can you not leave Fate alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Think you I have no conscience, Joseph?” cried the other with sudden + vigour. + </p> + <p> + “Pish! you are womanish.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Joseph, I am old. I am in the autumn of my days, and I would see + these two wed before I die.” + </p> + <p> + “And are damned for a croaking, maudlin' craven,” added Joseph. “Pah! You + make me sick.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence, during which the brothers eyed each other, + Gregory with a sternness before which Joseph's mocking eye was forced at + length to fall. + </p> + <p> + “Joseph, you shall go to the Lord General.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Joseph weakly, “we will say that I go. But if Kenneth be a + prisoner, what then?” + </p> + <p> + “You must beg his liberty from Cromwell. He will not refuse you.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he not? I am none so confident.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can make the attempt, and leastways we shall have some definite + knowledge of what has befallen the boy.” + </p> + <p> + “The which definite knowledge seems to me none so necessary. Moreover, + Gregory, bethink you; there has been a change, and the wind carries an + edge that will arouse every devil of rheumatism in my bones. I am not a + lad, Gregory, and travelling at this season is no small matter for a man + of fifty.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory approached the table, and leaning his hand upon it: + </p> + <p> + “Will you go?” he asked, squarely eyeing his brother. + </p> + <p> + Joseph fell a-pondering. He knew Gregory to be a man of fixed ideas, and + he bethought him that were he now to refuse he would be hourly plagued by + Gregory's speculations touching the boy's fate and recriminations touching + his own selfishness. On the other hand, however, the journey daunted him. + He was not a man to sacrifice his creature comforts, and to be asked to + sacrifice them to a mere whim, a shadow, added weight to his inclination + to refuse the undertaking. + </p> + <p> + “Since you have the matter so much at heart,” said he at length, “does it + not occur to you that you could plead with greater fervour, and be the + likelier to succeed?” + </p> + <p> + “You know that Cromwell will lend a more willing ear to you than to me—perchance + because you know so well upon occasion how to weave your stock of texts + into your discourse,” he added with a sneer. “Will you go, Joseph?” + </p> + <p> + “Bethink you that we know not where he is. I may have to wander for weeks + o'er the face of England.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go?” Gregory repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a pox on it,” broke out Joseph, rising suddenly. “I'll go since + naught else will quiet you. I'll start to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Joseph, I am grateful. I shall be more grateful yet if you will start + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sink me, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sink me, yes,” returned Gregory. “You must, Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph spoke of the wind again; the sky, he urged, was heavy with rain. + “What signifies a day?” he whined. + </p> + <p> + But Gregory stood his ground until almost out of self-protection the other + consented to do his bidding and set out as soon as he could make ready. + </p> + <p> + This being determined, Joseph left his brother, and cursing Master Stewart + for the amount of discomfort which he was about to endure on his behoof, + he went to prepare for the journey. + </p> + <p> + Gregory lingered still in the chamber where they had dined, and sat + staring moodily before him at the table-linen. Anon, with a half-laugh of + contempt, he filled a glass of muscadine, and drained it. As he set down + the glass the door opened, and on the threshold stood a very dainty girl, + whose age could not be more than twenty. Gregory looked on the fresh, oval + face, with its wealth of brown hair crowning the low, broad forehead, and + told himself that in his daughter he had just cause for pride. He looked + again, and told himself that his brother was right; she had not the air of + a maid whose lover returns not from the wars. Her lips were smiling, and + the eyes—low-lidded and blue as the heavens—were bright with + mirth. + </p> + <p> + “Why sit you there so glum,” she cried, “whilst my uncle, they tell me, is + going on a journey?” + </p> + <p> + Gregory was minded to put her feelings to the test. + </p> + <p> + “Kenneth,” he replied with significant emphasis, watching her closely. + </p> + <p> + The mirth faded from her eyes, and they took on a grave expression that + added to their charm. But Gregory had looked for fear, leastways deep + concern, and in this he was disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “What of him, father?” she asked, approaching. + </p> + <p> + “Naught, and that's the rub. It is time we had news, and as none comes, + your uncle goes to seek it.” + </p> + <p> + “Think you that ill can have befallen him?” + </p> + <p> + Gregory was silent a moment, weighing his answer. Then + </p> + <p> + “We hope not, sweetheart,” said he. “He may be a prisoner. We last had + news of him from Worcester, and 'tis a week and more since the battle was + fought there. Should he be a captive, your uncle has sufficient influence + to obtain his enlargement.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia sighed, and moved towards the window. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Kenneth,” she murmured gently. “He may be wounded.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall soon learn,” he answered. His disappointment grew keener; where + he had looked for grief he found no more than an expression of pitying + concern. Nor was his disappointment lessened when, after a spell of + thoughtful silence, she began to comment upon the condition of the trees + in the park below. Gregory had it in his mind to chide her for this lack + of interest in the fate of her intended husband, but he let the impulse + pass unheeded. After all, if Kenneth lived she should marry him. Hitherto + she had been docile and willing enough to be guided by him; she had even + displayed a kindness for Kenneth; no doubt she would do so again when + Joseph returned with him—unless he were among the Worcester slain, + in which case, perhaps, it would prove best that his fate was not to cause + her any prostration of grief. + </p> + <p> + “The sky is heavy, father,” said Cynthia from the window. “Poor uncle! He + will have rough weather for his journey.” + </p> + <p> + “I rejoice that someone wastes pity on poor uncle,” growled Joseph, who + re-entered, “this uncle whom your father drives out of doors in all + weathers to look for his daughter's truant lover.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia smiled upon him. + </p> + <p> + “It is heroic of you, uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “There, there,” he grumbled, “I shall do my best to find the laggard, lest + those pretty eyes should weep away their beauty.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory's glance reproved this sneer of Joseph's, whereupon Joseph drew + close to him: + </p> + <p> + “Broken-hearted, is she not?” he muttered, to which Gregory returned no + answer. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, as Joseph climbed into his saddle, he turned to his brother + again, and directing his eyes upon the girl, who stood patting the glossy + neck of his nag: + </p> + <p> + “Come, now,” said he, “you see that matters are as I said.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” replied Gregory sternly, “I hope to see you return with the + boy. It will be better so.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. Then, taking leave of his + brother and his niece, he rode out with two grooms at his heels, and took + the road South. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S + </h2> + <p> + It was high noon next day, and Gregory Ashburn was taking the air upon the + noble terrace of Castle Marleigh, when the beat of hoofs, rapidly + approaching up the avenue, arrested his attention. He stopped in his walk, + and, turning, sought to discover who came. His first thought was of his + brother; his second, of Kenneth. Through the half-denuded trees he made + out two mounted figures, riding side by side; and from the fact of there + being two, he adduced that this could not be Joseph returning. + </p> + <p> + Even as he waited he was joined by Cynthia, who took her stand beside him, + and voiced the inquiry that was in his mind. But her father could no more + than answer that he hoped it might be Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + Then the horsemen passed from behind the screen of trees and came into the + clearing before the terrace, and unto the waiting glances of Ashburn and + his daughter was revealed a curiously bedraggled and ill-assorted pair. + The one riding slightly in advance looked like a Puritan of the meaner + sort, in his battered steeple-hat and cloak of rusty black. The other was + closely wrapped in a red mantle, uptilted behind by a sword of prodigious + length, and for all that his broad, grey hat was unadorned by any feather, + it was set at a rakish, ruffling, damn-me angle that pronounced him no + likely comrade for the piously clad youth beside him. + </p> + <p> + But beneath that brave red cloak—alack!—as was presently seen + when they dismounted, that gentleman was in a sorry plight. He wore a + leather jerkin, so cut and soiled that any groom might have disdained it; + a pair of green breeches, frayed to their utmost; and coarse boots of + untanned leather, adorned by rusty spurs. + </p> + <p> + On the terrace Gregory paused a moment to call his groom to attend the + new-comers, then he passed down the steps to greet Kenneth with boisterous + effusion. Behind him, slow and stately as a woman of twice her years, came + Cynthia. Calm was her greeting of her lover, contained in courteous + expressions of pleasure at beholding him safe, and suffering him to kiss + her hand. + </p> + <p> + In the background, his sable locks uncovered out of deference to the lady, + stood Sir Crispin, his face pale and haggard, his lips parted, and his + grey eyes burning as they fell again, after the lapse of years, upon the + stones of this his home—the castle to which he was now come, hat in + hand, to beg for shelter. + </p> + <p> + Gregory was speaking, his hands resting upon Kenneth's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We have been much exercised concerning you, lad,” he was saying. “We + almost feared the worst, and yesterday Joseph left us to seek news of you + at Cromwell's hands. Where have you tarried?” + </p> + <p> + “Anon, sir; you shall learn anon. The story is a long one.” + </p> + <p> + “True; you will be tired, and perchance you would first rest a while. + Cynthia will see to it. But what scarecrow have you there? What + tatterdemalion is this?” he cried, pointing to Galliard. He had imagined + him a servant, but the dull flush that overspread Sir Crispin's face told + him of his error. + </p> + <p> + “I would have you know, sir,” Crispin began, with some heat, when Kenneth + interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Tis to this gentleman, sir, that I owe my presence here. He was my + fellow-prisoner, and but for his quick wit and stout arm I should be stiff + by now. Anon, sir, you shall hear the story of it, and I dare swear it + will divert you. This gentleman is Sir Crispin Galliard, lately a captain + of horse with whom I served in Middleton's Brigade.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin bowed low, conscious of the keen scrutiny in which Gregory's eyes + were bent upon him. In his heart there arose a fear that, haply after all, + the years that were sped had not wrought sufficient change in him. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin Galliard,” Ashburn was saying, after the manner of one who is + searching his memory. “Galliard, Galliard—not he whom they called + 'Rakehelly Galliard,' and who gave us such trouble in the late King's + time?” + </p> + <p> + Crispin breathed once more. Ashburn's scrutiny was explained. + </p> + <p> + “The same, sir,” he answered, with a smile and a fresh bow. “Your servant, + sir; and yours, madam.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked with interest at the lank, soldierly figure. She, too, had + heard—as who had not?—wild stories of this man's achievements. + But of no feat of his had she been told that could rival that of his + escape from Worcester; and when, that same evening, Kenneth related it, as + they supped, her low-lidded eyes grew very wide, and as they fell on + Crispin, admiration had taken now the place of interest. + </p> + <p> + Romance swayed as great a portion of her heart as it does of most women's. + She loved the poets and their songs of great deeds; and here was one who, + in the light of that which they related of him, was like an incarnation of + some hero out of a romancer's ballad. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth she never yet had held in over high esteem; but of a sudden, in + the presence of this harsh-featured dog of war, this grim, fierce-eyed + ruffler, he seemed to fade, despite his comeliness of face and form, into + a poor and puny insignificance. And when, presently, he unwisely related + how, when in the boat he had fainted, the maiden laughed outright for very + scorn. + </p> + <p> + At this plain expression of contempt, her father shot her a quick, uneasy + glance. Kenneth stopped short, bringing his narrative abruptly to a close. + Reproachfully he looked at her, turning first red, then white, as anger + chased annoyance through his soul. Galliard looked on with quiet relish; + her laugh had contained that which for days he had carried in his heart. + He drained his bumper slowly, and made no attempt to relieve the awkward + silence that sat upon the company. + </p> + <p> + Truth to tell, there was emotion enough in the soul of him who was wont to + be the life of every board he sat at to hold him silent and even moody. + </p> + <p> + Here, after eighteen years, was he again in his ancestral home of + Marleigh. But how was he returned? As one who came under a feigned name, + to seek from usurping hands a shelter 'neath his own roof; a beggar of + that from others which it should have been his to grant or to deny those + others. As an avenger he came. For justice he came, and armed with + retribution; the flame of a hate unspeakable burning in his heart, and + demanding the lives—no less—of those that had destroyed him + and his. Yet was he forced to sit a mendicant almost at that board whose + head was his by every right; forced to sit and curb his mood, giving no + outward sign of the volcano that boiled and raged within his soul as his + eye fell upon the florid, smiling face and portly, well-fed frame of + Gregory Ashburn. For the time was not yet. He must wait; wait until + Joseph's return, so that he might spend his vengeance upon both together. + </p> + <p> + Patient had he been for eighteen years, confident that ere he died, a just + and merciful God would give him this for which he lived and waited. Yet + now that the season was at hand; now upon the very eve of that for which + he had so long been patient, a frenzy of impatience fretted him. + </p> + <p> + He drank deep that night, and through deep drinking his manner thawed—for + in his cups it was not his to be churlish to friend or foe. Anon Cynthia + withdrew; next Kenneth, who went in quest of her. Still Crispin sat on, + and drank his host's health above his breath, and his perdition under it, + till in the end Gregory, who never yet had found his master at the bottle, + grew numb and drowsy, and sat blinking at the tapers. + </p> + <p> + Until midnight they remained at table, talking of this and that, and each + understanding little of what the other said. As the last hour of night + boomed out through the great hall, Gregory spoke of bed. + </p> + <p> + “Where do I lie to-night?” asked Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “In the northern wing,” answered Gregory with a hiccough. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sir, I protest,” cried Galliard, struggling to his feet, and swaying + somewhat as he stood. “I'll sleep in the King's chamber, none other.” + </p> + <p> + “The King's chamber?” echoed Gregory, and his face showed the confused + struggles of his brain. “What know you of the King's chamber?” + </p> + <p> + “That it faces the east and the sea, and that it is the chamber I love + best.” + </p> + <p> + “What can you know of it since, I take it, you have never seen it!” + </p> + <p> + “Have I not?” he began, in a voice that was awful in its threatening calm. + Then, recollecting himself, and shaking some of the drunkenness from him: + “In the old days, when the Marleighs were masters here,” he mumbled, “I + was often within these walls. Roland Marleigh was my friend. The King's + chamber was ever accorded me, and there, for old time's sake, I'll lay + these old bones of mine to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “You were Roland Marleigh's friend?” gasped Gregory. He was very white + now, and there was a sheen of moisture on his face. The sound of that name + had well-nigh sobered him. It was almost as if the ghost of Roland + Marleigh stood before him. His knees were loosened, and he sank back into + the chair from which he had but risen. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, I was his friend!” assented Crispin. “Poor Roland! He married your + sister, did he not, and it was thus that, having no issue and the family + being extinct, Castle Marleigh passed to you?” + </p> + <p> + “He married our cousin,” Gregory amended. “They were an ill-fated family.” + </p> + <p> + “Ill-fated, indeed, an all accounts be true,” returned Crispin in a + maudlin voice. “Poor Roland! Well, for old time's sake, I'll sleep in the + King's chamber, Master Ashburn.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall sleep where you list, sir,” answered Gregory, and they rose. + </p> + <p> + “Do you look to honour us long at Castle Marleigh, Sir Crispin?” was + Gregory's last question before separating from his guest. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sir, 'tis likely I shall go hence to-morrow,” answered Crispin, + unmindful of what he said. + </p> + <p> + “I trust not,” said Gregory, in accents of relief that belied him. “A + friend of Roland Marleigh's must ever be welcome in the house that was + Roland Marleigh's.” + </p> + <p> + “The house that was Roland Marleigh's,” Crispin muttered. “Heigho! Life is + precarious as the fall of a die at best an ephemeral business. To-night + you say the house that was Roland Marleigh's; presently men will be saying + the house that the Ashburns lived—aye, and died—in. Give you + good night, Master Ashburn.” + </p> + <p> + He staggered off, and stumbled up the broad staircase at the head of which + a servant now awaited, taper in hand, to conduct him to the chamber he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + Gregory followed him with a dull, frightened eye. Galliard's halting, + thickly uttered words had sounded like a prophecy in his ears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH + </h2> + <p> + When the morrow came, however, Sir Crispin showed no signs of carrying out + his proposal of the night before, and departing from Castle Marleigh. Nor, + indeed, did he so much as touch upon the subject, bearing himself rather + as one whose sojourn there was to be indefinite. + </p> + <p> + Gregory offered no comment upon this; through what he had done for Kenneth + they were under a debt to Galliard, and whilst he was a fugitive from the + Parliament's justice it would ill become Gregory to hasten his departure. + Moreover, Gregory recalled little or nothing of the words that had passed + between them in their cups, save a vague memory that Crispin had said that + he had once known Roland Marleigh. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth was content that Galliard should lie idle, and not call upon him + to go forth again to lend him the aid he had pledged himself to render + when Crispin should demand it. He marvelled, as the days wore on, that + Galliard should appear to have forgotten that task of his, and that he + should make no shift to set about it. For the rest, however, it troubled + him but little; enough preoccupation did he find in Cynthia's daily + increasing coldness. Upon all the fine speeches that he made her she + turned an idle ear, or if she replied at all it was but petulantly to + interrupt them, to call him a man of great words and small deeds. All that + he did she found ill done, and told him of it. His sober, godly garments + of sombre hue afforded her the first weapon of scorn wherewith to wound + him. A crow, she dubbed him; a canting, psalm-chanting hypocrite; a + Scripture-monger, and every other contumelious epithet of like import that + she should call to mind. He heard her in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Is it for you, Cynthia,” he cried out in his surprise, “the child of a + God-fearing house, to mock the outward symbols of my faith?” + </p> + <p> + “A faith,” she laughed, “that is all outward symbols and naught besides; + all texts and mournings and nose-twangings.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia!” he exclaimed, in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Go your ways, sir,” she answered, half in jest, half in earnest. “What + need hath a true faith of outward symbols? It is a matter that lies + between your God and yourself, and it is your heart He will look at, not + your coat. Why, then, without becoming more acceptable in His eyes, shall + you but render yourself unsightly in the eyes of man?” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth's cheeks were flushed with anger. From the terrace where they + walked he let his glance roam towards the avenue that split the park in + twain. Up this at that moment, with the least suspicion of a swagger in + his gait, Sir Crispin Galliard was approaching leisurely; he wore a + claret-coloured doublet edged with silver lace, and a grey hat decked with + a drooping red feather—which garments, together with the rest of his + apparel, he had drawn from the wardrobe of Gregory Ashburn. His advent + afforded Kenneth the retort he needed. Pointing him out to Cynthia: + </p> + <p> + “Would you rather,” he cried hotly, “have me such a man as that?” + </p> + <p> + “And, pray, why not?” she taunted him. “Leastways, you would then be a + man.” + </p> + <p> + “If, madam, a debauchee, a drunkard, a profligate, a brawler be your + conception of a man, I would in faith you did not account me one.” + </p> + <p> + “And what, sir, would you sooner elect to be accounted?” + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman, madam,” he answered pompously. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said she quietly, “that you are in as little danger of becoming + the one as the other. A gentleman does not slander a man behind his back, + particularly when he owes that man his life. Kenneth, I am ashamed of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not slander,” he insisted hotly. “You yourself know of the drunken + excess wherewith three nights ago he celebrated his coming to Castle + Marleigh. Nor do I forget what I owe him, and payment is to be made in a + manner you little know of. If I said of him what I did, it was but in + answer to your taunts. Think you I could endure comparison with such a man + as that? Know you what name the Royalists give him? They call him the + Tavern Knight.” + </p> + <p> + She looked him over with an eye of quiet scorn. + </p> + <p> + “And how, sir, do they call you? The pulpit knight? Or is it the knight of + the white feather? Mr. Stewart, you weary me. I would have a man who with + a man's failings hath also a man's redeeming virtues of honesty, chivalry, + and courage, and a record of brave deeds, rather than one who has nothing + of the man save the coat—that outward symbol you lay such store by.” + </p> + <p> + His handsome, weak face was red with fury. + </p> + <p> + “Since that is so, madam,” he choked, “I leave you to your swaggering, + ruffling Cavalier.” + </p> + <p> + And, without so much as a bow, he swung round on his heel and left her. It + was her turn to grow angry now, and well it was for him that he had not + tarried. She dwelt with scorn upon his parting taunt, bethinking herself + that in truth she had exaggerated her opinions of Galliard's merits. Her + feelings towards that ungodly gentleman were rather of pity than aught + else. A brave, ready-witted man she knew him for, as much from the story + of his escape from Worcester as for the air that clung to him despite his + swagger, and she deplored that one possessing these ennobling virtues + should have fallen notwithstanding upon such evil ways as those which + Crispin trod. Some day, perchance, when she should come to be better + acquainted with him, she would seek to induce him to mend his course. + </p> + <p> + Such root did this thought take in her mind that soon thereafter—and + without having waited for that riper acquaintance which at first she had + held necessary—she sought to lead their talk into the channels of + this delicate subject. But he as sedulously confined it to trivial matter + whenever she approached him in this mood, fencing himself about with a + wall of cold reserve that was not lightly to be overthrown. In this his + conscience was at work. Cynthia was the flaw in the satisfaction he might + have drawn from the contemplation of the vengeance he was there to wreak. + He beheld her so pure, so sweet and fresh, that he marvelled how she came + to be the daughter of Gregory Ashburn. His heart smote him at the thought + of how she—the innocent—must suffer with the guilty, and at + the contemplation of the sorrow which he must visit upon her. Out of this + sprang a constraint when in her company, for other than stiff and formal + he dared not be lest he should deem himself no better than the Iscariot. + </p> + <p> + During the first days he had spent at Marleigh, he had been impatient for + Joseph Ashburn's return. Now he found himself hoping each morning that + Joseph might not come that day. + </p> + <p> + A courier reached Gregory from Windsor with a letter wherein his brother + told him that the Lord General, not being at the castle, he was gone on to + London in quest of him. And Gregory, lacking the means to inform him that + the missing Kenneth was already returned, was forced to possess his soul + in patience until his brother, having learnt what was to be learnt of + Cromwell, should journey home. + </p> + <p> + And so the days sped on, and a week wore itself out in peace at Castle + Marleigh, none dreaming of the volcano on which they stood. Each night + Crispin and Gregory sat together at the board after Kenneth and Cynthia + had withdrawn, and both drank deep—the one for the vice of it, the + other (as he had always done) to seek forgetfulness. + </p> + <p> + He needed it now more than ever, for he feared that the consideration of + Cynthia might yet unman him. Had she scorned and avoided him and having + such evidences of his ways of life he marvelled that she did not—he + might have allowed his considerations of her to weigh less heavily. As it + was, she sought him out, nor seemed rebuffed at his efforts to evade her, + and in every way she manifested a kindliness that drove him almost to the + point of despair, and well-nigh to hating her. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth, knowing naught of the womanly purpose that actuated her, and + seeing but the outward signs, which, with ready jealousy, he misconstrued + and magnified, grew sullen and churlish to her, to Galliard, and even to + Gregory. + </p> + <p> + For hours he would mope alone, nursing his jealous mood, as though in this + clownish fashion matters were to be mended. Did Cynthia but speak to + Crispin, he scowled; did Crispin answer her, he grit his teeth at the + covert meaning wherewith his fancy invested Crispin's tones; whilst did + they chance to laugh together—a contingency that fortunately for his + sanity was rare—he writhed in fury. He was a man transformed, and at + times there was murder in his heart. Had he been a swordsman of more than + moderate skill and dared to pit himself against the Tavern Knight, blood + would have been shed in Marleigh Park betwixt them. + </p> + <p> + It seemed at last as if with his insensate jealousy all the evil humours + that had lain dormant in the boy were brought to the surface, to overwhelm + his erstwhile virtues—if qualities that have bigotry for a parent + may truly be accounted virtues. + </p> + <p> + He cast off, not abruptly, but piecemeal, those outward symbols—his + sombre clothes. First 'twas his hat he exchanged for a feather-trimmed + beaver of more sightly hue; then those stiff white bands that reeked of + sanctity and cant for a collar of fine point; next it was his coat that + took on a worldly edge of silver lace. And so, little by little, step by + step, was the metamorphosis effected, until by the end of the week he came + forth a very butterfly of fashion—a gallant, dazzling Cavalier. Out + of a stern, forbidding Covenanter he was transformed in a few days into a + most outrageous fop. He walked in an atmosphere of musk that he himself + exhaled; his fair hair—that a while ago had hung so straight and + limp—was now twisted into monstrous curls, a bunch of which were + gathered by his right ear in a ribbon of pale blue silk. + </p> + <p> + Galliard noted the change in amazement, yet, knowing to what follies youth + is driven when it woos, he accounted Cynthia responsible for it, and + laughed in his sardonic way, whereat the boy would blush and scowl in one. + Gregory, too, looked on and laughed, setting it down to the same cause. + Even Cynthia smiled, whereat the Tavern Knight was driven to ponder. + </p> + <p> + With a courtier's raiment Kenneth put on, too, a courtier's ways; he grew + mincing and affected in his speech, and he—whose utterance a while + ago had been marked by a scriptural flavour—now set it off with some + of Galliard's less unseemly oaths. + </p> + <p> + Since it was a ruffling gallant Cynthia required, he swore that a ruffling + gallant should she find him; nor had he wit enough to see that his + ribbons, his fopperies, and his capers served but to make him ridiculous + in her eyes. He did indeed perceive, however, that in spite of this + wondrous transformation, he made no progress in her favour. + </p> + <p> + “What signify these fripperies?” she asked him, one day, “any more than + did your coat of decent black? Are these also outward symbols?” + </p> + <p> + “You may take them for such, madam,” he answered sulkily. “You liked me + not as I was—” + </p> + <p> + “And I like you less as you are,” she broke in. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia, you mock me,” he cried angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Heaven forbid! I do but mark the change,” she answered airily. + “These scented clothes are but a masquerade, even as your coat of black + and your cant were a masquerade. Then you simulated godliness; now you + simulate Heaven knows what. But now, as then, it is no more than a + simulation, a pretence of something that you are not.” + </p> + <p> + He left her in a pet, and went in search of Gregory, into whose ear he + poured the story of his woes that had their source in Cynthia's + unkindness. From this resulted a stormy interview 'twixt Cynthia and her + father, in which Cynthia at last declared that she would not be wedded to + a fop. + </p> + <p> + Gregory shrugged his shoulders and laughed cynically, replying that it was + the way of young men to be fools, and that through folly lay the road to + wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “Be that as it may,” she answered him with spirit, “this folly transcends + all bounds. Master Stewart may return to his Scottish heather; at Castle + Marleigh he is wasting time.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” she pleaded, “why be angry? You would not have me marry against + the inclinations of my heart? You would not have me wedded to a man whom I + despise?” + </p> + <p> + “By what right do you despise him?” he demanded, his brow dark. + </p> + <p> + “By the right of the freedom of my thoughts—the only freedom that a + woman knows. For the rest it seems she is but a chattel; of no more + consideration to a man than his ox or his ass with which the Scriptures + rank her—a thing to be given or taken, bought or sold, as others + shall decree.” + </p> + <p> + “Child, child, what know you of these things?” he cried. “You are + overwrought, sweetheart.” And with the promise to wait until a calmer + frame of mind in her should be more propitious to what he wished to say + further on this score, he left her. + </p> + <p> + She went out of doors in quest of solitude among the naked trees of the + park; instead she found Sir Crispin, seated deep in thought upon a fallen + trunk. + </p> + <p> + Through the trees she espied him as she approached, whilst the rustle of + her gown announced to him her coming. He rose as she drew nigh, and, + doffing his hat, made shift to pass on. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin,” she called, detaining him. He turned. + </p> + <p> + “Your servant, Mistress Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid of me, Sir Crispin?” + </p> + <p> + “Beauty, madam, is wont to inspire courage rather than fear,” he answered, + with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “That, sir, is an evasion, not an answer.” + </p> + <p> + “If read aright, Mistress Cynthia, it is also an answer.” + </p> + <p> + “That you do not fear me?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a habit of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, have you avoided me these three days past?” + </p> + <p> + Despite himself Crispin felt his breath quickening—quickening with a + pleasure that he sought not to account for—at the thought that she + should have marked his absence from her side. + </p> + <p> + “Because perhaps if I did not,” he answered slowly, “you might come to + avoid me. I am a proud man, Mistress Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Satan, sir, was proud, but his pride led him to perdition.” + </p> + <p> + “So indeed may mine,” he answered readily, “since it leads me from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sir,” she laughed, “you go from me willingly enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Not willingly, Cynthia. Oh, not willingly,” he began. Then of a sudden he + checked his tongue, and asked himself what he was saying. With a + half-laugh and a courtier manner, he continued, “Of two evils, madam, we + must choose the lesser one.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” she echoed, disregarding all else that he had said. “It is an + ugly word, and but a moment back you called me Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Twas a liberty that methought my grey hairs warranted, and for which you + should have reproved me.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not grey hairs enough to warrant it, Sir Crispin,” she answered + archly. “But what if even so I account it no liberty?” + </p> + <p> + The heavy lids were lifted from her eyes, and as their glance, frank and + kindly, met his, he trembled. Then, with a polite smile, he bowed. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you for the honour.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment she looked at him in a puzzled way, then moved past him, and + as he stood, stiffly erect, watching her graceful figure, he thought that + she was about to leave him, and was glad of it. But ere she had taken half + a dozen steps: + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin,” said she, looking back at him over her shoulder, “I am + walking to the cliffs.” + </p> + <p> + Never was a man more plainly invited to become an escort; but he ignored + it. A sad smile crept into his harsh face. + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell Kenneth if I see him,” said he. + </p> + <p> + At that she frowned. + </p> + <p> + “But I do not want him,” she protested. “Sooner would I go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, madam, I'll tell nobody.” + </p> + <p> + Was ever man so dull? she asked herself. + </p> + <p> + “There is a fine view from the cliffs,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I have always thought so,” he agreed. + </p> + <p> + She inclined to call him a fool; yet she restrained herself. She had an + impulse to go her way without him; but, then, she desired his company, and + Cynthia was unused to having her desires frustrated. So finding him + impervious to suggestion: + </p> + <p> + “Will you not come with me?” she asked at last, point-blank. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, if you wish it,” he answered without alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “You may remain, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Her offended tone aroused him now to the understanding that he was + impolite. Contrite he stood beside her in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “With your permission, mistress, I will go with you. I am a dull fellow, + and to-day I know not what mood is on me. So sorry a one that I feared I + should be poor company. Still, if you'll endure me, I'll do my best to + prove entertaining.” + </p> + <p> + “By no means,” she answered coldly. “I seek not the company of dull + fellows.” And she was gone. + </p> + <p> + He stood where she had left him, and breathed a most ungallant prayer of + thanks. Next he laughed softly to himself, a laugh that was woeful with + bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “Fore George!” he muttered, “it is all that was wanting!” + </p> + <p> + He reseated himself upon the fallen tree, and there he set himself to + reflect, and to realize that he, war-worn and callous, come to Castle + Marleigh on such an errand as was his, should wax sick at the very thought + of it for the sake of a chit of a maid, with a mind to make a mock and a + toy of him. Into his mind there entered even the possibility of flight, + forgetful of the wrongs he had suffered, abandoning the vengeance he had + sworn. Then with an oath he stemmed his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “God in heaven, am I a boy, beardless and green?” he asked himself. “Am I + turned seventeen again, that to look into a pair of eyes should make me + forget all things but their existence?” Then in a burst of passion: “Would + to Heaven,” he muttered, “they had left me stark on Worcester Field!” + </p> + <p> + He rose abruptly, and set out to walk aimlessly along, until suddenly a + turn in the path brought him face to face with Cynthia. She hailed him + with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Sir laggard, I knew that willy-nilly you would follow me,” she cried. And + he, taken aback, could not but smile in answer, and profess that she had + conjectured rightly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN + </h2> + <p> + Side by side stepped that oddly assorted pair along—the maiden whose + soul was as pure and fresh as the breeze that blew upon them from the sea, + and the man whose life years ago had been marred by a sorrow, the quest of + whose forgetfulness had led him through the mire of untold sin; the girl + upon the threshold of womanhood, her life all before her and seeming to + her untainted mind a joyous, wholesome business; the man midway on his + ill-starred career, his every hope blighted save the one odious hope of + vengeance, which made him cling to a life he had proved worthless and + ugly, and that otherwise he had likely enough cast from him. And as they + walked: + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin,” she ventured timidly, “you are unhappy, are you not?” + </p> + <p> + Startled by her words and the tone of them, Galliard turned his head that + he might observe her. + </p> + <p> + “I, unhappy?” he laughed; and it was a laugh calculated to acknowledge the + fitness of her question, rather than to refute it as he intended. “Am I a + clown, Cynthia, to own myself unhappy at such a season and while you + honour me with your company?” + </p> + <p> + She made a wry face in protest that he fenced with her. + </p> + <p> + “You are happy, then?” she challenged him. + </p> + <p> + “What is happiness?” quoth he, much as Pilate may have questioned what was + truth. Then before she could reply he hastened to add: “I have not been + quite so happy these many years.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not of the present moment that I speak,” she answered reprovingly, + for she scented no more than a compliment in his words, “but of your + life.” + </p> + <p> + Now either was he imbued with a sense of modesty touching the deeds of + that life of his, or else did he wisely realize that no theme could there + be less suited to discourse upon with an innocent maid. + </p> + <p> + “Mistress Cynthia,” said he as though he had not heard her question, “I + would say a word to you concerning Kenneth.” + </p> + <p> + At that she turned upon him with a pout. + </p> + <p> + “But it is concerning yourself that I would have you talk. It is not nice + to disobey a lady. Besides, I have little interest in Master Stewart.” + </p> + <p> + “To have little interest in a future husband augurs ill for the time when + he shall come to be your husband.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought that you, at least, understood me. Kenneth will never be + husband of mine, Sir Crispin.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, lackaday! Am I to wed a doll?” she demanded. “Is he—is he a man + a maid may love, Sir Crispin?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, had you but seen the half of life that I have seen,” said he + unthinkingly, “it might amaze you what manner of man a maid may love—or + at least may marry. Come, Cynthia, what fault do you find with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, every fault.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed in unbelief. + </p> + <p> + “And whom are we to blame for all these faults that have turned you so + against him?” + </p> + <p> + “Whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Yourself, Cynthia. You use him ill, child. If his behaviour has been + extravagant, you are to blame. You are severe with him, and he, in his + rash endeavours to present himself in a guise that shall render him + commendable in your eyes, has overstepped discretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Has my father bidden you to tell me this?” + </p> + <p> + “Since when have I enjoyed your father's confidence to that degree? No, + no, Cynthia. I plead the boy's cause to you because—I know not + because of what.” + </p> + <p> + “It is ill to plead without knowing why. Let us forget the valiant + Kenneth. They tell me, Sir Crispin”—and she turned her glorious eyes + upon him in a manner that must have witched a statue into answering her—“that + in the Royal army you were known as the Tavern Knight.” + </p> + <p> + “They tell you truly. What of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it? Do you blush at the very thought?” + </p> + <p> + “I blush?” He blinked, and his eyes were full of humour as they met her + grave—almost sorrowing glance. Then a full-hearted peal of laughter + broke from him, and scared a flight of gulls from the rocks of Sheringham + Hithe below. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cynthia! You'll kill me!” he gasped. “Picture to yourself this + Crispin Galliard blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl beset by her + first lover. Picture it, I say! As well and as easily might you picture + old Lucifer warbling a litany for the edification of a Nonconformist + parson.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were severe in their reproach. + </p> + <p> + “It is always so with you. You laugh and jest and make a mock of + everything. Such I doubt not has been your way from the commencement, and + 'tis thus that you are come to this condition.” + </p> + <p> + Again he laughed, but this time it was in bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, sweet mistress, you are wrong—you are very wrong; it was not + always thus. Time was—” He paused. “Bah! 'Tis the coward cries “time + was”! Leave me the past, Cynthia. It is dead, and of the dead we should + speak no ill,” he jested. + </p> + <p> + “What is there in your past?” she insisted, despite his words. “What is + there in it so to have warped a character that I am assured was once—is, + indeed, still—of lofty and noble purpose? What is it has brought you + to the level you occupy—you who were born to lead; you who—” + </p> + <p> + “Have done, child. Have done,” he begged. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, tell me. Let us sit here.” And taking hold of his sleeve, she sat + herself upon a mound, and made room for him beside her on the grass. With + a half-laugh and a sigh he obeyed her, and there, on the cliff, in the + glow of the September sun, he took his seat at her side. + </p> + <p> + A silence prevailed about them, emphasized rather than broken by the + droning chant of a fisherman mending his nets on the beach below, the + intermittent plash of the waves on the shingle, and the scream of the + gulls that circled overhead. Before the eyes of his flesh was stretched a + wide desert of sky and water, and before the eyes of his mind the hopeless + desert of his thirty-eight years. + </p> + <p> + He was almost tempted to speak. The note of sympathy in her voice allured + him, and sympathy was to him as drink to one who perishes of thirst. A + passionate, indefinable longing impelled him to pour out the story that in + Worcester he had related unto Kenneth, and thus to set himself better in + her eyes; to have her realize indeed that if he was come so low it was + more the fault of others than his own. The temptation drew him at a + headlong pace, to be checked at last by the memory that those others who + had brought him to so sorry a condition were her own people. The humour + passed. He laughed softly, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing that I can tell you, child. Let us rather talk of + Kenneth.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish to talk of Kenneth.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but you must. Willy-nilly must you. Think you it is only a war-worn, + hard-drinking, swashbuckling ruffler that can sin? Does it not also occur + to you that even a frail and tender little maid may do wrong as well?” + </p> + <p> + “What wrong have I done?” she cried in consternation. + </p> + <p> + “A grievous wrong to this poor lad. Can you not realize how the only + desire that governs him is the laudable one of appearing favourably in + your eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “That desire gives rise, then, to curious manifestations.” + </p> + <p> + “He is mistaken in the means he adopts, that is all. In his heart his one + aim is to win your esteem, and, after all, it is the sentiment that + matters, not its manifestation. Why, then, are you unkind to him?” + </p> + <p> + “But I am not unkind. Or is it unkindness to let him see that I mislike + his capers? Would it not be vastly more unkind to ignore them and + encourage him to pursue their indulgence? I have no patience with him.” + </p> + <p> + “As for those capers, I am endeavouring to show you that you yourself have + driven him to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin,” she cried out, “you grow tiresome.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” said he, “I grow tiresome. I grow tiresome because I preach of + duty. Marry, it is in truth a tiresome topic.” + </p> + <p> + “How duty? Of what do you talk?” And a flush of incipient anger spread now + on her fair cheek. + </p> + <p> + “I will be clearer,” said he imperturbably. “This lad is your betrothed. + He is at heart a good lad, an honourable and honest lad—at times + haply over-honest and over-honourable; but let that be. To please a whim, + a caprice, you set yourself to flout him, as is the way of your sex when + you behold a man your utter slave. From this—being all unversed in + the obliquity of woman—he conceives, poor boy, that he no longer + finds favour in your eyes, and to win back this, the only thing that in + the world he values, he behaves foolishly. You flout him anew, and because + of it. He is as jealous with you as a hen with her brood.” + </p> + <p> + “Jealous?” echoed Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, jealous; and so far does he go as to be jealous even of me,” he + cried, with infinitely derisive relish. “Think of it—he is jealous + of me! Jealous of him they call the Tavern Knight!” + </p> + <p> + She did think of it as he bade her. And by thinking she stumbled upon a + discovery that left her breathless. + </p> + <p> + Strange how we may bear a sentiment in our hearts without so much as + suspecting its existence, until suddenly a chance word shall so urge it + into life that it reveals itself with unmistakable distinctness. With her + the revelation began in a vague wonder at the scorn with which Crispin + invested the notion that Kenneth should have cause for jealousy on his + score. Was it, she asked herself, so monstrously unnatural? Then in a + flash the answer came—and it was, that far from being a matter for + derision, such an attitude in Kenneth lacked not for foundation. + </p> + <p> + In that moment she knew that it was because of Crispin; because of this + man who spoke with such very scorn of self, that Kenneth had become in her + eyes so mean and unworthy a creature. Loved him she haply never had, but + leastways she had tolerated—been even flattered by—his wooing. + By contrasting him now with Crispin she had grown to despise him. His + weakness, his pusillanimity, his meannesses of soul, stood out in sharp + relief by contrast with the masterful strength and the high spirit of Sir + Crispin. + </p> + <p> + So easily may our ideals change that the very graces of face and form that + a while ago had pleased her in Kenneth, seemed now effeminate attributes, + well-attuned to a vacillating, purposeless mind. Far greater beauty did + her eyes behold in this grimfaced soldier of fortune; the man as firm of + purpose as he was upright of carriage; gloomy, proud, and reckless; still + young, yet past the callow age of adolescence. Since the day of his coming + to Castle Marleigh she had brought herself to look upon him as a hero + stepped from the romancers' tales that in secret she had read. The mystery + that seemed to envelop him; those hints at a past that was not good—but + the measure of whose evil in her pure innocence she could not guess; his + very melancholy, his misfortunes, and the deeds she had heard assigned to + him, all had served to fire her fancy and more besides, although, until + that moment, she knew it not. + </p> + <p> + Subconsciously all this had long dwelt in her mind. And now of a sudden + that self-deriding speech of Crispin's had made her aware of its presence + and its meaning. + </p> + <p> + She loved him. That men said his life had not been nice, that he was a + soldier of fortune, little better than an adventurer, a man of no worldly + weight, were matters of no moment then to her. She loved him. She knew it + now because he had mockingly bidden her to think whether Kenneth had cause + to be jealous of him, and because upon thinking of it, she found that did + Kenneth know what was in her heart, he must have more than cause. + </p> + <p> + She loved him with that rare love that will urge a woman to the last + sacrifice a man may ask; a love that gives and gives, and seeks nothing in + return; that impels a woman to follow the man at his bidding, be his way + through the world cast in places never so rugged; cleaving to him where + all besides shall have abandoned him; and, however dire his lot, asking of + God no greater blessing than that of sharing it. + </p> + <p> + And to such a love as this Crispin was blind—blind to the very + possibility of its existence; so blind that he laughed to scorn the idea + of a puny milksop being jealous of him. And so, while she sat, her soul + all mastered by her discovery, her face white and still for very awe of + it, he to whom this wealth was given, pursued the odious task of wooing + her for another. + </p> + <p> + “You have observed—you must have observed this insensate jealousy,” + he was saying, “and how do you allay it? You do not. On the contrary, you + excite it at every turn. You are exciting it now by having—and I + dare swear for no other purpose—lured me to walk with you, to sit + here with you and preach your duty to you. And when, through jealousy, he + shall have flown to fresh absurdities, shall you regret your conduct and + the fruits it has borne? Shall you pity the lad, and by kindness induce + him to be wiser? No. You will mock and taunt him into yet worse displays. + And through these displays, which are—though you may not have + bethought you of it—of your own contriving, you will conclude that + he is no fit mate for you, and there will be heart-burnings, and years + hence perhaps another Tavern Knight, whose name will not be Crispin + Galliard.” + </p> + <p> + She had listened with bent head; indeed, so deeply rapt by her discovery, + that she had but heard the half of what he said. Now, of a sudden, she + looked up, and meeting his glance: + </p> + <p> + “Is—is it a woman's fault that you are as you are?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not. But how does that concern the case of Kenneth?” + </p> + <p> + “It does not. I was but curious. I was not thinking of Kenneth.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her, dumfounded. Had he been talking of Kenneth to her with + such eloquence and such fervour, that she should calmly tell him as he + paused that it was not of Kenneth she had been thinking? + </p> + <p> + “You will think of him, Cynthia?” he begged. “You will bethink you too of + what I have said, and by being kinder and more indulgent with this youth + you shall make him grow into a man you may take pride in. Deal fairly with + him, child, and if anon you find you cannot truly love him, then tell him + so. But tell him kindly and frankly, instead of using him as you are + doing.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent a moment, and in their poignancy her feelings went very + near to anger. Presently: + </p> + <p> + “I would, Sir Crispin, you could hear him talk of you,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “He talks ill, not a doubt of it, and like enough he has good cause.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you saved his life.” + </p> + <p> + The words awoke Crispin, the philosopher of love, to realities. He + recalled the circumstances of his saving Kenneth, and the price the boy + was to pay for that service; and it suddenly came to him that it was + wasted breath to plead Kenneth's cause with Cynthia, when by his own + future actions he was, himself, more than likely to destroy the boy's + every hope of wedding her. The irony of his attitude smote him hard, and + he rose abruptly. The sun hung now a round, red globe upon the very brink + of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Hereafter he may have little cause to thank me,” muttered he. “Come, + Mistress Cynthia, it grows late.” + </p> + <p> + She rose in mechanical obedience, and together they retraced their steps + in silence, save for the stray word exchanged at intervals touching + matters of no moment. + </p> + <p> + But he had not advocated Kenneth's cause in vain, for all that he little + recked what his real argument had been, what influences he had evoked to + urge her to make her peace with the lad. A melancholy listlessness of mind + possessed her now. Crispin did not see, never would see, what was in her + heart, and it might not be hers to show him. The life that might have + signified was not to be lived, and since that was so it seemed to matter + little what befell. + </p> + <p> + It was thus that when on the morrow her father returned to the subject, + she showed herself tractable and docile out of her indifference, and to + Gregory she appeared not averse to listen to what he had to advance in the + boy's favour. Anon Kenneth's own humble pleading, allied to his contrite + and sorrowful appearance, were received by her with that same + indifference, as also with indifference did she allow him later to kiss + her hand and assume the flattering belief that he was rehabilitated in her + favour. + </p> + <p> + But pale grew Mistress Cynthia's cheeks, and sad her soul. Wistful she + waxed, sighing at every turn, until it seemed to her—as haply it + hath seemed to many a maid—that all her life must she waste in vain + sighs over a man who gave no single thought to her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN + </h2> + <p> + On his side Kenneth strove hard during the days that followed to right + himself in her eyes. But so headlong was he in the attempt, and so + misguided, that presently he overshot his mark by dropping an unflattering + word concerning Crispin, whereby he attributed to the Tavern Knight's + influence and example the degenerate change that had of late been wrought + in him. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's eyes grew hard as he spoke, and had he been wise he had better + served his cause by talking in another vein. But love and jealousy had so + addled what poor brains the Lord had bestowed upon him, that he floundered + on, unmindful of any warning that took not the blunt shape of words. At + length, however, she stemmed the flow of invective that his lips poured + forth. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not told you already, Kenneth, that it better becomes a gentleman + not to slander the man to whom he owes his life? In fact, that a gentleman + would scorn such an action?” + </p> + <p> + As he had protested before, so did he protest now, that what he had + uttered was no slander. And in his rage and mortification at the way she + used him, and for which he now bitterly upbraided her, he was very near + the point of tears, like the blubbering schoolboy that at heart he was. + </p> + <p> + “And as for the debt, madam,” he cried, striking the oaken table of the + hall with his clenched hand, “it is a debt that shall be paid, a debt + which this gentleman whom you defend would not permit me to contract until + I had promised payment—aye, 'fore George!—and with interest, + for in the payment I may risk my very life.” + </p> + <p> + “I see no interest in that, since you risk nothing more than what you owe + him,” she answered, with a disdain that brought the impending tears to his + eyes. But if he lacked the manliness to restrain them, he possessed at + least the shame to turn his back and hide them from her. “But tell me, + sir,” she added, her curiosity awakened, “if I am to judge, what was the + nature of this bargain?” + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a moment, and took a turn in the hall—mastering + himself to speak—his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes + bent towards the polished floor which the evening sunlight, filtered + through the gules of the leaded windows, splashed here and there with a + crimson stain. She sat in the great leathern chair at the head of the + board, and, watching him, waited. + </p> + <p> + He was debating whether he was bound to secrecy in the matter, and in the + end he resolved that he was not. Thereupon, pausing before her, he + succinctly told the story Crispin had related to him that night in + Worcester—the story of a great wrong, that none but a craven could + have left unavenged. He added nothing to it, subtracted nothing from it, + but told the tale as it had been told to him on that dreadful night, the + memory of which had still power to draw a shudder from him. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia sat with parted lips and eager eyes, drinking in that touching + narrative of suffering that was rather as some romancer's fabrication than + a true account of what a living man had undergone. Now with sorrow and + pity in her heart and countenance, now with anger and loathing, she + listened until he had done, and even when he ceased speaking, and flung + himself into the nearest chair, she sat on in silence for a spell. + </p> + <p> + Then of a sudden she turned a pair of flashing eyes upon the boy, and in + tones charged with a scorn ineffable: + </p> + <p> + “You dare,” she cried, “to speak of that man as you do, knowing all this? + Knowing what he has suffered, you dare to rail in his absence against + those sins to which his misfortunes have driven him? How, think you, would + it have fared with you, you fool, had you stood in the shoes of this + unfortunate? Had you fallen on your craven knees, and thanked the Lord for + allowing you to keep your miserable life? Had you succumbed to the blows + of fate with a whine of texts upon your lips? Who are you?” she went on, + rising, breathless in her wrath, which caused him to recoil in sheer + affright before her. “Who are you, and what are you, that knowing what you + know of this man's life, you dare to sit in judgment upon his actions and + condemn them? Answer me, you fool!” + </p> + <p> + But never a word had he wherewith to meet that hail of angry, contemptuous + questions. The answer that had been so ready to his lips that night at + Worcester, when, in a milder form the Tavern Knight had set him the same + question, he dared not proffer now. The retort that Sir Crispin had not + cause enough in the evil of others, which had wrecked his life, to risk + the eternal damnation of his soul, he dared no longer utter. Glibly enough + had he said to that stern man that which he dared not say now to this + sterner beauty. Perhaps it was fear of her that made him dumb, perhaps + that at last he knew himself for what he was by contrast with the man + whose vices he had so heartily despised a while ago. + </p> + <p> + Shrinking back before her anger, he racked his shallow mind in vain for a + fitting answer. But ere he had found one, a heavy step sounded in the + gallery that overlooked the hall, and a moment later Gregory Ashburn + descended. His face was ghastly white, and a heavy frown furrowed the + space betwixt his brows. + </p> + <p> + In the fleeting glance she bestowed upon her father, she remarked not the + disorder of his countenance; whilst as for Kenneth, he had enough to hold + his attention for the time. + </p> + <p> + Gregory's advent set an awkward constraint upon them, nor had he any word + to say as he came heavily up the hall. + </p> + <p> + At the lower end of the long table he paused, and resting his hand upon + the board, he seemed on the point of speaking when of a sudden a sound + reached him that caused him to draw a sharp breath; it was the rumble of + wheels and the crack of a whip. + </p> + <p> + “It is Joseph!” he cried, in a voice the relief of which was so marked + that Cynthia noticed it. And with that exclamation he flung past them, and + out through the doorway to meet his brother so opportunely returned. + </p> + <p> + He reached the terrace steps as the coach pulled up, and the lean figure + of Joseph Ashburn emerged from it. + </p> + <p> + “So, Gregory,” he grumbled for greeting, “it was on a fool's errand you + sent me, after all. That knave, your messenger, found me in London at last + when I had outworn my welcome at Whitehall. But, 'swounds, man,” he cried, + remarking the pallor, of his brother's face, “what ails thee?” + </p> + <p> + “I have news for you, Joseph,” answered Gregory, in a voice that shook. + </p> + <p> + “It is not Cynthia?” he inquired. “Nay, for there she stands-and her + pretty lover by her side. 'Slife, what a coxcomb the lad's grown.” + </p> + <p> + And with that he hastened forward to kiss his niece, and congratulate + Kenneth upon being restored to her. + </p> + <p> + “I heard of it, lad, in London,” quoth he, a leer upon his sallow face—“the + story of how a fire-eater named Galliard befriended you, trussed a parson + and a trooper, and dragged you out of jail a short hour before + hanging-time.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth flushed. He felt the sneer in Joseph's, words like a stab. The + man's tone implied that another had done for him that which he would not + have dared do for himself, and Kenneth felt that this was so said in + Cynthia's presence with malicious, purpose. + </p> + <p> + He was right. Partly it was Joseph's way to be spiteful and venomous + whenever chance afforded him the opportunity. Partly he had been + particularly soured at present by his recent discomforts, suffered in a + cause wherewith he had no, sympathy—that of the union Gregory + desired 'twixt Cynthia and Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + There was an evil smile on his thin lips, and his crooked eyes rested + tormentingly upon the young man. A fresh taunt trembled on his viperish + tongue, when Gregory plucked at the skirts of his coat, and drew him + aside. They entered the chamber where they had held their last interview + before Joseph had set out for news of Kenneth. With an air of mystery + Gregory closed the door, then turned to face his brother. He stayed him in + the act of unbuckling his sword-belt. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, Joseph!” he cried dramatically. “This is no time to disarm. Keep + your sword on your thigh, man; you will need it as you never yet have + needed it.” He paused, took a deep breath, and hurled the news at his + brother. “Roland Marleigh is here.” And he sat down like a man exhausted. + </p> + <p> + Joseph did not start; he did not cry out; he did not so much as change + countenance. A slight quiver of the eyelids was the only outward sign he + gave of the shock that his brother's announcement had occasioned. The hand + that had rested on the buckle of his sword-belt slipped quietly to his + side, and he deliberately stepped up to Gregory, his eyes set searchingly + upon the pale, flabby face before him. A sudden suspicion darting through + his mind, he took his brother by the shoulders and shook him vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “Gregory, you fool, you have drunk overdeep in my absence.” + </p> + <p> + “I have, I have,” wailed Gregory, “and, my God, 'twas he was my + table-fellow, and set me the example.” + </p> + <p> + “Like enough, like enough,” returned Joseph, with a contemptuous laugh. + “My poor Gregory, the wine has so fouled your worthless wits at last, that + they conjure up phantoms to sit at the table with you. Come, man, what + petticoat business is this? Bestir yourself, fool.” + </p> + <p> + At that Gregory caught the drift of Joseph's suspicions. + </p> + <p> + “Tis you are the fool,” he retorted angrily, springing to his feet, and + towering above his brother. + </p> + <p> + “It was no ghost sat with me, but Roland Marleigh, himself, in the flesh, + and strangely changed by time. So changed that I knew him not, nor should + I know him now but for that which, not ten minutes ago, I overheard.” + </p> + <p> + His earnestness was too impressive, his sanity too obvious, and Joseph's + suspicions were all scattered before it. + </p> + <p> + He caught Gregory's wrist in a grip that made him wince, and forced him + back into his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Gadslife, man, what is it you mean?” he demanded through set teeth. “Tell + me.” + </p> + <p> + And forthwith Gregory told him of the manner of Kenneth's coming to + Sheringham and to Castle Marleigh, accompanied by one Crispin Galliard, + the same that had been known for his mad exploits in the late wars as + “rakehelly Galliard,” and that was now known to the malignants as “The + Tavern Knight” for his debauched habits. Crispin's mention of Roland + Marleigh on the night of his arrival now returned vividly to Gregory's + mind, and he repeated it, ending with the story that that very evening he + had overheard Kenneth telling Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “And this Galliard, then, is none other than that pup of insolence, Roland + Marleigh, grown into a dog of war?” quoth Joseph. + </p> + <p> + He was calm—singularly calm for one who had heard such news. + </p> + <p> + “There remains no doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + “And you saw this man day by day, sat with him night by night over your + damned sack, and knew him not? Oddswounds, man, where were your eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “I may have been blind. But he is greatly changed. I would defy you, + Joseph, to have recognized him.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph sneered, and the flash of his eyes told of the contempt wherein he + held his brother's judgment and opinions. + </p> + <p> + “Think not that, Gregory. I have cause enough to remember him,” said + Joseph, with an unpleasant laugh. Then as suddenly changing his tone for + one of eager anxiety: + </p> + <p> + “But the lad, Gregory, does he suspect, think you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a whit. In that lies this fellow's diabolical cunning. Learning of + Kenneth's relations with us, he seized the opportunity Fate offered him + that night at Worcester, and bound the lad on oath to help him when he + should demand it, without disclosing the names of those against whom he + should require his services. The boy expects at any moment to be bidden to + go forth with him upon his mission of revenge, little dreaming that it is + here that that tragedy is to be played out.” + </p> + <p> + “This comes of your fine matrimonial projects for Cynthia,” muttered + Joseph acridly. He laughed his unpleasant laugh again, and for a spell + there was silence. + </p> + <p> + “To think, Gregory,” he broke out at last, “that for a fortnight he should + have been beneath this roof, and you should have found no means of doing + more effectively that which was done too carelessly eighteen years ago.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke as coldly as though the matter were a trivial one. Gregory + shuddered and looked at his brother in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “What now, fool?” cried Joseph, scowling. “Are you as cowardly as you are + blind? Damn me, sir, it seems well that I am returned. I'll have no + Marleigh plague my old age for me.” He paused a moment, then continued in + a quieter voice, but one whose ring was sinister beyond words: “Tomorrow I + shall find a way to draw this your dog of war to some secluded ground. I + have some skill,” he pursued, tapping his hilt as he spoke, “besides, you + shall be there, Gregory.” And he smiled darkly. “Is there no other way?” + asked Gregory, in distress. + </p> + <p> + “There was,” answered Joseph. “There was in Parliament. At Whitehall I met + a man—one Colonel Pride—a bloodthirsty old Puritan soldier, + who would give his right hand to see this Galliard hanged. Galliard, it + seems, slew the fellow's son at Worcester. Had I but known,” he added + regretfully—“had your wits been keener, and you had discovered it + and sent me word, I had found means to help Colonel Pride to his revenge. + As it is”—he shrugged his shoulders—“there is not time.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be—” began Gregory, then stopped abruptly with an + exclamation that caused Joseph to wheel sharply round. The door had + opened, and on the threshold Sir Crispin Galliard stood, deferentially, + hat in hand. + </p> + <p> + Joseph's astonished glance played rapidly over him for a second. Then: + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil may you be?” he blurted out. + </p> + <p> + Despite his anxiety, Gregory chuckled at the question. The Tavern Knight + came forward. “I am Sir Crispin Galliard, at your service,” said he, + bowing. “I was told that the master of Marleigh was returned, and that I + should find you here, and I hasten, sir, to proffer you my thanks for the + generous shelter this house has given me this fortnight past.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst he spoke he measured Joseph with his eyes, and his glance was as + hateful as his words were civil. Joseph was lost in amazement. Little + trace was there in this fellow of the Roland Marleigh he had known. + Moreover, he had looked to find an older man, forgetting that Roland's age + could not exceed thirty-eight. Then, again, the fading light, whilst + revealing the straight, supple lines of his lank figure, softened the + haggardness of the face and made him appear yet younger than the light of + day would have shown him. + </p> + <p> + In an instant Joseph had recovered from his surprise, and for all that his + mind misgave him tortured by a desire to learn whether Crispin was aware + of their knowledge concerning him—his smile was serene, and his + tones level and pleasant, as he made answer: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you are very welcome. You have valiantly served one dear to us, and + the entertainment of our poor house for as long as you may deign to honour + it is but the paltriest of returns.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE RECKONING + </h2> + <p> + Sir Crispin had heard naught of what was being said as he entered the room + wherein the brothers plotted against him, and he little dreamt that his + identity was discovered. He had but hastened to perform that which, under + ordinary circumstances, would have been a natural enough duty towards the + master of the house. He had been actuated also by an impatience again to + behold this Joseph Ashburn—the man who had dealt him that murderous + sword-thrust eighteen years ago. He watched him attentively, and gathering + from his scrutiny that here was a dangerous, subtle man, different, + indeed, to his dull-witted brother, he had determined to act at once. + </p> + <p> + And so when he appeared in the hall at suppertime, he came armed and + booted, and equipped as for a journey. + </p> + <p> + Joseph was standing alone by the huge fire-place, his face to the burning + logs, and his foot resting upon one of the andirons. Gregory and his + daughter were talking together in the embrasure of a window. By the other + window, across the hall, stood Kenneth, alone and disconsolate, gazing out + at the drizzling rain that had begun to fall. + </p> + <p> + As Galliard descended, Joseph turned his head, and his eyebrows shot up + and wrinkled his forehead at beholding the knight's equipment. + </p> + <p> + “How is this, Sir Crispin?” said he. “You are going a journey?” + </p> + <p> + “Too long already have I imposed myself upon the hospitality of Castle + Marleigh,” Crispin answered politely as he came and stood before the + blazing logs. “To-night, Mr. Ashburn, I go hence.” + </p> + <p> + A curious expression flitted across Joseph's face. The next moment, his + brows still knit as he sought to fathom his sudden action, he was + muttering the formal regrets that courtesy dictated. But Crispin had + remarked that singular expression on Joseph's face—fleeting though + it had been—and it flashed across his mind that Joseph knew him. And + as he moved away towards Cynthia and her father, he thanked Heaven that he + had taken such measures as he had thought wise and prudent for the + carrying out of his resolve. + </p> + <p> + Following him with a glance, Joseph asked himself whether Crispin had + discovered that he was recognized, and had determined to withdraw, leaving + his vengeance for another and more propitious season. In answer—little + knowing the measure of the man he dealt with—he told himself it must + be so, and having arrived at that conclusion, he there and then determined + that Crispin should not depart free to return and plague them when he + listed. Since Galliard shrank from forcing matters to an issue, he himself + would do it that very night, and thereby settle for all time his business. + And so ere he sat down to sup Joseph looked to it that his sword lay at + hand behind his chair at the table-head. + </p> + <p> + The meal was a quiet one enough. Kenneth was sulking 'neath the fresh + ill-usage—as he deemed it—that he had suffered at Cynthia's + hands. Cynthia, in her turn, was grave and silent. That story of Sir + Crispin's sufferings gave her much to think of, as did also his departure, + and more than once did Galliard find her eyes fixed upon him with a look + half of pity, half of some other feeling that he was at a loss to + interpret. Gregory's big voice was little heard. The sinister glitter in + his brother's eye made him apprehensive and ill at ease. For him the hour + was indeed in travail and like to bring forth strange doings—but not + half so much as it was for Crispin and Joseph, each bent upon forcing + matters to a head ere they quitted that board. And yet but for these two + the meal would have passed off in dismal silence. Joseph was at pains to + keep suspicion from his guest, and with that intent he talked gaily of + this and that, told of slight matters that had befallen him on his recent + journey and of the doings that in London he had witnessed, investing each + trifling incident with a garb of wit that rendered it entertaining. + </p> + <p> + And Galliard—actuated by the same motives grew reminiscent whenever + Joseph paused and let his nimble tongue—even nimblest at a table + amuse those present, or seem to amuse them, by a score of drolleries. + </p> + <p> + He drank deeply too, and this Joseph observed with satisfaction. But here + again he misjudged his man. Kenneth, who ate but little, seemed also to + have developed an enormous thirst, and Crispin grew at length alarmed at + that ever empty goblet so often filled. He would have need of Kenneth ere + the hour was out, and he rightly feared that did matters thus continue, + the lad's aid was not to be reckoned with. Had Kenneth sat beside him he + might have whispered a word of restraint in his eat, but the lad was on + the other side of the board. + </p> + <p> + At one moment Crispin fancied that a look of intelligence passed from + Joseph to Gregory, and when presently Gregory set himself to ply both him + and the boy with wine, his suspicions became certainties, and he grew + watchful and wary. + </p> + <p> + Anon Cynthia rose. Upon the instant Galliard was also on his feet. He + escorted her to the foot of the staircase, and there: + </p> + <p> + “Permit me, Mistress Cynthia,” said he, “to take my leave of you. In an + hour or so I shall be riding away from Castle Marleigh.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes sought the ground, and had he been observant of her he might have + noticed that she paled slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Fare you well, sir,” said she in a low voice. “May happiness attend you.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam, I thank you. Fare you well.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed low. She dropped him a slight curtsey, and ascended the stairs. + Once as she reached the gallery above she turned. He had resumed his seat + at table, and was in the act of filling his glass. The servants had + withdrawn, and for half an hour thereafter they sat on, sipping their + wine, and making conversation—while Crispin drained bumper after + bumper and grew every instant more boisterous, until at length his + boisterousness passed into incoherence. His eyelids drooped heavily, and + his chin kept ever and anon sinking forward on to his breast. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth, flushed with wine, yet master of his wits, watched him with + contempt. This was the man Cynthia preferred to him! Contempt was there + also in Joseph Ashburn's eye, mingled with satisfaction. He had not looked + to find the task so easy. At length he deemed the season ripe. + </p> + <p> + “My brother tells me that you were once acquainted with Roland Marleigh,” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” he answered thickly. “I knew the dog—a merry, reckless soul, + d—n me. 'Twas his recklessness killed him, poor devil—that and + your hand, Mr. Ashburn, so the story goes.” + </p> + <p> + “What story?” + </p> + <p> + “What story?” echoed Crispin. “The story that I heard. Do you say I lie?” + And, swaying in his chair, he sought to assume an air of defiance. + </p> + <p> + Joseph laughed in a fashion that made Kenneth's blood run cold. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, I don't deny it. It was in fair fight he fell. Moreover, he + brought the duel upon himself.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin spoke no word in answer, but rose unsteadily to his feet, so + unsteadily that his chair was overset and fell with a crash behind him. + For a moment he surveyed it with a drunken leer, then went lurching across + the hall towards the door that led to the servants' quarters. The three + men sat on, watching his antics in contempt, curiosity, and amusement. + They saw him gain the heavy oaken door and close it. They heard the bolts + rasp as he shot them home, and the lock click; and they saw him withdraw + the key and slip it into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + The cold smile still played round Joseph's lips as Crispin turned to face + them again, and on Joseph's lips did that same smile freeze as he saw him + standing there, erect and firm, his drunkenness all vanished, and his eyes + keen and fierce; as he heard the ring of his metallic voice: + </p> + <p> + “You lie, Joseph Ashburn. It was no fair fight. It was no duel. It was a + foul, murderous stroke you dealt him in the back, thinking to butcher him + as you butchered his wife and his babe. But there is a God, Master + Ashburn,” he went on in an ever-swelling voice, “and I lived. Like a + salamander I came through the flames in which you sought to destroy all + trace of your vile deed. I lived, and I, Crispin Galliard, the debauched + Tavern Knight that was once Roland Marleigh, am here to demand a + reckoning.” + </p> + <p> + The very incarnation was he then of an avenger, as he stood towering + before them, his grim face livid with the passion into which he had lashed + himself as he spoke, his blazing eyes watching them in that cunning, + half-closed way that was his when his mood was dangerous. And yet the only + one that quailed was Kenneth, his ally, upon whom comprehension burst with + stunning swiftness. + </p> + <p> + Joseph recovered quickly from the surprise of Crispin's suddenly reassumed + sobriety. He understood the trick that Galliard had played upon them so + that he might cut off their retreat in the only direction in which they + might have sought assistance, and he cursed himself for not having + foreseen it. Still, anxiety he felt none; his sword was to his hand, and + Gregory was armed; at the very worst they were two calm and able men + opposed to a half-intoxicated boy, and a man whom fury, he thought, must + strip of half his power. Probably, indeed, the lad would side with them, + despite his plighted word. Again, he had but to raise his voice, and, + though the door that Crispin had fastened was a stout one, he never + doubted but that his call would penetrate it and bring his servants to his + rescue. + </p> + <p> + And so, a smile of cynical unconcern returned to his lips and his answer + was delivered in a cold, incisive voice. + </p> + <p> + “The reckoning you have come to demand shall be paid you, sir. Rakehelly + Galliard is the hero of many a reckless deed, but my judgment is much at + fault if this prove not his crowning recklessness and his last one. + Gadswounds, sir, are you mad to come hither single-handed to beard the + lion in his den?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather the cur in his kennel,” sneered Crispin back. “Blood and wounds, + Master Joseph, think you to affright me with words?” + </p> + <p> + Still Joseph smiled, deeming himself master of the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Were help needed, the raising of my voice would bring it me. But it is + not. We are three to one.” + </p> + <p> + “You reckon wrongly. Mr. Stewart belongs to me to-night—bound by an + oath that 'twould damn his soul to break, to help me when and where I may + call upon him; and I call upon him now. Kenneth, draw your sword.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth groaned as he stood by, clasping and unclasping his hands. + </p> + <p> + “God's curse on you,” he burst out. “You have tricked me, you have cheated + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Bear your oath in mind,” was the cold answer. “If you deem yourself + wronged by me, hereafter you shall have what satisfaction you demand. But + first fulfil me what you have sworn. Out with your blade, man.” + </p> + <p> + Still Kenneth hesitated, and but for Gregory's rash action at that + critical juncture, it is possible that he would have elected to break his + plighted word. But Gregory fearing that he might determine otherwise, + resolved there and then to remove the chance of it. Whipping out his + sword, he made a vicious pass at the lad's breast. Kenneth avoided it by + leaping backwards, but in an instant Gregory had sprung after him, and + seeing himself thus beset, Kenneth was forced to draw that he might + protect himself. + </p> + <p> + They stood in the space between the table and that part of the hall that + abutted on to the terrace; opposite to them, by the door which he had + closed, stood Crispin. At the table-head Joseph still sat cool, + self-contained, even amused. + </p> + <p> + He realized the rashness of Gregory's attack upon one that might yet have + been won over to their side; but he never doubted that a few passes would + dispose of the lad's opposition, and he sought not to interfere. Then he + saw Crispin advancing towards him slowly, his rapier naked in his hand, + and he was forced to look to himself. He caught at the sword that stood + behind him, and leaping to his feet he sprang forward to meet his grim + antagonist. Galliard's eyes flashed out a look of joy, he raised his + rapier, and their blades met. + </p> + <p> + To the clash of their meeting came an echoing clash from beyond the table. + </p> + <p> + “Hold, sir!” Kenneth had cried, as Gregory bore down upon him. But + Gregory's answer had been a lunge which the boy had been forced to parry. + Taking that crossing of blades for a sign of opposition, Gregory thrust + again more viciously. Kenneth parried narrowly, his blade pointing + straight at his aggressor. He saw the opening, and both instinct and the + desire to repel Gregory's onslaught drew him into attempting a riposte, + which drove Gregory back until his shoulders touched the panels of the + wall. Simultaneously the boy's foot struck the back of the chair which in + rising Crispin had overset, and he stumbled. How it happened he scarcely + knew, but as he hurtled forward his blade slid along his opponent's, and + entering Gregory's right shoulder pinned him to the wainscot. + </p> + <p> + Joseph heard the tinkle of a falling blade, and assumed it to be + Kenneth's. For the rest he was just then too busy to dare withdraw for a + second his eyes from Crispin's. Until that hour Joseph Ashburn had + accounted himself something of a swordsman, and more than a match for most + masters of the weapon. But in Crispin he found a fencer of a quality such + as he had never yet encountered. Every feint, every botte in his catalogue + had he paraded in quick succession, yet ever with the same result—his + point was foiled and put aside with ease. + </p> + <p> + Desperately he fought now, darting that point of his hither and thither in + and out whenever the slightest opening offered; yet ever did it meet the + gentle averting pressure of Crispin's blade. He fought on and marvelled as + the seconds went by that Gregory came not to his aid. Then the sickening + thought that perhaps Gregory was overcome occurred to him. In such a case + he must reckon upon himself alone. He cursed the over-confidence that had + led him into that ever-fatal error of underestimating his adversary. He + might have known that one who had acquired Sir Crispin's fame was no + ordinary man, but one accustomed to face great odds and master them. He + might call for help. + </p> + <p> + He marvelled as the thought occurred to him that the clatter of their + blades had not drawn his servants from their quarters. Fencing still, he + raised his voice: + </p> + <p> + “Ho, there! John, Stephen!” + </p> + <p> + “Spare your breath,” growled the knight. “I dare swear you'll have need of + it. None will hear you, call as you will. I gave your four henchmen a + flagon of wine wherein to drink to my safe journey hence. They have + emptied it ere this, I make no doubt, and a single glass of it would set + the hardest toper asleep for the round of the clock.” + </p> + <p> + An oath was Joseph's only answer—a curse it was upon his own folly + and assurance. A little while ago he had thought to have drawn so tight a + net about this ruler, and here was he now taken in its very toils, + well-nigh exhausted and in his enemy's power. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to him then that Crispin stayed his hand. That he fenced only + on the defensive, and he wondered what might his motive be. He realized + that he was mastered, and that at any moment Galliard might send home his + blade. He was bathed from head to foot in a sweat that was at once of + exertion and despair. A frenzy seized him. Might he not yet turn to + advantage this hesitancy of Crispin's to strike the final blow? + </p> + <p> + He braced himself for a supreme effort, and turning his wrist from a + simulated thrust in the first position, he doubled, and stretching out, + lunged vigorously in quarte. As he lengthened his arm in the stroke there + came a sudden twitch at his wrist; the weapon was twisted from his grasp, + and he stood disarmed at Crispin's mercy. + </p> + <p> + A gurgling cry broke despite him from his lips, and his eyes grew wide in + a sickly terror as they encountered the knight's sinister glance. Not + three paces behind him was the wall, and on it, within the hand's easy + reach, hung many a trophied weapon that might have served him then. But + the fascination of fear was upon him, benumbing his wits and paralysing + his limbs, with the thought that the next pulsation of his tumultuous + heart would prove its last. The calm, unflinching courage that had been + Joseph's only virtue was shattered, and his iron will that had + unscrupulously held hitherto his very conscience in bondage was turned to + water now that he stood face to face with death. + </p> + <p> + Eons of time it seemed to him were sped since the sword was wrenched from + his hand, and still the stroke he awaited came not; still Crispin stood, + sinister and silent before him, watching him with magnetic, fascinating + eyes—as the snake watches the bird—eyes from which Joseph + could not withdraw his own, and yet before which it seemed to him that he + quaked and shrivelled. + </p> + <p> + The candles were burning low in their sconces, and the corners of that + ample, gloomy hall were filled with mysterious shadows that formed a + setting well attuned to the grim picture made by those two figures—the + one towering stern and vengeful, the other crouching palsied and livid. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the table, and with the wounded Gregory—lying unconscious and + bleeding—at his feet, stood Kenneth looking on in silence, in wonder + and in some horror too. + </p> + <p> + To him also, as he watched, the seconds seemed minutes from the time when + Crispin had disarmed his opponent until with a laugh—short and + sudden as a stab—he dropped his sword and caught his victim by the + throat. + </p> + <p> + However fierce the passion that had actuated Crispin, it had been held + hitherto in strong subjection. But now at last it suddenly welled up and + mastered him, causing him to cast all restraint to the winds, to abandon + reason, and to give way to the lust of rage that rendered ungovernable his + mood. + </p> + <p> + Like a burst of flame from embers that have been smouldering was the + upleaping of his madness, transfiguring his face and transforming his + whole being. A new, unconquerable strength possessed him; his pulses + throbbed swiftly and madly with the quickened coursing of his blood, and + his soul was filled with the cruel elation that attends a lust about to be + indulged the elation of the beast about to rend its prey. + </p> + <p> + He was pervaded by the desire to wreak slowly and with his hands the + destruction of his broken enemy. To have passed his sword through him + would have been too swiftly done; the man would have died, and Crispin + would have known nothing of his sufferings. But to take him thus by the + throat; slowly to choke the life's breath out of him; to feel his + desperate, writhing struggles; to be conscious of every agonized twitch of + his sinews, to watch the purpling face, the swelling veins, the protruding + eyes filled with the dumb horror of his agony; to hold him thus—each + second becoming a distinct, appreciable division of time—and thus to + take what payment he could for all the blighted years that lay behind him—this + he felt would be something like revenge. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the shock of surprise at the unlooked-for movement had awakened + again the man in Joseph. For a second even Hope knocked at his heart. He + was sinewy and active, and perchance he might yet make Galliard repent + that he had discarded his rapier. The knight's reason for doing so he + thought he had in Crispin's contemptuous words: + </p> + <p> + “Good steel were too great an honour for you, Mr. Ashburn.” + </p> + <p> + And as he spoke, his lean, nervous fingers tightened about Joseph's throat + in a grip that crushed the breath from him, and with it the new-born hope + of proving master in his fresh combat. He had not reckoned with this + galley-weaned strength of Crispin's, a strength that was a revelation to + Joseph as he felt himself almost lifted from the ground, and swung this + way and that, like a babe in the hands of a grown man. Vain were his + struggles. His strength ebbed fast; the blood, held overlong in his head, + was already obscuring his vision, when at last the grip relaxed, and his + breathing was freed. As his sight cleared again he found himself back in + his chair at the table-head, and beside him Sir Crispin, his left hand + resting upon the board, his right grasping once more the sword, and his + eyes bent mockingly and evilly upon his victim. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth, looking on, could not repress a shudder. He had known Crispin for + a tempestuous man quickly moved to wrath, and he had oftentimes seen anger + make terrible his face and glance. But never had he seen aught in him to + rival this present frenzy; it rendered satanical the baleful glance of his + eyes and the awful smile of hate and mockery with which he gazed at last + upon the helpless quarry that he had waited eighteen years to bring to + earth. “I would,” said Crispin, in a harsh, deliberate voice, “that you + had a score of lives, Master Joseph. As it is I have done what I could. + Two agonies have you undergone already, and I am inclined to mercy. The + end is at hand. If you have prayers to say, say them, Master Ashburn, + though I doubt me it will be wasted breath—you are over-ripe for + hell.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to kill me,” he gasped, growing yet a shade more livid. + </p> + <p> + “Does the suspicion of it but occur to you?” laughed Crispin, “and yet + twice already have I given you a foretaste of death. Think you I but + jested?” + </p> + <p> + Joseph's teeth clicked together in a snap of determination. That sneer of + Crispin's acted upon him as a blow—but as a blow that arouses the + desire to retaliate rather than lays low. He braced himself for fresh + resistance; not of action, for that he realized was futile, but of + argument. + </p> + <p> + “It is murder that you do,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “No; it is justice. It has been long on the way, but it has come at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Bethink you, Mr. Marleigh—” + </p> + <p> + “Call me not by that name,” cried the other harshly, fearfully. “I have + not borne it these eighteen years, and thanks to what you have made me, it + is not meet that I should bear it now.” There was a pause. Then Joseph + spoke again with great calm and earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “Bethink you, Sir Crispin, of what you are about to do. It can benefit you + in naught.” + </p> + <p> + “Oddslife, think you it cannot? Think you it will benefit me naught to see + you earn at last your reward?” + </p> + <p> + “You may have dearly to pay for what at best must prove a fleeting + satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a fleeting one, Joseph,” he laughed. “But one the memory of which + shall send me rejoicing through what years or days of life be left me. A + satisfaction that for eighteen years I have been waiting to experience; + though the moment after it be mine find me stark and cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin, you are in enmity with the Parliament—an outlaw + almost. I have some influence much influence. By exerting it—” + </p> + <p> + “Have done, sir!” cried Crispin angrily. “You talk in vain. What to me is + life, or aught that life can give? If I have so long endured the burden of + it, it has been so that I might draw from it this hour. Do you think there + is any bribe you could offer would turn me from my purpose?” + </p> + <p> + A groan from Gregory, who was regaining consciousness, drew his attention + aside. + </p> + <p> + “Truss him up, Kenneth,” he commanded, pointing to the recumbent figure. + “How? Do you hesitate? Now, as God lives, I'll be obeyed; or you shall + have an unpleasant reminder of the oath you swore me!” + </p> + <p> + With a look of loathing the lad dropped on his knees to do as he was + bidden. Then of a sudden: + </p> + <p> + “I have not the means,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “Fool, does he not wear a sword-belt and a sash? Come, attend to it!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you force me to do this?” the lad still protested passionately. + “You have tricked and cheated me, yet I have kept my oath and rendered you + the assistance you required. They are in your power now, can you not do + the rest yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “On my soul, Master Stewart, I am over-patient with you! Are we to wrangle + at every step before you'll take it? I will have your assistance through + this matter as you swore to give it. Come, truss me that fellow, and have + done with words.” + </p> + <p> + His fierceness overthrew the boy's outburst of resistance. Kenneth had wit + enough to see that his mood was not one to brook much opposition, and so, + with an oath and a groan, he went to work to pinion Gregory. + </p> + <p> + Then Joseph spoke again. “Weigh well this act of yours, Sir Crispin,” he + cried. “You are still young; much of life lies yet before you. Do not + wantonly destroy it by an act that cannot repair the past.” + </p> + <p> + “But it can avenge it, Joseph. As for my life, you destroyed it years ago. + The future has naught to offer me; the present has this.” And he drew back + his sword to strike. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN + </h2> + <p> + A new terror leapt into Joseph's eyes at that movement of Crispin's, and + for the third time that night did he taste the agony that is Death's + forerunner. Yet Galliard delayed the stroke. He held his sword poised, the + point aimed at Joseph's breast, and holding, he watched him, marking each + phase of the terror reflected upon his livid countenance. He was loth to + strike, for to strike would mean to end this exquisite torture of horror + to which he was subjecting him. + </p> + <p> + Broken Joseph had been before and passive; now of a sudden he grew violent + again, but in a different way. He flung himself upon his knees before Sir + Crispin, and passionately he pleaded for the sparing of his miserable + life. + </p> + <p> + Crispin looked on with an eye both of scorn and of cold relish. It was + thus he wished to see him, broken and agonized, suffering thus something + of all that which he himself had suffered through despair in the years + that were sped. With satisfaction then he watched his victim's agony; he + watched it too with scorn and some loathing—for a craven was in his + eyes an ugly sight, and Joseph in that moment was truly become as vile a + coward as ever man beheld. His parchment-like face was grey and mottled, + his brow bedewed with sweat; his lips were blue and quivering, his eyes + bloodshot and almost threatening tears. + </p> + <p> + In the silence of one who waits stood Crispin, listening, calm and + unmoved, as though he heard not, until Joseph's whining prayers culminated + in an offer to make reparation. Then Crispin broke in at length with an + impatient gesture. + </p> + <p> + “What reparation can you make, you murderer? Can you restore to me the + wife and child you butchered eighteen years ago?” + </p> + <p> + “I can restore your child at least,” returned the other. “I can and will + restore him to you if you but stay your hand. That and much more will I do + to repair the past.” + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously Crispin lowered his sword-arm, and for a full minute he + stood and stared at Joseph. His jaw was fallen and the grim firmness all + gone from his face, and replaced by amazement, then unbelief followed by + inquiry; then unbelief again. The pallor of his cheeks seemed to + intensify. At last, however, he broke into a hard laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What lie is this you offer me? Zounds, man, are you not afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no lie,” Joseph cried, in accents so earnest that some of the + unbelief passed again from Galliard's face. “It is the truth-God's truth. + Your son lives.” + </p> + <p> + “Hell-hound, it is a lie! On that fell night, as I swooned under your + cowardly thrust, I heard you calling to your brother to slit the squalling + bastard's throat. Those were your very words, Master Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “I own I bade him do it, but I was not obeyed. He swore we should give the + babe a chance of life. It should never know whose son it was, he said, and + I agreed. We took the boy away. He has lived and thrived.” + </p> + <p> + The knight sank on to a chair as though bereft of strength. He sought to + think, but thinking coherently he could not. At last: + </p> + <p> + “How shall I know that you are not lying? What proof can you advance?” he + demanded hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “I swear that what I have told you is true. I swear it by the cross of our + Redeemer!” he protested, with a solemnity that was not without effect upon + Crispin. Nevertheless, he sneered. + </p> + <p> + “I ask for proofs, man, not oaths. What proofs can you afford me?” + </p> + <p> + “There are the man and the woman whom the lad was reared by.” + </p> + <p> + “And where shall I find them?” + </p> + <p> + Joseph opened his lips to answer, then closed them again. In his eagerness + he had almost parted with the information which he now proposed to make + the price of his life. He regained confidence at Crispin's tone and + questions, gathering from both that the knight was willing to believe if + proof were set before him. He rose to his feet, and when next he spoke his + voice had won back much of its habitual calm deliberateness. + </p> + <p> + “That,” said he, “I will tell you when you have promised to go hence, + leaving Gregory and me unharmed. I will supply you with what money you may + need, and I will give you a letter to those people, so couched that what + they tell you by virtue of it shall be a corroboration of my words.” + </p> + <p> + His elbow resting upon the table, and his hand to his brow so that it + shaded his eyes, sat Crispin long in thought, swayed by emotions and + doubts, the like of which he had never yet known in the whole of his + chequered life. Was Joseph lying to him? + </p> + <p> + That was the question that repeatedly arose, and oddly enough, for all his + mistrust of the man, he was inclined to account true the ring of his + words. Joseph watched him with much anxiety and some hope. + </p> + <p> + At length Crispin withdrew his hands from eyes that were grown haggard, + and rose. + </p> + <p> + “Let us see the letter that you will write,” said he. “There you have pen, + ink, and paper. Write.” + </p> + <p> + “You promise?” asked Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you when you have written.” + </p> + <p> + In a hand that shook somewhat, Joseph wrote a few lines, then handed + Crispin the sheet, whereon he read: + </p> + <p> + The bearer of this is Sir Crispin Galliard, who is intimately interested + in the matter that lies betwixt us, and whom I pray you answer fully and + accurately the questions he may put you in that connexion. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Crispin slowly. “Yes, it will serve. Now the + superscription.” And he returned the paper. + </p> + <p> + Ashburn was himself again by now. He realized the advantage he had gained, + and he would not easily relinquish it. + </p> + <p> + “I shall add the superscription,” said he calmly, “when you swear to + depart without further molesting us.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin paused a moment, weighing the position well in his mind. If Joseph + lied to him now, he would find means to return, he told himself, and so he + took the oath demanded. + </p> + <p> + Joseph dipped his pen, and paused meditatively to watch a drop of ink, + wherewith it was overladen, fall back into the horn. The briefest of + pauses was it, yet it was not the accident it appeared to be. Hitherto + Joseph had been as sincere as he had been earnest, intent alone upon + saving his life at all costs, and forgetting in his fear of the present + the dangers that the future might hold for him were Crispin Galliard still + at large. But in that second of dipping his quill, assured that the peril + of the moment was overcome, and that Crispin would go forth as he said, + the devil whispered in his ear a cunning and vile suggestion. As he + watched the drop of ink roll from his pen-point, he remembered that in + London there dwelt at the sign of the Anchor, in Thames Street, one + Colonel Pride, whose son this Galliard had slain, and who, did he once lay + hands upon him, was not like to let him go again. In a second was the + thought conceived and the determination taken, and as he folded the letter + and set upon it the superscription, Joseph felt that he could have cried + out in his exultation at the cunning manner in which he was outwitting his + enemy. + </p> + <p> + Crispin took the package, and read thereon: + </p> + <p> + This is to Mr. Henry Lane, at the sign of the Anchor, Thames Street, + London. + </p> + <p> + The name was a fictitious one—one that Joseph had set down upon the + spur of the moment, his intention being to send a messenger that should + outstrip Sir Crispin, and warn Colonel Pride of his coming. + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” was Crispin's only comment. He, too, was grown calm again + and fully master of himself. He placed the letter carefully within the + breast of his doublet. + </p> + <p> + “If you have lied to me, if this is but a shift to win your miserable + life, rest assured, Master Ashburn, that you have but put off the day for + a very little while.” + </p> + <p> + It was on Joseph's lips to answer that none of us are immortal, but he + bethought him that the pleasantry might be ill-timed, and bowed in + silence. + </p> + <p> + Galliard took his hat and cloak from the chair on which he had placed them + upon descending that evening. Then he turned again to Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of money a moment ago,” he said, in the tones of one demanding + what is his own the tones of a gentleman speaking to his steward. “I will + take two hundred Caroluses. More I cannot carry in comfort.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph gasped at the amount. For a second it even entered his mind to + resist the demand. Then he remembered that there was a brace of pistols in + his study; if he could get those he would settle matters there and then + without the aid of Colonel Pride. + </p> + <p> + “I will fetch the money,” said he, betraying his purpose by his alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “By your leave, Master Ashburn, I will come with you.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph's eyes flashed him a quick look of baffled hate. + </p> + <p> + “As you will,” said he, with an ill grace. + </p> + <p> + As they passed out, Crispin turned to Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + “Remember, sir, you are still in my service. See that you keep good + watch.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth bent his head without replying. But Master Gregory required little + watching. He lay a helpless, half-swooning heap upon the floor, which he + had smeared with the blood oozing from his wounded shoulder. Even were he + untrussed, there was little to be feared from him. + </p> + <p> + During the brief while they were alone together, Kenneth did not so much + as attempt to speak to him. He sat himself down upon the nearest chair, + and with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees he pondered + over the miserable predicament into which Sir Crispin had got him, and + more bitter than ever it had been was his enmity at that moment towards + the knight. That Galliard should be upon the eve of finding his son, and a + sequel to the story he had heard from him that night in Worcester, was to + Kenneth a thing of no interest or moment. Galliard had ruined him with + these Ashburns. He could never now hope to win the hand of Cynthia, to + achieve which he had been willing to turn both fool and knave—aye, + had turned both. There was naught left him but to return him to the paltry + Scottish estate of his fathers, there to meet the sneers of those who no + doubt had heard that he was gone South to marry a great English heiress. + </p> + <p> + That at such a season he could think of this but serves to prove the + shallow nature of his feelings. A love was his that had gain and vanity + for its foundation—in fact, it was no love at all. For what he + accounted love for Cynthia was but the love of himself, which through + Cynthia he sought to indulge. + </p> + <p> + He cursed the ill-luck that had brought Crispin into his life. He cursed + Crispin for the evil he had suffered from him, forgetting that but for + Crispin he would have been carrion a month ago and more. + </p> + <p> + Deep at his bitter musings was he when the door opened again to admit + Joseph, followed by Galliard. The knight came across the hall and stooped + to look at Gregory. + </p> + <p> + “You may untruss him, Kenneth, when I am gone,” said he. “And in a quarter + of an hour from now you are released from your oath to me. Fare you well,” + he added with unusual gentleness, and turning a glance that was almost + regretful upon the lad. “We are not like to meet again, but should we, I + trust it may be in happier times. If I have harmed you in this business, + remember that my need was great. Fare you well.” And he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Take yourself to hell, sir!” answered Kenneth, turning his back upon him. + The ghost of an evil smile played round Joseph Ashburn's lips as he + watched them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT + </h2> + <p> + So soon as Sir Crispin had taken his departure, and whilst yet the beat of + his horse's hoofs was to be distinguished above the driving storm of rain + and wind without, Joseph hastened across the hall to the servants' + quarters. There he found his four grooms slumbering deeply, their faces + white and clammy, and their limbs twisted into odd, helpless attitudes. + Vainly did he rain down upon them kicks and curses; arouse them he could + not from the stupor in whose thrall they lay. + </p> + <p> + And so, seizing a lanthorn, he passed out to the stables, whence Crispin + had lately taken his best nag, and with his own hands he saddled a horse. + His lips were screwed into a curious smile—a smile that still + lingered upon them when presently he retraced his steps to the room where + his brother sat with Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + In his absence the lad had dressed Gregory's wound; he had induced him to + take a little wine, and had set him upon a chair, in which he now lay + back, white and exhausted. + </p> + <p> + “The quarter of an hour is passed, sir,” said Joseph coldly, as he + entered. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth made no sign that he heard. He sat on like a man in a dream. His + eyes that saw nothing were bent upon Gregory's pale, flabby face. + </p> + <p> + “The quarter of an hour is passed, sir,” Joseph repeated in a louder + voice. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth looked up, then rose and sighed, passing his hand wearily across + his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, sir,” he replied in a low voice. “You mean that I must go?” + </p> + <p> + Joseph waited a moment before replying. Then: + </p> + <p> + “It is past midnight,” he said slowly, “and the weather is wild. You may + lie here until morning, if you are so minded. But go you must then,” he + added sternly. “I need scarce say, sir, that you must have no speech with + Mistress Cynthia, nor that never again must you set foot within Castle + Marleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand, sir; I understand. But you deal hardly with me.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph raised his eyebrows in questioning surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I was the victim of my oath, given when I knew not against whom my hand + was to be lifted. Oh, sir, am I to suffer all my life for a fault that was + not my own? You, Master Gregory,” he cried, turning passionately to + Cynthia's father, “you are perchance more merciful? You understand my + position—how I was forced into it.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory opened his heavy eyes. + </p> + <p> + “A plague on you, Master Stewart,” he groaned. “I understand that you have + given me a wound that will take a month to heal.” + </p> + <p> + “It was an accident, sir. I swear it was an accident!” + </p> + <p> + “To swear this and that appears to be your chief diversion in life,” + growled Gregory for answer. “You had best go; we are not likely to listen + to excuses.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you rather suggest a remedy,” Joseph put in quietly, “we might hear + you.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth swung round and faced him, hope brightening his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What remedy is there? How can I undo what I have done? Show me but the + way, and I'll follow it, no matter where it leads!” + </p> + <p> + Such protestations had Joseph looked to hear, and he was hard put to it to + dissemble his satisfaction. For a while he was silent, making pretence to + ponder. At length: + </p> + <p> + “Kenneth,” he said, “you may in some measure repair the evil you have + done, and if you are ready to undergo some slight discomfort, I shall be + willing on my side to forget this night.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me how, sir, and whatever the cost I will perform it!” + </p> + <p> + He gave no thought to the fact that Crispin's grievance against the + Ashburns was well-founded; that they had wrecked his life even as they had + sought to destroy it; even as eighteen years ago they had destroyed his + wife's. His only thought was Cynthia; his only wish was to possess her. + Besides that, justice and honour itself were of small account. + </p> + <p> + “It is but a slight matter,” answered Joseph. “A matter that I might + entrust to one of my grooms.” + </p> + <p> + That whilst his grooms lay drugged the matter was so pressing that his + messenger must set out that very night, Joseph did not think of adding. + </p> + <p> + “I would, sir,” answered the boy, “that the task were great and + difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” answered Joseph with biting sarcasm, “we are acquainted with + both your courage and your resource.” He sat silent and thoughtful for + some moments, then with a sudden sharp glance at the lad: + </p> + <p> + “You shall have this chance of setting yourself right with us,” he said. + Then abruptly he added. + </p> + <p> + “Go make ready for a journey. You must set out within the hour for London. + Take what you may require and arm yourself; then return to me here.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory, who, despite his sluggish wits, divined—partly, at least—what + was afoot, made shift to speak. But his brother silenced him with a + glance. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” Joseph said to the boy. And, without comment, Kenneth rose and left + them. + </p> + <p> + “What would you do?” asked Gregory when the door had closed. + </p> + <p> + “Make doubly sure of that ruffian,” answered Joseph coldly. “Colonel Pride + might be absent when he arrives, and he might learn that none of the name + of Lane dwells at the Anchor in Thames Street. It would be fatal to awaken + his suspicions and bring him back to us.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely Richard or Stephen might carry your errand?” + </p> + <p> + “They might were they not so drugged that they cannot be aroused. I might + even go myself, but it is better so.” He laughed softly. “There is even + comedy in it. Kenneth shall outride our bloodthirsty knight to warn Pride + of his coming, and when he comes he will walk into the hands of the + hangman. It will be a surprise for him. For the rest I shall keep my + promise concerning his son. He shall have news of him from Pride—but + when too late to be of service.” + </p> + <p> + Gregory shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Fore God, Joseph, 'tis a foul thing you do,” he cried. “Sooner would I + never set eyes on the lad again. Let him go his ways as you intended.” + </p> + <p> + “I never did intend it. What trustier messenger could I find now that I + have lent him zest by fright? To win Cynthia, we may rely upon him safely + to do that in which another might fail.” + </p> + <p> + “Joseph, you will roast in hell for it.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph laughed him to scorn. + </p> + <p> + “To bed with you, you canting hypocrite; your wound makes you + light-headed.” + </p> + <p> + It was a half-hour ere Kenneth returned, booted, cloaked, and ready for + his journey. He found Joseph alone, busily writing, and in obedience to a + sign he sat him down to wait. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes passed, then, with a final scratch and splutter Joseph flung + down his pen. With the sandbox tilted in the air, like a dicer about to + make his throw, he looked at the lad. + </p> + <p> + “You will spare neither whip nor spur until you arrive in London, Master + Kenneth. You must ride night and day; the matter is of the greatest + urgency.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth nodded that he understood, and Joseph sprinkled the sand over the + written page. + </p> + <p> + “I know not when you should reach London so that you may be in time, but,” + he continued, and as he spoke he creased the paper and poured the + superfluous sand back into the box, “I should say that by midnight + to-morrow your message should be delivered. Aye,” he continued, in answer + to the lad's gasp of surprise, “it is hard riding, I know, but if you + would win Cynthia you must do it. Spare neither money nor horseflesh, and + keep to the saddle until you are in Thames Street.” + </p> + <p> + He folded the letter, sealed it, and wrote the superscription: “This to + Colonel Pride, at the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and handed the package to Kenneth, to whom the superscription + meant nothing, since he had not seen that borne by the letter which + Crispin had received. + </p> + <p> + “You will deliver this intact, and with your own hands, to Colonel Pride + in person—none other. Should he be absent from Thames Street upon + your arrival, seek him out instantly, wherever he may be, and give him + this. Upon your faithful observance of these conditions remember that your + future depends. If you are in time, as indeed I trust and think you will + be, you may account yourself Cynthia's husband. Fail and—well, you + need not return here.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not fail, sir,” cried Kenneth. “What man can do to accomplish the + journey within twenty-four hours, I will do.” + </p> + <p> + He would have stopped to thank Joseph for the signal favour of this chance + of rehabilitation, but Joseph cut him short. + </p> + <p> + “Take this purse,” he cried impatiently. “You will find a horse ready + saddled in the stables. Ride it hard. It will bear you to Norton at least. + There get you a fresh one, and when that is done, another. Now be off.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY + </h2> + <p> + When the Tavern Knight left the gates of Marleigh Park behind him on that + wild October night, he drove deep the rowels of his spurs, and set his + horse at a perilous gallop along the road to Norwich. The action was of + instinct rather than of thought. In the turbulent sea of his mind, one + clear current there was, and one only—the knowledge that he was + bound for London for news of this son of his whom Joseph told him lived. + He paused not even to speculate what manner of man his child was grown, + nor yet what walk of life he had been reared to tread. He lived: he was + somewhere in the world; that for the time sufficed him. The Ashburns had + not, it seemed, destroyed quite everything that made his life worth + enduring—the life that so often and so wantonly he had exposed. + </p> + <p> + His son lived, and in London he should have news of him. To London then + must he get himself with all dispatch, and he swore to take no rest until + he reached it. And with that firm resolve to urge him, he ploughed his + horse's flanks, and sped on through the night. The rain beat in his face, + yet he scarce remarked it, as again more by instinct than by reason—he + buried his face to the eyes in the folds of his cloak. + </p> + <p> + Later the rain ceased, and clearer grew the line of light betwixt the + hedgerows, by which his horse had steered its desperate career. Fitfully a + crescent moon peered out from among the wind-driven clouds. The poor + ruffler was fallen into meditation, and noted not that his nag did no more + than amble. He roused himself of a sudden when half-way down a gentle + slope some five miles from Norwich, and out of temper at discovering the + sluggishness of the pace, he again gave the horse a taste of the spurs. + The action was fatal. The incline was become a bed of sodden clay, and he + had not noticed with what misgivings his horse pursued the treacherous + footing. The sting of the spur made the animal bound forward, and the next + instant a raucous oath broke from Crispin as the nag floundered and + dropped on its knees. Like a stone from a catapult Galliard flew over its + head and rolled down the few remaining yards of the slope into a very lake + of slimy water at the bottom. + </p> + <p> + Down this same hill, some twenty minutes later, came Kenneth Stewart with + infinite precaution. He was in haste—a haste more desperate far than + even Crispin's. But his character held none of Galliard's recklessness, + nor were his wits fogged by such news as Crispin had heard that night. He + realized that to be swift he must be cautious in his night-riding. And so, + carefully he came, with a firm hand on the reins, yet leaving it to his + horse to find safe footing. + </p> + <p> + He had reached the level ground in safety, and was about to put his nag to + a smarter pace, when of a sudden from the darkness of the hedge he was + hailed by a harsh, metallic voice, the sound of which sent a tremor + through him. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you are choicely met, whoever you may be. I have suffered a + mischance down that cursed hill, and my horse has gone lame.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth kept his cloak over his mouth, trusting that the muffling would + sufficiently disguise his accents as he made answer. + </p> + <p> + “I am in haste, my master. What is your will?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, marry, so am I in haste. My will is your horse, sir. Oh, I'm no + robber. I'll pay you for it, and handsomely. But have it I must. 'Twill be + no great discomfort for you to walk to Norwich. You may do it in an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “My horse, sir, is not for sale,” was Kenneth's brief answer. “Give you + good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold, man! Blood and hell, stop! If you'll not sell the worthless beast + to serve a gentleman, I'll shoot it under you. Make your choice.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth caught the gleam of a pistol-barrel pointed at him from the hedge, + and he shivered. What was he to do? Every instant was precious to him. As + in a flash it came to him that perchance Sir Crispin also rode to London, + and that it was expected of him to arrive there first if he were to be in + time. Swiftly he weighed the odds in his mind, and took the determination + to dash past Sir Crispin, risking his aim and trusting to the dark to + befriend him. + </p> + <p> + But even as he determined thus, what moon there was became unveiled, and + the light of it fell upon his face, which was turned towards Galliard. An + exclamation of surprise escaped Sir Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “'Slife, Master Stewart, I knew not your voice. Whither do you ride?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it to you? Have you not wrought enough of evil for me? Am I never + to be rid of you? Castle Marleigh,” he added, with well-feigned anger, + “has closed its doors upon me. What does it signify to you whither I ride? + Suffer me leastways to pass unmolested, and to leave you.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth's passionate reproaches cut Galliard keenly. He held himself at + that moment a very knave for having dragged this boy into his work of + vengeance, and thereby cast a blight upon his life. He sought for words + wherein to give expression to something of what he felt, then realizing + how futile and effete all words must prove, he waved his hand in the + direction of the road. + </p> + <p> + “Go, Master Stewart,” he muttered. “Your way is clear.” + </p> + <p> + And Kenneth, waiting for no second invitation, rode on and left him. He + rode with gratitude in his heart to the Providence that had caused him so + easily to overcome an obstacle that at first he had held impassable. + Stronger grew in his mind the conviction that to fulfil the mission Joseph + required of him, he must reach London before Sir Crispin. The knowledge + that he was ahead of him, and that he must derive an ample start from + Galliard's mishap, warmed him like wine. + </p> + <p> + His mind thus relieved from its weight of anxiety, he little recked + fatigue, and such excellent use did he make of his horse that he reached + Newmarket on it an hour before the morrow's moon. + </p> + <p> + An hour he rested there, and broke his fast. Then on a fresh horse—a + powerful and willing animal he set out once more. + </p> + <p> + By half-past two he was at Newport. But so hard had he ridden that man and + beast alike were in a lather of sweat, and whilst he himself felt sick and + tired, the horse was utterly unfit to bear him farther. For half an hour + he rested there, and made a meal whose chief constituent was brandy. Then + on a third horse he started upon the last stage of his journey. + </p> + <p> + The wind was damp and penetrating; the roads veritable morasses of mud, + and overhead gloomy banks of dark, grey clouds moved sluggishly, the light + that was filtered through them giving the landscape a bleak and dreary + aspect. In his jaded condition Kenneth soon became a prey to the + depression of it. His lightness of heart of some dozen hours ago was now + all gone, and not even the knowledge that his mission was well-nigh + accomplished sufficed to cheer him. To add to his discomfort a fine rain + set in towards four o'clock, and when a couple of hours later he clattered + along the road cut through a wooded slope in the direction of Waltham, he + was become a very limp and lifeless individual. + </p> + <p> + He noticed not the horsemen moving cautiously among the closely-set trees + on either side of the road. It was growing prematurely dark, and objects + were none too distinct. And thus it befell that when from the reverie of + dejection into which he had fallen he was suddenly aroused by the thud of + hoofs, he looked up to find two mounted men barring the road some ten + yards in front of him. Their attitude was unmistakable, and it crossed + poor Kenneth's mind that he was beset by robbers. But a second glance + showed him their red cloaks and military steel caps, and he knew them for + soldiers of the Commonwealth. + </p> + <p> + Hearing the beat of hoofs behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see + four other troopers closing rapidly down upon him. Clearly he was the + object of their attention. He had been a fool not to have perceived this + earlier, and his heart misgave him, for all that had he paused to think he + must have realized that he had naught to fear, and that in this some + mistake must lie. + </p> + <p> + “Halt!” thundered the deep voice of the sergeant, who, with a trooper, + held the road in front. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth drew up within a yard of them, conscious that the man's dark eyes + were scanning him sharply from beneath his morion. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, sir?” the bass voice demanded. + </p> + <p> + Alas for the vanity of poor human mites! Even Kenneth, who never yet had + achieved aught for the cause he served, grew of a sudden chill to think + that perchance this sergeant might recognize his name for one that he had + heard before associated with deeds performed on the King's behalf. + </p> + <p> + For a second he hesitated; then: + </p> + <p> + “Blount,” he stammered, “Jasper Blount.” + </p> + <p> + He little thought how that fruit of his vanity was to prove his undoing + thereafter. + </p> + <p> + “Verily,” sneered the sergeant, “it almost seemed you had forgotten it.” + And from that sneer Kenneth gathered with fresh dread that the fellow + mistrusted him. + </p> + <p> + “Whence are you, Master Blount?” + </p> + <p> + Again Kenneth hesitated. Then recalling Ashburn's high favour with the + Parliament, and seeing that it could but advance his cause to state the + true sum of his journey: + </p> + <p> + “From Castle Marleigh,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Verily, sir, you seem yet in some doubt. Whither do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To London.” + </p> + <p> + “On what errand?” The sergeant's questions fell swift as sword-strokes. + </p> + <p> + “With letters for Colonel Pride.” + </p> + <p> + The reply, delivered more boldly than Kenneth had spoken hitherto, was not + without its effect. + </p> + <p> + “From whom are these letters?” + </p> + <p> + “From Mr. Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “Produce them.” + </p> + <p> + With trembling fingers Kenneth complied. This the sergeant observed as he + took the package. + </p> + <p> + “What ails you, man?” quoth he. + </p> + <p> + “Naught, sir 'tis the cold.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant scanned the package and its seal. In a measure it was a + passport, and he was forced to the conclusion that this man was indeed the + messenger he represented himself. Certainly he had not the air nor the + bearing of him for whom they waited, nor did the sergeant think that their + quarry would have armed himself with a dummy package against such a + strait. And yet the sergeant was not master after all, and did he let this + fellow pursue his journey, he might reap trouble for it hereafter; whilst + likewise if he detained him, Colonel Pride, he knew, was not an + over-patient man. He was still debating what course to take, and had + turned to his companion with the muttered question: “What think you, + Peter?” when by his precipitancy Kenneth ruined his slender chance of + being permitted to depart. + </p> + <p> + “I pray you, sir, now that you know my errand, suffer me to pass on.” + </p> + <p> + There was an eager tremor in his voice that the sergeant mistook for fear. + He noted it, and remembering the boy's hesitancy in answering his earlier + questions, he decided upon his course of action. + </p> + <p> + “We shall not delay your journey, sir,” he answered, eyeing Kenneth + sharply, “and as your way must lie through Waltham, I will but ask you to + suffer us to ride with you thus far, so that there you may answer any + questions our captain may have to ask ere you proceed.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “No more, master courier,” snarled the sergeant. Then, beckoning a trooper + to his side, he whispered an order in his ear. + </p> + <p> + As the man withdrew they wheeled their horses, and at a sharp word of + command Kenneth rode on towards Waltham between the sergeant and a + trooper. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. THE CONVERTED HOGAN + </h2> + <p> + Night black and impenetrable had set in ere Kenneth and his escort + clattered over the greasy stones of Waltham's High Street, and drew up in + front of the Crusader Inn. + </p> + <p> + The door stood wide and hospitable, and a warm shaft of light fell from it + and set a glitter upon the wet street. Avoiding the common-room, the + sergeant led Kenneth through the inn-yard, and into the hostelry by a side + entrance. He urged the youth along a dimly-lighted passage. On a door at + the end of this he knocked, then, lifting the latch, he ushered Kenneth + into a roomy, oak-panelled chamber. + </p> + <p> + At the far end a huge fire burnt cheerfully, and with his back to it, his + feet planted wide apart upon the hearth, stood a powerfully built man of + medium height, whose youthful face and uprightness of carriage assorted + ill with the grey of his hair, pronouncing that greyness premature. He + seemed all clad in leather, for where his jerkin stopped his boots began. + A cuirass and feathered headpiece lay in a corner, whilst on the table + Kenneth espied a broad-brimmed hat, a huge sword, and a brace of pistols. + </p> + <p> + As the boy's eyes came back to the burly figure on the hearth, he was + puzzled by a familiar, intangible something in the fellow's face. + </p> + <p> + He was racking his mind to recall where last he had seen it, when with + slightly elevated eyebrows and a look of recognition in his somewhat + prominent blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Soul of my body,” exclaimed the man in surprise, “Master Stewart, as I + live.” + </p> + <p> + “Stuart!” cried both sergeant and trooper in a gasp, starting forward to + scan their prisoner's face. + </p> + <p> + At that the burly captain broke into a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Not the young man Charles Stuart,” said he; “no, no. Your captive is none + so precious. It is only Master Kenneth Stewart, of Bailienochy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is not even our man,” grumbled the soldier. + </p> + <p> + “But Stewart is not the name he gave,” cried the sergeant. “Jasper Blount + he told me he was called. It seems that after all we have captured a + malignant, and that I was well advised to bring him to you.” + </p> + <p> + The captain made a gesture of disdain. In that moment Kenneth recognized + him. He was Harry Hogan—the man whose life Galliard had saved in + Penrith. + </p> + <p> + “Bah, a worthless capture, Beddoes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I know not that,” retorted the sergeant. “He carries papers which he + states are from Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh, to Colonel Pride. + Colonel Pride's name is on the package, but may not that be a subterfuge? + Why else did he say he was called Blount?” + </p> + <p> + Hogan's brows were of a sudden knit. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, Beddoes, you are right. Remove his sword and search him.” + </p> + <p> + Calmly Kenneth suffered them to carry out this order. Inwardly he boiled + at the delay, and cursed himself for having so needlessly given the name + of Blount. But for that, it was likely Hogan would have straightway + dismissed him. He cheered himself with the thought that after all they + would not long detain him. Their search made, and finding nothing upon him + but Ashburn's letter, surely they would release him. + </p> + <p> + But their search was very thorough. They drew off his boots, and well-nigh + stripped him naked, submitting each article of his apparel to a careful + examination. At length it was over, and Hogan held Ashburn's package, + turning it over in his hands with a thoughtful expression. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, sir, you will now allow me to proceed,” cried Kenneth. “I assure + you the matter is of the greatest urgency, and unless I am in London by + midnight I shall be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Too late for what?” asked Hogan. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” The Irishman laughed unpleasantly. Colonel Pride and he were on + anything but the best of terms. The colonel knew him for a godless soldier + of fortune bound to the Parliament's cause by no interest beyond that of + gain; and, himself a zealot, Colonel Pride had with distasteful frequency + shown Hogan the quality of his feelings towards him. That Hogan was not + afraid of him, was because it was not in Hogan's nature to be afraid of + anyone. But he realized at least that he had cause to be, and at the + present moment it occurred to him that it would be passing sweet to find a + flaw in the old Puritan's armour. If the package were harmless his having + opened it was still a matter that the discharge of his duty would + sanction. Thus he reasoned; and he resolved to break the seal and make + himself master of the contents of that letter. + </p> + <p> + Hogan's unpleasant laugh startled Kenneth. It suggested to him that + perhaps, after all, his delay was by no means at an end; that Hogan + suspected him of something—he could not think of what. + </p> + <p> + Then in a flash an idea came to him. + </p> + <p> + “May I speak to you privately for a moment, Captain Hogan?” he inquired in + such a tone of importance—imperiousness, almost—that the + Irishman was impressed by it. He scented disclosure. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, you may if you have aught to tell me,” and he signed to Beddoes + and his companion to withdraw. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Master Hogan,” Kenneth began resolutely as soon as they were alone, + “I ask you to let me go my way unmolested. Too long already has the + stupidity of your followers detained me here unjustly. That I reach London + by midnight is to me a matter of the gravest moment, and you shall let + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Soul of my body, Mr. Stewart, what a spirit you have acquired since last + we met.” + </p> + <p> + “In your place I should leave our last meeting unmentioned, master + turncoat.” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman's eyebrows shot up. + </p> + <p> + “By the Mass, young cockerel, I mislike your tone—” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have cause to dislike it more if you detain me.” He was desperate + now. “What would your saintly, crop-eared friends say if they knew as much + of your past history as I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Tis a matter for conjecture,” said Hogan, humouring him. + </p> + <p> + “How think you would they welcome the story of the roystering rake and + debauchee who deserted the army of King Charles because they were about to + hang him for murder?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! how, indeed?” sighed Hogan. + </p> + <p> + “What manner of reputation, think you, that for a captain of the godly + army of the Commonwealth?” + </p> + <p> + “A vile one, truly,” murmured Hogan with humility. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Mr. Hogan,” he wound up loftily, “you had best return me that + package, and be rid of me before I sow mischief enough to bring you a crop + of hemp.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan stared at the lad's flushed face with a look of whimsical + astonishment, and for a brief spell there was silence between them. Slowly + then, with his eyes still fixed upon Kenneth's, the captain unsheathed a + dagger. The boy drew back, with a sudden cry of alarm. Hogan vented a + horse-laugh, and ran the blade under the seal of Ashburn's letter. + </p> + <p> + “Be not afraid, my man of threats,” he said pleasantly. “I have no thought + of hurting you—leastways, not yet.” He paused in the act of breaking + the seal. “Lest you should treasure uncomfortable delusions, dear Master + Stewart, let me remind you that I am an Irishman—not a fool. Do you + conceive my fame to be so narrow a thing that when I left the beggarly + army of King Charles for that of the Commonwealth, I did not realize how + at any moment I might come face to face with someone who had heard of my + old exploits, and would denounce me? You do not find me masquerading under + an assumed name. I am here, sir, as Harry Hogan, a sometime dissolute + follower of the Egyptian Pharaoh, Charles Stuart; an erstwhile besotted, + blinded soldier in the army of the Amalekite, a whilom erring malignant, + but converted by a crowning mercy into a zealous, faithful servant of + Israel. There were vouchsafings and upliftings, and the devil knows what + else, when this stray lamb was gathered to the fold.” + </p> + <p> + He uttered the words with a nasal intonation, and a whimsical look at + Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Stewart, tell them what you will, and they will tell you yet + more in return, to show you how signally the light of grace hath been shed + over me.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again, and broke the seal. Kenneth, crestfallen and abashed, + watched him, without attempting further interference. Of what avail? + </p> + <p> + “You had been better advised, young sir, had you been less hasty and + anxious. It is a fatal fault of youth's, and one of which nothing but time—if, + indeed, you live—will cure you. Your anxiety touching this package + determines me to open it.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth sneered at the man's conclusions, and, shrugging his shoulders, + turned slightly aside. + </p> + <p> + “Perchance, master wiseacres, when you have read it, you will appreciate + how egotism may also lead men into fatal errors. Haply, too, you will be + able to afford Colonel Pride some satisfactory reason for tampering with + his correspondence.” + </p> + <p> + But Hogan heard him not. He had unfolded the letter, and at the first + words he beheld, a frown contracted his brows. As he read on the frown + deepened, and when he had done, an oath broke from his lips. “God's life!” + he cried, then again was silent, and so stood a moment with bent head. At + last he raised his eyes, and let them rest long and searchingly upon + Kenneth, who now observed him in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “What—what is it?” the lad asked, with hesitancy. + </p> + <p> + But Hogan never answered. He strode past him to the door, and flung it + wide. + </p> + <p> + “Beddoes!” he called. A step sounded in the passage, and the sergeant + appeared. “Have you a trooper there?” + </p> + <p> + “There is Peter, who rode with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him look to this fellow. Tell him to set him under lock and bolt here + in the inn until I shall want him, and tell him that he shall answer for + him with his neck.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth drew back in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Sir—Captain Hogan—will you explain?” + </p> + <p> + “Marry, you shall have explanations to spare before morning, else I'm a + fool. But have no fear, for we intend you no hurt,” he added more softly. + “Take him away, Beddoes; then return to me here.” + </p> + <p> + When Beddoes came back from consigning Kenneth into the hands of his + trooper, he found Hogan seated in the leathern arm-chair, with Ashburn's + letter spread before him on the table. + </p> + <p> + “I was right in my suspicions, eh?” ventured Beddoes complacently. + </p> + <p> + “You were more than right, Beddoes, you were Heaven-inspired. It is no + State matter that you have chanced upon, but one that touches a man in + whom I am interested very nearly.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant's eyes were full of questions, but Hogan enlightened him no + further. + </p> + <p> + “You will ride back to your post at once, Beddoes,” he commanded. “Should + Lord Oriel fall into your hands, as we hope, you will send him to me. But + you will continue to patrol the road, and demand the business of all + comers. I wish one Crispin Galliard, who should pass this way ere long, + detained, and brought to me. He is a tall, lank man—” + </p> + <p> + “I know him, sir,” Beddoes interrupted. “The Tavern Knight they called him + in the malignant army—a rakehelly, dissolute brawler. I saw him in + Worcester when he was taken after the fight.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan frowned. The righteous Beddoes knew overmuch. “That is the man,” he + answered calmly. “Go now, and see that he does not ride past you. I have + great and urgent need of him.” + </p> + <p> + Beddoes' eyes were opened in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “He is possessed of valuable information,” Hogan explained. “Away with + you, man.” + </p> + <p> + When alone, Harry Hogan turned his arm-chair sideways towards the fire. + Then, filling himself a pipe—for in his foreign campaigning he had + acquired the habit of tobacco-smoking—he stretched his sinewy legs + across a second chair, and composed himself for meditation. An hour went + by; the host looked in to see if the captain required anything. Another + hour sped on, and the captain dozed. + </p> + <p> + He awoke with a start. The fire had burned low, and the hands of the huge + clock in the corner pointed to midnight. From the passage came to him the + sound of steps and angry voices. + </p> + <p> + Before Hogan could rise, the door was flung wide, and a tall, gaunt man + was hustled across the threshold by two soldiers. His head was bare, and + his hair wet and dishevelled. His doublet was torn and his shoulder + bleeding, whilst his empty scabbard hung like a lambent tail behind him. + </p> + <p> + “We have brought him, captain,” one of the men announced. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, you crop-eared, psalm-whining cuckolds, you've brought me, d—n + you,” growled Sir Crispin, whose eyes rolled fiercely. + </p> + <p> + As his angry glance lighted upon Hogan's impressive face, he abruptly + stemmed the flow of invective that rushed to his lips. + </p> + <p> + The Irishman rose, and looked past him at the troopers. “Leave us,” he + commanded shortly. + </p> + <p> + He remained standing by the hearth until the footsteps of his men had died + away, then he crossed the chamber, passed Crispin without a word, and + quietly locked the door. That done, he turned a friendly smile on his + tanned face—and holding out his hand: + </p> + <p> + “At last, Cris, it is mine to thank you and to repay you in some measure + for the service you rendered me that night at Penrith.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE + </h2> + <p> + In bewilderment Crispin took the outstretched hand of his old + fellow-roysterer. + </p> + <p> + “Oddslife,” he growled, “if to have me waylaid, dragged from my horse and + wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be your manner of + expressing gratitude, I'd as lief you had let me go unthanked.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another hour is sped. + Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle of strong waters yonder—” + </p> + <p> + Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the black jack and + poured half a glass of its contents, which he handed Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “Drink, man,” he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath, obeyed him. + </p> + <p> + Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's back, pushed + a chair over to the table, and bade him sit. Again, nothing loath, Crispin + did as he was bidden. He was stiff from long riding, and so with a sigh of + satisfaction he settled himself down and stretched out his long legs. + </p> + <p> + Hogan slowly took the seat opposite to him, and coughed. He was at a loss + how to open the parlous subject, how to communicate to Crispin the amazing + news upon which he had stumbled. + </p> + <p> + “Slife' Hogan,” laughed Crispin dreamily, “I little thought it was to you + those crop-ears carried me with such violence. I little thought, indeed, + ever to see you again. But you have prospered, you knave, since that night + you left Penrith.” + </p> + <p> + And he turned his head the better to survey the Irishman. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, I have prospered,” Hogan assented. “My life is a sort of parable of + the fatted son and the prodigal calf. They tell me there is greater joy in + heaven over the repentance of a sinner than—than—Plague on it! + How does it go?” + </p> + <p> + “Than over the downfall of a saint?” suggested Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “I'll swear that's not the text, but any of my troopers could quote it + you; every man of them is an incarnate Church militant.” He paused, and + Crispin laughed softly. Then abruptly: “And so you were riding to London?” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “How know you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, I know more—much more. I can even tell you to what house you + rode, and on what errand. You were for the sign of the Anchor in Thames + Street, for news of your son, whom Joseph Ashburn hath told you lives.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin sat bolt upright, a look of mingled wonder and suspicion on his + face. + </p> + <p> + “You are well informed, you gentlemen of the Parliament,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “On the matter of your errand,” the Irishman returned quietly, “I am much + better informed than are you. Shall I tell you who lives at the sign of + the Anchor—not whom you have been told lives there, but who really + does occupy the house?” Hogan paused a second as though awaiting some + reply; then softly he answered his own question: “Colonel Pride.” And he + sat back to await results. + </p> + <p> + There were none. For the moment the name awoke no recollections, conveyed + no meaning to Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “Who may Colonel Pride be?” he asked, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + Hogan was visibly disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “A certain powerful and vindictive member of the Rump, whose son you + killed at Worcester.” + </p> + <p> + This time the shaft went home. Galliard sprang out of the chair, his brows + darkening, and his cheeks pale beyond their wont. + </p> + <p> + “Zounds, Hogan, do you mean that Joseph Ashburn was betraying me into this + man's hands?” + </p> + <p> + “You have said it.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + Crispin stopped short. The pallor of his face increased; it became ashen, + and his eyes glittered as though a fever consumed him. He sank back into + his chair, and setting both hands upon the table before him, he looked + straight at Hogan. + </p> + <p> + “But my son, Hogan, my son?” he pleaded, and his voice was broken as no + man had heard it yet. “Oh, God in heaven!” he cried in a sudden frenzy. + “What hell's work is this?” + </p> + <p> + Behind his blue lips his teeth were chattering now. His hands shook as he + held them, still clenched, before him. Then, in a dull, concentrated + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Hogan,” he vowed, “I'll kill him for it. Fool, blind, pitiful fool that I + am.” + </p> + <p> + Then—his face distorted by passion—he broke into a torrent of + imprecations that was at length stemmed by Hogan. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, Cris,” said he, laying his hand upon the other's arm. “It is not + all false. Joseph Ashburn sought, it is true, to betray you into the hands + of Colonel Pride, sending you to the sign of the Anchor with the assurance + that there you should have news of your son. That was false; yet not all + false. Your son does live, and at the sign of the Anchor it is likely you + would have had the news of him you sought. But that news would have come + when too late to have been of value to you.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin tried to speak, but failed. Then, mastering himself by an effort, + and in a voice that was oddly shaken: + </p> + <p> + “Hogan,” he cried, “you are torturing me! What is the sum of your + knowledge?” + </p> + <p> + At last the Irishman produced Ashburn's letter to Colonel Pride. + </p> + <p> + “My men,” said he, “are patrolling the roads in wait for a malignant that + has incurred the Parliament's displeasure. We have news that he is making + for Harwich, where a vessel lies waiting to carry him to France, and we + expect that he will ride this way. Three hours ago a young man unable + clearly to account for himself rode into our net, and was brought to me. + He was the bearer of a letter to Colonel Pride from Joseph Ashburn. He had + given my sergeant a wrong name, and betrayed such anxiety to be gone that + I deemed his errand a suspicious one, and broke the seal of that letter. + You may thank God, Galliard, every night of your life that I did so.” + </p> + <p> + “Was this youth Kenneth Stewart?” asked Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “You have guessed it.” + </p> + <p> + “D—n the lad,” he began furiously. Then repressing himself, he + sighed, and in an altered tone, “No, no,” said he. “I have grievously + wronged him! have wrecked his life—or at least he thinks so now. I + can hardly blame him for seeking to be quits with me.” + </p> + <p> + “The lad,” returned Hogan, “must be himself a dupe. He can have had no + suspicion of the message he carried. Let me read it to you; it will make + all clear.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan drew a taper nearer, and spreading the paper upon the table, he + smoothed it out, and read: + </p> + <p> + HONOURED SIR, + </p> + <p> + The bearer of the present should, if he rides well, outstrip another + messenger I have dispatched to you upon a fool's errand, with a letter + addressed to one Mr. Lane at the sign of the Anchor. The bearer of that is + none other than the notorious malignant, Sir Crispin Galliard, by whose + hand your son was slain under your very eyes at Worcester, whose capture I + know that you warmly desire and with whom I doubt not you will know how to + deal. To us he has been a source of no little molestation; his liberty, in + fact, is a perpetual menace to our lives. For some eighteen years this + Galliard has believed dead a son that my cousin bore him. News of this + son, whom I have just informed him lives—as indeed he does—is + the bait wherewith I have lured him to your address. Forewarned by the + present, I make no doubt you will prepare to receive him fittingly. But + ere that justice he escaped at Worcester be meted out to him at Tyburn or + on Tower Hill, I would have you give him that news touching his son which + I am sending him to you to receive. Inform him, sir, that his son, Jocelyn + Marleigh... + </p> + <p> + Hogan paused, and shot a furtive glance at Galliard. The knight was + leaning forward now, his eyes strained, his forehead beaded with + perspiration, and his breathing heavy. + </p> + <p> + “Read on,” he begged hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + His son, Jocelyn Marleigh, is the bearer of this letter, the man whom he + has injured and who detests him, the youth with whom he has, by a curious + chance, been in much close association, and whom he has known as Kenneth + Stewart. + </p> + <p> + “God!” gasped Crispin. Then with sudden vigour, “Oh, 'tis a lie,” he + cried, “a fresh invention of that lying brain to torture me.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan held up his hand. + </p> + <p> + “There is a little more,” he said, and continued: + </p> + <p> + Should he doubt this, bid him look closely into the lad's face, and ask + him, after he has scrutinized it, what image it evokes. Should he still + doubt thereafter, thinking the likeness to which he has been singularly + blind to be no more than accidental, bid them strip the lad's right foot. + It bears a mark that I think should convince him. For the rest, honoured + sir, I beg you to keep all information touching his parentage from the boy + himself, wherein I have weighty ends to serve. Within a few days of your + receipt of this letter, I look to have the honour of waiting upon you. In + the meanwhile, honoured sir, believe that while I am, I am your obedient + servant, + </p> + <p> + JOSEPH ASHBURN + </p> + <p> + Across the narrow table the two men's glances met—Hogan's full of + concern and pity, Crispin's charged with amazement and horror. A little + while they sat thus, then Crispin rose slowly to his feet, and with steps + uncertain as a drunkard's he crossed to the window. He pushed it open, and + let the icy wind upon his face and head, unconscious of its sting. Moments + passed, during which the knight went over the last few months of his + turbulent life since his first meeting at Perth with Kenneth Stewart. He + recalled how strangely and unaccountably he had been drawn to the boy when + first he beheld him in the castle yard, and how, owing to a feeling for + which he could not account, since the lad's character had little that + might commend him to such a man as Crispin, he had contrived that Kenneth + should serve in his company. + </p> + <p> + He recalled how at first—aye, and often afterwards even—he had + sought to win the boy's affection, despite the fact that there was naught + in the boy that he truly admired, and much that he despised. Was it + possible that these his feelings were dictated by Nature to his + unconscious mind? It must indeed be so, and the written words of Joseph + Ashburn to Colonel Pride were true. Kenneth was indeed his son; the + conviction was upon him. He conjured up the lad's face, and a cry of + discovery escaped him. How blind he had been not to have seen before the + likeness of Alice—his poor, butchered girl-wife of eighteen years + ago. How dull never before to have realized that that likeness it was had + drawn him to the boy. + </p> + <p> + He was calm by now, and in his calm he sought to analyse his thoughts, and + he was shocked to find that they were not joyous. He yearned—as he + had yearned that night in Worcester—for the lad's affection, and + yet, for all his yearning, he realized that with the conviction that + Kenneth was his offspring came a dull sense of disappointment. He was not + such a son as the rakehelly knight would have had him. Swiftly he put the + thought from him. The craven hands that had reared the lad had warped his + nature; he would guide it henceforth; he would straighten it out into a + nobler shape. + </p> + <p> + Then he smiled bitterly to himself. What manner of man was he to train a + youth to loftiness and honour?—he, a debauched ruler with a nickname + for which, had he any sense of shame, he would have blushed! Again he + remembered the lad's disposition towards himself; but these, he thought, + he hoped, he knew that he would now be able to overcome. + </p> + <p> + He closed the window, and turned to face his companion. He was himself + again, and calm, for all that his face was haggard beyond its wont. + </p> + <p> + “Hogan, where is the boy?” + </p> + <p> + “I have detained him in the inn. Will you see him now?” + </p> + <p> + “At once, Hogan. I am convinced.” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman crossed the chamber, and opening the door he called an order + to the trooper waiting in the passage. + </p> + <p> + Some minutes they waited, standing, with no word uttered between them. At + last steps sounded in the corridor, and a moment later Kenneth was rudely + thrust into the room. Hogan signed to the trooper, who closed the door and + withdrew. + </p> + <p> + As Kenneth entered, Crispin advanced a step and paused, his eyes devouring + the lad and receiving in exchange a glance that was full of malevolence. + </p> + <p> + “I might have known, sir, that you were not far away,” he exclaimed + bitterly, forgetting for the moment how he had left Crispin behind him on + the previous night. “I might have guessed that my detention was your + work.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” asked Crispin quietly, his eyes ever scanning the lad's face + with a pathetic look. + </p> + <p> + “Because it is your way, I know not why, to work my ruin in all things. + Not satisfied with involving me in that business at Castle Marleigh, you + must needs cross my path again when I am about to make amends, and so + blight my last chance. My God, sir, am I never to be rid of you? What harm + have I done you?” + </p> + <p> + A spasm of pain, like a ripple over water, crossed the knight's swart + face. + </p> + <p> + “If you but consider, Kenneth,” he said, speaking very quietly, “you must + see the injustice of your words. Since when has Crispin Galliard served + the Parliament, that Roundhead troopers should do his bidding as you + suggest? And touching that business at Sheringham you are over-hard with + me. It was a compact you made, and but for which, you forget that you had + been carrion these three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Would to Heaven that I had been,” the boy burst out, “sooner than pay + such a price for keeping my life!” + </p> + <p> + “As for my presence here,” Crispin continued, leaving the outburst + unheeded, “it has naught to do with your detention.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” + </p> + <p> + Hogan caught his breath with a sharp hiss, and a dead silence followed. + That silence struck terror into Kenneth's heart. He encountered Crispin's + eye bent upon him with a look he could not fathom, and much would he now + have given to recall the two words that had burst from him in the heat of + his rage. He bethought him of the unscrupulous, deadly character + attributed to the man to whom he had addressed them, and in his coward's + fancy he saw already payment demanded. Already he pictured himself lying + cold and stark in the streets of Waltham with a sword-wound through his + middle. His face went grey and his lips trembled. + </p> + <p> + Then Galliard spoke at last, and the mildness of his tone filled Kenneth + with a new dread. In his experience of Crispin's ways he had come to look + upon mildness as the man's most dangerous phase: + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” Crispin said. “I spoke the truth; it is a habit of + mine—haply the only gentlemanly habit left me. I repeat, I have had + naught to do with your detention. I arrived here half an hour ago, as the + captain will inform you, and I was conducted hither by force, having been + seized by his men, even as you were seized. No,” he added, with a sigh, + “it was not my hand that detained you; it was the hand of Fate.” Then + suddenly changing his voice to a more vehement key, “Know you on what + errand you rode to London?” he demanded. “To betray your father into the + hands of his enemies; to deliver him up to the hangman.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth's eyes grew wide; his mouth fell open, and a frown of perplexity + drew his brows together. Dully, uncomprehendingly he met Sir Crispin's sad + gaze. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” he gasped at last. “'Sdeath, sir, what is it you mean? My + father has been dead these ten years. I scarce remember him.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin's lips moved, but no word did he utter. Then with a sudden gesture + of despair he turned to Hogan, who stood apart, a silent witness. + </p> + <p> + “My God, Hogan,” he cried. “How shall I tell him?” + </p> + <p> + In answer to the appeal, the Irishman turned to Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + “You have been in error, sir, touching your parentage,” quoth he bluntly. + “Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, was not your father.” + </p> + <p> + Kenneth looked from one to the other of them. + </p> + <p> + “Sirs, is this a jest?” he cried, reddening. Then, remarking at length the + solemnity of their countenances, he stopped short. Crispin came close up + to him, and placed a hand upon his shoulder. The boy shrank visibly + beneath the touch, and again an expression of pain crossed the poor + ruffler's face. + </p> + <p> + “Do you recall, Kenneth,” he said slowly, almost sorrowfully, “the story + that I told you that night in Worcester, when we sat waiting for dawn and + the hangman?” + </p> + <p> + The lad nodded vacantly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the details? Do you remember I told you how, when I + swooned beneath the stroke of Joseph Ashburn's sword, the last words I + heard were those in which he bade his brother slit the throat of the babe + in the cradle? You were, yourself, present yesternight at Castle Marleigh + when Joseph Ashburn told me Gregory had been mercifully inclined; that my + child had not died; that if I gave him his life he would restore him to + me. You remember?” + </p> + <p> + Again Kenneth nodded. A vague, numbing fear was creeping round his heart, + and his blood seemed chilled by it and stagnant. With fascinated eyes he + watched the knight's face—drawn and haggard. + </p> + <p> + “It was a trap that Joseph Ashburn set for me. Yet he did not altogether + lie. The child Gregory had indeed spared, and it seems from what I have + learned within the last half-hour that he had entrusted his rearing to + Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, seeking afterwards—I take it—to + wed him to his daughter, so that should the King come to his own again, + they should have the protection of a Marleigh who had served his King.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” the lad almost whispered, and his accents were unmistakably of + horror, “you mean that I am your—Oh, God, I'll not believe it!” he + cried out, with such sudden loathing and passion that Crispin recoiled as + though he had been struck. A dull flush crept into his cheeks to fade upon + the instant and give place to a pallor, if possible, intenser than before. + </p> + <p> + “I'll not believe it! I'll not believe it!” the boy repeated, as if + seeking by that reiteration to shut out a conviction by which he was + beset. “I'll not believe it!” he cried again; and now his voice had lost + its passionate vehemence, and was sunk almost to a moan. + </p> + <p> + “I found it hard to believe myself,” was Crispin's answer, and his voice + was not free from bitterness. “But I have a proof here that seems + incontestable, even had I not the proof of your face to which I have been + blind these months. Blind with the eyes of my body, at least. The eyes of + my soul saw and recognized you when first they fell on you in Perth. The + voice of the blood ordered me then to your side, and though I heard its + call, I understood not what it meant. Read this letter, boy—the + letter that you were to have carried to Colonel Pride.” + </p> + <p> + With his eyes still fixed in a gaze of stupefaction upon Galliard's face, + Kenneth took the paper. Then slowly, involuntarily almost it seemed, he + dropped his glance to it, and read. He was long in reading, as though the + writing presented difficulties, and his two companions watched him the + while, and waited. At last he turned the paper over, and examined seal and + superscription as if suspicious that he held a forgery. + </p> + <p> + But in some subtle, mysterious way—that voice of the blood perchance + to which Crispin had alluded—he felt conviction stealing down upon + his soul. Mechanically he moved across to the table, and sat down. Without + a word, and still holding the crumpled letter in his clenched hand, he set + his elbows on the table, and, pressing his temples to his palms, he sat + there dumb. Within him a very volcano raged, and its fires were fed with + loathing—loathing for this man whom he had ever hated, yet never as + he hated him now, knowing him to be his father. It seemed as if to all the + wrongs which Crispin had done him during the months of their + acquaintanceship he had now added a fresh and culminating wrong by + discovering this parentage. + </p> + <p> + He sat and thought, and his soul grew sick. He probed for some flaw, + sought for some mistake that might have been made. And yet the more he + thought, the more he dwelt upon his youth in Scotland, the more convinced + was he that Crispin had told him the truth. Pre-eminent argument of + conviction to him was the desire of the Ashburns that he should marry + Cynthia. Oft he had marvelled that they, wealthy, and even powerful, + selfish and ambitious, should have selected him, the scion of an obscure + and impoverished Scottish house, as a bridegroom for their daughter. The + news now before him made their motives clear; indeed, no other motive + could exist, no other explanation could there be. He was the heir of + Castle Marleigh, and the usurpers sought to provide against the day when + another revolution might oust them and restore the rightful owners. + </p> + <p> + Some elation his shallow nature felt at realizing this, but that elation + was short-lived, and dashed by the thought that this ruler, this + debauchee, this drunken, swearing, roaring tavern knight was his father; + dashed by the knowledge that meanwhile the Parliament was master, and that + whilst matters stood so, the Ashburns could defy—could even destroy + him, did they learn how much he knew; dashed by the memory that Cynthia, + whom in his selfish way—out of his love for himself—he loved, + was lost to him for all time. + </p> + <p> + And here, swinging in a circle, his thoughts reverted to the cause of this—Crispin + Galliard, the man who had betrayed him into yesternight's foul business + and destroyed his every chance of happiness; the man whom he hated, and + whom, had he possessed the courage as he was possessed by the desire, he + had risen up and slain; the man that now announced himself his father. + </p> + <p> + And thinking thus, he sat on in silent, resentful vexation. He started to + feel a hand upon his shoulder, and to hear the voice of Galliard evidently + addressing him, yet using a name that was new to him. + </p> + <p> + “Jocelyn, my boy,” the voice trembled. “You have thought, and you have + realized—is it not so? I too thought, and thought brought me + conviction that what that paper tells is true.” + </p> + <p> + Vaguely then the boy remembered that Jocelyn was the name the letter gave + him. He rose abruptly, and brushed the caressing hand from his shoulder. + His voice was hard—possibly the knowledge that he had gained told + him that he had nothing to fear from this man, and in that assurance his + craven soul grew brave and bold and arrogant. + </p> + <p> + “I have realized naught beyond the fact that I owe you nothing but + unhappiness and ruin. By a trick, by a low fraud, you enlisted me into a + service that has proved my undoing. Once a cheat always a cheat. What + credit in the face of that can I give this paper?” he cried, talking + wildly. “To me it is incredible, nor do I wish to credit it, for though it + were true, what then? What then?” he repeated, raising his voice into + accents of defiance. + </p> + <p> + Grief and amazement were blended in Galliard's glance, and also, maybe, + some reproach. + </p> + <p> + Hogan, standing squarely upon the hearth, was beset by the desire to kick + Master Kenneth, or Master Jocelyn, into the street. His lip curled into a + sneer of ineffable contempt, for his shrewd eyes read to the bottom of the + lad's mean soul and saw there clearly writ the confidence that emboldened + him to voice that insult to the man he must know for his father. Standing + there, he compared the two, marvelling deeply how they came to be father + and son. A likeness he saw now between them, yet a likeness that seemed + but to mark the difference. The one harsh, resolute, and manly, for all + his reckless living and his misfortunes; the other mild, effeminate, + hypocritical and shifty. He read it not on their countenances alone, but + in every line of their figures as they stood, and in his heart he cursed + himself for having been the instrument to disclose the relationship in + which they stood. + </p> + <p> + The youth's insolent question was followed by a spell of silence. Crispin + could not believe that he had heard aright. At last he stretched out his + hands in a gesture of supplication—he who throughout his + thirty-eight years of life, and despite the misfortunes that had been his, + had never yet stooped to plead from any man. + </p> + <p> + “Jocelyn,” he cried, and the pain in his voice must have melted a heart of + steel, “you are hard. Have you forgotten the story of my miserable life, + the story that I told you in Worcester? Can you not understand how + suffering may destroy all that is lofty in a man; how the forgetfulness of + the winecup may come to be his only consolation; the hope of vengeance his + only motive for living on, withholding him from self-destruction? Can you + not picture such a life, and can you not pity and forgive much of the + wreck that it may make of a man once virtuous and honourable?” + </p> + <p> + Pleadingly he looked into the lad's face. It remained cold and unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” he continued brokenly, “that I am not such a man as any + lad might welcome for a father. But you who know what my life has been, + Jocelyn, you can surely find it in your heart to pity. I had naught that + was good or wholesome to live for, Jocelyn; naught to curb the evil moods + that sent me along evil ways to seek forgetfulness and reparation. + </p> + <p> + “But from to-night, Jocelyn, my life in you must find a new interest, a + new motive. I will abandon my old ways. For your sake, Jocelyn, I will + seek again to become what I was, and you shall have no cause to blush for + your father.” + </p> + <p> + Still the lad stood silent. + </p> + <p> + “Jocelyn! My God, do I talk in vain?” cried the wretched man. “Have you no + heart, no pity, boy?” + </p> + <p> + At last the youth spoke. He was not moved. The agony of this strong man, + the broken pleading of one whom he had ever known arrogant and strong had + no power to touch his mean, selfish mind, consumed as it was by the + contemplation of his undoing—magnified a hundredfold—which + this man had wrought. + </p> + <p> + “You have ruined my life,” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “I will rebuild it, Jocelyn,” cried Galliard eagerly. “I have friends in + France—friends high in power who lack neither the means nor the will + to aid me. You are a soldier, Jocelyn.” + </p> + <p> + “As much a soldier as I'm a saint,” sneered Hogan to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Together we will find service in the armies of Louis,” Crispin pursued. + “I promise it. Service wherein you shall gain honour and renown. There we + will abide until this England shakes herself out of her rebellious + nightmare. Then, when the King shall come to his own, Castle Marleigh will + be ours again. Trust in me, Jocelyn.” Again his arms went out appealingly: + “Jocelyn my son!” + </p> + <p> + But the boy made no move to take the outstretched hands, gave no sign of + relenting. His mind nurtured its resentment—cherished it indeed. + </p> + <p> + “And Cynthia?” he asked coldly. + </p> + <p> + Crispin's hands fell to his sides; they grew clenched, and his eyes + lighted of a sudden. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Jocelyn. I had forgotten! I understand you now. Yes, I dealt + sorely with you there, and you are right to be resentful. What, after all, + am I to you what can I be to you compared with her whose image fills your + soul? What is aught in the world to a man, compared with the woman on whom + his heart is set? Do I not know it? Have I not suffered for it? + </p> + <p> + “But mark me, Jocelyn”—and he straightened himself suddenly—“even + in this, that which I have done I will undo. As I have robbed you of your + mistress, so will I win her back for you. I swear it. And when that is + done, when thus every harm I have caused you is repaired, then, Jocelyn, + perhaps you will come to look with less repugnance upon your father, and + to feel less resentment towards him.” + </p> + <p> + “You promise much, sir,” quoth the boy, with an illrepressed sneer. “How + will you accomplish it?” + </p> + <p> + Hogan grunted audibly. Crispin drew himself up, erect, lithe and supple—a + figure to inspire confidence in the most despairing. He placed a hand, + nervous, and strong as steel, upon the boy's shoulder, and the clutch of + his fingers made Jocelyn wince. + </p> + <p> + “Low though your father be fallen,” said he sternly, “he has never yet + broken his word. I have pledged you mine, and to-morrow I shall set out to + perform what I have promised. I shall see you ere I start. You will sleep + here, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + Jocelyn shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “It signifies little where I lie.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin smiled sadly, and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “You have no faith in me yet. But I shall earn it, or”—and his voice + fell suddenly—“or rid you of a loathsome parent. Hogan, can you find + him quarters?” + </p> + <p> + Hogan replied that there was the room he had already been confined in, and + that he could lie in it. And deeming that there was nothing to be gained + by waiting, he thereupon led the youth from the room and down the passage. + At the foot of the stairs the Irishman paused in the act of descending, + and raised the taper aloft so that its light might fall full upon the face + of his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Were I your father,” said he grimly, “I would kick you from one end of + Waltham to the other by way of teaching you filial piety! And were you not + his son, I would this night read you a lesson you'd never live to + practise. I would set you to sleep a last long sleep in the kennels of + Waltham streets. But since you are—marvellous though it seem—his + offspring, and since I love him and may not therefore hurt you, I must + rest content with telling you that you are the vilest thing that breathes. + You despise him for a roysterer, for a man of loose ways. Let me, who have + seen something of men, and who read you to-night to the very dregs of your + contemptible soul, tell you that compared with you he is a very god. Come, + you white-livered cur!” he ended abruptly. “I will light you to your + chamber.” + </p> + <p> + When presently Hogan returned to Crispin he found the Tavern Knight—that + man of iron in whom none had ever seen a trace of fear or weakness seated + with his arms before him on the table, and his face buried in them, + sobbing like a poor, weak woman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING + </h2> + <p> + Through the long October night Crispin and Hogan sat on, and neither + sought his bed. Crispin's quick wits his burst of grief once over—had + been swift to fasten on a plan to accomplish that which he had undertaken. + </p> + <p> + One difficulty confronted him, and until he had mentioned it to Hogan + seemed unsurmountable he had need of a ship. But in this the Irishman + could assist him. He knew of a vessel then at Greenwich, whose master was + in his debt, which should suit the purpose. Money, however, would be + needed. But when Crispin announced that he was master of some two hundred + Caroluses, Hogan, with a wave of the hand, declared the matter settled. + Less than half that sum would hire the man he knew of. That determined, + Crispin unfolded his project to Hogan, who laughed at the simplicity of + it, for all that inwardly he cursed the risk Sir Crispin must run for the + sake of one so unworthy. + </p> + <p> + “If the maid loves him, the thing is as good as done.” + </p> + <p> + “The maid does not love him; leastways, I fear not.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan was not surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then it will be difficult, well-nigh impossible.” And the Irishman + became grave. + </p> + <p> + But Crispin laughed unpleasantly. Years and misfortune had made him + cynical. + </p> + <p> + “What is the love of a maid?” quoth he derisively. “A caprice, a fancy, a + thing that may be guided, overcome or compelled as the occasion shall + demand. Opportunity is love's parent, Hogan, and given that, any maid may + love any man. Cynthia shall love my son.” + </p> + <p> + “But if she prove rebellious? If she say nay to your proposals? There are + such women.” + </p> + <p> + “How then? Am I not the stronger? In such a case it shall be mine to + compel her, and as I find her, so shall I carry her away. It will be none + so poor a vengeance on the Ashburns after all.” His brow grew clouded. + “But not what I had dreamed of; what I should have taken had he not + cheated me. To forgo it now—after all these years of waiting—is + another sacrifice I make to Jocelyn. To serve him in this matter I must + proceed cautiously. Cynthia may fret and fume and stamp, but willy-nilly I + shall carry her away. Once she is in France, friendless, alone, I make no + doubt that she will see the convenience of loving Jocelyn—leastways + of wedding him and thus shall I have more than repaired the injuries I + have done him.” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman's broad face was very grave; his reckless merry eye fixed + Galliard with a look of sorrow, and this grey-haired, sinning soldier of + fortune, who had never known a conscience, muttered softly: + </p> + <p> + “It is not a nice thing you contemplate, Cris.” + </p> + <p> + Despite himself, Galliard winced, and his glance fell before Hogan's. For + a moment he saw the business in its true light, and he wavered in his + purpose. Then, with a short bark of laughter: + </p> + <p> + “Gadso, you are sentimental, Harry!” said he, to add, more gravely: “There + is my son, and in this lies the only way to his heart.”. + </p> + <p> + Hogan stretched a hand across the table, and set it upon Crispin's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Is he worth such a stain upon your honour, Crispin?” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not late in the day, Hogan, for you and me to prate of honour?” + asked Crispin bitterly, yet with averted gaze. “God knows my honour is as + like honour as a beggar's rags are like unto a cloak of ermine. What + signifies another splash, another rent in that which is tattered beyond + all semblance of its original condition?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked you,” the Irishman persisted, “whether your son was worth the + sacrifice that the vile deed you contemplate entails?” + </p> + <p> + Crispin shook his arm from the other's grip, and rose abruptly. He crossed + to the window, and drew back the curtain. + </p> + <p> + “Day is breaking,” said he gruffly. Then turning, and facing Hogan across + the room, “I have pledged my word to Jocelyn,” he said. “The way I have + chosen is the only one, and I shall follow it. But if your conscience + cries out against it, Hogan, I give you back your promise of assistance, + and I shall shift alone. I have done so all my life.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan shrugged his massive shoulders, and reached out for the bottle of + strong waters. + </p> + <p> + “If you are resolved, there is an end to it. My conscience shall not + trouble me, and upon what aid I have promised and what more I can give, + you may depend. I drink to the success of your undertaking.” + </p> + <p> + Thereafter they discussed the matter of the vessel that Crispin would + require, and it was arranged between them that Hogan should send a message + to the skipper, bidding him come to Harwich, and there await and place + himself at the command of Sir Crispin Galliard. For fifty pounds Hogan + thought that he would undertake to land Sir Crispin in France. The + messenger might be dispatched forthwith, and the Lady Jane should be at + Harwich, two days later. + </p> + <p> + By the time they had determined upon this, the inmates of the hostelry + were astir, and from the innyard came to them the noise of bustle and + preparation for the day. + </p> + <p> + Presently they left the chamber where they had sat so long, and at the + yard pump the Tavern Knight performed a rude morning toilet. Thereafter, + on a simple fare of herrings and brown ale, they broke their fast; and ere + that meal was done, Kenneth, pale and worn, with dark circles round his + eyes, entered the common room, and sat moodily apart. But when later Hogan + went to see to the dispatching of his messenger, Crispin rose and + approached the youth. + </p> + <p> + Kenneth watched him furtively, without pausing in his meal. He had spent a + very miserable night pondering over the future, which looked gloomy + enough, and debating whether—forgetting and ignoring what had passed—he + should return to the genteel poverty of his Scottish home, or accept the + proffered service of this man who announced himself—and whom he now + believed—to be his father. He had thought, but he was far from + having chosen between Scotland and France, when Crispin now greeted him, + not without constraint. + </p> + <p> + “Jocelyn,” he said, speaking slowly, almost humbly. “In an hour's time I + shall set out to return to Marleigh to fulfil my last night's promise to + you. How I shall accomplish it I scarce know as yet; but accomplish it I + shall. I have arranged to have a vessel awaiting me, and within three days—or + four at the most—I look to cross to France, bearing your bride with + me.” + </p> + <p> + He paused for some reply, but none came. The boy sat on with an impassive + face, his eyes glued to the table, but his mind busy enough upon that + which his father was pouring into his ear. Presently Crispin continued: + </p> + <p> + “You cannot refuse to do as I suggest, Jocelyn. I shall make you the + fullest amends for the harm that I have done you, if you but obey my + directions. You must quit this place as soon as possible, and proceed on + your way to London. There you must find a boat to carry you to France, and + you will await me at the Auberge du Soleil at Calais. You are agreed, + Jocelyn?” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight pause, and Jocelyn took his resolution. Yet there was + still a sullen look in the eyes he lifted to his father's face. + </p> + <p> + “I have little choice, sir,” he made answer, “and so I must agree. If you + accomplish what you promise, I own that you will have made amends, and I + shall crave your pardon for my yesternight's want of faith. I shall await + you at Calais.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin sighed, and for a second his face hardened. It was not the answer + to which he held himself entitled, and for a moment it rose to the lips of + this man of fierce and sudden moods to draw back and let the son, whom at + the moment he began to detest, go his own way, which assuredly would lead + him to perdition. But a second's thought sufficed to quell that mood of + his. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not fail you,” he said coldly. “Have you money for the journey?” + </p> + <p> + The boy flushed as he remembered that little was left of what Joseph + Ashburn had given him. Crispin saw the flush, and reading aright its + meaning, he drew from his pocket a purse that he had been fingering, and + placed it quietly upon the table. “There are fifty Caroluses in that bag. + That should suffice to carry you to France. Fare you well until we meet at + Calais.” + </p> + <p> + And without giving the boy time to utter thanks that might be unwilling, + he quickly left the room. + </p> + <p> + Within the hour he was in the saddle, and his horse's head was turned + northwards once more. + </p> + <p> + He rode through Newport some three hours later without drawing rein. By + the door of the Raven Inn stood a travelling carriage, upon which he did + not so much as bestow a look. + </p> + <p> + By the merest thread hangs at times the whole of a man's future life, the + destinies even of men as yet unborn. So much may depend indeed upon a + glance, that had not Crispin kept his eyes that morning upon the grey road + before him, had he chanced to look sideways as he passed the Raven Inn at + Newport, and seen the Ashburn arms displayed upon the panels of that + coach, he would of a certainty have paused. And had he done so, his whole + destiny would assuredly have shaped a different course from that which he + was unconsciously steering. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. GREGORY'S ATTRITION + </h2> + <p> + Joseph's journey to London was occasioned by his very natural anxiety to + assure himself that Crispin was caught in the toils of the net he had so + cunningly baited for him, and that at Castle Marleigh he would trouble + them no more. To this end he quitted Sheringham on the day after Crispin's + departure. + </p> + <p> + Not a little perplexed was Cynthia at the topsy-turvydom in which that + morning she had found her father's house. Kenneth was gone; he had left in + the dead of night, and seemingly in haste and suddenness, since on the + previous evening there had been no talk of his departing. Her father was + abed with a wound that made him feverish. Their grooms were all sick, and + wandered in a dazed and witless fashion about the castle, their faces + deadly pale and their eyes lustreless. In the hall she had found a chaotic + disorder upon descending, and one of the panels of the wainscot she saw + was freshly cracked. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the idea forced itself upon her mind that there had been brawling + the night before, yet was she far from surmising the motives that could + have led to it. The conclusion she came to in the end was that the men had + drunk deep, that in their cups they had waxed quarrelsome, and that swords + had been drawn. + </p> + <p> + Of Joseph then she sought enlightenment, and Joseph lied right handsomely, + like the ready-witted knave he was. A wondrously plausible story had he + for her ear; a story that played cunningly upon her knowledge of the + compact that existed between Kenneth and Sir Crispin. + </p> + <p> + “You may not know,” said he—full well aware that she did know—“that + when Galliard saved Kenneth's life at Worcester he exacted from the lad + the promise that in return Kenneth should aid him in some vengeful + business he had on hand.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia nodded that she understood or that she knew, and glibly Joseph + pursued: + </p> + <p> + “Last night, when on the point of departing, Crispin, who had drunk + over-freely, as is his custom, reminded Kenneth of his plighted word, and + demanded of the boy that he should upon the instant go forth with him. + Kenneth replied that the hour was overlate to be setting out upon a + journey, and he requested Galliard to wait until to-day, when he would be + ready to fulfil what he had promised. But Crispin retorted that Kenneth + was bound by his oath to go with him when he should require it, and again + he bade the boy make ready at once. Words ensued between them, the boy + insisting upon waiting until to-day, and Crispin insisting upon his + getting his boots and cloak and coming with him there and then. More + heated grew the argument, till in the end Galliard, being put out of + temper, snatched at his sword, and would assuredly have spitted the boy + had not your father interposed, thereby getting himself wounded. + Thereafter, in his drunken lust Sir Crispin went the length of wantonly + cracking that panel with his sword by way of showing Kenneth what he had + to expect unless he obeyed him. At that I intervened, and using my + influence, I prevailed upon Kenneth to go with Galliard as he demanded. To + this, for all his reluctance, Kenneth ended by consenting, and so they are + gone.” + </p> + <p> + By that most glib and specious explanation Cynthia was convinced. True, + she added a question touching the amazing condition of the grooms, in + reply to which Joseph afforded her a part of the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Crispin sent them some wine, and they drank to his departure so + heartily that they are not rightly sober yet.” + </p> + <p> + Satisfied with this explanation Cynthia repaired to her father. + </p> + <p> + Now Gregory had not agreed with Joseph what narrative they were to offer + Cynthia, for it had never crossed his dull mind that the disorder of the + hall and the absence of Kenneth might cause her astonishment. And so when + she touched upon the matter of his wound, like the blundering fool he was, + he must needs let his tongue wag upon a tale which, if no less imaginative + than Joseph's, was vastly its inferior in plausibility and had yet the + quality of differing from it totally in substance. + </p> + <p> + “Plague on that dog, your lover, Cynthia,” he growled from the mountain of + pillows that propped him. “If he should come to wed my daughter after + pinning me to the wainscot of my own hall may I be for ever damned.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” quoth she. “Do you say that Kenneth did it?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, did he. He ran at me ere I could draw, like the coward he is, sink + him, and had me through the shoulder in the twinkling of an eye.” + </p> + <p> + Here was something beyond her understanding. What were they concealing + from her? She set her wits to the discovery and plied her father with + another question. + </p> + <p> + “How came you to quarrel?” + </p> + <p> + “How? 'Twas—'twas concerning you, child,” replied Gregory at random, + and unable to think of a likelier motive. + </p> + <p> + “How, concerning me?” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me, Cynthia,” he groaned in despair. “Go, child. I am grievously + wounded. I have the fever, girl. Go; let me sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, father, what passed.” + </p> + <p> + “Unnatural child,” whined Gregory feebly, “will you plague a sick man with + questions? Would you keep him from the sleep that may mean recovery to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Father, dear,” she murmured softly, “if I thought it was as you say, I + would leave you. But you know that you are but attempting to conceal + something from me something that I should know, that I must know. Bethink + you that it is of my lover that you have spoken.” + </p> + <p> + By a stupendous effort Gregory shaped a story that to him seemed likely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, since know you must,” he answered, “this is what befell: we + had all drunk over-deep to our shame do I confess it—and growing + tenderhearted for you, and bethinking me of your professed distaste to + Kenneth's suit, I told him that for all the results that were likely to + attend his sojourn at Castle Marleigh, he might as well bear Crispin + company in his departure. He flared up at that, and demanded of me that I + should read him my riddle. Faith, I did by telling him that we were like + to have snow on midsummer's day ere he 'became your husband. That speech + of mine so angered him, being as he was all addled with wine and ripe for + any madness, that he sprang up and drew on me there and then. The others + sought to get between us, but he was over-quick, and before I could do + more than rise from the table his sword was through my shoulder and into + the wainscot at my back. After that it was clear he could not remain here, + and I demanded that he should leave upon the instant. Himself he was + nothing loath, for he realized his folly, and he misliked the gleam of + Joseph's eye—which can be wondrous wicked upon occasion. Indeed, but + for my intercession Joseph had laid him stark.” + </p> + <p> + That both her uncle and her father had lied to her—the one + cunningly, the other stupidly—she had never a doubt, and vaguely + uneasy was Cynthia to learn the truth. Later that day the castle was busy + with the bustle of Joseph's departure, and this again was a matter that + puzzled her. + </p> + <p> + “Whither do you journey, uncle?” she asked of him as he was in the act of + stepping out to enter the waiting carriage. + </p> + <p> + “To London, sweet cousin,” was his brisk reply. “I am, it seems, becoming + a very vagrant in my old age. Have you commands for me?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it you look to do in London?” + </p> + <p> + “There, child, let that be for the present. I will tell you perhaps when I + return. The door, Stephen.” + </p> + <p> + She watched his departure with uneasy eyes and uneasy heart. A fear + pervaded her that in all that had befallen, in all that was befalling + still—what ever it might be—some evil was at work, and an evil + that had Crispin for its scope. She had neither reason nor evidence from + which to draw this inference. It was no more than the instinct whose voice + cries out to us at times a presage of ill, and oftentimes compels our + attention in a degree far higher than any evidence could command. + </p> + <p> + The fear that was in her urged her to seek what information she could on + every hand, but without success. From none could she cull the merest scrap + of evidence to assist her. + </p> + <p> + But on the morrow she had information as prodigal as it was unlooked-for, + and from the unlikeliest of sources—her father himself. Chafing at + his inaction and lured into indiscretions by the subsiding of the pain of + his wound, Gregory quitted his bed and came below that night to sup with + his daughter. As his wont had been for years, he drank freely. That done, + alive to the voice of his conscience, and seeking to drown its + loud-tongued cry, he drank more freely still, so that in the end his + henchman, Stephen, was forced to carry him to bed. + </p> + <p> + This Stephen had grown grey in the service of the Ashburns, and amongst + much valuable knowledge that he had amassed, was a skill in dealing with + wounds and a wide understanding of the ways to go about healing them. This + knowledge made him realize how unwise at such a season was Gregory's + debauch, and sorrowfully did he wag his head over his master's condition + of stupor. + </p> + <p> + Stephen had grave fears concerning him, and these fears were realized when + upon the morrow Gregory awoke on fire with the fever. They summoned a + leech from Sheringham, and this cunning knave, with a view to adding + importance to the cure he was come to effect, and which in reality + presented no alarming difficulty, shook his head with ominous gravity, and + whilst promising to do “all that his skill permitted,” he spoke of a + clergyman to help Gregory make his peace with God. For the leech had no + cause to suspect that the whole of the Sacred College might have found the + task beyond its powers. + </p> + <p> + A wild fear took Gregory in its grip. How could he die with such a load as + that which he now carried upon his soul? And the leech, seeing how the + matter preyed upon his patient's mind, made shift—but too late—to + tranquillize him with assurances that he was not really like to die, and + that he had but mentioned a parson so that Gregory in any case should be + prepared. + </p> + <p> + The storm once raised, however, was not so easily to be allayed, and the + conviction remained with Gregory that his sands were well-nigh run, and + that the end could be but a matter of days in coming. + </p> + <p> + Realizing as he did how richly he had earned damnation, a frantic terror + was upon him, and all that day he tossed and turned, now blaspheming, now + praying, now weeping. His life had been indeed one protracted course of + wrong-doing, and many had suffered by Gregory's evil ways—many a man + and many a woman. But as the stars pale and fade when the sun mounts the + sky, so too were the lesser wrongs that marked his earthly pilgrimage of + sin rendered pale or blotted into insignificance by the greater wrong he + had done Ronald Marleigh—a wrong which was not ended yet, but whose + completion Joseph was even then working to effect. If only he could save + Crispin even now in the eleventh hour; if by some means he could warn him + not to repair to the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street. His disordered + mind took no account of the fact that in the time that was sped since + Galliard's departure, the knight should already have reached London. + </p> + <p> + And so it came about that, consumed at once by the desire to make + confession to whomsoever it might be, and the wish to attempt yet to avert + the crowning evil of whose planning he was partly guilty inasmuch as he + had tacitly consented to Joseph's schemes, Gregory called for his + daughter. She came readily enough, hoping for exactly that which was about + to take place, yet fearing sorely that her hopes would suffer frustration, + and that she would learn nothing from her father. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he cried, in mingled dread and sorrow, “Cynthia, my child, I am + about to die.” + </p> + <p> + She knew both from Stephen and from the leech that this was far from being + his condition. Nevertheless her filial piety was at that moment a touching + sight. She smoothed his pillows with a gentle grace that was in itself a + soothing caress, even as her soft sympathetic voice was a caress. She took + his hand, and spoke to him endearingly, seeking to relieve the sombre mood + whose prey he was become, assuring him that the leech had told her his + danger was none so imminent, and that with quiet and a little care he + would be up and about again ere many days were sped. But Gregory rejected + hopelessly all efforts at consolation. + </p> + <p> + “I am on my death-bed, Cynthia,” he insisted, “and when I am gone I know + not whom there may be to cheer and comfort your lot in life. Your lover is + away on an errand of Joseph's, and it may well betide that he will never + again cross the threshold of Castle Marleigh. Unnatural though I may seem, + sweetheart, my dying wish is that this may be so.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up in some surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Father, if that be all that grieves you, I can reassure you. I do not + love Kenneth.” + </p> + <p> + “You apprehend me amiss,” said he tartly. “Do you recall the story of Sir + Crispin Galliard's life that you had from Kenneth on the night of Joseph's + return?” His voice shook as he put the question. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. I am not like to forget it, and nightly do I pray,” she went + on, her tongue outrunning discretion and betraying her feelings for + Galliard, “that God may punish those murderers who wrecked his existence.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, girl,” he whispered in a quavering voice. “You know not what you + say.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do; and as there is a just God my prayer shall be answered.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he wailed. His eyes were wild, and the hand that rested in hers + trembled violently. “Do you know that it is against your father and your + father's brother that you invoke God's vengeance?” + </p> + <p> + She had been kneeling at his bedside; but now, when he pronounced those + words, she rose slowly and stood silent for a spell, her eyes seeking his + with an awful look that he dared not meet. At last: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you rave,” she protested, “it is the fever.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, child, my mind is clear, and what I have said is true.” + </p> + <p> + “True?” she echoed, no louder than a whisper, and her eyes grew round with + horror. “True that you and my uncle are the butchers who slew their + cousin, this man's wife, and sought to murder him as well—leaving + him for dead? True that you are the thieves who claiming kinship by virtue + of that very marriage have usurped his estates and this his castle during + all these years, whilst he himself went an outcast, homeless and + destitute? Is that what you ask me to believe?” + </p> + <p> + “Even so,” he assented, with a feeble sob. + </p> + <p> + Her face was pale—white to the very lips, and her blue eyes + smouldered behind the shelter of her drooping lids. She put her hand to + her breast, then to her brow, pushing back the brown hair by a mechanical + gesture that was pathetic in the tale of pain it told. For support she was + leaning now against the wall by the head of his couch. In silence she + stood so while you might count to twenty; then with a sudden vehemence + revealing the passion of anger and grief that swayed her: + </p> + <p> + “Why,” she cried, “why in God's name do you tell me this?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” His utterance was thick, and his eyes, that were grown dull as a + snake's, stared straight before him, daring not to meet his daughter's + glance. “I tell it you,” he said, “because I am a dying man.” And he hoped + that the consideration of that momentous fact might melt her, and might by + pity win her back to him—that she was lost to him he realized. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you because I am a dying man,” he repeated. “I tell it you because + in such an hour I fain would make confession and repent, that God may have + mercy upon my soul. I tell it you, too, because the tragedy begun eighteen + years ago is not yet played out, and it may yet be mine to avert the end + we had prepared—Joseph and I. Thus perhaps a merciful God will place + it in my power to make some reparation. Listen, child. It was against us, + as you will have guessed, that Galliard enlisted Kenneth's services, and + here on the night of Joseph's return he called upon the boy to fulfil him + what he had sworn. The lad had no choice but to obey; indeed, I forced him + to it by attacking him and compelling him to draw, which is how I came by + this wound. + </p> + <p> + “Crispin had of a certainty killed Joseph but that your uncle bethought + him of telling him that his son lived.” + </p> + <p> + “He saved his life by a lie! That was worthy of him,” said Cynthia + scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, child, he spoke the truth, and when Joseph offered to restore the + boy to him, he had every intention of so doing. But in the moment of + writing the superscription to the letter Crispin was to bear to those that + had reared the child, Joseph bethought him of a foul scheme for Galliard's + final destruction. And so he has sent him to London instead, to a house in + Thames Street, where dwells one Colonel Pride, who bears Sir Crispin a + heavy grudge, and into whose hands he will be thus delivered. Can aught be + done, Cynthia, to arrest this—to save Sir Crispin from Joseph's + snare?” + </p> + <p> + “As well might you seek to restore the breath to a dead man,” she + answered, and her voice was so oddly calm, so cold and bare of expression, + that Gregory shuddered to hear it. + </p> + <p> + “Do not delude yourself,” she added. “Sir Crispin will have reached London + long ere this, and by now Joseph will be well on his way to see that there + is no mistake made, and that the life you ruined hopelessly years ago is + plucked at last from this unfortunate man. Merciful God! am I truly your + daughter?” she cried. “Is my name indeed Ashburn, and have I been reared + upon the estates that by crime you gained possession of? Estates that by + crime you hold—for they are his; every stone, every stick that goes + to make the place belongs to him, and now he has gone to his death by your + contriving.” + </p> + <p> + A moan escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. A moment she + stood rocking there—a fair, lissom plant swept by a gale of + ineffable emotion. Then the breath seemed to go all out of her in one + great sigh, and Gregory, who dared not look her way, heard the swish of + her gown, followed by a thud as she collapsed and lay swooning on the + ground. + </p> + <p> + So disturbed at that was Gregory's spirit that, forgetting his wound, his + fever, and the death which he had believed impending, he leapt from his + couch, and throwing wide the door, bellowed lustily for Stephen. In + frightened haste came his henchman to answer the petulant summons, and in + obedience to Gregory's commands he went off again as quickly in quest of + Catherine—Cynthia's woman. + </p> + <p> + Between them they bore the unconscious girl to her chamber, leaving + Gregory to curse himself for having been lured into a confession that it + now seemed to him had been unnecessary, since in his newly found vitality + he realized that death was none so near a thing as that scoundrelly fool + of a leech had led him to believe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA + </h2> + <p> + Cynthia's swoon was after all but brief. Upon recovering consciousness her + first act was to dismiss her woman. She had need to be alone—the + need of the animal that is wounded to creep into its lair and hide itself. + And so alone with her sorrow she sat through that long day. + </p> + <p> + That her father's condition was grievous she knew to be untrue, so that + concerning him there was not even that pity that she might have felt had + she believed—as he would have had her believe that he was dying. + </p> + <p> + As she pondered the monstrous disclosure he had made, her heart hardened + against him, and even as she had asked him whether indeed she was his + daughter, so now she vowed to herself that she would be his daughter no + longer. She would leave Castle Marleigh, never again to set eyes upon her + father, and she hoped that during the little time she must yet remain + there—a day, or two at most—she might be spared the ordeal of + again meeting a parent for whom respect was dead, and who inspired her + with just that feeling of horror she must have for any man who confessed + himself a murderer and a thief. + </p> + <p> + She resolved to repair to London to a sister of her mother's, where for + her dead mother's sake she would find a haven extended readily. + </p> + <p> + At eventide she came at last from her chamber. + </p> + <p> + She had need of air, need of the balm that nature alone can offer in + solitude to poor wounded human souls. + </p> + <p> + It was a mild and sunny evening, worthy rather of August than of October, + and aimlessly Mistress Cynthia wandered towards the cliffs overlooking + Sheringham Hithe. There she sate herself in sad dejection upon the grass, + and gazed wistfully seaward, her mind straying now from the sorry theme + that had held dominion in it, to the memories that very spot evoked. + </p> + <p> + It was there, sitting as she sat now, her eyes upon the shimmering waste + of sea, and the gulls circling overhead, that she had awakened to the + knowledge of her love for Crispin. And so to him strayed now her thoughts, + and to the fate her father had sent him to; and thus back again to her + father and the evil he had wrought. It is matter for conjecture whether + her loathing for Gregory would have been as intense as it was, had another + than Crispin Galliard been his victim. + </p> + <p> + Her life seemed at an end as she sat that October evening on the cliffs. + No single interest linked her to existence; nothing, it seemed, was left + her to hope for till the end should come—and no doubt it would be + long in coming, for time moves slowly when we wait. + </p> + <p> + Wistful she sat and thought, and every thought begat a sigh, and then of a + sudden—surely her ears had tricked her, enslaved by her imagination—a + crisp, metallic voice rang out close behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Why are we pensive, Mistress Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + There was a catch in her breath as she turned her head. Her cheeks took + fire, and for a second were aflame. Then they went deadly white, and it + seemed that time and life and the very world had paused in its relentless + progress towards eternity. For there stood the object of her thoughts and + sighs, sudden and unexpected, as though the earth had cast him up on to + her surface. + </p> + <p> + His thin lips were parted in a smile that softened wondrously the + harshness of his face, and his eyes seemed then to her alight with + kindness. A moment's pause there was, during which she sought her voice, + and when she had found it, all that she could falter was: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, how came you here? They told me that you rode to London.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, so I did. But on the road I chanced to halt, and having halted I + discovered reason why I should return.” + </p> + <p> + He had discovered a reason. She asked herself breathlessly what might that + reason be, and finding herself no answer to the question, she put it next + to him. + </p> + <p> + He drew near to her before replying. “May I sit with you awhile, Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + She moved aside to make room for him, as though the broad cliff had been a + narrow ledge, and with the sigh of a weary man finding a resting-place at + last, he sank down beside her. + </p> + <p> + There was a tenderness in his voice that set her pulses stirring wildly. + Did she guess aright the reason that had caused him to break his journey + and return? That he had done so—no matter what the reason—she + thanked God from her inmost heart, as for a miracle that had saved him + from the doom awaiting him in London town. + </p> + <p> + “Am I presumptuous, child, to think that haply the meditation in which I + found you rapt was for one, unworthy though he be, who went hence but some + few days since?” + </p> + <p> + The ambiguous question drove every thought from her mind, filling it to + overflowing with the supreme good of his presence, and the frantic hope + that she had read aright the reason of it. + </p> + <p> + “Have I conjectured rightly?” he asked, since she kept silence. + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap you have,” she whispered in return, and then, marvelling at her + boldness, blushed. He glanced sharply at her from narrowing eyes. It was + not the answer he had looked to hear. + </p> + <p> + As a father might have done he took the slender hand that rested upon the + grass beside him, and she, poor child, mistaking the promptings of that + action, suffered it to lie in his strong grasp. With averted head she + gazed upon the sea below, until a mist of tears rose up to blot it out. + The breeze seemed full of melody and gladness. God was very good to her, + and sent her in her hour of need this great consolation—a + consolation indeed that must have served to efface whatever sorrow could + have beset her. + </p> + <p> + “Why then, sweet lady, is my task that I had feared to find all fraught + with difficulty, grown easy indeed.” + </p> + <p> + And hearing him pause: + </p> + <p> + “What task is that, Sir Crispin?” she asked, intent on helping him. + </p> + <p> + He did not reply at once. He found it difficult to devise an answer. To + tell her brutally that he was come to bear her away, willing or unwilling, + on behalf of another, was not easy. Indeed, it was impossible, and he was + glad that inclinations in her which he had little dreamt of, put the + necessity aside. + </p> + <p> + “My task, Mistress Cynthia, is to bear you hence. To ask you to resign + this peaceful life, this quiet home in a little corner of the world, and + to go forth to bear life's hardships with one who, whatever be his + shortcomings, has the all-redeeming virtue of loving you beyond aught else + in life.” + </p> + <p> + He gazed intently at her as he spoke, and her eyes fell before his glance. + He noted the warm, red blood suffusing her cheeks, her brow, her very + neck; and he could have laughed aloud for joy at finding so simple that + which he had feared would prove so hard. Some pity, too, crept + unaccountably into his stern heart, fathered by the little faith which in + his inmost soul he reposed in Jocelyn. And where, had she resisted him, he + would have grown harsh and violent, her acquiescence struck the weapons + from his hands, and he caught himself well-nigh warning her against + accompanying him. + </p> + <p> + “It is much to ask,” he said. “But love is selfish, and love asks much.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she protested softly, “it is not much to ask. Rather is it much + to offer.” + </p> + <p> + At that he was aghast. Yet he continued: + </p> + <p> + “Bethink you, Mistress Cynthia, I have ridden back to Sheringham to ask + you to come with me into France, where my son awaits us?” + </p> + <p> + He forgot for the moment that she was in ignorance of his relationship to + him he looked upon as her lover, whilst she gave this mention of his son, + of whose existence she had already heard from her; father, little thought + at that moment. The hour was too full of other things that touched her + more nearly. + </p> + <p> + “I ask you to abandon the ease and peace of Sheringham for a life as a + soldier's bride that may be rough and precarious for a while, though, + truth to tell, I have some influence at the Luxembourg, and friends upon + whose assistance I can safely count, to find your husband honourable + employment, and set him on the road to more. And how, guided by so sweet a + saint, can he but mount to fame and honour?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke no word, but the hand resting in his entwined his fingers in an + answering pressure. + </p> + <p> + “Dare I then ask so much?” cried he. And as if the ambiguity which had + marked his speech were not enough, he must needs, as he put this question, + bend in his eagerness towards her until her brown tresses touched his + swart cheek. Was it then strange that the eagerness wherewith he urged + another's suit should have been by her interpreted as her heart would have + had it? + </p> + <p> + She set her hands upon his shoulders, and meeting his eager gaze with the + frank glance of the maid who, out of trust, is fearless in her surrender: + </p> + <p> + “Throughout my life I shall thank God that you have dared it,” she made + answer softly. + </p> + <p> + A strange reply he deemed it, yet, pondering, he took her meaning to be + that since Jocelyn had lacked the courage to woo boldly, she was glad that + he had sent an ambassador less timid. + </p> + <p> + A pause followed, and for a spell they sat silent, he thinking of how to + frame his next words; she happy and content to sit beside him without + speech. + </p> + <p> + She marvelled somewhat at the strangeness of his wooing, which was like + unto no wooing her romancer's tales had told her of, but then she + reflected how unlike he was to other men, and therein she saw the + explanation. + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” he mused, “that matters were easier; that it might be mine to + boldly sue your hand from your father, but it may not be. Even had events + not fallen out as they have done, it had been difficult; as it is, it is + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + Again his meaning was obscure, and when he spoke of suing for her hand + from her father, he did not think of adding that he would have sued it for + his son. + </p> + <p> + “I have no father,” she replied. “This very day have I disowned him.” And + observing the inquiry with which his eyes were of a sudden charged: “Would + you have me own a thief, a murderer, my father?” she demanded, with a + fierceness of defiant shame. + </p> + <p> + “You know, then?” he ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered sorrowfully, “I know all there is to be known. I + learnt it all this morning. All day have I pondered it in my shame to end + in the resolve to leave Sheringham. I had intended going to London to my + mother's sister. You are very opportunely come.” She smiled up at him + through the tears that were glistening in her eyes. “You come even as I + was despairing—nay, when already I had despaired.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Crispin was no longer puzzled by the readiness of her acquiescence. + Here was the explanation of it. Forced by the honesty of her pure soul to + abandon the house of a father she knew at last for what he was, the refuge + Crispin now offered her was very welcome. She had determined before he + came to quit Castle Marleigh, and timely indeed was his offer of the means + of escape from a life that was grown impossible. A great pity filled his + heart. She was selling herself, he thought; accepting the proposal which, + on his son's behalf, he made, and from which at any other season, he + feared, she would have shrunk in detestation. + </p> + <p> + That pity was reflected on his countenance now, and noting its solemnity, + and misconstruing it, she laughed outright, despite herself. He did not + ask her why she laughed, he did not notice it; his thoughts were busy + already upon another matter. + </p> + <p> + When next he spoke, it was to describe to her the hollow of the road where + on the night of his departure from the castle he had been flung from his + horse. She knew the spot, she told him, and there at dusk upon the + following day she would come to him. Her woman must accompany her, and for + all that he feared such an addition to the party might retard their + flight, yet he could not gainsay her resolution. Her uncle, he learnt from + her, was absent from Sheringham; he had set out four days ago for London. + For her father she would leave a letter, and in this matter Crispin urged + her to observe circumspection, giving no indication of the direction of + her journey. + </p> + <p> + In all he said, now that matters were arranged he was calm, practical, and + unloverlike, and for all that she would he had been less self-possessed, + her faith in him caused her, upon reflection, even to admire this which + she conceived to be restraint. Yet, when at parting he did no more than + courteously bend before her, and kiss her hand as any simpering gallant + might have done, she was all but vexed, and not to be outdone in coldness, + she grew frigid. But it was lost upon him. He had not a lover's + discernment, quickened by anxious eyes that watch for each flitting change + upon his mistress's face. + </p> + <p> + They parted thus, and into the heart of Mistress Cynthia there crept that + night a doubt that banished sleep. Was she wise in entrusting herself so + utterly to a man of whom she knew but little, and that learnt from rumours + which had not been good? But scarcely was it because of that that doubts + assailed her. Rather was it because of his cool deliberateness which + argued not the great love wherewith she fain would fancy him inspired. + </p> + <p> + For consolation she recalled a line that had it great fires were soon + burnt out, and she sought to reassure herself that the flame of his love, + if not all-consuming, would at least burn bright and steadfastly until the + end of life. And so she fell asleep, betwixt hope and fear, yet no longer + with any hesitancy touching the morrow's course. + </p> + <p> + In the morning she took her woman into her confidence, and scared her with + it out of what little sense the creature owned. Yet to such purpose did + she talk, that when that evening, as Crispin waited by the coach he had + taken, in the hollow of the road, he saw approaching him a portly, + middle-aged dame with a valise. This was Cynthia's woman, and Cynthia + herself was not long in following, muffled in a long, black cloak. + </p> + <p> + He greeted her warmly—affectionately almost yet with none of the + rapture to which she held herself entitled as some little recompense for + all that on his behalf she left behind. + </p> + <p> + Urbanely he handed her into the coach, and, after her, her woman. Then + seeing that he made shift to close the door: + </p> + <p> + “How is this?” she cried. “Do you not ride with us?” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a saddled horse standing by the roadside, and which she had + not noticed. + </p> + <p> + “It will be better so. You will be at more comfort in the carriage without + me. Moreover, it will travel the lighter and the swifter, and speed will + prove our best friend.” + </p> + <p> + He closed the door, and stepped back with a word of command to the driver. + The whip cracked, and Cynthia flung herself back almost in a pet. What + manner of lover, she asked herself, was thin and what manner of woman she, + to let herself be borne away by one who made so little use of the arts and + wiles of sweet persuasion? To carry her off, and yet not so much as sit + beside her, was worthy only of a man who described such a journey as + tedious. She marvelled greatly at it, yet more she marvelled at herself + that she did not abandon this mad undertaking. + </p> + <p> + The coach moved on and the flight from Sheringham was begun. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT + </h2> + <p> + Throughout the night they went rumbling on their way at a pace whose + sluggishness elicited many an oath from Crispin as he rode a few yards in + the rear, ever watchful of the possibility of pursuit. But there was none, + nor none need he have feared, since whilst he rode through the cold night, + Gregory Ashburn slept as peacefully as a man may with the fever and an + evil conscience, and imagined his dutiful daughter safely abed. + </p> + <p> + With the first streaks of steely light came a thin rain to heighten + Crispin's discomfort, for of late he had been overmuch in the saddle, and + strong though he was, he was yet flesh and blood, and subject to its ills. + Towards ten o'clock they passed through Denham. When they were clear of it + Cynthia put her head from the window. She had slept well, and her mood was + lighter and happier. As Crispin rode a yard or so behind, he caught sight + of her fresh, smiling face, and it affected him curiously. The tenderness + that two days ago had been his as he talked to her upon the cliffs was + again upon him, and the thought that anon she would be linked to him by + the ties of relationship, was pleasurable. She gave him good morrow + prettily, and he, spurring his horse to the carriage door, was solicitous + to know of her comfort. Nor did he again fall behind until Stafford was + reached at noon. Here, at the sign of the Suffolk Arms, he called a halt, + and they broke their fast on the best the house could give them. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was gay, and so indeed was Crispin, yet she noted in him that + coolness which she accounted restraint, and gradually her spirits sank + again before it. + </p> + <p> + To Crispin's chagrin there were no horses to be had. Someone in great + haste had ridden through before them, and taken what relays the hostelry + could give, leaving four jaded beasts in the stable. It seemed, indeed, + that they must remain there until the morrow, and in coming to that + conclusion, Sir Crispin's temper suffered sorely. + </p> + <p> + “Why need it put you so about,” cried Cynthia, in arch reproach, “since I + am with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Blood and fire, madam,” roared Galliard, “it is precisely for that reason + that I am exercised. What if your father came upon us here?” + </p> + <p> + “My father, sir, is abed with a sword-wound and a fever,” she replied, and + he remembered then how Kenneth had spitted Gregory through the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Still,” he returned, “he will have discovered your flight, and I dare + swear we shall have his myrmidons upon our heels. Should they come up with + us we shall hardly find them more gentle than he would be.” + </p> + <p> + She paled at that, and for a second there was silence. Then her hand stole + forth upon his arm, and she looked at him with tightened lips and a + defiant air. + </p> + <p> + “What, indeed, if they do? Are you not with me?” A king had praised his + daring, and for his valour had dubbed him knight upon a field of stricken + battle; yet the honour of it had not brought him the elation those words—expressive + of her utter faith in him and his prowess—begat in his heart. Upon + the instant the delay ceased to fret him. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” he laughed, “since you put it so, I care not who comes. The Lord + Protector himself shall not drag you from me.” + </p> + <p> + It was the nearest he had gone to a passionate speech since they had left + Sheringham, and it pleased her; yet in uttering it he had stood a full two + yards away, and in that she had taken no pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Bidding her remain and get what rest she might, he left her, and she, + following his straight, lank figure—so eloquent of strength—and + the familiar poise of his left hand upon the pummel of his sword, felt + proud indeed that he belonged to her, and secure in his protection. She + sat herself at the window when he was gone, and whilst she awaited his + return, she hummed a gay measure softly to herself. Her eyes were bright, + and there was a flush upon her cheeks. Not even in the wet, greasy street + could she find any unsightliness that afternoon. But as she waited, and + the minutes grew to hours, that flush faded, and the sparkle died + gradually from her eyes. The measure that she had hummed was silenced, and + her shapely mouth took on a pout of impatience, which anon grew into a + tighter mould, as he continued absent. + </p> + <p> + A frown drew her brows together, and Mistress Cynthia's thoughts were much + as they had been the night before she left Castle Marleigh. Where was he? + Why came he not? She took up a book of plays that lay upon the table, and + sought to while away the time by reading. The afternoon faded into dusk, + and still he did not come. Her woman appeared, to ask whether she should + call for lights and at that Cynthia became almost violent. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Sir Crispin?” she demanded. And to the dame's quavering answer + that she knew not, she angrily bade her go ascertain. + </p> + <p> + In a pet, Cynthia paced the chamber whilst Catherine was gone upon that + errand. Did this man account her a toy to while away the hours for which + he could find no more profitable diversion, and to leave her to die of + ennui when aught else offered? Was it a small thing that he had asked of + her, to go with him into a strange land, that he should show himself so + little sensible of the honour done him? + </p> + <p> + With such questions did she plague herself, and finding them either + unanswerable, or answerable only by affirmatives, she had well-nigh + resolved upon leaving the inn, and making her way back to London to seek + out her aunt, when the door opened and her woman reappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” cried Cynthia, seeing her alone. “Where is Sir Crispin?” + </p> + <p> + “Below, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “Below?” echoed she. “And what, pray, doth he below?” + </p> + <p> + “He is at dice with a gentleman from London.” + </p> + <p> + In the dim light of the October twilight the woman saw not the sudden + pallor of her mistress's cheeks, but she heard the gasp of pain that was + almost a cry. In her mortification, Cynthia could have wept had she given + way to her feelings. The man who had induced her to elope with him sat at + dice with a gentleman from London! Oh, it was monstrous! At the thought of + it she broke into a laugh that appalled her tiring-woman; then mastering + her hysteria, she took a sudden determination. + </p> + <p> + “Call me the host,” she cried, and the frightened Catherine obeyed her at + a run. + </p> + <p> + When the landlord came, bearing lights, and bending his aged back + obsequiously: + </p> + <p> + “Have you a pillion?” she asked abruptly. “Well, fool, why do you stare? + Have you a pillion?” + </p> + <p> + “I have, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “And a knave to ride with me, and a couple more as escort?” + </p> + <p> + “I might procure them, but—” + </p> + <p> + “How soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Within half an hour, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Then go see to it,” she broke in, her foot beating the ground + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “But, madam—” + </p> + <p> + “Go, go, go!” she cried, her voice rising at each utterance of that + imperative. + </p> + <p> + “But, madam,” the host persisted despairingly, and speaking quickly so + that he might get the words out, “I have no horses fit to travel ten + miles.” + </p> + <p> + “I need to go but five,” she retorted quickly, her only thought being to + get the beasts, no matter what their condition. “Now, go, and come not + back until all is ready. Use dispatch and I will pay you well, and above + all, not a word to the gentleman who came hither with me.” + </p> + <p> + The sorely-puzzled host withdrew to do her bidding, won to it by her + promise of good payment. + </p> + <p> + Alone she sat for half an hour, vainly fostering the hope that ere the + landlord returned to announce the conclusion of his preparations, Crispin + might have remembered her and come. But he did not appear, and in her + solitude this poor little maid was very miserable, and shed some tears + that had still more of anger than sorrow in their source. At length the + landlord came. She summoned her woman, and bade her follow by post on the + morrow. The landlord she rewarded with a ring worth twenty times the value + of the service, and was led by him through a side door into the innyard. + </p> + <p> + Here she found three horses, one equipped with the pillion on which she + was to ride behind a burly stableboy. The other two were mounted by a + couple of stalwart and well-armed men, one of whom carried a + funnel-mouthed musketoon with a swagger that promised prodigies of valour. + </p> + <p> + Wrapped in her cloak, she mounted behind the stable-boy, and bade him set + out and take the road to Denham. Her dream was at an end. + </p> + <p> + Master Quinn, the landlord, watched her departure with eyes that were + charged with doubt and concern. As he made fast the door of the stableyard + after she had passed out, he ominously shook his hoary head and muttered + to himself humble, hostelry-flavoured philosophies touching the strange + ways of men with women, and the stranger ways of women with men. Then, + taking up his lanthorn, he slowly retraced his steps to the buttery where + his wife was awaiting him. + </p> + <p> + With sleeves rolled high above her pink and deeply-dimpled elbows stood + Mistress Quinn at work upon the fashioning of a pastry, when her husband + entered and set down his lanthorn with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “To be so plagued,” he growled. “To be browbeaten by a slip of a wench—a + fine gentleman's baggage with the airs and vapours of a lady of quality. + Am I not a fool to have endured it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you are a fool,” his wife agreed, kneading diligently, + “whatever you may have endured. What now?” + </p> + <p> + His fat face was puckered into a thousand wrinkles. His little eyes gazed + at her with long-suffering malice. + </p> + <p> + “You are my wife,” he answered pregnantly, as who would say: Thus is my + folly clearly proven! and seeing that the assertion was not one that + admitted of dispute, Mistress Quinn was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, 'tis ill done!” he broke out a moment later. “Shame on me for it; it + is ill done!” + </p> + <p> + “If you have done it 'tis sure to be ill done, and shame on you in good + sooth—but for what?” put in his wife. + </p> + <p> + “For sending those poor jaded beasts upon the road.” + </p> + <p> + “What beasts?” + </p> + <p> + “What beasts? Do I keep turtles? My horses, woman.” + </p> + <p> + “And whither have you sent them?” + </p> + <p> + “To Denham with the baggage that came hither this morning in the company + of that very fierce gentleman who was in such a pet because we had no + horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” inquired the hostess. + </p> + <p> + “At dice with those other gallants from town.” + </p> + <p> + “At dice quotha? And she's gone, you say?” asked Mrs. Quinn, pausing in + her labours squarely to face her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Stupid!” rejoined his docile spouse, vexed by his laconic assent. “Do you + mean she has run away?” + </p> + <p> + “Tis what anyone might take from what I have told you,” he answered + sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “And you have lent her horses and helped her to get away, and you leave + her husband at play in there?” + </p> + <p> + “You have seen her marriage lines, I make no doubt,” he sneered + irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “You dolt! If the gentleman horsewhips you, you will have richly earned + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What?” gasped he, and his rubicund cheeks lost something of their + high colour, for here was a possibility that had not entered into his + calculations. But Mistress Quinn stayed not to answer him. Already she was + making for the door, wiping the dough from her hands on to her apron as + she went. A suspicion of her purpose flashed through her husband's mind. + </p> + <p> + “What would you do?” he inquired nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Tell the gentleman what has taken place.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” he cried, resolutely barring her way. “Nay. That you shall not. + Would you—would you ruin me?” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a look of contempt, and dodging his grasp she gained the door + and was half-way down the passage towards the common room before he had + overtaken her and caught her round the middle. + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad, woman?” he shouted. “Will you undo me?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you undo me,” she bade him, snatching at his hands. But he clutched + with the tightness of despair. + </p> + <p> + “You shall not go,” he swore. “Come back and leave the gentleman to make + the discovery for himself. I dare swear it will not afflict him overmuch. + He has abandoned her sorely since they came; not a doubt of it but that he + is weary of her. At least he need not know I lent her horses. Let him + think she fled a-foot, when he discovers her departure.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” she answered stubbornly, dragging him with her a yard or two + nearer the door. “The gentleman shall be warned. Is a woman to run away + from her husband in my house, and the husband never be warned of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I promised her,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “What care I for your promises?” she asked. “I will tell him, so that he + may yet go after her and bring her back.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall not,” he insisted, gripping her more closely. But at that + moment a delicately mocking voice greeted their ears. + </p> + <p> + “Marry, 'tis vastly diverting to hear you,” it said. They looked round, to + find one of the party of town sparks that had halted at the inn standing + arms akimbo in the narrow passage, clearly waiting for them to make room. + “A touching sight, sir,” said he sardonically to the landlord. “A wondrous + touching sight to behold a man of your years playing the turtle-dove to + his good wife like the merest fledgeling. It grieves me to intrude myself + so harshly upon your cooing, though if you'll but let me pass you may + resume your chaste embrace without uneasiness, for I give you my word I'll + never look behind me.” + </p> + <p> + Abashed, the landlord and his dame fell apart. Then, ere the gentleman + could pass her, Mistress Quinn, like a true opportunist, sped swiftly down + the passage and into the common room before her husband could again detain + her. + </p> + <p> + Now, within the common room of the Suffolk Arms Sir Crispin sat face to + face with a very pretty fellow, all musk and ribbons, and surrounded by + some half-dozen gentlemen on their way to London who had halted to rest at + Stafford. + </p> + <p> + The pretty gentleman swore lustily, affected a monstrous wicked look, + assured that he was impressing all who stood about with some conceit of + the rakehelly ways he pursued in town. + </p> + <p> + A game started with crowns to while away the tedium of the enforced + sojourn at the inn had grown to monstrous proportions. Fortune had + favoured the youth at first, but as the stakes grew her favours to him + diminished, and at the moment that Cynthia rode out of the inn-yard, Mr. + Harry Foster flung his last gold piece with an oath upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “Rat me,” he groaned, “there's the end of a hundred.” + </p> + <p> + He toyed sorrowfully with the red ribbon in his black hair, and Crispin, + seeing that no fresh stake was forthcoming, made shift to rise. But the + coxcomb detained him. + </p> + <p> + “Tarry, sir,” he cried, “I've not yet done. 'Slife, we'll make a night of + it.” + </p> + <p> + He drew a ring from his finger, and with a superb gesture of disdain + pushed it across the board. + </p> + <p> + “What'll ye stake?” And, in the same breath, “Boy, another stoup,” he + cried. + </p> + <p> + Crispin eyed the gem carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty Caroluses,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Rat me, sir, that nose of yours proclaims you a jew, without more. Say + twenty-five, and I'll cast.” + </p> + <p> + With a tolerant smile, and the shrug of a man to whom twenty-five or a + hundred are of like account, Crispin consented. They threw; Crispin passed + and won. + </p> + <p> + “What'll ye stake?” cried Mr. Foster, and a second ring followed the + first. + </p> + <p> + Before Crispin could reply, the door leading to the interior of the inn + was flung open, and Mrs. Quinn, breathless with exertion and excitement, + came scurrying across the room. In the doorway stood the host in hesitancy + and fear. Bending to Crispin's ear, Mrs. Quinn delivered her message in a + whisper that was heard by most of those who were about. + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” cried Crispin in consternation. + </p> + <p> + The woman pointed to her husband, and Crispin, understanding from this + that she referred him to the host, called to him. + </p> + <p> + “What know you, landlord?” he shouted. “Come hither, and tell me whither + is she gone!” + </p> + <p> + “I know not,” replied the quaking host, adding the particulars of + Cynthia's departure, and the information that the lady seemed in great + anger. + </p> + <p> + “Saddle me a horse,” cried Crispin, leaping to his feet, and pitching Mr. + Foster's trinket upon the table as though it were a thing of no value. + “Towards Denham you say they rode? Quick, man!” And as the host departed + he swept the gold and the ring he had won into his pockets preparing to + depart. + </p> + <p> + “Hoity toity!” cried Mr. Foster. “What sudden haste is this?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, sir, that Fortune has been unkind to you, but I must go. + Circumstances have arisen which—” + </p> + <p> + “D—n your circumstances!” roared Foster, get ting on his feet. + “You'll not leave me thus!” + </p> + <p> + “With your permission, sir, I will.” + </p> + <p> + “But you shall not have my permission!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall be so unfortunate as to go without it. But I shall return.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, 'tis an old legend, that!” + </p> + <p> + Crispin turned about in despair. To be embroiled now might ruin + everything, and by a miracle he kept his temper. He had a moment to spare + while his horse was being saddled. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” he said, “if you have upon your pretty person trinkets to half the + value of what I have won from you, I'll stake the whole against them on + one throw, after which, no matter what the result, I take my departure. + Are you agreed?” + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of admiration from those present at the recklessness + and the generosity of the proposal, and Foster was forced to accept it. + Two more rings he drew forth, a diamond from the ruffles at his throat, + and a pearl that he wore in his ear. The lot he set upon the board, and + Crispin threw the winning cast as the host entered to say that his horse + was ready. + </p> + <p> + He gathered the trinkets up, and with a polite word of regret he was gone, + leaving Mr. Harry Foster to meditate upon the pledging of one of his + horses to the landlord in discharge of his lodging. + </p> + <p> + And so it fell out that before Cynthia had gone six miles along the road + to Denham, one of her attendants caught a rapid beat of hoofs behind them, + and drew her attention to it, suggesting that they were being followed. + Faster Cynthia bade them travel, but the pursuer gained upon them at every + stride. Again the man drew her attention to it, and proposed that they + should halt and face him who followed. The possession of the musketoon + gave him confidence touching the issue. But Cynthia shuddered at the + thought, and again, with promises of rich reward, urged them to go faster. + Another mile they went, but every moment brought the pursuing hoof-beats + nearer and nearer, until at last a hoarse challenge rang out behind them, + and they knew that to go farther would be vain; within the next half-mile, + ride as they might, their pursuer would be upon them. + </p> + <p> + The night was moonless, yet sufficiently clear for objects to be perceived + against the sky, and presently the black shadow of him who rode behind + loomed up upon the road, not a hundred paces off. + </p> + <p> + Despite Cynthia's orders not to fire, he of the musketoon raised his + weapon under cover of the darkness and blazed at the approaching shadow. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia cried out—a shriek of dismay it was; the horses plunged, and + Sir Crispin laughed aloud as he bore down upon them. He of the musketoon + heard the swish of a sword being drawn, and saw the glitter of the blade + in the dark. A second later there was a shock as Crispin's horse dashed + into his, and a crushing blow across the forehead, which Galliard + delivered with the hilt of his rapier, sent him hurtling from the saddle. + His comrade clapped spurs to his horse at that and was running a race with + the night wind in the direction of Denham. + </p> + <p> + Before Cynthia quite knew what had happened the seat on the pillion in + front of her was empty, and she was riding back to Stafford with Crispin + beside her, his hand upon the bridle of her horse. + </p> + <p> + “You little fool!” he said half-angrily, half-gibingly; and thereafter + they rode in silence—she too mortified with shame and anger to + venture upon words. + </p> + <p> + That journey back to Stafford was a speedy one, and soon they stood again + in the inn-yard out of which she had ridden but an hour ago. Avoiding the + common room, Crispin ushered her through the side door by which she had + quitted the house. The landlord met them in the passage, and looking at + Crispin's face the pallor and fierceness of it drove him back without a + word. + </p> + <p> + Together they ascended to the chamber where in solitude she had spent the + day. Her feelings were those of a child caught in an act of disobedience, + and she was angry with herself and her weakness that it should be so. Yet + within the room she stood with bent head, never glancing at her companion, + in whose eyes there was a look of blended anger and amazement as he + observed her. At length in calm, level tones: + </p> + <p> + “Why did you run away?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The question was to her anger as a gust of wind to a smouldering fire. She + threw back her head defiantly, and fixed him with a glance as fierce as + his own. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you,” she cried, and suddenly stopped short. The fire died + from her eyes, and they grew wide in wonder—in fascinated wonder—to + see a deep stain overspreading one side of his grey doublet, from the left + shoulder downwards. Her wonder turned to horror as she realized the nature + of that stain and remembered that one of her men had fired upon him. + </p> + <p> + “You are wounded?” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + A sickly smile came into his face, and seemed to accentuate its pallor. He + made a deprecatory gesture. Then, as if in that gesture he had expended + his last grain of strength, he swayed suddenly as he stood. He made as if + to reach a chair, but at the second step he stumbled, and without further + warning he fell prone at her feet, his left hand upon his heart, his right + outstretched straight from the shoulder. The loss of blood he had + sustained, following upon the fatigue and sleeplessness that had been his + of late, had demanded its due from him, man of iron though he was. + </p> + <p> + Upon the instant her anger vanished. A great fear that he was dead + descended upon her, and to heighten the horror of it came the thought that + he had received his death-wound through her agency. With a moan of anguish + she went down upon her knees beside him. She raised his head and pillowed + it in her lap, calling to him by name, as though her voice alone must + suffice to bring him back to life and consciousness. Instinctively she + unfastened his doublet at the neck, and sought to draw it away that she + might see the nature of his hurt and staunch the wound if possible, but + her strength ebbed away from her, and she abandoned her task, unable to do + more than murmur his name. + </p> + <p> + “Crispin, Crispin, Crispin!” + </p> + <p> + She stooped and kissed the white, clammy forehead, then his lips, and as + she did so a tremor ran through her, and he opened his eyes. A moment they + looked dull and lifeless, then they waxed questioning. + </p> + <p> + A second ago these two had stood in anger with the width of the room + betwixt them; now, in a flash, he found his head on her lap, her lips on + his. How came he there? What meant it? + </p> + <p> + “Crispin, Crispin,” she cried, “thank God you did but swoon!” + </p> + <p> + Then the awakening of his soul came swift upon the awakening of his body. + He lay there, oblivious of his wound, oblivious of his mission, oblivious + of his son. He lay with senses still half dormant and comprehension + dulled, but with a soul alert he lay, and was supremely happy with a + happiness such as he had never known in all his ill-starred life. + </p> + <p> + In a feeble voice he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why did you run away?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us forget it,” she answered softly. + </p> + <p> + “Nay—tell me first.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought—I thought—” she stammered; then, gathering courage, + “I thought you did not really care, that you made a toy of me,” said she. + “When they told me that you sat at dice with a gentleman from London I was + angry at your neglect. If you loved me, I told myself, you would not have + used me so, and left me to mope alone.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Crispin let his grey eyes devour her blushing face. Then he + closed them and pondered what she had said, realization breaking upon him + now like a great flood. The light came to him in one blinding yet + all-illuming flash. A hundred things that had puzzled him in the last two + days grew of a sudden clear, and filled him with a joy unspeakable. He + dared scarce believe that he was awake, and Cynthia by him—that he + had indeed heard aright what she had said. How blind he had been, how + nescient of himself! + </p> + <p> + Then, as his thoughts travelled on to the source of the misapprehension he + remembered his son, and the memory was like an icy hand upon his temples + that chilled him through and through. Lying there with eyes still closed + he groaned. Happiness was within his grasp at last. Love might be his + again did he but ask it, and the love of as pure and sweet a creature as + ever God sent to chasten a man's life. A great tenderness possessed him. A + burning temptation to cast to the winds his plighted word, to make a mock + of faith, to deride honour, and to seize this woman for his own. She loved + him he knew it now; he loved her—the knowledge had come as suddenly + upon him. Compared with this what could his faith, his word, his honour + give him? What to him, in the face of this, was that paltry fellow, his + son, who had spurned him! + </p> + <p> + The hardest fight he ever fought, he fought it there, lying supine upon + the ground, his head in her lap. + </p> + <p> + Had he fought it out with closed eyes, perchance honour and his plighted + word had won the day; but he opened them, and they met Cynthia's. + </p> + <p> + A while they stayed thus; the hungry glance of his grey eyes peering into + the clear blue depths of hers; and in those depths his soul was drowned, + his honour stifled. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he cried, “God pity me, I love you!” And he swooned again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. TO FRANCE + </h2> + <p> + That cry, which she but half understood, was still ringing in her ears, + when the door was of a sudden flung open, and across the threshold a very + daintily arrayed young gentleman stepped briskly, the expostulating + landlord following close upon his heels. + </p> + <p> + “I tell thee, lying dog,” he cried, “I saw him ride into the yard, and, + 'fore George, he shall give me the chance of mending my losses. Be off to + your father, you Devil's natural.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked up in alarm, whereupon that merry blood catching sight of + her, halted in some confusion at what he saw. + </p> + <p> + “Rat me, madam,” he cried, “I did not know—I had not looked to—” + He stopped, and remembering at last his manners he made her a low bow. + </p> + <p> + “Your servant, madam,” said he, “your servant Harry Foster.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him, her eyes full of inquiry, but said nothing, whereat the + pretty gentleman plucked awkwardly at his ruffles and wished himself + elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know, madam, that your husband was hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not my husband, sir,” she answered, scarce knowing what she said. + </p> + <p> + “Gadso!” he ejaculated. “Yet you ran away from him?” + </p> + <p> + Her cheeks grew crimson. + </p> + <p> + “The door, sir, is behind you.” + </p> + <p> + “So, madam, is that thief the landlord,” he made answer, no whit abashed. + “Come hither, you bladder of fat, the gentleman is hurt.” + </p> + <p> + Thus courteously summoned, the landlord shuffled forward, and Mr. Foster + begged Cynthia to allow him with the fellow's aid to see to the + gentleman's wound. Between them they laid Crispin on a couch, and the town + spark went to work with a dexterity little to have been expected from his + flippant exterior. He dressed the wound, which was in the shoulder and not + in itself of a dangerous character, the loss of blood it being that had + brought some gravity to the knight's condition. They propped his head upon + a pillow, and presently he sighed and, opening his eyes, complained of + thirst, and was manifestly surprised at seeing the coxcomb turned leech. + </p> + <p> + “I came in search of you to pursue our game,” Foster explained when they + had ministered to him, “and, 'fore George, I am vastly grieved to find you + in this condition.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish, sir, my condition is none so grievous—a scratch, no more, and + were my heart itself pierced the knowledge that I have gained—” He + stopped short. “But there, sir,” he added presently, “I am grateful beyond + words for your timely ministration, and if to my debt you will add that of + leaving me awhile to rest, I shall appreciate it.” + </p> + <p> + His glance met Cynthia's and he smiled. The host coughed significantly, + and shuffled towards the door. But Master Foster made no shift to move; + but stood instead beside Galliard, though in apparent hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “I should like a word with you ere I go,” he said at length. Then turning + and perceiving the landlord standing by the door in an attitude of + eloquent waiting: “Take yourself off,” he cried to him. “Crush me, may not + one gentleman say a word to another without being forced to speak into + your inquisitive ears as well? You will forgive my heat, madam, but, God + a'mercy, that greasy rascal tries me sorely.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir,” he resumed, when the host was gone. “I stand thus: I have lost + to you to-day a sum of money which, though some might account + considerable, is in itself no more than a trifle. + </p> + <p> + “I am, however, greatly exercised at the loss of certain trinkets which + have to me a peculiar value, and which, to be frank, I staked in a moment + of desperation. I had hoped, sir, to retrieve my losses o'er a friendly + main this evening, for I have still to stake a coach and four horses—as + noble a set of beasts as you'll find in England, aye rat me. Your wound, + sir, renders it impossible for me to ask you to give yourself the fatigue + of obliging me. I come, then, to propose that you return me those trinkets + against my note of hand for the amount that was staked on them. I am well + known in town, sir,” he added hurriedly, “and you need have no anxiety.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin stopped him with a wave of the hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have none, sir, in that connexion, and I am willing to do as you + suggest.” He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew forth the rings, + the brooch and the ear-ring he had won. “Here, sir, are your trinkets.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” cried Mr. Foster, thrown into some confusion by Galliard's + unquestioning generosity, “I am indebted to you. Rat me, sir, I am indeed. + You shall have my note of hand on the instant. How much shall we say?” + </p> + <p> + “One moment, Mr. Foster,” said Crispin, an idea suddenly occurring to him. + “You mentioned horses. Are they fresh?” + </p> + <p> + “As June roses.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are returning to London, are you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you wish to proceed?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, sir, I have a proposal to make which will remove the need of + your note of hand. Lend me your horses, sir, to reach Harwich. I wish to + set out at once!” + </p> + <p> + “But your wound?” cried Cynthia. “You are still faint.” + </p> + <p> + “Faint! Not I. I am awake and strong. My wound is no wound, for a scratch + may not be given that name. So there, sweetheart.” He laughed, and drawing + down her head, he whispered the words: “Your father.” Then turning again + to Foster. “Now, sir,” he continued, “there are four tolerable posthorses + of mine below, on which you can follow tomorrow to Harwich, there + exchanging them again for your own, which you shall find awaiting you, + stabled at the Garter Inn. For this service, to me of immeasurable value, + I will willingly cede those gewgaws to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, rat me, sir,” cried Foster in bewilderment, “tis too generous—'pon + honour it is. I can't consent to it. No, rat me, I can't.” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you how great a boon you will confer. Believe me, sir, to me + it is worth twice, a hundred times the value of those trinkets.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have my horses, sir, and my note of hand as well,” said Foster + firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Your note of hand is of no value to me, sir. I look to leave England + to-morrow, and I know not when I may return.” + </p> + <p> + Thus in the end it came about that the bargain was concluded. Cynthia's + maid was awakened and bidden to rise. The horses were harnessed to + Crispin's coach, and Crispin, leaning upon Harry Foster's arm, descended + and took his place within the carriage. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the London blood at the door of the Suffolk Arms, crushing, + burning, damning and ratting himself at Crispin's magnificence, they + rolled away through the night in the direction of Ipswich. + </p> + <p> + Ten o'clock in the morning beheld them at the door of the Garter Inn at + Harwich. But the jolting of the coach had so hardly used Crispin that he + had to be carried into the hostelry. He was much exercised touching the + Lady Jane and his inability to go down to the quay in quest of her, when + he was accosted by a burly, red-faced individual who bluntly asked him was + he called Sir Crispin Galliard. Ere he could frame an answer the man had + added that he was Thomas Jackson, master of the Lady Jane—at which + piece of good news Crispin felt like to shout for joy. + </p> + <p> + But his reflection upon his present position, when at last he lay in the + schooner's cabin, brought him the bitter reverse of pleasure. He had set + out to bring Cynthia to his son; he had pledged his honour to accomplish + it. How was he fulfilling his trust? In his despondency, during a moment + when alone, he cursed the knave that had wounded him for his clumsiness in + not having taken a lower aim when he fired, and thus solved him this ugly + riddle of life for all time. + </p> + <p> + Vainly did he strive to console himself and endeavour to palliate the + wrong he had done with the consideration that he was the man Cynthia + loved, and not his son; that his son was nothing to her, and that she + would never have accompanied him had she dreamt that he wooed her for + another. + </p> + <p> + No. The deed was foul, and rendered fouler still by virtue of those other + wrongs in whose extenuation it had been undertaken. For a moment he grew + almost a coward. He was on the point of bidding Master Jackson avoid + Calais and make some other port along the coast. But in a moment he had + scorned the craven argument of flight, and determined that come what might + he would face his son, and lay the truth before him, leaving him to judge + how strong fate had been. As he lay feverish and fretful in the vessel's + cabin, he came well-nigh to hating Kenneth; he remembered him only as a + poor, mean creature, now a bigot, now a fop, now a psalm-monger, now a + roysterer, but ever a hypocrite, ever a coward, and never such a man as he + could have taken pride in presenting as his offspring. + </p> + <p> + They had a fair wind, and towards evening Cynthia, who had been absent + from his side a little while, came to tell him that the coast of France + grew nigh. + </p> + <p> + His answer was a sigh, and when she chid him for it, he essayed a smile + that was yet more melancholy. For a second he was tempted to confide in + her; to tell her of the position in which he found himself and to lighten + his load by sharing it with her. But this he dared not do. Cynthia must + never know. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE AUBERGE DU SOLEIL + </h2> + <p> + In a room of the first floor of the Auberge du Soleil, at Calais, the host + inquired of Crispin if he were milord Galliard. At that question Crispin + caught his breath in apprehension, and felt himself turn pale. What it + portended, he guessed; and it stifled the hope that had been rising in him + since his arrival, and because he had not found his son awaiting him + either on the jetty or at the inn. He dared ask no questions, fearing that + the reply would quench that hope, which rose despite himself, and begotten + of a desire of which he was hardly conscious. + </p> + <p> + He sighed before replying, and passing his brown, nervous hand across his + brow, he found it moist. + </p> + <p> + “My name, M. l'hote, is Crispin Galliard. What news have you for me?” + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman—a countryman of milord's—has been here these + three days awaiting him.” + </p> + <p> + For a little while Crispin sat quite still, stripped of his last rag of + hope. Then suddenly bracing himself, he sprang up, despite his weakness. + </p> + <p> + “Bring him to me. I will see him at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Tout-a-l'heure, monsieur,” replied the landlord. “At the moment he is + absent. He went out to take the air a couple of hours ago, and is not yet + returned.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven send he has walked into the sea!” Crispin broke out passionately. + Then as passionately he checked himself. “No, no, my God—not that! I + meant not that.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur will sup?” + </p> + <p> + “At once, and let me have lights.” The host withdrew, to return a moment + later with a couple of lighted tapers, which he set upon the table. + </p> + <p> + As he was retiring, a heavy step sounded on the stair, accompanied by the + clank of a scabbard against the baluster. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes milord's countryman,” the landlord announced. + </p> + <p> + And Crispin, looking up in apprehension, saw framed in the doorway the + burly form of Harry Hogan. + </p> + <p> + He sat bolt upright, staring as though he beheld an apparition. With a sad + smile, Hogan advanced, and set his hand affectionately upon Galliard's + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome to France, Crispin,” said he. “If not him whom you looked to + find, you have at least a loyal friend to greet you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hogan!” gasped the knight. “What make you here? How came you here? Where + is Jocelyn?” + </p> + <p> + The Irishman looked at him gravely for a moment, then sighed and sank down + upon a chair. “You have brought the lady?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She is here. She will be with us presently.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan groaned and shook his grey head sorrowfully. + </p> + <p> + “But where is Jocelyn?” cried Galliard again, and his haggard face looked + very wan and white as he turned it inquiringly upon his companion. “Why is + he not here?” + </p> + <p> + “I have bad news.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad news?” muttered Crispin, as though he understood not the meaning of + the words. “Bad news?” he repeated musingly. Then bracing himself, “What + is this news?” + </p> + <p> + “And you have brought the lady too!” Hogan complained. “Faith, I had hoped + that you had failed in that at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Sdeath, Harry,” Crispin exclaimed. “Will you tell me the news?” + </p> + <p> + Hogan pondered a moment. Then: + </p> + <p> + “I will relate the story from the very beginning,” said he. “Some four + hours after your departure from Waltham) my men brought in the malignant + we were hunting. I dispatched my sergeant and the troop forthwith to + London with the prisoner, keeping just two troopers with me. An hour or so + later a coach clattered into the yard, and out of it stepped a short, lean + man in black, with a very evil face and a crooked eye, who bawled out that + he was Joseph Ashburn of Castle Marleigh, a friend of the Lord General's, + and that he must have horses on the instant to proceed upon his journey to + London. I was in the yard at the time, and hearing the full announcement I + guessed what his business in London was. He entered the inn to refresh + himself and I followed him. In the common room the first man his eyes + lighted on was your son. He gasped at sight of him, and when he had + recovered his breath he let fly as round a volley of blasphemy as ever I + heard from the lips of a Puritan. When that was over, “Fool,” he yells, + “what make you here?” The lad stammered and grew confused. At last—“I + was detained here,” says he. “Detained!” thunders the other, “and by + whom?” “By my father, you murdering villain!” was the hot answer. + </p> + <p> + “At that Master Ashburn grows very white and very evil-looking. “So,” he + says, in a playful voice, “you have learnt that, have you? Well, by God! + the lesson shall profit neither you nor that rascal your father. But I'll + begin with you, you cur.” And with that he seizes a jug of ale that stood + on the table, and empties it over the boy's face. Soul of my body! The lad + showed such spirit then as I had never looked to find in him. “Outside,” + yells he, tugging at his sword with one hand, and pointing to the door + with the other. “Outside, you hound, where I can kill you!” Ashburn + laughed and cursed him, and together they flung past me into the yard. The + place was empty at the moment, and there, before the clash of their blades + had drawn interference, the thing was over—and Ashburn had sent his + sword through Jocelyn's heart.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan paused, and Crispin sat very still and white, his soul in torment. + </p> + <p> + “And Ashburn?” he asked presently, in a voice that was singularly hoarse + and low. “What became of him? Was he not arrested?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hogan grimly, “he was not arrested. He was buried. Before he + had wiped his blade I had stepped up to him and accused him of murdering a + beardless boy. I remembered the reckoning he owed you, I remembered that + he had sought to send you to your death; I saw the boy's body still warm + and bleeding upon the ground, and I struck him with my knuckles on the + mouth. Like the cowardly ruffian he was, he made a pass at me with his + sword before I had got mine out. I avoided it narrowly, and we set to + work. + </p> + <p> + “People rushed in and would have stopped us, but I cursed them so whilst I + fenced, swearing to kill any man that came between us, that they held off + and waited. I didn't keep them overlong. I was no raw youngster fresh from + the hills of Scotland. I put the point of my sword through Joseph + Ashburn's throat within a minute of our engaging. + </p> + <p> + “It was then as I stood in that shambles and looked down upon my handiwork + that I recalled in what favour Master Ashburn was held by the Parliament, + and I grew sick to think of what the consequences might be. To avoid them + I got me there and then to horse, and rode in a straight line for + Greenwich, hoping to find the Lady Jane still there. But my messenger had + already sent her to Harwich for you. I was well ahead of possible pursuit, + and so I pushed on to Dover, and thence I crossed, arriving here three + days ago.” + </p> + <p> + Crispin rose and stepped up to Hogan. “The last time you came to me after + killing a man, Harry, I was of some service to you. You shall find me no + less useful now. You will come to Paris with me?” + </p> + <p> + “But the lady?” gasped Hogan, amazed at Crispin's lack of thought for her. + </p> + <p> + “I hear her step upon the stairs. Leave me now, Harry, but as you go, + desire the landlord to send for a priest. The lady remains.” + </p> + <p> + One look of utter bewilderment did Hogan bestow upon Sir Crispin, and for + once his glib, Irish tongue could shape no other words than: + </p> + <p> + “Soul of my body!” + </p> + <p> + He wrung Crispin's hand, and in a state of ineffable perplexity he hurried + from the room to do what was required of him. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Crispin stood by the window, and looking out into the night + he thanked God from his heart for his solution of the monstrous riddle + that had been set him. + </p> + <p> + Then the rustle of a gown drew his attention, and he swung round to find + Cynthia smiling upon him from the threshold. + </p> + <p> + He advanced to meet her, and setting his hands upon her shoulders, he held + her at arm's length, looking down into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia, my Cynthia!” he cried. And she, breaking past the barrier of his + grasp, nestled up to him with a sigh of sweet and unalloyed content. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tavern Knight, by Rafael Sabatini + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TAVERN KNIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 3030-h.htm or 3030-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/3/3030/ + +Produced by Polly Stratton, and David Widger + + +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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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: The Tavern Knight + +Author: Rafael Sabatini + +Posting Date: February 28, 2009 [EBook #3030] +Release Date: January, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TAVERN KNIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Polly Stratton + + + + + +THE TAVERN KNIGHT + + +By Rafael Sabatini + + + +CONTENTS + + I. ON THE MARCH + + II. ARCADES AMBO + + III. THE LETTER + + IV. AT THE SIGN OF THE MITRE + + V. AFTER WORCESTER FIELD + + VI. COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE + + VII. THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY + + VIII. THE TWISTED BAR + + IX. THE BARGAIN + + X. THE ESCAPE + + XI. THE ASHBURNS + + XII. THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S + + XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH + + XIV. THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN + + XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN + + XVI. THE RECKONING + + XVII. JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN + + XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT + + XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY + + XX. THE CONVERTED HOGAN + + XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE + + XXII. SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING + + XXIII. GREGORY'S ATTRITION + + XXIV. THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA + + XXV. CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT + + XXVI. TO FRANCE + + XXVII. THE AUBERGINE DU SOLEIL + + + + + +THE TAVERN KNIGHT + + + + +CHAPTER I. ON THE MARCH + +He whom they called the Tavern Knight laughed an evil laugh--such a +laugh as might fall from the lips of Satan in a sardonic moment. + +He sat within the halo of yellow light shed by two tallow candles, whose +sconces were two empty bottles, and contemptuously he eyed the youth +in black, standing with white face and quivering lip in a corner of +the mean chamber. Then he laughed again, and in a hoarse voice, sorely +suggestive of the bottle, he broke into song. He lay back in his chair, +his long, spare legs outstretched, his spurs jingling to the lilt of his +ditty whose burden ran: + + On the lip so red of the wench that's sped + His passionate kiss burns, still-O! + For 'tis April time, and of love and wine + Youth's way is to take its fill-O! + Down, down, derry-do! + + So his cup he drains and he shakes his reins, + And rides his rake-helly way-O! + She was sweet to woo and most comely, too, + But that was all yesterday-O! + Down, down, derry-do! + +The lad started forward with something akin to a shiver. + +"Have done," he cried, in a voice of loathing, "or, if croak you must, +choose a ditty less foul!" + +"Eh?" The ruffler shook back the matted hair from his lean, harsh +face, and a pair of eyes that of a sudden seemed ablaze glared at his +companion; then the lids drooped until those eyes became two narrow +slits--catlike and cunning--and again he laughed. + +"Gad's life, Master Stewart, you have a temerity that should save +you from grey hairs! What is't to you what ditty my fancy seizes on? +'Swounds, man, for three weary months have I curbed my moods, and worn +my throat dry in praising the Lord; for three months have I been a +living monument of Covenanting zeal and godliness; and now that at last +I have shaken the dust of your beggarly Scotland from my heels, you--the +veriest milksop that ever ran tottering from its mother's lap would +chide me because, yon bottle being done, I sing to keep me from waxing +sad in the contemplation of its emptiness!" + +There was scorn unutterable on the lad's face as he turned aside. + +"When I joined Middleton's horse and accepted service under you, I held +you to be at least a gentleman," was his daring rejoinder. + +For an instant that dangerous light gleamed again from his companion's +eye. Then, as before, the lids drooped, and, as before, he laughed. + +"Gentleman!" he mocked. "On my soul, that's good! And what may you know +of gentlemen, Sir Scot? Think you a gentleman is a Jack Presbyter, or a +droning member of your kirk committee, strutting it like a crow in +the gutter? Gadswounds, boy, when I was your age, and George Villiers +lived--" + +"Oh, have done!" broke in the youth impetuously. "Suffer me to leave +you, Sir Crispin, to your bottle, your croaking, and your memories." + +"Aye, go your ways, sir; you'd be sorry company for a dead man--the +sorriest ever my evil star led me into. The door is yonder, and should +you chance to break your saintly neck on the stairs, it is like to be +well for both of us." + +And with that Sir Crispin Galliard lay back in his chair once more, and +took up the thread of his interrupted song + + But, heigh-o! she cried, at the Christmas-tide, + That dead she would rather be-O! + Pale and wan she crept out of sight, and wept + + 'Tis a sorry-- + +A loud knock that echoed ominously through the mean chamber, fell in +that instant upon the door. And with it came a panting cry of-- + +"Open, Cris! Open, for the love of God!" + +Sir Crispin's ballad broke off short, whilst the lad paused in the act +of quitting the room, and turned to look to him for direction. + +"Well, my master," quoth Galliard, "for what do you wait?" + +"To learn your wishes, sir," was the answer sullenly delivered. + +"My wishes! Rat me, there's one without whose wishes brook less waiting! +Open, fool!" + +Thus rudely enjoined, the lad lifted the latch and set wide the door, +which opened immediately upon the street. Into the apartment stumbled a +roughly clad man of huge frame. He was breathing hard, and fear was writ +large upon his rugged face. An instant he paused to close the door after +him, then turning to Galliard, who had risen and who stood eyeing him in +astonishment-- + +"Hide me somewhere, Cris," he panted--his accent proclaiming his Irish +origin. "My God, hide me, or I'm a dead man this night!" + +"'Slife, Hogan! What is toward? Has Cromwell overtaken us?" + +"Cromwell, quotha? Would to Heaven 'twere no worse! I've killed a man!" + +"If he's dead, why run?" + +The Irishman made an impatient gesture. + +"A party of Montgomery's foot is on my heels. They've raised the whole +of Penrith over the affair, and if I'm taken, soul of my body, 'twill be +a short shrift they'll give me. The King will serve me as poor Wrycraft +was served two days ago at Kendal. Mother of Mercy!" he broke off, +as his ear caught the clatter of feet and the murmur of voices from +without. "Have you a hole I can creep into?" + +"Up those stairs and into my room with you!" said Crispin shortly. "I +will try to head them off. Come, man, stir yourself; they are here." + +Then, as with nimble alacrity Hogan obeyed him and slipped from the +room, he turned to the lad, who had been a silent spectator of what +had passed. From the pocket of his threadbare doublet he drew a pack of +greasy playing cards. + +"To table," he said laconically. + +But the boy, comprehending what was required of him, drew back at sight +of those cards as one might shrink from a thing unclean. + +"Never!" he began. "I'll not defile--" + +"To table, fool!" thundered Crispin, with a vehemence few men could have +withstood. "Is this a time for Presbyterian scruples? To table, and help +a me play this game, or, by the living God, I'll--" Without completing +his threat he leaned forward until Kenneth felt his hot, wine-laden +breath upon his cheek. Cowed by his words, his gesture, and above all, +his glance, the lad drew up a chair, mumbling in explanation--intended +as an excuse to himself for his weakness--that he submitted since a +man's life was at stake. + +Opposite him Galliard resumed his seat with a mocking smile that made +him wince. Taking up the cards, he flung a portion of them to the boy, +whilst those he retained he spread fanwise in his hand as if about to +play. Silently Kenneth copied his actions. + +Nearer and louder grew the sounds of the approach, lights flashed before +the window, and the two men, feigning to play, sat on and waited. + +"Have a care, Master Stewart," growled Crispin sourly, then in a louder +voice--for his quick eye had caught a glimpse of a face that watched +them from the window--"I play the King of Spades!" he cried, with +meaning look. + +A blow was struck upon the door, and with it came the command to "Open +in the King's name!" Softly Sir Crispin rapped out an oath. Then he +rose, and with a last look of warning to Kenneth, he went to open. +And as he had greeted Hogan he now greeted the crowd mainly of +soldiers--that surged about the threshold. + +"Sirs, why this ado? Hath the Sultan Oliver descended upon us?" + +In one hand he still held his cards, the other he rested upon the edge +of the open door. It was a young ensign who stood forward to answer him. + +"One of Lord Middleton's officers hath done a man to death not half an +hour agone; he is an Irishman Captain Hogan by name." + +"Hogan--Hogan?" repeated Crispin, after the manner of one who fumbles in +his memory. "Ah, yes--an Irishman with a grey head and a hot temper. And +he is dead, you say?" + +"Nay, he has done the killing." + +"That I can better understand. 'Tis not the first time, I'll be sworn." + +"But it will be the last, Sir Crispin." + +"Like enough. The King is severe since we crossed the Border." Then in +a brisker tone: "I thank you for bringing me this news," said he, "and I +regret that in my poor house there be naught I can offer you wherein to +drink His Majesty's health ere you proceed upon your search. Give you +good night, sir." And by drawing back a pace he signified his wish to +close the door and be quit of them. + +"We thought," faltered the young officer, "that--that perchance you +would assist us by--" + +"Assist you!" roared Crispin, with a fine assumption of anger. "Assist +you take a man? Sink me, sir, I would have you know I am a soldier, not +a tipstaff!" + +The ensign's cheeks grew crimson under the sting of that veiled insult. + +"There are some, Sir Crispin, that have yet another name for you." + +"Like enough--when I am not by," sneered Crispin. "The world is full of +foul tongues in craven heads. But, sirs, the night air is chill and you +are come inopportunely, for, as you'll perceive, I was at play. Haply +you'll suffer me to close the door." + +"A moment, Sir Crispin. We must search this house. He is believed to +have come this way." + +Crispin yawned. "I will spare you the trouble. You may take it from me +that he could not be here without my knowledge. I have been in this room +these two hours past." + +"Twill not suffice," returned the officer doggedly. "We must satisfy +ourselves." + +"Satisfy yourselves?" echoed the other, in tones of deep amazement. +"What better satisfaction can I afford you than my word? 'Swounds, sir +jackanapes," he added, in a roar that sent the lieutenant back a pace +as though he had been struck, "am I to take it that your errand is a +trumped-up business to affront me? First you invite me to turn tipstaff, +then you add your cursed innuendoes of what people say of me, and now +you end by doubting me! You must satisfy yourself!" he thundered, waxing +fiercer at every word. "Linger another moment on that threshold, and +d----n me, sir, I'll give you satisfaction of another flavour! Be off!" + +Before that hurricane of passion the ensign recoiled, despite himself. + +"I will appeal to General Montgomery," he threatened. + +"Appeal to the devil! Had you come hither with your errand in a seemly +fashion you had found my door thrown wide in welcome, and I had received +you courteously. As it is, sir, the cause for complaint is on my side, +and complain I will. We shall see whether the King permits an old +soldier who has followed the fortunes of his family these eighteen years +to be flouted by a malapert bantam of yesterday's brood!" + +The subaltern paused in dismay. Some demur there was in the gathered +crowd. Then the officer fell back a pace, and consulted an elderly +trooper at his elbow. The trooper was of opinion that the fugitive must +have gone farther. Moreover, he could not think, from what Sir Crispin +had said, that it would have been possible for Hogan to have entered the +house. With this, and realizing that much trouble and possible loss of +time must result from Sir Crispin's obstinacy, did they attempt to force +a way into the house, and bethinking himself, also, maybe, how well this +rascally ruffler stood with Lord Middleton, the ensign determined to +withdraw, and to seek elsewhere. + +And so he took his leave with a venomous glance, and a parting threat +to bring the matter to the King's ears, upon which Galliard slammed the +door before he had finished. + +There was a curious smile on Crispin's face as he walked slowly to the +table, and resumed his seat. + +"Master Stewart," he whispered, as he spread his cards anew, "the comedy +is not yet played out. There is a face glued to the window at this +moment, and I make little doubt that for the next hour or so we shall be +spied upon. That pretty fellow was born to be a thief-taker." + +The boy turned a glance of sour reproof upon his companion. He had not +stirred from his chair while Crispin had been at the door. + +"You lied to them," he said at last. + +"Sh! Not so loud, sweet youth," was the answer that lost nothing of +menace by being subdued. "Tomorrow, if you please, I will account to +you for offending your delicate soul by suggesting a falsehood in your +presence. To-night we have a man's life to save, and that, I think, is +work enough. Come, Master Stewart, we are being watched. Let us resume +our game." + +His eye, fixed in cold command upon the boy, compelled obedience. +And the lad, more out of awe of that glance than out of any desire to +contribute to the saving of Hogan, mutely consented to keep up this +pretence. But in his soul he rebelled. He had been reared in an +atmosphere of honourable and religious bigotry. Hogan was to him a +coarse ruffler; an evil man of the sword; such a man as he abhorred and +accounted a disgrace to any army--particularly to an army launched upon +England under the auspices of the Solemn League and Covenant. + +Hogan had been guilty of an act of brutality; he had killed a man; and +Kenneth deemed himself little better, since he assisted in harbouring +instead of discovering him, as he held to be his duty. But 'neath the +suasion of Galliard's inexorable eye he sat limp and docile, vowing +to himself that on the morrow he would lay the matter before Lord +Middleton, and thus not only endeavour to make amends for his present +guilty silence, but rid himself also of the companionship of this +ruffianly Sir Crispin, to whom no doubt a hempen justice would be meted. + +Meanwhile, he sat on and left his companion's occasional sallies +unanswered. In the street men stirred and lanthorns gleamed fitfully, +whilst ever and anon a face surmounted by a morion would be pressed +against the leaded panes of the window. + +Thus an hour wore itself out during which poor Hogan sat above, alone +with his anxiety and unsavoury thoughts. + + + + +CHAPTER II. ARCADES AMBO + + +Towards midnight at last Sir Crispin flung down his cards and rose. It +was close upon an hour and a half since Hogan's advent. In the streets +the sounds had gradually died down, and peace seemed to reign again +in Penrith. Yet was Sir Crispin cautious--for to be cautious and +mistrustful of appearances was the lesson life had taught him. + +"Master Stewart," said he, "it grows late, and I doubt me you would be +abed. Give you good night!" + +The lad rose. A moment he paused, hesitating, then-- + +"To-morrow, Sir Crispin--" he began. But Crispin cut him short. + +"Leave to-morrow till it dawn, my friend. Give you good night. Take one +of those noisome tapers with you, and go." + +In sullen silence the boy took up one of the candle-bearing bottles and +passed out through the door leading to the stairs. + +For a moment Crispin remained standing by the table, and in that moment +the expression of his face was softened. A momentary regret of his +treatment of the boy stirred in him. Master Stewart might be a milksop, +but Crispin accounted him leastways honest, and had a kindness for +him in spite of all. He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide he +leaned out, as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed the +refrain of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance listeners. + +For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the occasion +to let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were alert for the +least movement among the shadows of the street. Reassured at last that +the house was no longer being watched, he drew back, and closed the +lattice. + +Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his bed, +awaiting him. + +"Soul of my body!" cried Hogan ruefully, "I was never nearer being +afraid in my life." + +Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale of what +had passed. + +"Tis simple enough, faith," said Hogan coolly. "The landlord of The +Angel hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his inn--who owns +a pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a man saw perdition in. She +hath, moreover, a taste for dalliance, and my brave looks and martial +trappings did for her what her bold eyes had done for me. We were +becoming the sweetest friends, when, like an incarnate fiend, that +loutish clown, her lover, sweeps down upon us, and, with more jealousy +than wit, struck me--struck me, Harry Hogan! Soul of my body, think of +it, Cris!" And he grew red with anger at the recollection. "I took +him by the collar of his mean smock and flung him into the kennel--the +fittest bed he ever lay in. Had he remained there it had been well +for him; but the fool, accounting himself affronted, came up to demand +satisfaction. I gave it him, and plague on it--he's dead!" + +"An ugly tale," was Crispin's sour comment. + +"Ugly, maybe," returned Hogan, spreading out his palms, "but what choice +had I? The fool came at me, bilbo in hand, and I was forced to draw.' + +"But not to slay, Hogan!" + +"Twas an accident. Sink me, it was! I sought his sword-arm; but the +light was bad, and my point went through his chest instead." + +For a moment Crispin stood frowning, then his brow cleared, as though he +had put the matter from him. + +"Well, well--since he's dead, there's an end to it." + +"Heaven rest his soul!" muttered the Irishman, crossing himself piously. +And with that he dismissed the subject of the great wrong that through +folly he had wrought--the wanton destruction of a man's life, and the +poisoning of a woman's with a remorse that might be everlasting. + +"It will tax our wits to get you out of Penrith," said Crispin. Then, +turning and looking into the Irishman's great, good-humoured face--"I am +sorry you leave us, Hogan," he added. + +"Not so am I," quoth Hogan with a shrug. "Such a march as this is little +to my taste. Bah! Charles Stuart or Oliver Cromwell, 'tis all one to me. +What care I whether King or Commonwealth prevail? Shall Harry Hogan be +the better or the richer under one than under the other? Oddslife, Cris, +I have trailed a pike or handled a sword in well-nigh every army in +Europe. I know more of the great art of war than all the King's generals +rolled into one. Think you, then, I can rest content with a miserable +company of horse when plunder is forbidden, and even our beggarly pay +doubtful? Whilst, should things go ill--as well they may, faith, with +an army ruled by parsons--the wage will be a swift death on field or +gallows, or a lingering one in the plantations, as fell to the lot of +those poor wretches Noll drove into England after Dunbar. Soul of my +body, it is not thus that I had looked to fare when I took service at +Perth. I had looked for plunder, rich and plentiful plunder, according +to the usages of warfare, as a fitting reward for a toilsome march and +the perils gone through. + +"Thus I know war, and for this have I followed the trade these twenty +years. Instead, we have thirty thousand men, marching to battle as prim +and orderly as a parcel of acolytes in a Corpus-Christi procession. +'Twas not so bad in Scotland haply because the country holds naught +a man may profitably plunder--but since we have crossed the Border, +'slife, they'll hang you if you steal so much as a kiss from a wench in +passing." + +"Why, true," laughed Crispin, "the Second Charles hath an over-tender +stomach. He will not allow that we are marching through an enemy's +country; he insists that England is his kingdom, forgetting that he has +yet to conquer it, and--" + +"Was it not also his father's kingdom?" broke in the impetuous Hogan. +"Yet times are sorely changed since we followed the fortunes of the +Martyr. In those days you might help yourself to a capon, a horse, +a wench, or any other trifle of the enemy's, without ever a word of +censure or a question asked. Why, man, it is but two days since His +Majesty had a poor devil hanged at Kendal for laying violent hands upon +a pullet. Pox on it, Cris, my gorge rises at the thought! When I +saw that wretch strung up, I swore to fall behind at the earliest +opportunity, and to-night's affair makes this imperative." + +"And what may your plans be?" asked Crispin. + +"War is my trade, not a diversion, as it is with Wilmot and Buckingham +and the other pretty gentlemen of our train. And since the King's army +is like to yield me no profit, faith, I'll turn me to the Parliament's. +If I get out of Penrith with my life, I'll shave my beard and cut my +hair to a comely and godly length; don a cuckoldy steeple hat and a +black coat, and carry my sword to Cromwell with a line of text." + +Sir Crispin fell to pondering. Noting this, and imagining that he +guessed aright the reason: + +"I take it, Cris," he put in, keenly glancing at the other, "that you +are much of my mind?" + +"Maybe I am," replied Crispin carelessly. + +"Why, then," cried Hogan, "need we part company?" + +There was a sudden eagerness in his tone, born of the admiration in +which this rough soldier of fortune held one whom he accounted his +better in that same harsh trade. But Galliard answered coldly: + +"You forget, Harry." + +"Not so! Surely on Cromwell's side your object--" + +"T'sh! I have well considered. My fortunes are bound up with the King's. +In his victory alone lies profit for me; not the profit of pillage, +Hogan, but the profit of those broad lands that for nigh upon twenty +years have been in usurping hands. The profit I look for, Hogan, is my +restoration to Castle Marleigh, and of this my only hope lies in the +restoration of King Charles. If the King doth not prevail--which God +forfend!--why, then, I can but die. I shall have naught left to hope for +from life. So you see, good Hogan," he ended with a regretful smile, "my +going with you is not to be dreamed of." + +Still the Irishman urged him, and a good half-hour did he devote to it, +but in vain. Realizing at last the futility of his endeavours, he sighed +and moved uneasily in his chair, whilst the broad, tanned face was +clouded with regret. Crispin saw this, and approaching him, he laid a +hand upon his shoulder. + +"I had counted upon your help to clear the Ashburns from Castle Marleigh +and to aid me in my grim work when the time is ripe. But if you go--" + +"Faith, I may aid you yet. Who shall say?" Then of a sudden there crept +into the voice of this hardened pike-trader a note of soft concern. +"Think you there be danger to yourself in remaining?" he inquired. + +"Danger? To me?" echoed Crispin. + +"Aye--for having harboured me. That whelp of Montgomery's Foot suspects +you." + +"Suspects? Am I a man of straw to be overset by a breath of suspicion?" + +"There is your lieutenant, Kenneth Stewart." + +"Who has been a party to your escape, and whose only course is therefore +silence, lest he set a noose about his own neck. Come, Harry," he added, +briskly, changing his manner, "the night wears on, and we have your +safety to think of." + +Hogan rose with a sigh. + +"Give me a horse," said he, "and by God's grace tomorrow shall find me +in Cromwell's camp. Heaven prosper and reward you, Cris." + +"We must find you clothes more fitting than these--a coat more staid and +better attuned to the Puritan part you are to play." + +"Where have you such a coat?" + +"My lieutenant has. He affects the godly black, from a habit taken in +that Presbyterian Scotland of his." + +"But I am twice his bulk!" + +"Better a tight coat to your back than a tight rope to your neck, Harry. +Wait." + +Taking a taper, he left the room, to return a moment later with the coat +that Kenneth had worn that day, and which he had abstracted from the +sleeping lad's chamber. + +"Off with your doublet," he commanded, and as he spoke he set himself to +empty the pocket of Kenneth's garment; a handkerchief and a few papers +he found in them, and these he tossed carelessly on the bed. Next he +assisted the Irishman to struggle into the stolen coat. + +"May the Lord forgive my sins," groaned Hogan, as he felt the cloth +straining upon his back and cramping his limbs. "May He forgive me, and +see me safely out of Penrith and into Cromwell's camp, and never again +will I resent the resentment of a clown whose sweetheart I have made too +free with." + +"Pluck that feather from your hat," said Crispin. + +Hogan obeyed him with a sigh. + +"Truly it is written in Scripture that man in his time plays many parts. +Who would have thought to see Harry Hogan playing the Puritan?" + +"Unless you improve your acquaintance with Scripture you are not like to +play it long," laughed Crispin, as he surveyed him. "There, man, you'll +do well enough. Your coat is somewhat tight in the back, somewhat short +in the skirt; but neither so tight nor so short but that it may be +preferred to a winding-sheet, and that is the alternative, Harry." + +Hogan replied by roundly cursing the coat and his own lucklessness. That +done--and in no measured terms--he pronounced himself ready to set out, +whereupon Crispin led the way below once more, and out into a hut that +did service as a stable. + +By the light of a lanthorn he saddled one of the two nags that stood +there, and led it into the yard. Opening the door that abutted on to +a field beyond, he bade Hogan mount. He held his stirrup for him, and +cutting short the Irishman's voluble expressions of gratitude, he gave +him "God speed," and urged him to use all dispatch in setting as great a +distance as possible betwixt himself and Penrith before the dawn. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE LETTER + + +It was with a countenance sadly dejected that Crispin returned to his +chamber and sate himself wearily upon the bed. With elbows on his knees +and chin in his palms he stared straight before him, the usual steely +brightness of his grey eyes dulled by the despondency that sat upon his +face and drew deep furrows down his fine brow. + +With a sigh he rose at last and idly fingered the papers he had taken +from the pocket of Kenneth's coat. As he did so his glance was arrested +by the signature at the foot of one. "Gregory Ashburn" was the name he +read. + +Ashen grew his cheeks as his eyes fastened upon that name, whilst the +hand, to which no peril ever brought a tremor, shook now like an aspen. +Feverishly he spread the letter on his knee, and with a glance, from +dull that it had been, grown of a sudden fierce and cruel, he read the +contents. + + + +DEAR KENNETH, + +Again I write in the hope that I may prevail upon you to quit Scotland +and your attachment to a king, whose fortunes prosper not, nor can +prosper. Cynthia is pining, and if you tarry longer from Castle Marleigh +she must perforce think you but a laggard lover. Than this I have no +more powerful argument wherewith to draw you from Perth to Sheringham, +but this I think should prevail where others have failed me. We await +you then, and whilst we wait we daily drink your health. Cynthia +commends herself to your memory as doth my brother, and soon we hope to +welcome you at Castle Marleigh. Believe, my dear Kenneth, that whilst I +am, I am yours in affection. + + GREGORY ASHBURN + +Twice Crispin read the letter through. Then with set teeth and straining +eyes he sat lost in thought. + +Here indeed was a strange chance! This boy whom he had met at Perth, +and enrolled in his company, was a friend of Ashburn's--the lover of +Cynthia. Who might this Cynthia be? + +Long and deep were his ponderings upon the unfathomable ways of +Fate--for Fate he now believed was here at work to help him, revealing +herself by means of this sign even at the very moment when he decried +his luck. In memory he reviewed his meeting with the lad in the yard +of Perth Castle a fortnight ago. Something in the boy's bearing, in his +air, had caught Crispin's eye. He had looked him over, then approached, +and bluntly asked his name and on what business he was come there. The +youth had answered him civilly enough that he was Kenneth Stewart +of Bailienochy, and that he was come to offer his sword to the King. +Thereupon he had interested himself in the lad's behalf and had gained +him a lieutenancy in his own company. Why he was attracted to a youth +on whom never before had he set eyes was a matter that puzzled him not +a little. Now he held, he thought, the explanation of it. It was the way +of Fate. + +This boy was sent into his life by a Heaven that at last showed +compassion for the deep wrongs he had suffered; sent him as a key +wherewith, should the need occur, to open him the gates of Castle +Marleigh. + +In long strides he paced the chamber, turning the matter over in his +mind. Aye, he would use the lad should the need arise. Why scruple? Had +he ever received aught but disdain and scorn at the hands of Kenneth. + +Day was breaking ere he sought his bed, and already the sun was up when +at length he fell into a troubled sleep, vowing that he would mend his +wild ways and seek to gain the boy's favour against the time when he +might have need of him. + +When later he restored the papers to Kenneth, explaining to what use he +had put the coat, he refrained from questioning him concerning Gregory +Ashburn. The docility of his mood on that occasion came as a surprise to +Kenneth, who set it down to Sir Crispin's desire to conciliate him into +silence touching the harbouring of Hogan. In that same connexion Crispin +showed him calmly and clearly that he could not now inform without +involving himself to an equally dangerous extent. And partly through +the fear of this, partly won over by Crispin's persuasions, the lad +determined to hold his peace. + +Nor had he cause to regret it thereafter, for throughout that tedious +march he found his roystering companion singularly meek and kindly. +Indeed he seemed a different man. His old swagger and roaring bluster +disappeared; he drank less, diced less, blasphemed less, and stormed +less than in the old days before the halt at Penrith; but rode, a +silent, thoughtful figure, so self-contained and of so godly a mien as +would have rejoiced the heart of the sourest Puritan. The wild tantivy +boy had vanished, and the sobriquet of "Tavern Knight" was fast becoming +a misnomer. + +Kenneth felt drawn more towards him, deeming him a penitent that had +seen at last the error of his ways. And thus things prevailed until the +almost triumphal entry into the city of Worcester on the twenty-third of +August. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. AT THE SIGN OF THE MITRE + + +For a week after the coming of the King to Worcester, Crispin's +relations with Kenneth steadily improved. By an evil chance, however, +there befell on the eve of the battle that which renewed with heightened +intensity the enmity which the lad had fostered for him, but which +lately he had almost overcome. + +The scene of this happening--leastways of that which led to it--was The +Mitre Inn, in the High Street of Worcester. + +In the common-room one day sat as merry a company of carousers as ever +gladdened the soul of an old tantivy boy. Youthful ensigns of +Lesley's Scottish horse--caring never a fig for the Solemn League and +Covenant--rubbed shoulders with beribboned Cavaliers of Lord Talbot's +company; gay young lairds of Pitscottie's Highlanders, unmindful of the +Kirk's harsh commandments of sobriety, sat cheek by jowl with rakehelly +officers of Dalzell's Brigade, and pledged the King in many a stoup of +canary and many a can of stout March ale. + +On every hand spirits ran high and laughter filled the chamber, the +mirth of some having its source in a neighbour's quip, that of others +having no source at all save in the wine they had taken. + +At one table sat a gentleman of the name of Faversham, who had ridden on +the previous night in that ill-fated camisado that should have +resulted in the capture of Cromwell at Spetchley, but which, owing to a +betrayal--when was a Stuart not betrayed and sold?--miscarried. He was +relating to the group about him the details of that disaster. + +"Oddslife, gentlemen," he was exclaiming, "I tell you that, but for that +roaring dog, Sir Crispin Galliard, the whole of Middleton's regiment had +been cut to pieces. There we stood on Red Hill, trapped as ever fish +in a net, with the whole of Lilburne's men rising out of the ground to +enclose and destroy us. A living wall of steel it was, and on every hand +the call to surrender. There was dismay in my heart, as I'll swear there +was dismay in the heart of every man of us, and I make little doubt, +gentlemen, that with but scant pressing we had thrown down our arms, so +disheartened were we by that ambush. Then of a sudden there arose above +the clatter of steel and Puritan cries, a loud, clear, defiant shout of +'Hey for Cavaliers!'" + +"I turned, and there in his stirrups stood that madman Galliard, waving +his sword and holding his company together with the power of his will, +his courage, and his voice. The sight of him was like wine to our blood. +'Into them, gentlemen; follow me!' he roared. And then, with a hurricane +of oaths, he hurled his company against the pike-men. The blow was +irresistible, and above the din of it came that voice of his again: 'Up, +Cavaliers! Slash the cuckolds to ribbons, gentlemen!' The cropears gave +way, and like a river that has burst its dam, we poured through the +opening in their ranks and headed back for Worcester." + +There was a roar of voices as Faversham ended, and around that table +"The Tavern Knight" was for some minutes the only toast. + +Meanwhile half a dozen merry-makers at a table hard by, having drunk +themselves out of all sense of fitness, were occupied in baiting a +pale-faced lad, sombrely attired, who seemed sadly out of place in that +wild company--indeed, he had been better advised to have avoided it. + +The matter had been set afoot by a pleasantry of Ensign Tyler's, of +Massey's dragoons, with a playful allusion to a letter in a feminine +hand which Kenneth had let fall, and which Tyler had restored to him. +Quip had followed quip until in their jests they transcended all bounds. +Livid with passion and unable to endure more, Kenneth had sprung up. + +"Damnation!" he blazed, bringing his clenched hand down upon the table. +"One more of your foul jests and he that utters it shall answer to me!" + +The suddenness of his action and the fierceness of his tone and +gesture--a fierceness so grotesquely ill-attuned to his slender frame +and clerkly attire left the company for a moment speechless with +amazement. Then a mighty burst of laughter greeted him, above which +sounded the shrill voice of Tyler, who held his sides, and down whose +crimson cheeks two tears of mirth were trickling. + +"Oh, fie, fie, good Master Stewart!" he gasped. "What think you would +the reverend elders say to this bellicose attitude and this profane +tongue of yours?" + +"And what think you would the King say to this drunken poltroonery of +yours?" was the hot unguarded answer. "Poltroonery, I say," he repeated, +embracing the whole company in his glance. + +The laughter died down as Kenneth's insult penetrated their befuddled +minds. An instant's lull there was, like the lull in nature that +precedes a clap of thunder. Then, as with one accord, a dozen of them +bore down upon him. + +It was a vile thing they did, perhaps; but then they had drunk deep, and +Kenneth Stewart counted no friend amongst them. In an instant they had +him, kicking and biting, on the floor; his doublet was torn rudely open, +and from his breast Tyler plucked the letter whose existence had led to +this shameless scene. + +But ere he could so much as unfold it, a voice rang harsh and +imperative: + +"Hold!" + +Pausing, they turned to confront a tall, gaunt man in a leather jerkin +and a broad hat decked by goose-quill, who came slowly forward. + +"The Tavern Knight," cried one, and the shout of "A rouse for the hero +of Red Hill!" was taken up on every hand. For despite his sour visage +and ungracious ways there was not a roysterer in the Royal army to whom +he was not dear. + +But as he now advanced, the coldness of his bearing and the forbidding +set of his face froze them into silence. + +"Give me that letter," he demanded sternly of Tyler. + +Taken aback, Tyler hesitated for a second, whilst Crispin waited with +hand outstretched. Vainly did he look round for sign or word of help or +counsel. None was afforded him by his fellow-revellers, who one and all +hung back in silence. + +Seeing himself thus unsupported, and far from wishing to try conclusions +with Galliard, Tyler with an ill grace surrendered the paper; and, with +a pleasant bow and a word of thanks, delivered with never so slight +a saturnine smile, Crispin turned on his heel and left the tavern as +abruptly as he had entered it. + +The din it was that had attracted him as he passed by on his way to the +Episcopal Palace where a part of his company was on guard duty. Thither +he now pursued his way, bearing with him the letter which so opportunely +he had become possessed of, and which he hoped might throw further light +upon Kenneth's relations with the Ashburns. + +But as he reached the palace there was a quick step behind him, and a +hand fell upon his arm. He turned. + +"Ah, 'tis you, Kenneth," he muttered, and would have passed on, but the +boy's hand took him by the sleeve. + +"Sir Crispin," said he, "I came to thank you." + +"I have done nothing to deserve your thanks. Give you good evening." And +he made shift to mount the steps when again Kenneth detained him. + +"You are forgetting the letter, Sir Crispin," he ventured, and he held +out his hand to receive it. + +Galliard saw the gesture, and for a moment it crossed his mind in +self-reproach that the part he chose to play was that of a bully. A +second he hesitated. Should he surrender the letter unread, and fight on +without the aid of the information it might bring him? Then the thought +of Ashburn and of his own deep wrongs that cried out for vengeance, +overcame and stifled the generous impulse. His manner grew yet more +frozen as he made answer: + +"There has been too much ado about this letter to warrant my so lightly +parting with it. First I will satisfy myself that I have been no +unconscious abettor of treason. You shall have your letter tomorrow, +Master Stewart." + +"Treason!" echoed Kenneth. And before that cold rebuff of Crispin's his +mood changed from conciliatory to resentful--resentful towards the fates +that made him this man's debtor. + +"I assure you, on my honour," said he, mastering his feelings, "that +this is but a letter from the lady I hope to make my wife. Assuredly, +sir, you will not now insist upon reading it." + +"Assuredly I shall." + +"But, sir--" + +"Master Stewart, I am resolved, and were you to talk from now till +doomsday, you would not turn me from my purpose. So good night to you." + +"Sir Crispin," cried the boy, his voice quavering with passion, "while I +live you shall not read that letter!" + +"Hoity-toity, sir! What words! What heroics! And yet you would have me +believe this paper innocent?" + +"As innocent as the hand that penned it, and if I so oppose your reading +it, it is because thus much I owe her. Believe me, sir," he added, his +accents returning to a beseeching key, "when again I swear that it is no +more than such a letter any maid may write her lover. I thought that you +had understood all this when you rescued me from those bullies at +The Mitre. I thought that what you did was a noble and generous deed. +Instead--" The lad paused. + +"Continue, sir," Galliard requested coldly. "Instead?" + +"There can be no instead, Sir Crispin. You will not mar so good an +action now. You will give me my letter, will you not?" + +Callous though he was, Crispin winced. The breeding of earlier days--so +sadly warped, alas!--cried out within him against the lie that he +was acting by pretending to suspect treason in that woman's pothooks. +Instincts of gentility and generosity long dead took life again, +resuscitated by that call of conscience. He was conquered. + +"There, take your letter, boy, and plague me no more," he growled, as he +held it out to Kenneth. And without waiting for reply or acknowledgment, +he turned on his heel, and entered the palace. But he had yielded +overlate to leave a good impression and, as Kenneth turned away, it was +with a curse upon Galliard, for whom his detestation seemed to increase +at every step. + + + + +CHAPTER V. AFTER WORCESTER FIELD + + +The morn of the third of September--that date so propitious to Cromwell, +so disastrous to Charles--found Crispin the centre of a company of +gentlemen in battle-harness, assembled at The Mitre Inn. For a toast he +gave them "The damnation of all crop-ears." + +"Sirs," quoth he, "a fair beginning to a fair day. God send the evening +find us as merry." + +It was not to be his good fortune, however, to be in the earlier work +of the day. Until afternoon he was kept within the walls of Worcester, +chafing to be where hard knocks were being dealt--with Montgomery at +Powick Bridge, or with Pittscottie on Bunn's Hill. But he was forced to +hold his mood in curb, and wait until Charles and his advisers should +elect to make the general attack. + +It came at last, and with it came the disastrous news that Montgomery +was routed, and Pittscottie in full retreat, whilst Dalzell had +surrendered, and Keith was taken. Then was it that the main body of the +Royal army formed up at the Sidbury Gate, and Crispin found himself in +the centre, which was commanded by the King in person. In the brilliant +charge that followed there was no more conspicuous figure, no voice +rang louder in encouragement to the men. For the first time that day +Cromwell's Ironsides gave back before the Royalists, who in that fierce, +irresistible charge, swept all before them until they had reached +the battery on Perry Wood, and driven the Roundheads from it +hell-to-leather. + +It was a glorious moment, a moment in which the fortunes of the day hung +in the balance; the turn of the tide it seemed to them at last. + +Crispin was among the first to reach the guns, and with a great shout of +"Hurrah for Cavaliers!" he had cut down two gunners that yet lingered. +His cry lacked not an echo, and a deafening cheer broke upon the +clamorous air as the Royalists found themselves masters of the position. +Up the hill on either side pressed the Duke of Hamilton and the Earl of +Derby to support the King. It but remained for Lesley's Scottish horse +to follow and complete the rout of the Parliamentarian forces. Had they +moved at that supreme moment who shall say what had been the issue of +Worcester field? But they never stirred, and the Royalists waiting on +Perry Wood cursed Lesley for a foul traitor who had sold his King. + +With bitterness did they then realize that their great effort was to be +barren, their gallant charge in vain. Unsupported, their position grew +fast untenable. + +And presently, when Cromwell had gathered his scattered Ironsides, that +gallant host was driven fighting, down the hill and back to the shelter +of Worcester. With the Roundheads pressing hotly upon them they gained +at last the Sidbury Gate, but only to find that an overset ammunition +wagon blocked the entrance. In this plight, and without attempting +to move it, they faced about to make a last stand against the Puritan +onslaught. + +Charles had flung himself from his charger and climbed the obstruction, +and in this he was presently followed by others, amongst whom was +Crispin. + +In the High Street Galliard came upon the King, mounted on a fresh +horse, addressing a Scottish regiment of foot. The soldiers had thrown +down their arms and stood sullenly before him, refusing to obey his +command to take them up again and help him attempt, even at that late +hour, to retrieve the fortunes of the day. Crispin looked on in scorn +and loathing. His passions awakened at the sight of Lesley's inaction +needed but this last breath to fan it into a very blaze of wrath. And +what he said to them touching themselves, their country, and the Kirk +Committee that had made sheep of them, was so bitter and contemptuous +that none but men in the most parlous and pitiable of conditions could +have suffered it. + +He was still hurling vituperations at them when Colonel Pride with +a troop of Parliamentarian horse--having completely overcome the +resistance at the Sidbury Gate--rode into the town. At the news of this, +Crispin made a last appeal to the infantry. + +"Afoot, you Scottish curs!" he thundered. "Would you rather be cut to +pieces as you stand? Up, you dogs, and since you know not how to live, +die at least without shame!" + +But in vain did he rail. In sullen quiet they remained, their weapons on +the ground before them. And then, as Crispin was turning away to see to +his own safety, the King rode up again, and again he sought to revive +the courage that was dead in those Scottish hearts. If they would not +stand by him, he cried at last, let them slay him there, sooner than +that he should be taken captive to perish on the scaffold. + +While he was still urging them, Crispin unceremoniously seized his +bridle. + +"Will you stand here until you are taken, sire?" he cried. "Leave them, +and look to your safety." + +Charles turned a wondering eye upon the resolute, battle-grimed face of +the man that thus addressed him. A faint, sad smile parted his lips. + +"You are right, sir," he made answer. "Attend me." And turning about he +rode down a side street with Galliard following closely in his wake. + +With the intention of doffing his armour and changing his apparel, he +made for the house in New Street where he had been residing. As they +drew up before the door, Crispin, chancing to look over his shoulder, +rapped out an oath. + +"Hasten, sire," he exclaimed, "here is a portion of Colonel's Pride's +troop." + +The King looked round, and at sight of the Parliamentarians, "It is +ended," he muttered despairingly. But already Crispin had sprung from +his horse. + +"Dismount, sire," he roared, and he assisted him so vigorously as to +appear to drag him out of the saddle. + +"Which way?" demanded Charles, looking helplessly from left to right. +"Which way?" + +But Crispin's quick mind had already shaped a plan. Seizing the royal +arm--for who in such straits would deal ceremoniously?--he thrust the +King across the threshold, and, following, closed the door and shot its +only bolt. But the shout set up by the Puritans announced to them that +their movement had been detected. + +The King turned upon Sir Crispin, and in the half-light of the passage +wherein they stood Galliard made out the frown that bent the royal +brows. + +"And now?" demanded Charles, a note almost of reproach in his voice. + +"And now begone, sire," returned the knight. "Begone ere they come." + +"Begone?" echoed Charles, in amazement. "But whither, sir? Whither and +how?" + +His last words were almost drowned in the din without, as the Roundheads +pulled up before the house. + +"By the back, sire," was the impatient answer. "Through door or +window--as best you can. The back must overlook the Corn-Market; that is +your way. But hasten--in God's name hasten!--ere they bethink them of it +and cut off your retreat." + +As he spoke a violent blow shook the door. + +"Quick, Your Majesty," he implored, in a frenzy. + +Charles moved to depart, then paused. "But you, sir? Do you not come +with me?" + +Crispin stamped his foot, and turned a face livid with impatience upon +his King. In that moment all distinction of rank lay forgotten. + +"I must remain," he answered, speaking quickly. "That crazy door will +not hold for a second once a stout man sets his shoulder to it. After +the door they will find me, and for your sake I trust I may prove of +stouter stuff. Fare you well, sire," he ended in a softer tone. "God +guard Your Majesty and send you happier days." + +And, bending his knee, Crispin brushed the royal hand with his hot lips. + +A shower of blows clattered upon the timbers of the door, and one of +its panels was splintered by a musket-shot. Charles saw it, and with a +muttered word that was not caught by Crispin, he obeyed the knight, and +fled. + +Scarce had he disappeared down that narrow passage, when the door gave +way completely and with a mighty crash fell in. Over the ruins of it +sprang a young Puritan-scarce more than a boy--shouting: "The Lord of +Hosts!" + +But ere he had taken three strides the point of Crispin's tuck-sword +gave him pause. + +"Halt! You cannot pass this way." + +"Back, son of Moab!" was the Roundhead's retort. "Hinder me not, at your +peril." + +Behind him, in the doorway, pressed others, who cried out to him to cut +down the Amalekite that stood between them and the young man Charles +Stuart. But Crispin laughed grimly for answer, and kept the officer in +check with his point. + +"Back, or I cut you down," threatened the Roundhead. "I am seeking the +malignant Stuart." + +"If by those blasphemous words you mean his sacred Majesty, learn that +he is where you will never be--in God's keeping." + +"Presumptuous hound," stormed the lad, "giveway!" + +Their swords met, and for a moment they ground one against the other; +then Crispin's blade darted out, swift as a lightning flash, and took +his opponent in the throat. + +"You would have it so, rash fool," he deprecated. + +The boy hurtled back into the arms of those behind, and as he fell he +dropped his rapier, which rolled almost to Crispin's feet. The knight +stooped, and when again he stood erect, confronting the rebels in that +narrow passage, he held a sword in either hand. + +There was a momentary pause in the onslaught, then to his dismay Crispin +saw the barrel of a musket pointed at him over the shoulder of one of +his foremost assailants. He set his teeth for what was to come, and +braced himself with the hope that the King might already have made good +his escape. + +The end was at hand, he thought, and a fitting end, since his last hope +of redress was gone-destroyed by that fatal day's defeat. + +But of a sudden a cry rang out in a voice wherein rage and anguish +were blended fearfully, and simultaneously the musket barrel was dashed +aside. + +"Take him alive!" was the cry of that voice. "Take him alive!" It was +Colonel Pride himself, who having pushed his way forward, now beheld the +bleeding body of the youth Crispin had slain. "Take him alive!" roared +the old man. Then his voice changing to one of exquisite agony--"My son, +my boy," he moaned. + +At a glance Crispin caught the situation; but the old Puritan's grief +left him unmoved. + +"You must have me alive?" he laughed grimly. "Gadslife, but the honour +is like to cost you dear. Well, sirs? Who will be next to court the +distinction of dying by the sword of a gentleman?" he mocked them. "Come +on, you sons of dogs!" + +His answer was an angry growl, and straightway two men sprang forward. +More than two could not attack him at once by virtue of the narrowness +of the passage. Again steel clashed on steel. Crispin--lithe as a +panther crouched low, and took one of their swords on each of his. + +A disengage and a double he foiled with ease, then by a turn of the +wrist he held for a second one opponent's blade; and before the fellow +could disengage again, he had brought his right-hand sword across, and +stabbed him in the neck. Simultaneously his other opponent had rushed +in and thrust. It was a risk Crispin was forced to take, trusting to +his armour to protect him. It did him the service he hoped from it; the +trooper's sword glanced harmlessly aside, whilst the fellow himself, +overbalanced by the fury of his onslaught, staggered helplessly forward. +Ere he could recover, Crispin had spitted him from side to side betwixt +the straps that held his back and breast together. + +As the two men went down, one after the other, the watching troopers set +up a shout of rage, and pressed forward in a body. But the Tavern Knight +stood his ground, and his points danced dangerously before the eyes of +the two foremost. Alarmed, they shouted to those behind to give +them room to handle their swords; but too late. Crispin had seen the +advantage, and taken it. Twice he had thrust, and another two sank +bleeding to the ground. + +At that there came a pause, and somewhere in the street a knot of them +expostulated with Colonel Pride, and begged to be allowed to pick off +that murderous malignant with their pistols. But the grief-stricken +father was obdurate. He would have the Amalekite alive that he might +cause him to die a hundred deaths in one. + +And so two more were sent in to try conclusions with the indomitable +Galliard. They went to work more warily. He on the left parried +Crispin's stroke, then knocking up the knight's blade, he rushed in and +seized his wrist, shouting to those behind to follow up. But even as +he did so, Crispin sent back his other antagonist, howling and writhing +with the pain of a transfixed sword-arm, and turned his full attention +upon the foe that clung to him. Not a second did he waste in thought. To +have done so would have been fatal. Instinctively he knew that whilst +he shortened his blade, others would rush in; so, turning his wrist, he +caught the man a crushing blow full in the face with the pommel of his +disengaged sword. + +Fulminated by that terrific stroke, the man reeled back into the arms of +another who advanced. + +Again there fell a pause. Then silently a Roundhead charged Sir Crispin +with a pike. He leapt nimbly aside, and the murderous lunge shot past +him; as he did so he dropped his left-hand sword and caught at the +halberd. Exerting his whole strength in a mighty pull, he brought +the fellow that wielded it toppling forward, and received him on his +outstretched blade. + +Covered with blood--the blood of others--Crispin stood before them now. +He was breathing hard and sweating at every pore, but still grim and +defiant. His strength, he realized, was ebbing fast. Yet he shook +himself, and asked them with a gibing laugh did they not think that they +had better shoot him. + +The Roundheads paused again. The fight had lasted but a few moments, +and already five of them were stretched upon the ground, and a sixth +disabled. There was something in the Tavern Knight's attitude and +terrific, blood-bespattered appearance that deterred them. From out +of his powder-blackened face his eyes flashed fiercely, and a mocking +diabolical smile played round the corners of his mouth. What manner +of man, they asked themselves, was this who could laugh in such an +extremity? Superstition quickened their alarm as they gazed upon +his undaunted front, and told themselves this was no man they fought +against, but the foul fiend himself. + +"Well, sirs," he mocked them presently. "How long am I to await your +pleasure?" + +They snarled for answer, yet hung back until Colonel Pride's voice +shook them into action. In a body they charged him now, so suddenly and +violently that he was forced to give way. Cunningly did he ply his sword +before them, but ineffectually. They had adopted fresh tactics, and +engaging his blade they acted cautiously and defensively, advancing +steadily, and compelling him to fall back. + +Sir Crispin guessed their scheme at last, and vainly did he try to hold +his ground; his retreat slackened perhaps, but it was still a retreat, +and their defensive action gave him no opening. Vainly, yet by every +trick of fence he was master of, did he seek to lure the two foremost +into attacking him; stolidly they pursued the adopted plan, and steadily +they impelled him backward. + +At last he reached the staircase, and he realized that did he allow +himself to go farther he was lost irretrievably. Yet farther was he +driven; despite the strenuous efforts he put forth, until on his right +there was room for a man to slip on to the stairs and take him in the +flank. Twice one of his opponents essayed it, and twice did Galliard's +deadly point repel him. But at the third attempt the man got through, +another stepped into his place in front, and thus from two, Crispin's +immediate assailants became increased to three. + +He realized that the end was at hand, and wildly did he lay about him, +but to no purpose. And presently, he who had gained the stairs leaped +suddenly upon him sideways, and clung to his swordarm. Before he could +make a move to shake himself free, the two that faced him had caught at +his other arm. + +Like one possessed he struggled then, for the sheer lust of striving; +but they that held him gripped effectively. + +Thrice they bore him struggling to the ground, and thrice he rose again +and sought to shake them from him as a bull shakes off a pack of dogs. +But they held fast, and again they forced him down; others sprang to +their aid, and the Tavern Knight could rise no more. + +"Disarm the dog!" cried Pride. "Disarm and truss him hand and foot." + +"Sirs, you need not," he answered, gasping. "I yield me. Take my sword. +I'll do your bidding." + +The fight was fought and lost, but it had been a great Homeric struggle, +and he rejoiced almost that upon so worthy a scene of his life was the +curtain to fall, and again to hope that, thanks to the stand he had +made, the King should have succeeded in effecting his escape. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE + + +Through the streets of Worcester the Roundheads dragged Sir Crispin, and +for all that he was as hard and callous a man as any that ever buckled +on a cuirass, the horrors that in going he beheld caused him more than +once to shudder. + +The place was become a shambles, and the very kennels ran with blood. +The Royalist defeat was by now complete, and Cromwell's fanatic butchers +overran the town, vying to outdo one another in savage cruelty +and murder. Houses were being broken into and plundered, and their +inmates--resisting or unresisting; armed or unarmed; men, women and +children alike were pitilessly being put to the sword. Charged was the +air of Worcester with the din of that fierce massacre. The crashing of +shivered timbers, as doors were beaten in, mingled with the clatter and +grind of sword on sword, the crack of musket and pistol, the clank of +armour, and the stamping of men and horses in that troubled hour. + +And above all rang out the fierce, raucous blasphemy of the slayers, +and the shrieks of agony, the groans, the prayers, and curses of their +victims. + +All this Sir Crispin saw and heard, and in the misery of it all, he +for the while forgot his own sorry condition, and left unheeded the +pike-butt wherewith the Puritan at his heels was urging him along. + +They paused at length in a quarter unknown to him before a tolerably +large house. Its doors hung wide, and across the threshold, in and out, +moved two continuous streams of officers and men. + +A while Crispin and his captors stood in the spacious hall; then they +ushered him roughly into one of the abutting rooms. Here he was brought +face to face with a man of middle height, red and coarse of countenance +and large of nose, who stood fully armed in the centre of the chamber. +His head was uncovered, and on the table at his side stood the morion he +had doffed. He looked up as they entered, and for a few seconds rested +his glance sourly upon the lank, bold-eyed prisoner, who coldly returned +his stare. + +"Whom have we here?" he inquired at length, his scrutiny having told him +nothing. + +"One whose offence is too heinous to have earned him a soldier's death, +my lord," answered Pride. + +"Therein you lie, you damned rebel!" cried Crispin. "If accuse you must, +announce the truth. Tell Master Cromwell"--for he had guessed the man's +identity--"that single-handed I held my own against you and a score of +you curs, and that not until I had cut down seven of them was I taken. +Tell him that, master psalm-singer, and let him judge whether you lied +or not. Tell him, too, that you, who--" + +"Have done!" cried Cromwell at length, stamping his foot. "Peace, or +I'll have you gagged. Now, Colonel, let us hear your accusation." + +At great length, and with endless interlarding of proverbs did Pride +relate how this impious malignant had been the means of the young man, +Charles Stuart, making good his escape when otherwise he must have +fallen into their hands. He accused him also of the murder of his son +and of four other stout, God-fearing troopers, and urged Cromwell to let +him deal with the malignant as he deserved. + +The Lord General's answer took expression in a form that was little +puritanical. Then, checking himself: + +"He is the second they have brought me within ten minutes charged with +the same offence," said he. "The other one is a young fool who gave +Charles Stuart his horse at Saint Martin's Gate. But for him again the +young man had been taken." + +"So he has escaped!" cried Crispin. "Now, God be praised!" + +Cromwell stared at him blankly for a moment, then: + +"You will do well, sir," he muttered sourly, "to address the Lord on +your own behalf. As for that young man of Baal, your master, rejoice +not yet in his escape. By the same crowning mercy in which the Lord hath +vouchsafed us victory to-day shall He also deliver the malignant youth +into my hands. For your share in retarding his capture your life, sir, +shall pay forfeit. You shall hang at daybreak together with that other +malignant who assisted Charles at the Saint Martin's Gate." + +"I shall at least hang in good company," said Crispin pleasantly, "and +for that, sir, I give you thanks." + +"You will pass the night with that other fool," Cromwell continued, +without heeding the interruption, "and I pray that you may spend it in +such meditation as shall fit you for your end. Take him away." + +"But, my lord," exclaimed Pride, advancing. + +"What now?" + +Crispin caught not his answer, but his half-whispered words were earnest +and pleading. Cromwell shook his head. + +"I cannot sanction it. Let it satisfy you that he dies. I condole with +you in your bereavement, but it is the fortune of war. Let the thought +that your son died in a godly cause be of comfort to you. Bear in mind, +Colonel Pride, that Abraham hesitated not to offer up his child to the +Lord. And so, fare you well." + +Colonel Pride's face worked oddly, and his eyes rested for a second +upon the stern, unmoved figure of the Tavern Knight in malice and +vindictiveness. Then, shrugging his shoulders in token of unwilling +resignation, he withdrew, whilst Crispin was led out. + +In the hall again they kept him waiting for some moments, until at +length an officer came up, and bidding him follow, led the way to the +guardroom. Here they stripped him of his back-and-breast, and when that +was done the officer again led the way, and Crispin followed between two +troopers. They made him mount three flights of stairs, and hurried him +along a passage to a door by which a soldier stood mounting guard. At +a word from the officer the sentry turned, and unfastening the heavy +bolts, he opened the door. Roughly the officer bade Sir Crispin enter, +and stood aside that he might pass. + +Crispin obeyed him silently, and crossed the threshold to find himself +within a mean, gloomy chamber, and to hear the heavy door closed and +made fast again behind him. His stout heart sank a little as he realized +that that closed door shut out to him the world for ever; but once again +would he cross that threshold, and that would be the preface to the +crossing of the greater threshold of eternity. + +Then something stirred in one of that room's dark corners, and he +started, to see that he was not alone, remembering that Cromwell had +said he was to have a companion in his last hours. + +"Who are you?" came a dull voice--a voice that was eloquent of misery. + +"Master Stewart!" he exclaimed, recognizing his companion. "So it was +you gave the King your horse at the Saint Martin's Gate! May Heaven +reward you. Gadswounds," he added, "I had little thought to meet you +again this side the grave." + +"Would to Heaven you had not!" was the doleful answer. "What make you +here?" + +"By your good leave and with your help I'll make as merry as a man may +whose sands are all but run. The Lord General--whom the devil roast in +his time will make a pendulum of me at daybreak, and gives me the night +in which to prepare." + +The lad came forward into the light, and eyed Sir Crispin sorrowfully. + +"We are companions in misfortune, then." + +"Were we ever companions in aught else? Come, sir, be of better cheer. +Since it is to be our last night in this poor world, let us spend it as +pleasantly as may be." + +"Pleasantly?" + +"Twill clearly be difficult," answered Crispin, with a laugh. "Were we +in Christian hands they'd not deny us a black jack over which to relish +our last jest, and to warm us against the night air, which must be +chill in this garret. But these crop-ears..." He paused to peer into the +pitcher on the table. "Water! Pah! A scurvy lot, these psalm-mongers!" + +"Merciful Heaven! Have you no thought for your end?" + +"Every thought, good youth, every thought, and I would fain prepare me +for the morning's dance in a more jovial and hearty fashion than Old +Noll will afford me--damn him!" + +Kenneth drew back in horror. His old dislike for Crispin was all aroused +by this indecent flippancy at such a time. Just then the thought of +spending the night in his company almost effaced the horror of the +gallows whereof he had been a prey. + +Noting the movement, Crispin laughed disdainfully, and walked towards +the window. It was a small opening, by which two iron bars, set +crosswise, defied escape. Moreover, as Crispin looked out, he realized +that a more effective barrier lay in the height of the window itself. +The house overlooked the river on that side; it was built upon an +embankment some thirty feet high; around this, at the base of the +edifice, and some forty feet below the window, ran a narrow pathway +protected by an iron railing. But so narrow was it, that had a man +sprung from the casement of Crispin's prison, it was odds he would have +fallen into the river some seventy feet below. Crispin turned away with +a sigh. He had approached the window almost in hope; he quitted it in +absolute despair. + +"Ah, well," said he, "we will hang, and there's the end of it." + +Kenneth had resumed his seat in the corner, and, wrapped in his cloak, +he sat steeped in meditation, his comely young face seared with lines of +pain. As Crispin looked upon him then, his heart softened and went +out to the lad--went out as it had done on the night when first he had +beheld him in the courtyard of Perth Castle. + +He recalled the details of that meeting; he remembered the sympathy +that had drawn him to the boy, and how Kenneth had at first appeared to +reciprocate that feeling, until he came to know him for the rakehelly, +godless ruffler that he was. He thought of the gulf that gradually had +opened up between them. The lad was righteous and God-fearing, truthful +and sober, filled with stern ideals by which he sought to shape +his life. He had taxed Crispin with his dissoluteness, and Crispin, +despising him for a milksop, had returned to his disgust with mockery, +and had found a fiendish pleasure in arousing that disgust at every +turn. + +To-night, as Crispin eyed the youth, and remembered that at dawn he was +to die in his company, he realized that he had used him ill, that his +behaviour towards him had been that of the dissolute ruffler he was +become, rather than of the gentleman he had once accounted himself. + +"Kenneth," he said at length, and his voice bore so unusually mild a +ring that the lad looked up in surprise. "I have heard tell that it +is no uncommon thing for men upon the threshold of eternity to seek to +repair some of the evil they may have done in life." + +Kenneth shuddered. Crispin's words reminded him again of his approaching +end. The ruffler paused a moment, as if awaiting a reply or a word of +encouragement. Then, as none came, he continued: + +"I am not one of your repentant sinners, Kenneth. I have lived my +life--God, what a life!--and as I have lived I shall die, unflinching +and unchanged. Dare one to presume that a few hours spent in whining +prayers shall atone for years of reckless dissoluteness? 'Tis a +doctrine of cravens, who, having lacked in life the strength to live as +conscience bade them, lack in death the courage to stand by that life's +deeds. I am no such traitor to myself. If my life has been vile my +temptations have been sore, and the rest is in God's hands. But in my +course I have sinned against many men; many a tall fellow's life have +I wantonly wrecked; some, indeed, I have even taken in wantonness or +anger. They are not by, nor, were they, could I now make amends. But you +at least are here, and what little reparation may lie in asking pardon +I can make. When I first saw you at Perth it was my wish to make you my +friend--a feeling I have not had these twenty years towards any man. +I failed. How else could it have been? The dove may not nest with the +carrion bird." + +"Say no more, sir," cried Kenneth, genuinely moved, and still more +amazed by this curious humility in one whom he had never known other +than arrogant and mocking. "I beseech you, say no more. For what +trifling wrongs you may have done me I forgive you as freely as I would +be forgiven. Is it not written that it shall be so?" And he held out his +hand. + +"A little more I must say, Kenneth," answered the other, leaving the +outstretched hand unheeded. "The feeling that was born in me towards you +at Perth Castle is on me again. I seek not to account for it. Perchance +it springs from my recognition of the difference betwixt us; perchance I +see in you a reflection of what once I was myself--honourable and true. +But let that be. The sun is setting over yonder, and you and I will +behold it no more. That to me is a small thing. I am weary. Hope is +dead; and when that is dead what does it signify that the body die also? +Yet in these last hours that we shall spend together I would at least +have your esteem. I would have you forget my past harshness and the +wrongs that I may have done you down to that miserable affair of your +sweetheart's letter, yesterday. I would have you realize that if I am +vile, I am but such as a vile world hath made me. And tomorrow when we +go forth together, I would have you see in me at least a man in whose +company you are not ashamed to die." + +Again the lad shuddered. + +"Shall I tell you my story, Kenneth? I have a strong desire to go +over this poor life of mine again in memory, and by giving my thoughts +utterance it may be that they will take more vivid shape. For the rest +my tale may wile away a little of the time that's left, and when you +have heard me you shall judge me, Kenneth. What say you?" + +Despite the parlous condition whereunto the fear of the morrow had +reduced him, this new tone of Galliard's so wrought upon him then that +he was almost eager in his request that Sir Crispin should unfold his +story. And this the Tavern Knight then set himself to do. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY + + +Sir Crispin walked from the window by which he had been standing, to the +rough bed, and flung himself full length upon it. The only chair that +dismal room contained was occupied by Kenneth. Galliard heaved a sigh of +physical satisfaction. + +"Fore George, I knew not I was so tired," he murmured. And with that he +lapsed for some moments into silence, his brows contracted in the frown +of one who collects his thoughts. At length he began, speaking in +calm, unemotional tones that held perchance deeper pathos than a more +passionate utterance could have endowed them with: + +"Long ago--twenty years ago--I was, as I have said, an honourable lad, +to whom the world was a fair garden, a place of rosebuds, fragrant +with hope. Those, Kenneth, were my illusions. They are the illusions of +youth; they are youth itself, for when our illusions are gone we are +no longer young no matter what years we count. Keep your illusions, +Kenneth; treasure them, hoard them jealously for as long as you may." + +"I dare swear, sir," answered the lad, with bitter humour, "that such +illusions as I have I shall treasure all my life. You forget, Sir +Crispin." + +"'Slife, I had indeed forgotten. For the moment I had gone back twenty +years, and to-morrow was none so near." He laughed softly, as though his +lapse of memory amused him. Then he resumed: + +"I was the only son, Kenneth, of the noblest gentleman that ever +lived--the heir to an ancient, honoured name, and to a castle as proud +and lands as fair and broad as any in England. + +"They lie who say that from the dawn we may foretell the day. Never was +there a brighter dawn than that of my life; never a day so wasted; never +an evening so dark. But let that be. + +"Our lands were touched upon the northern side by those of a house with +which we had been at feud for two hundred years and more. Puritans they +were, stern and haughty in their ungodly righteousness. They held us +dissolute because we enjoyed the life that God had given us, and there I +am told the hatred first began. + +"When I was a lad of your years, Kenneth, the hall--ours was the castle, +theirs the hall--was occupied by two young sparks who made little shift +to keep up the pious reputation of their house. They dwelt there with +their mother--a woman too weak to check their ways, and holding, mayhap, +herself, views not altogether puritanical. They discarded the sober +black their forbears had worn for generations, and donned gay Cavalier +garments. They let their love-locks grow; set plumes in their castors +and jewels in their ears; they drank deep, ruffled it with the boldest +and decked their utterance with great oaths--for to none doth blasphemy +come more readily than to lips that in youth have been overmuch shaped +in unwilling prayer. + +"Me they avoided as they would a plague, and when at times we met, our +salutations were grave as those of, men on the point of crossing swords. +I despised them for their coarse, ruffling apostasy more than ever +my father had despised their father for a bigot, and they guessing or +knowing by instinct what was in my mind held me in deeper rancour even +than their ancestors had done mine. And more galling still and yet a +sharper spur to their hatred did those whelps find in the realization +that all the countryside held, as it had held for ages, us to be their +betters. A hard blow to their pride was that, but their revenge was not +long in coming. + +"It chanced they had a cousin--a maid as sweet and fair and pure as they +were hideous and foul. We met in the meads--she and I. Spring was the +time--God! It seems but yesterday!--and each in our bearing towards the +other forgot the traditions of the names we bore. And as at first we had +met by chance, so did we meet later by contrivance, not once or twice, +but many times. God, how sweet she was! How sweet was all the world! How +sweet it was to live and to be young! We loved. How else could it +have been? What to us were traditions, what to us the hatred that for +centuries had held our families asunder? In us it lay to set aside all +that. + +"And so I sought my father. He cursed me at first for an unnatural son +who left unheeded the dictates of our blood. But anon, when on my +knees I had urged my cause with all the eloquent fervour that is but +of youth--youth that loves--my father cursed no more. His thoughts went +back maybe to the days of his own youth, and he bade me rise and go +a-wooing as I listed. Nay, more than that he did. The first of our name +was he out of ten generations to set foot across the threshold of the +hall; he went on my behalf to sue for their cousin's hand. + +"Then was their hour. To them that had been taught the humiliating +lesson that we were their betters, one of us came suing. They from whom +the countryside looked for silence when one of us spoke, had it in their +hands at length to say us nay. And they said it. What answer my father +made them, Kenneth, I know not, but very white was his face when I met +him on the castle steps on his return. In burning words he told me of +the insult they had put upon him, then silently he pointed to the Toledo +that two years before he had brought me out of Spain, and left me. But +I had understood. Softly I unsheathed that virgin blade and read the +Spanish inscription, that through my tears of rage and shame seemed +blurred; a proud inscription was it, instinct with the punctilio +of proud Spain--'Draw me not without motive, sheathe me not without +honour.' Motive there was and to spare; honour I swore there should be; +and with that oath, and that brave sword girt to me, I set out to my +first combat." + +Sir Crispin paused and a sigh escaped him, followed by a laugh of +bitterness. + +"I lost that sword years ago," said he musingly. "The sword and I have +been close friends in life, but my companion has been a blade of coarser +make, carrying no inscriptions to prick at a man's conscience and make a +craven of him." + +He laughed again, and again he fell a-musing, till Kenneth's voice +aroused him. + +"Your story, sir." + +Twilight shadows were gathering in their garret, and as he turned his +face towards the youth, he was unable to make out his features; but +his tone had been eager, and Crispin noted that he sat with head bent +forward and that his eyes shone feverishly. + +"It interests you, eh? Ah, well--hot foot I went to the hall, and with +burning words I called upon those dogs to render satisfaction for the +dishonour they had put upon my house. Will you believe, Kenneth, that +they denied me? They sheltered their craven lives behind a shield of +mock valour. They would not fight a boy, they said, and bade me get my +beard grown when haply they would give ear to my grievance. + +"And so, a shame and rage a hundredfold more bitter than that which I +had borne thither did I carry thence. My father bade me treasure up the +memory of it against the time when my riper years should compel them to +attend me, and this, by my every hope of heaven, I swore to do. He bade +me further efface for ever from my mind all thought or hope of union +with their cousin, and though I made him no answer at the time, yet in +my heart I promised to obey him in that, too. But I was young--scarce +twenty. A week without sight of my mistress and I grew sick with +despair. Then at length I came upon her, pale and tearful, one evening, +and in an agony of passion and hopelessness I flung myself at her feet, +and implored her to keep true to me and wait, and she, poor maid, to her +undoing swore that she would. You are yourself a lover, Kenneth, and you +may guess something of the impatience that anon beset me. How could I +wait? I asked her this. + +"Some fifty miles from the castle there was a little farm, in the very +heart of the country, which had been left me by a sister of my mother's. +Thither I now implored her to repair with me. I would find a priest to +wed us, and there we should live a while in happiness, in solitude, and +in love. An alluring picture did I draw with all a lover's cunning, and +to the charms of it she fell a victim. We fled three days later. + +"We were wed in the village that pays allegiance to the castle, +and thereafter we travelled swiftly and undisturbed to that little +homestead. There in solitude, with but two servants--a man and a maid +whom I could trust--we lived and loved, and for a season, brief as all +happiness is doomed to be, we were happy. Her cousins had no knowledge +of that farm of mine, and though they searched the country for many +a mile around, they searched in vain. My father knew--as I learned +afterwards--but deeming that what was done might not be undone, he held +his peace. In the following spring a babe was born to us, and our bliss +made heaven of that cottage. + +"Twas a month or so after the birth of our child that the blow +descended. I was away, enjoying alone the pleasures of the chase; my man +was gone a journey to the nearest town, whence he would not return until +the morrow. Oft have I cursed the folly that led me to take my gun and +go forth into the woods, leaving no protector for my wife but one weak +woman. + +"I returned earlier than I had thought to do, led mayhap by some angel +that sought to have me back in time. But I came too late. At my gate +I found two freshly ridden horses tethered, and it was with a dull +foreboding in my heart that I sprang through the open door. Within--O +God, the anguish of it!--stretched on the floor I beheld my love, a +gaping sword-wound in her side, and the ground all bloody about her. +For a moment I stood dumb in the spell of that horror, then a movement +beyond, against the wall, aroused me, and I beheld her murderers +cowering there, one with a naked sword in his hand. + +"In that fell hour, Kenneth, my whole nature changed, and one who had +ever been gentle was transformed into the violent, passionate man that +you have known. As my eye encountered then her cousins, my blood seemed +on the instant curdled in my veins; my teeth were set hard; my nerves +and sinews knotted; my hands instinctively shifted to the barrel of my +fowling-piece and clutched it with the fierceness that was in me--the +fierceness of the beast about to spring upon those that have brought it +to bay. + +"For a moment I stood swaying there, my eyes upon them, and holding +their craven glances fascinated. Then with a roar I leapt forward, the +stock of my fowling-piece swung high above my head. And, as God lives, +Kenneth, I had sent them straight to hell ere they could have raised a +hand or made a cry to stay me. But as I sprang my foot slipped in the +blood of my beloved, and in my fall I came close to her where she lay. +The fowling-piece had escaped my grasp and crashed against the wall. + +"I scarce knew what I did, but as I lay beside her it came to me that I +did not wish to rise again--that already I had lived overlong. It came +to me that, seeing me fallen, haply those cowards would seize the chance +to make an end of me as I lay. I wished it so in that moment's frenzy, +for I made no attempt to rise or to defend myself; instead I set my arms +about my poor murdered love, and against her cold cheek I set my face +that was well-nigh as cold. + +"And thus I lay, nor did they keep me long. A sword was passed through +me from back to breast, whilst he who did it cursed me with a foul +oath. The room grew dim; methought it swayed and that the walls were +tottering; there was a buzz of sound in my ears, then a piercing cry in +a baby voice. At the sound of it I vaguely wished for the strength to +rise. As in the distance, I heard one of those butchers cry, "Haste, +man; slit me that squalling bastard's throat!" And then I must have +swooned." + +Kenneth shuddered. + +"My God, how horrible!" he cried. "But you were avenged, Sir Crispin," +he added eagerly; "you were avenged?" + +"When I regained consciousness," Crispin continued, as if he had not +heard Kenneth's exclamation, "the cottage was in flames, set alight by +them to burn the evidence of their foul deed. What I did I know not. I +have tried to urge my memory along from the point of my awakening, but +in vain. By what miracle I crawled forth, I cannot tell; but in the +morning I was found by my man lying prone in the garden, half a dozen +paces from the blackened ruins of the cottage, as near death as man may +go and live. + +"God willed that I should not die, but it was close upon a year before +I was restored to any semblance of my former self, and then I was so +changed that I was hardly to be recognized as that same joyous, vigorous +lad, who had set out, fowling-piece on shoulder, one fine morning a year +agone. There was grey in my hair, as much as there is now, though I was +but twenty-one; my face was seared and marked as that of a man who had +lived twice my years. It was to my faithful servant that I owed my life, +though I ask myself to-night whether I have cause for gratitude towards +him on that score. + +"So soon as I had regained sufficient strength, I went secretly home, +wishing that men might continue to believe me dead. My father I found +much aged by grief, but he was kind and tender with me beyond all words. +From him I had it that our enemies were gone to France; it would seem +they had thought it better to remain absent for a while. He had learnt +that they were in Paris, and hither I determined forthwith to follow +them. Vainly did my father remonstrate with me; vainly did he urge me +rather: to bear my story to the King at Whitehall and seek for justice. +I had been well advised had I obeyed this counsel, but I burned to take +my vengeance with my own hands, and with this purpose I repaired to +France. + +"Two nights after my arrival in Paris it was my ill-fortune to be +embroiled in a rough-and-tumble in the streets, and by an ill-chance I +killed a man--the first was he of several that I have sent whither I +am going to-morrow. The affair was like to have cost me my life, but by +another of those miracles which have prolonged it, I was sent instead +to the galleys on the Mediterranean. It was only wanting that, after all +that already I had endured, I should become a galley-slave! + +"For twelve long years I toiled at an oar, and waited. If I lived I +would return to England; and if I returned, woe unto those that had +wrecked my life--my body and my soul. I did live, and I did return. The +Civil War had broken out, and I came to throw my sword into the balance +on the King's side: I came, too, to be avenged, but that would wait. + +"Meanwhile, the score had grown heavier. I went home to find the castle +in usurping hands--in the hands of my enemies. My father was dead; he +died a few months after I had gone to France; and those murderers had +advanced a claim that through my marriage with their cousin, since dead, +and through my own death, there being no next of kin, they were +the heirs-at-law. The Parliament allowed their claim, and they were +installed. But when I came they were away, following the fortunes of the +Parliament that had served them so well. And so I determined to let my +vengeance wait until the war were ended and the Parliament destroyed. In +a hundred engagements did I distinguish myself by my recklessness even +as at other seasons I distinguished myself by my debaucheries. + +"Ah, Kenneth, you have been hard upon me for my vices, for my abuses of +the cup, and all the rest. But can you be hard upon me still, knowing +what I had suffered, and what a weight of misery I bore with me? I, +whose life was wrecked beyond salvation; who only lived that I might +slit the throats of those that had so irreparably wronged me. Think you +still that it was so vicious a thing, so unpardonable an offence to seek +the blessed nepenthe of the wine-cup, the heavenly forgetfulness that +its abuses brought me? Is it strange that I became known as the wildest +tantivy boy that rode with the King? What else had I?" + +"In all truth your trials were sore," said the lad in a voice that +contained a note of sympathy. And yet there was a certain restraint that +caught the Tavern Knight's ear. He turned his head and bent his eyes in +the lad's direction, but it was quite dark by now, and he failed to make +out his companion's face. + +"My tale is told, Kenneth. The rest you can guess. The King did not +prevail and I was forced to fly from England with those others who +escaped from the butchers that had made a martyr of Charles. I took +service in France under the great Conde, and I saw some mighty battles. +At length came the council of Breda and the invitation to Charles the +Second to receive the crown of Scotland. I set out again to follow his +fortunes as I had followed his father's, realizing that by so doing I +followed my own, and that did he prevail I should have the redress and +vengeance so long awaited. To-day has dashed my last hope; to-morrow +at this hour it will not signify. And yet much would I give to have my +fingers on the throats of those two hounds before the hangman's close +around my own." + +There was a spell of silence as the two men sat, both breathing heavily +in the gloom that enveloped them. At length: + +"You have heard my story, Kenneth," said Crispin. + +"I have heard, Sir Crispin, and God knows I pity you." + +That was all, and Galliard felt that it was not enough. He had lacerated +his soul with those grim memories to earn a yet kinder word. He had +looked even to hear the lad suing for pardon for the harsh opinions +wherein he had held him. Strange was this yearning of his for the boy's +sympathy. He who for twenty years had gone unloving and unloved, sought +now in his extremity affection from a fellow-man. + +And so in the gloom he waited for a kinder word that came not; then--so +urgent was his need--he set himself to beg it. + +"Can you not understand now, Kenneth, how I came to fall so low? Can you +not understand this dissoluteness of mine, which led them to dub me the +Tavern Knight after the King conferred upon me the honour of knighthood +for that stand of mine in Fifeshire? You must understand, Kenneth," +he insisted almost piteously, "and knowing all, you must judge me more +mercifully than hitherto." + +"It is not mine to judge, Sir Crispin. I pity you with all my heart," +the lad replied, not ungently. + +Still the knight was dissatisfied. "Yours it is to judge as every man +may judge his fellowman. You mean it is not yours to sentence. But if +yours it were, Kenneth, what then?" + +The lad paused a moment ere he answered. His bigoted Presbyterian +training was strong within him, and although, as he said, he pitied +Galliard, yet to him whose mind was stuffed with life's precepts, and +who knew naught of the trials it brings to some and the temptations to +which they were not human did they not succumb--it seemed that vice was +not to be excused by misfortune. Out of mercy then he paused, and for +a moment he had it even in his mind to cheer his fellow-captive with a +lie. Then, remembering that he was to die upon the morrow, and that +at such a time it was not well to risk the perdition of his soul by an +untruth, however merciful, he answered slowly: + +"Were I to judge you, since you ask me, sir, I should be merciful +because of your misfortunes. And yet, Sir Crispin, your profligacy and +the evil you have wrought in life must weigh heavily against you." Had +this immaculate bigot, this churlish milksop been as candid with himself +as he was with Crispin, he must have recognized that it was mainly +Crispin's offences towards himself that his mind now dwelt on in deeper +rancour than became one so well acquainted with the Lord's Prayer. + +"You had not cause enough," he added impressively, "to defile your soul +and risk its eternal damnation because the evil of others had wrecked +your life." + +Crispin drew breath with the sharp hiss of one in pain, and for a moment +after all was still. Then a bitter laugh broke from him. + +"Bravely answered, reverend sir," he cried with biting scorn. "I marvel +only that you left your pulpit to gird on a sword; that you doffed your +cassock to don a cuirass. Here is a text for you who deal in texts, my +brave Jack Presbyter--'Judge you your neighbour as you would yourself +be judged; be merciful as you would hope for mercy.' Chew you the cud of +that until the hangman's coming in the morning. Good night to you." + +And throwing himself back upon the bed, Crispin sought comfort in sleep. +His limbs were heavy and his heart was sick. + +"You misapprehend me, Sir Crispin," cried the lad, stung almost to shame +by Galliard's reproach, and also mayhap into some fear that hereafter +he should find little mercy for his own lack of it towards a poor +fellow-sinner. "I spoke not as I would judge, but as the Church +teaches." + +"If the Church teaches no better I rejoice that I was no churchman," +grunted Crispin. + +"For myself," the lad pursued, heeding not the irreverent interruption, +"as I have said, I pity you with all my heart. More than that, so deeply +do I feel, so great a loathing and indignation has your story sown in +my heart, that were our liberty now restored us I would willingly join +hands with you in wreaking vengeance on these evildoers." + +Sir Crispin laughed. He judged the tone rather than the words, and it +rang hollow. + +"Where are your wits, O casuist?" he cried mockingly. "Where are your +doctrines? 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!' Pah!" + +And with that final ejaculation, pregnant with contempt and bitterness, +he composed himself to sleep. + +He was accursed he told himself. He must die alone, as he had lived. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE TWISTED BAR + + +Nature asserted herself, and, despite his condition, Crispin slept. +Kenneth sat huddled on his chair, and in awe and amazement he listened +to his companion's regular breathing. He had not Galliard's nerves nor +Galliard's indifference to death, so that neither could he follow his +example, nor yet so much as realize how one should slumber upon the very +brink of eternity. + +For a moment his wonder stood perilously near to admiration; then his +religious training swayed him, and his righteousness almost drew from +him a contempt of this man's apathy. There was much of the Pharisee's +attitude towards the publican in his mood. + +Anon that regular breathing grew irritating to him; it drew so marked a +contrast 'twixt Crispin's frame of mind and his own. Whilst Crispin had +related his story, the interest it awakened had served to banish the +spectre of fear which the thought of the morrow conjured up. Now that +Crispin was silent and asleep, that spectre returned, and the lad grew +numb and sick with the horror of his position. + +Thought followed thought as he sat huddled there with sunken head and +hands clasped tight between his knees, and they were mostly of his dull +uneventful days in Scotland, and ever and anon of Cynthia, his beloved. +Would she hear of his end? Would she weep for him?--as though it +mattered! And every train of thought that he embarked upon brought him +to the same issue--to-morrow! Shuddering he would clench his hands still +tighter, and the perspiration would stand' out in beads upon his callow +brow. + +At length he flung himself upon his knees to address not so much +a prayer as a maudlin grievance to his Creator. He felt himself a +craven--doubly so by virtue of the peaceful breathing of that sinner he +despised--and he told himself that it was not in fear a gentleman should +meet his end. + +"But I shall be brave to-morrow. I shall be brave," he muttered, and +knew not that it was vanity begat the thought, and vanity that might +uphold him on the morrow when there were others by, however broken might +be his spirit now. + +Meanwhile Crispin slept. When he awakened the light of a lanthorn was on +his face, and holding it stood beside him a tall black figure in a cloak +and a slouched hat whose broad brim left the features unrevealed. + +Still half asleep, and blinking like an owl, he sat up. + +"I have always held burnt sack to be well enough, but--" + +He stopped short, fully awake at last, and, suddenly remembering his +condition and thinking they were come for him, he drew a sharp breath +and in a voice as indifferent as he could make it: + +"What's o'clock?" he asked. + +"Past midnight, miserable wretch," was the answer delivered in a deep +droning voice. "Hast entered upon thy last day of life--a day whose sun +thou'lt never see. But five hours more are left thee." + +"And it is to tell me this that you have awakened me?" demanded Galliard +in such a voice that he of the cloak recoiled a step, as if he thought +a blow must follow. "Out on you for an unmannerly cur to break upon a +gentleman's repose." + +"I come," returned the other in his droning voice, "to call upon thee to +repent." + +"Plague me not," answered Crispin, with a yawn. "I would sleep." + +"Soundly enough shalt thou sleep in a few hours' time. Bethink thee, +miserable sinner, of thy soul." + +"Sir," cried the Tavern Knight, "I am a man of marvellous short +endurance. But mark you this your ways to heaven are not my ways. +Indeed, if heaven be peopled by such croaking things as you, I shall be +thankful to escape it. So go, my friend, ere I become discourteous." + +The minister stood in silence for a moment; then setting his lanthorn +upon the table, he raised his hands and eyes towards the low ceiling of +the chamber. + +"Vouchsafe, O Lord," he prayed, "to touch yet the callous heart of this +obdurate, incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjured and blasphemous +malignant, whose--" + +He got no further. Crispin was upon his feet, his harsh countenance +thrust into the very face of the minister; his eyes ablaze. + +"Out!" he thundered, pointing to the door. "Out! Begone! I would not +be guilty at the end of my life of striking a man in petticoats. But go +whilst I can bethink me of it! Go--take your prayers to hell." + +The minister fell back before that blaze of passion. For a second he +appeared to hesitate, then he turned towards Kenneth, who stood behind +in silence. But the lad's Presbyterian rearing had taught him to hate a +sectarian as he would a papist or as he would the devil, and he did no +more than echo Galliard's words--though in a gentler key. + +"I pray you go," he said. "But if you would perform an act of charity, +leave your lanthorn. It will be dark enough hereafter." + +The minister looked keenly at the boy, and won over by the humility +of his tone, he set the lanthorn on the table. Then moving towards the +door, he stopped and addressed himself to Crispin. + +"I go since you oppose with violence my ministrations. But I shall pray +for you, and I will return anon, when perchance your heart shall be +softened by the near imminence of your end." + +"Sir," quoth Crispin wearily, "you would outtalk a woman." + +"I've done, I've done," he cried in trepidation, making shift to depart. +On the threshold he paused again. "I leave you the lanthorn," he +said. "May it light you to a godlier frame of mind. I shall return at +daybreak." And with that he went. + +Crispin yawned noisily when he was gone, and stretched himself. Then +pointing to the pallet: + +"Come, lad, 'tis your turn," said he. + +Kenneth shivered. "I could not sleep," he cried. "I could not." + +"As you will." And shrugging his shoulders, Crispin sat down on the edge +of the bed. + +"For cold comforters commend me to these cropeared cuckolds," he +grumbled. "They are all thought for a man's soul, but for his body they +care nothing. Here am I who for the last ten hours have had neither meat +nor drink. Not that I mind the meat so much, but, 'slife, my throat is +dry as one of their sermons, and I would cheerfully give four of my +five hours of life for a posset of sack. A paltry lot are they, Kenneth, +holding that because a man must die at dawn he need not sup to-night. +Heigho! Some liar hath said that he who sleeps dines, and if I sleep +perchance I shall forget my thirst." + +He stretched himself upon the bed, and presently he slept again. + +It was Kenneth who next awakened him. He opened his eyes to find the lad +shivering as with an ague. His face was ashen. + +"Now, what's amiss? Oddslife, what ails you?" he cried. + +"Is there no way, Sir Crispin? Is there naught you can do?" wailed the +youth. + +Instantly Galliard sat up. + +"Poor lad, does the thought of the rope affright you?" + +Kenneth bowed his head in silence. + +"Tis a scurvy death, I own. Look you, Kenneth, there is a dagger in my +boot. If you would rather have cold steel, 'tis done. It is the last +service I may render you, and I'll be as gentle as a mistress. Just +there, over the heart, and you'll know no more until you are in +Paradise." + +Turning down the leather of his right boot, he thrust his hand down the +side of his leg. But Kenneth sprang back with a cry. + +"No, no," he cried, covering his face with his hands. "Not that! +You don't understand. It is death itself I would cheat. What odds to +exchange one form for another? Is there no way out of this? Is there no +way, Sir Crispin?" he demanded with clenched hands. + +"The approach of death makes you maudlin, sir," quoth the other, in whom +this pitiful show of fear produced a profound disgust. "Is there no way; +say you? There is the window, but 'tis seventy feet above the river; and +there is the door, but it is locked, and there is a sentry on the other +side." + +"I might have known it. I might have known that you would mock me. What +is death to you, to whom life offers nothing? For you the prospect of it +has no terrors. But for me--bethink you, sir, I am scarce eighteen years +of age," he added brokenly, "and life was full of promise for me. O God, +pity me!" + +"True, lad, true," the knight returned in softened tones. "I had +forgotten that death is not to you the blessed release that it is to me. +And yet, and yet," he mused, "do I not die leaving a task unfulfilled--a +task of vengeance? And by my soul, I know no greater spur to make a man +cling to life. Ah," he sighed wistfully, "if indeed I could find a way." + +"Think, Sir Crispin, think," cried the boy feverishly. + +"To what purpose? There is the window. But even if the bars were moved, +which I see no manner of accomplishing, the drop to the river is seventy +feet at least. I measured it with my eyes when first we entered here. We +have no rope. Your cloak rent in two and the pieces tied together would +scarce yield us ten feet. Would you care to jump the remaining sixty?" + +At the very thought of it the lad trembled, noting which Sir Crispin +laughed softly. + +"There. And yet, boy, it would be taking a risk which if successful +would mean life--if otherwise, a speedier end than even the rope will +afford you. Oddslife," he cried, suddenly springing to his feet, and +seizing the lanthorn. "Let us look at these bars." + +He stepped across to the window, and held the light so that its rays +fell full upon the base of the vertical iron that barred the square. + +"It is much worn by rust, Kenneth," he muttered. "The removal of this +single piece of iron," and he touched the lower arm of the cross, +"should afford us passage. Who knows? Hum!" + +He walked back to the table and set the lanthorn down. In a tremble, +Kenneth watched his every movement, but spoke no word. + +"He who throws a main," said Galliard, "must set a stake upon the board. +I set my life--a stake that is already forfeit--and I throw for liberty. +If I win, I win all; if I lose, I lose naught. 'Slife, I have thrown +many a main with Fate, but never one wherein the odds were more +generous. Come, Kenneth, it is the only way, and we will attempt it if +we can but move the bar." + +"You mean to leap?" gasped the lad. + +"Into the river. It is the only way." + +"O God, I dare not. It is a fearsome drop." + +"Longer, I confess, than they'll give you in an hour's time, if you +remain; but it may lead elsewhere." + +The boy's mouth was parched. His eyes burned in their sockets, and yet +his limbs shook with cold--but not the cold of that September night. + +"I'll try it," he muttered with a gulp. Then suddenly clutching +Galliard's arm, he pointed to the window. + +"What ails you now?" quoth Crispin testily. + +"The dawn, Sir Crispin. The dawn." + +Crispin looked, and there, like a gash in the blackness of the heavens, +he beheld a streak of grey. + +"Quick, Sir Crispin; there is no time to lose. The minister said he +would return at daybreak." + +"Let him come," answered Galliard grimly, as he moved towards the +casement. + +He gripped the lower bar with his lean, sinewy hands, and setting his +knee against the masonry beneath it, he exerted the whole of his huge +strength--that awful strength acquired during those years of toil as a +galley-slave, which even his debaucheries had not undermined. He felt +his sinews straining until it seemed that they must crack; the sweat +stood out upon his brow; his breathing grew stertorous. + +"It gives," he panted at last. "It gives." + +He paused in his efforts, and withdrew his hands. + +"I must breathe a while. One other effort such as that, and it is done. +'Fore George," he laughed, "it is the first time water has stood my +friend, for the rains have sadly rusted that iron." + +Without, their sentry was pacing before the door; his steps came nearer, +passed, and receded; turned, came nigh again, and again passed on. +As once more they grew faint, Crispin seized the bar and renewed his +attempt. This time it was easier. Gradually it ceded to the strain +Galliard set upon it. + +Nearer came the sentry's footsteps, but they went unheeded by him who +toiled, and by him who watched with bated breath and beating heart. He +felt it giving--giving--giving. Crack! + +With a report that rang through the room like a pistol shot, it broke +off in its socket. Both men caught their breath, and stood for a second +crouching, with straining ears. The sentry had stopped at their door. + +Galliard was a man of quick action, swift to think, and as swift to +execute the thought. To thrust Kenneth into a corner, to extinguish the +light, and to fling himself upon the bed was all the work of an instant. + +The key grated in the lock, and Crispin answered it with a resounding +snore. The door opened, and on the threshold stood the Roundhead +trooper, holding aloft a lanthorn whose rays were flashed back by his +polished cuirass. He beheld Crispin on the bed with closed eyes and open +mouth, and he heard his reassuring and melodious snore. He saw Kenneth +seated peacefully upon the floor, with his back against the wall, and +for a moment he was puzzled. + +"Heard you aught?" he asked. + +"Aye," answered Kenneth, in a strangled voice, "I heard something like a +shot out there." + +The gesture with which he accompanied the words was fatal. Instinctively +he had jerked his thumb towards the window, thereby drawing the +soldier's eyes in that direction. The fellow's glance fell upon the +twisted bar, and a sharp exclamation of surprise escaped him. + +Had he been aught but a fool he must have guessed at once how it came +so, and having guessed it, he must have thought twice ere he +ventured within reach of a man who could so handle iron. But he was a +slow-reasoning clod, and so far, thought had not yet taken the place of +surprise. He stepped into, the chamber and across to the window, that he +might more closely view that broken bar. + +With eyes that were full of terror and despair, Kenneth watched him; +their last hope had failed them. Then, as he looked, it seemed to him +that in one great leap from his recumbent position on the bed, Crispin +had fallen upon the soldier. + +The lanthorn was dashed from the fellow's hand, and rolled to Kenneth's +feet. The fellow had begun' a cry, which broke off suddenly into a +gurgle as Galliard's fingers closed about his windpipe. He was a big +fellow, and in his mad struggles he carried: Crispin hither and thither +about the room. Together: they hurtled against the table, which would +have: gone crashing over had not Kenneth caught it and drawn it softly +to the wall. + +Both men were now upon the bed. Crispin had guessed the soldier's intent +to fling himself upon the ground so that the ring of his armour might +be heard, and perchance bring others to his aid. To avoid this, Galliard +had swung him towards the bed, and hurled him on to it. There he pinned +him with his knee, and with his fingers he gripped the Roundhead's +throat, pressing the apple inwards with his thumb. + +"The door, Kenneth!" he commanded, in a whisper. "Close the door!" + +Vain were the trooper's struggles to free himself from that throttling +grip. Already his efforts grew his face was purple; his veins stood out +in ropes upon his brow till they seemed upon the point of bursting; his +eyes protruded like a lobster's and there was a horrible grin upon his +mouth; still his heels beat the bed, and still he struggled. With his +fingers he plucked madly at the throttling hands on his neck, and +tore at them with his nails until the blood streamed from them. Still +Galliard held him firmly, and with a smile--a diabolical smile it seemed +to the poor, half-strangled wretch--he gazed upon his choking victim. + +"Someone comes!" gasped Kenneth suddenly. "Someone comes, Sir Crispin!" +he repeated, shaking his hands in a frenzy. + +Galliard listened. Steps were approaching. The soldier heard them also, +and renewed his efforts. Then Crispin spoke. + +"Why stand you there like a fool?" he growled. "Quench the light--stay, +we may want it! Cast your cloak over it! Quick, man, quick!" + +The steps came nearer. The lad had obeyed him, and they were in +darkness. + +"Stand by the door," whispered Crispin. "Fall upon him as he enters, +and see that no cry escapes him. Take him by the throat, and as you love +your life, do not let him get away." + +The footsteps halted. Kenneth crawled softly to his post. The soldier's +struggles grew of a sudden still, and Crispin released his throat at +last. Then calmly drawing the fellow's dagger, he felt for the straps +of his cuirass, and these he proceeded to cut. As he did so the door was +opened. + +By the light of the lamp burning in the passage they beheld silhouetted +upon the threshold a black figure crowned by a steeple hat. Then the +droning voice of the Puritan minister greeted them. + +"Your hour is at hand!" he announced. + +"Is it time?" asked Galliard from the bed. And as he put the question he +softly thrust aside the trooper's breastplate, and set his hand to the +fellow's heart. It still beat faintly. + +"In another hour they will come for you," answered the minister. And +Crispin marvelled anxiously what Kenneth was about. "Repent then, +miserable sinners, whilst yet--" + +He broke off abruptly, awaking out of his religious zeal to a sense +of strangeness at the darkness and the absence of the sentry, which +hitherto he had not remarked. + +"What hath--" he began. Then Galliard heard a gasp, followed by the +noise of a fall, and two struggling men came rolling across the chamber +floor. + +"Bravely done, boy!" he cried, almost mirthfully. "Cling to him, +Kenneth; cling to him a second yet!" + +He leapt from the bed, and guided by the faint light coming through the +door, he sprang across the intervening space and softly closed it. +Then he groped his way along the wall to the spot where he had seen the +lanthorn stand when Kenneth had flung his cloak over it. As he went, the +two striving men came up against him. + +"Hold fast, lad," he cried, encouraging Kenneth, "hold him yet a moment, +and I will relieve you!" + +He reached the lanthorn at last, and pulling aside the cloak, he lifted +the light and set it upon the table. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE BARGAIN + + +By the lanthorn's yellow glare Crispin beheld the two men-a mass of +writhing bodies and a bunch of waving legs--upon the ground. Kenneth, +who was uppermost, clung purposefully to the parson's throat. The +faces of both were alike distorted, but whilst the lad's breath came in +gasping hisses, the other's came not at all. + +Going over to the bed, Crispin drew the unconscious trooper's +tuck-sword. He paused for a moment to bend over the man's face; his +breath came faintly, and Crispin knew that ere many moments were sped +he would regain consciousness. He smiled grimly to see how well he had +performed his work of suffocation without yet utterly destroying life. + +Sword in hand, he returned to Kenneth and the parson. The Puritan's +struggles were already becoming mere spasmodic twitchings; his face was +as ghastly as the trooper's had been a while ago. + +"Release him, Kenneth," said Crispin shortly. + +"He struggles still." + +"Release him, I say," Galliard repeated, and stooping he caught the +lad's wrist and compelled him to abandon his hold. + +"He will cry out," exclaimed Kenneth, in apprehension. + +"Not he," laughed Crispin. "Leastways, not yet awhile. Observe the +wretch." + +With mouth wide agape, the minister lay gasping like a fish newly +taken from the water. Even now that his throat was free he appeared to +struggle for a moment before he could draw breath. Then he took it in +panting gulps until it seemed that he must choke in his gluttony of air. + +"Fore George," quoth Crispin, "I was no more than in time. Another +second, and we should have had him, too, unconscious. There, he is +recovering." + +The blood was receding from the swollen veins of the parson's head, and +his cheeks were paling to their normal hue. Anon they went yet paler +than their wont, as Galliard rested the point of his sword against the +fellow's neck. + +"Make sound or movement," said Crispin coldly, "and I'll pin you to the +floor like a beetle. Obey me, and no harm shall come to you." + +"I will obey you," the fellow answered, in a wheezing whisper. "I swear +I will. But of your charity, good sir, I beseech you remove your sword. +Your hand might slip, sir," he whined, a wild terror in his eyes. + +Where now was the deep bass of his whilom accents? Where now the +grotesque majesty of his bearing, and the impressive gestures that +erstwhile had accompanied his words of denunciation? + +"Your hand might slip, sir," he whined again. + +"It might--and, by Gad, it shall if I hear more from you. So that you +are discreet and obedient, have no fear of my hand." Then, still keeping +his eye upon the fellow: "Kenneth," he said, "attend to the crop-ear +yonder, he will be recovering. Truss him with the bedclothes, and gag +him with his scarf. See to it, Kenneth, and do it well, but leave his +nostrils free that he may breathe." + +Kenneth carried out Galliard's orders swiftly and effectively, what time +Crispin remained standing over the recumbent minister. At length, when +Kenneth announced that it was done, he bade the Puritan rise. + +"But have a care," he added, "or you shall taste the joys of the +Paradise you preach of. Come, sir parson; afoot!" + +A prey to a fear that compelled unquestioning obedience, the fellow rose +with alacrity. + +"Stand there, sir. So," commanded Crispin, his point within an inch of +the man's Geneva bands. "Take your kerchief, Kenneth, and pinion his +wrists behind him." + +That done, Crispin bade the lad unbuckle and remove the parson's belt. +Next he ordered that man of texts to be seated upon their only chair, +and with that same belt he commanded Kenneth to strap him to it. When +at length the Puritan was safely bound, Crispin lowered his rapier, and +seated himself upon the table edge beside him. + +"Now, sir parson," quoth he, "let us talk a while. At your first outcry +I shall hurry you into that future world whither it is your mission to +guide the souls of others. Maybe you'll find it a better world to preach +of than to inhabit, and so, for your own sake, I make no doubt you +will obey me. To your honour, to your good sense and a parson's natural +horror of a lie, I look for truth in answer to what questions I may +set you. Should I find you deceiving me, sir, I shall see that your +falsehood overtakes you." And eloquently raising his blade, he intimated +the exact course he would adopt. "Now, sir, attend to me. How soon are +our friends likely to discover this topsy-turvydom?" + +"When they come for you," answered the parson meekly. + +"And how soon, O prophet, will they come?" + +"In an hour's time, or thereabout," replied the Puritan, glancing +towards the window as he spoke. Galliard followed his glance, and +observed that the light was growing perceptibly stronger. + +"Aye," he commented, "in an hour's time there should be light enough to +hang us by. Is there no chance of anyone coming sooner?" + +"None that I can imagine. The only other occupants of the house are a +party of half a dozen troopers in the guardroom below." + +"Where is the Lord General?" + +"Away--I know not where. But he will be here at sunrise." + +"And the sentry that was at our door--is he not to a changed 'twixt this +and hanging-time?" + +"I cannot say for sure, but I think not. The guard was relieved just +before I came." + +"And the men in the guardroom--answer me truthfully, O Elijah--what +manner of watch are they keeping?" + +"Alas, sir, they have drunk enough this night to put a rakehelly +Cavalier to shame. I was but exhorting them." + +When Kenneth had removed the Puritan's girdle, a small Bible--such as +men of his calling were wont to carry--had dropped out. This Kenneth had +placed upon the table. Galliard now took it up, and, holding it before +the Puritan's eyes, he watched him narrowly the while. + +"Will you swear by this book that you have answered nothing but the +truth?" + +Without a moment's hesitation the parson pledged his oath, that, to the +best of his belief, he had answered accurately. + +"That is well, sir. And now, though it grieve me to cause you some +slight discomfort, I must ensure your silence, my friend." + +And, placing his sword upon the table, he passed behind the Puritan, and +taking the man's own scarf, he effectively gagged him with it. + +"Now, Kenneth," said he, turning to the lad. Then he stopped abruptly as +if smitten by a sudden thought. Presently--"Kenneth," he continued in a +different tone, "a while ago I mind me you said that were your liberty +restored you, you would join hands with me in punishing the evildoers +who wrecked my life." + +"I did, Sir Crispin." + +For a moment the knight paused. It was a vile thing that he was about to +do, he told himself, and as he realized how vile, his impulse was to say +no more; to abandon the suddenly formed project and to trust to his own +unaided wits and hands. But as again he thought of the vast use this lad +would be to him--this lad who was the betrothed of Cynthia Ashburn--he +saw that the matter was not one hastily to be judged and dismissed. +Carefully he weighed it in the balance of his mind. On the one hand was +the knowledge that did they succeed in making good their escape, +Kenneth would naturally fly for shelter to his friends the Ashburns--the +usurpers of Castle Marleigh. What then more natural than his taking with +him the man who had helped him to escape, and who shared his own danger +of recapture? And with so plausible a motive for admission to Castle +Marleigh, how easy would not his vengeance become? He might at first +wean himself into their good graces, and afterwards-- + +Before his mental eyes there unfolded itself the vista of a great +revenge; one that should be worthy of him, and commensurate with the +foul deed that called for it. + +In the other scale the treacherous flavour of this method weighed +heavily. He proposed to bind the lad to a promise, the shape of whose +fulfilment he would withhold--a promise the lad would readily give, and +yet, one that he must sooner die than enter into, did he but know what +manner of fulfilment would be exacted. It amounted to betraying the lad +into a betrayal of his friends--the people of his future wife. Whatever +the issue for Crispin, 'twas odds Kenneth's prospect of wedding this +Cynthia would be blighted for all time by the action into which Galliard +proposed to thrust him all unconscious. + +So stood the case in Galliard's mind, and the scales fell now on one +side, now on the other. But against his scruples rose the memory of the +treatment which the lad had meted out to him that night; the harshness +of the boy's judgment; the irrevocable contempt wherein he had clearly +seen that he was held by this fatuous milksop. All this aroused his +rancour now, and steeled his heart against the voice of honour. What +was this boy to him, he asked himself, that he should forego for him the +accomplishing of his designs? How had this lad earned any consideration +from him? What did he owe him? Naught! Still, he would not decide in +haste. + +It was characteristic of the man whom Kenneth held to be destitute of +all honourable principles, to stand thus in the midst of perils, when +every second that sped lessened their chances of escape, turning over +in his mind calmly and collectedly a point of conduct. It was in his +passions only that Crispin was ungovernable, in violence only that he +was swift--in all things else was he deliberate. + +Of this Kenneth had now a proof that set him quaking with impatient +fear. Anxiously, his hands clenched and his face pale, he watched his +companion, who stood with brows knit in thought, and his grey +eyes staring at the ground. At length he could brook that, to him, +incomprehensible and mad delay no longer. + +"Sir Crispin," he whispered, plucking at his sleeve; "Sir Crispin." + +The knight flashed him a glance that was almost of anger. Then the fire +died out of his eyes; he sighed and spoke. In that second's glance +he had seen the lad's face; the fear and impatience written on it had +disgusted him, and caused the scales to fall suddenly and definitely +against the boy. + +"I was thinking how it might be accomplished," he said. + +"There is but one way," cried the lad. + +"On the contrary, there are two, and I wish to choose carefully." + +"If you delay your choice much longer, none will be left you," cried +Kenneth impatiently. + +Noting the lad's growing fears, and resolved now upon his course, +Galliard set himself to play upon them until terror should render the +boy as wax in his hands. + +"There speaks your callow inexperience," said he, with a pitying smile. +"When you shall have lived as long as I have done, and endured as much; +when you shall have set your wits to the saving of your life as often +as have I--you will have learnt that haste is fatal to all enterprises. +Failure means the forfeiture of something; tonight it would mean the +forfeiture of our lives, and it were a pity to let such good efforts as +these"--and with a wave of the hand he indicated their two captors--"go +wasted." + +"Sir," exclaimed Kenneth, well-nigh beside himself, "if you come not +with me, I go alone!" + +"Whither?" asked Crispin dryly. + +"Out of this." + +Galliard bowed slightly. + +"Fare you well, sir. I'll not detain you. Your way is clear, and it is +for you to choose between the door and the window." + +And with that Crispin turned his back upon his companion and crossed to +the bed, where the trooper lay glaring in mute anger. He stooped, +and unbuckling the soldier's swordbelt--to which the scabbard was +attached--he girt himself with it. Without raising his eyes, and keeping +his back to Kenneth, who stood between him and the door, he went next to +the table, and, taking up the sword that he had left there, he restored +it to the sheath. As the hilt clicked against the mouth of the scabbard: + +"Come, Sir Crispin!" cried the lad. "Are you ready?" + +Galliard wheeled sharply round. + +"How? Not gone yet?" said he sardonically. + +"I dare not," the lad confessed. "I dare not go alone." + +Galliard laughed softly; then suddenly waxed grave. + +"Ere we go, Master Kenneth, I would again remind you of your assurance +that were we to regain our liberty you would aid me in the task of +vengeance that lies before me." + +"Once already have I answered you that it is so." + +"And pray, are you still of the same mind?" + +"I am, I am! Anything, Sir Crispin; anything so that you come away!" + +"Not so fast, Kenneth. The promise that I shall ask of you is not to +be so lightly given. If we escape I may fairly claim to have saved your +life, 'twixt what I have done and what I may yet do. Is it not so?" + +"Oh, I acknowledge it!" + +"Then, sir, in payment I shall expect your aid hereafter to help me in +that which I must accomplish, that which the hope of accomplishing is +the only spur to my own escape." + +"You have my promise!" cried the lad. + +"Do not give it lightly, Kenneth," said Crispin gravely. "It may cause +you much discomfort, and may be fraught with danger even to your life." + +"I promise." + +Galliard bowed his head; then, turning, he took the Bible from the +table. + +"With your hand upon this book, by your honour, your faith, and your +every hope of salvation, swear that if I bear you alive out of this +house you will devote yourself to me and to my task of vengeance until +it shall be accomplished or until I perish; swear that you will set +aside all personal matters and inclinations of your own, to serve me +when I shall call upon you. Swear that, and, in return, I will give +my life if need be to save yours to-night, in which case you will be +released from your oath without more ado." + +The lad paused a moment. Crispin was so impressive, the oath he imposed +so solemn, that for an instant the boy hesitated. His cautious, timid +nature whispered to him that perchance he should know more of this +matter ere he bound himself so irrevocably. But Crispin, noting the +hesitation, stifled it by appealing to the lad's fears. + +"Resolve yourself," he exclaimed abruptly. "It grows light, and the time +for haste is come." + +"I swear!" answered Kenneth, overcome by his impatience. "I swear, by my +honour, my faith, and my every hope of heaven to lend you my aid, when +and how you may demand it, until your task be accomplished." + +Crispin took the Bible from the boy's hands, and replaced it on the +table. His lips were pressed tight, and he avoided the lad's eyes. + +"You shall not find me wanting in my part of the bargain," he muttered, +as he took up the soldier's cloak and hat. "Come, take that parson's +steeple hat and his cloak, and let us be going." + +He crossed to the door, and opening it he peered down the passage. A +moment he stood listening. All was still. Then he turned again. In the +chamber the steely light of the breaking day was rendering more yellow +still the lanthorn's yellow flame. + +"Fare you well, sir parson," he said. "Forgive me the discomfort I have +been forced to put upon you, and pray for the success of our escape. +Commend me to Oliver of the ruby nose. Fare you well, sir. Come, +Kenneth." + +He held the door for the lad to pass out. As they stood in the dimly +lighted passage he closed it softly after them, and turned the key in +the lock. + +"Come," he said again, and led the way to the stairs, Kenneth tiptoeing +after him with wildly beating heart. + + + + +CHAPTER X. THE ESCAPE + + +Treading softly, and with ears straining for the slightest sound, the +two men descended to the first floor of the house. They heard nothing +to alarm them as they crept down, and not until they paused on the first +landing to reconnoitre did they even catch the murmur of voices issuing +from the guardroom below. So muffled was the sound that Crispin guessed +how matters stood even before he had looked over the balusters into +the hall beneath. The faint grey of the dawn was the only light that +penetrated the gloom of that pit. + +"The Fates are kind, Kenneth," he whispered. "Those fools sit with +closed doors. Come." + +But Kenneth laid his hand upon Galliard's sleeve. "What if the door +should open as we pass?" + +"Someone will die," muttered Crispin back. "But pray God that it may +not. We must run the risk." + +"Is there no other way?" + +"Why, yes," returned Galliard sardonically, "we can linger here until we +are taken. But, oddslife, I'm not so minded. Come." + +And as he spoke he drew the lad along. + +His foot was upon the topmost stair of the flight, when of a sudden the +stillness of the house was broken by a loud knock upon the street door. +Instantly--as though they had been awaiting it there was a stir of feet +below and the bang of an overturned chair; then a shaft of yellow light +fell athwart the darkness of the hall as the guardroom door was opened. + +"Back!" growled Galliard. "Back, man!" + +They were but in time. Peering over the balusters they saw two troopers +pass out of the guardroom, and cross the hall to the door. A bolt was +drawn and a chain rattled, then followed the creak of hinges, and on the +stone flags rang the footsteps and the jingling of spurs of those that +entered. + +"Is all well?" came a voice, which Crispin recognized as Colonel +Pride's, followed by an affirmative reply from one of the soldiers. + +"Hath a minister visited the malignants?" + +"Master Toneleigh is with them even now." + +In the hall Crispin could now make out the figures of Colonel Pride and +of three men who came with him. But he had scant leisure to survey them, +for the colonel was in haste. + +"Come, sirs," he heard him say, "light me to their garret. I would see +them--leastways, one of them, before he dies. They are to hang where +the Moabites hanged Gives yesterday. Had I my way... But, there lead on, +fellow." + +"Oh, God!" gasped Kenneth, as the soldier set foot upon the stairs. +Under his breath Crispin swore a terrific oath. For an instant it seemed +to him there was naught left but to stand there and await recapture. +Through his mind it flashed that they were five, and he but one; for his +companion was unarmed. + +With that swiftness which thought alone can compass did he weigh the +odds, and judge his chances. He realized how desperate they were did he +remain, and even as he thought he glanced sharply round. + +Dim indeed was the light, but his sight was keen, and quickened by the +imminence of danger. Partly his eyes and partly his instinct told +him that not six paces behind him there must be a door, and if Heaven +pleased it should be unlocked, behind it they must look for shelter. +It even crossed his mind in that second of crowding, galloping thought, +that perchance the room might be occupied. That was a risk he must +take--the lesser risk of the two, the choice of one of which was forced +upon him. He had determined all this ere the soldier's foot was upon the +third step of the staircase, and before the colonel had commenced the +ascent. Kenneth stood palsied with fear, gazing like one fascinated at +the approaching peril. + +Then upon his ear fell the fierce whisper: "Come with me, and tread +lightly as you love your life." + +In three long strides, and by steps that were softer than a cat's, +Crispin crossed to the door which he had rather guessed than seen. He +ran his hand along until he caught the latch. Softly he tried it; it +gave, and the door opened. Kenneth was by then beside him. He paused to +look back. + +On the opposite wall the light of the trooper's lanthorn fell brightly. +Another moment and the fellow would have reached and turned the corner +of the stairs, and his light must reveal them to him. But ere that +instant was passed Crispin had drawn his companion through, and closed +the door as softly as he had opened it. The chamber was untenanted +and almost bare of furniture, at which discovery Crispin breathed more +freely. + +They stood there, and heard the ascending footsteps, and the clank-clank +of a sword against the stair-rail. A bar of yellow light came under the +door that sheltered them. Stronger it grew and farther it crept along +the floor; then stopped and receded again, as he who bore the lanthorn +turned and began to climb to the second floor. An instant later and the +light had vanished, eclipsed by those who followed in the fellow's wake. + +"The window, Sir Crispin," cried Kenneth, in an excited whisper--"the +window!" + +"No," answered Crispin calmly. "The drop is a long one, and we should +but light in the streets, and be little better than we are here. Wait." + +He listened. The footsteps had turned the corner leading to the floor +above. He opened the door, partly at first, then wide. For an instant +he stood listening again. The steps were well overhead by now; soon they +would mount the last flight, and then discovery must be swift to follow. + +"Now," was all Crispin said, and, drawing his sword he led the way +swiftly, yet cautiously, to the stairs once more. In passing he glanced +over the rails. The guardroom door stood ajar, and he caught the murmurs +of subdued conversation. But he did not pause. Had the door stood wide +he would not have paused then. There was not a second to be lost; to +wait was to increase the already overwhelming danger. Cautiously, and +leaning well upon the stout baluster, he began the descent. Kenneth +followed him mechanically, with white face and a feeling of suffocation +in his throat. + +They gained the corner, and turning, they began what was truly the +perilous part of their journey. Not more than a dozen steps were there; +but at the bottom stood the guardroom door, and through the chink of +its opening a shaft of light fell upon the nethermost step. Once a stair +creaked, and to their quickened senses it sounded like a pistol-shot. As +loud to Crispin sounded the indrawn breath of apprehension from Kenneth +that followed it. He had almost paused to curse the lad when, thinking +him of how time pressed, he went on. + +Within three steps of the bottom were they, and they could almost +distinguish what was being said in the room, when Crispin stopped, and +turning his head to attract Kenneth's attention, he pointed straight +across the hall to a dimly visible door. It was that of the chamber +wherein he had been brought before Cromwell. Its position had occurred +to him some moments before, and he had determined then upon going that +way. + +The lad followed the indication of his finger, and signified by a nod +that he understood. Another step Galliard descended; then from the +guardroom came a loud yawn, to send the boy cowering against the wall. +It was followed by the sound of someone rising; a chair grated upon the +floor, and there was a movement of feet within the chamber. Had Kenneth +been alone, of a certainty terror would have frozen him to the wall. + +But the calm, unmovable Crispin proceeded as if naught had chanced; he +argued that even if he who had risen were coming towards the door, there +was nothing to be gained by standing still. Their only chance lay now in +passing before it might be opened. + +They that walk through perils in a brave man's company cannot but gain +confidence from the calm of his demeanour. So was it now with Kenneth. +The steady onward march of that tall, lank figure before him drew him +irresistibly after it despite his tremors. And well it was for him that +this was so. They gained the bottom of the staircase at length; they +stood beside the door of the guardroom, they passed it in safety. Then +slowly--painfully slowly--to avoid their steps from ringing upon the +stone floor, they crept across towards the door that meant safety to Sir +Crispin. Slowly, step by step, they moved, and with every stride Crispin +looked behind him, prepared to rush the moment he had sign they were +discovered. But it was not needed. In silence and in safety they were +permitted to reach the door. To Crispin's joy it was unfastened. Quietly +he opened it, then with calm gallantry he motioned to his companion to +go first, holding it for him as he passed in, and keeping watch with eye +and ear the while. + +Scarce had Kenneth entered the chamber when from above came the sound +of loud and excited voices, announcing to them that their flight was at +last discovered. It was responded to by a rush of feet in the guardroom, +and Crispin had but time to dart in after his companion and close the +door ere the troopers poured out into the hall and up the stairs, with +confused shouts that something must be amiss. + +Within the room that sheltered him Crispin chuckled, as he ran his hand +along the edge of the door until he found the bolt, and softly shot it +home. + +"'Slife," he muttered, "'twas a close thing! Aye, shout, you cuckolds," +he went on. "Yell yourselves hoarse as the crows you are! You'll hang us +where Gives are hanged, will you?" + +Kenneth tugged at the skirts of his doublet. "What now?" he inquired. + +"Now," said Crispin, "we'll leave by the window, if it please you." + +They crossed the room, and a moment or two later they had dropped on +to the narrow railed pathway overlooking the river, which Crispin had +observed from their prison window the evening before. He had observed, +too, that a small boat was moored at some steps about a hundred yards +farther down the stream, and towards that spot he now sped along +the footpath, followed closely by Kenneth. The path sloped in that +direction, so that by the time the spot was reached the water flowed not +more than six feet or so beneath them. Half a dozen steps took them +down this to the moorings of that boat, which fortunately had not been +removed. + +"Get in, Kenneth," Crispin commanded. "There, I'll take the oars, and +I'll keep under shelter of the bank lest those blunderers should bethink +them of looking out of our prison window. Oddswounds, Kenneth, I am +hungry as a wolf, and as dry--ough, as dry as Dives when he begged for a +sup of water. Heaven send we come upon some good malignant homestead ere +we go far, where a Christian may find a meal and a stoup of ale. 'Tis a +miracle I had strength enough to crawl downstairs. Swounds, but an empty +stomach is a craven comrade in a desperate enterprise. Hey! Have a care, +boy. Now, sink me if this milksop hasn't fainted!" + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE ASHBURNS + + +Gregory Ashburn pushed back his chair and made shift to rise from the +table at which he and his brother had but dined. + +He was a tall, heavily built man, with a coarse, florid countenance set +in a frame of reddish hair that hung straight and limp. In the colour of +their hair lay the only point of resemblance between the brothers. +For the rest Joseph was spare and of middle weight, pale of face, +thin-lipped, and owning a cunning expression that was rendered very evil +by virtue of the slight cast in his colourless eyes. + +In earlier life Gregory had not been unhandsome; debauchery and sloth +had puffed and coarsened him. Joseph, on the other hand, had never been +aught but ill-favoured. + +"Tis a week since Worcester field was fought," grumbled Gregory, looking +lazily sideways at the mullioned windows as he spoke, "and never a word +from the lad." + +Joseph shrugged his narrow shoulders and sneered. It was Joseph's habit +to sneer when he spoke, and his words were wont to fit the sneer. + +"Doth the lack of news trouble you?" he asked, glancing across the table +at his brother. + +Gregory rose without meeting that glance. + +"Truth to tell it does trouble me," he muttered. + +"And yet," quoth Joseph, "tis a natural thing enough. When battles are +fought it is not uncommon for men to die." + +Gregory crossed slowly to the window, and stared out at the trees of the +park which autumn was fast stripping. + +"If he were among the fallen--if he were dead then indeed the matter +would be at an end." + +"Aye, and well ended." + +"You forget Cynthia," Gregory reproved him. + +"Forget her? Not I, man. Listen." And he jerked his thumb in the +direction of the wainscot. + +To the two men in that rich chamber of Castle Marleigh was borne the +sound--softened by distance of a girlish voice merrily singing. + +Joseph laughed a cackle of contempt. + +"Is that the song of a maid whose lover comes not back from the wars?" +he asked. + +"But bethink you, Joseph, the child suspects not the possibility of his +having fallen." + +"Gadswounds, sir, did your daughter give the fellow a thought she must +be anxious. A week yesterday since the battle, and no word from him. +I dare swear, Gregory, there's little in that to warrant his mistress +singing." + +"Cynthia is young--a child. She reasons not as you and I, nor seeks to +account for his absence." + +"Troubles not to account for it," Joseph amended. + +"Be that as it may," returned Gregory irritably, "I would I knew." + +"That which we do not know we may sometimes infer. I infer him to be +dead, and there's the end of it." + +"What if he should not be?" + +"Then, my good fool, he would be here." + +"It is unlike you, Joseph, to argue so loosely. What if he should be a +prisoner?" + +"Why, then, the plantations will do that which the battle hath left +undone. So that, dead or captive, you see it is all one." + +And, lifting his glass to the light, he closed one eye, the better to +survey with the other the rich colour of the wine. Not that Joseph was +curious touching that colour, but he was a juggler in gestures, and at +that moment he could think of no other whereby he might so naturally +convey the utter indifference of his feelings in the matter. + +"Joseph, you are wrong," said Gregory, turning his back upon the window +and facing his brother. "It is not all one. What if he return some day?" + +"Oh, what if--what if--what if!" cried Joseph testily. "Gregory, what a +casuist you might have been had not nature made you a villain! You +are as full of "what if s" as an egg of meat. Well what if some day he +should return? I fling your question back--what if?" + +"God only knows." + +"Then leave it to Him," was the flippant answer; and Joseph drained his +glass. + +"Nay, brother, 'twere too great a risk. I must and I will know whether +Kenneth were slain or not. If he is a prisoner, then we must exert +ourselves to win his freedom." + +"Plague take it," Joseph burst out. "Why all this ado? Why did you ever +loose that graceless whelp from his Scottish moor?" + +Gregory sighed with an air of resigned patience. + +"I have more reasons than one," he answered slowly. "If you need that +I recite them to you, I pity your wits. Look you, Joseph, you have more +influence with Cromwell; more--far more--than have I, and if you are +minded to do so, you can serve me in this." + +"I wait but to learn how." + +"Then go to Cromwell, at Windsor or wherever he may be, and seek to +learn from him if Kenneth is a prisoner. If he is not, then clearly he +is dead." + +Joseph made a gesture of impatience. + +"Can you not leave Fate alone?" + +"Think you I have no conscience, Joseph?" cried the other with sudden +vigour. + +"Pish! you are womanish." + +"Nay, Joseph, I am old. I am in the autumn of my days, and I would see +these two wed before I die." + +"And are damned for a croaking, maudlin' craven," added Joseph. "Pah! +You make me sick." + +There was a moment's silence, during which the brothers eyed each other, +Gregory with a sternness before which Joseph's mocking eye was forced at +length to fall. + +"Joseph, you shall go to the Lord General." + +"Well," said Joseph weakly, "we will say that I go. But if Kenneth be a +prisoner, what then?" + +"You must beg his liberty from Cromwell. He will not refuse you." + +"Will he not? I am none so confident." + +"But you can make the attempt, and leastways we shall have some definite +knowledge of what has befallen the boy." + +"The which definite knowledge seems to me none so necessary. Moreover, +Gregory, bethink you; there has been a change, and the wind carries an +edge that will arouse every devil of rheumatism in my bones. I am not a +lad, Gregory, and travelling at this season is no small matter for a man +of fifty." + +Gregory approached the table, and leaning his hand upon it: + +"Will you go?" he asked, squarely eyeing his brother. + +Joseph fell a-pondering. He knew Gregory to be a man of fixed ideas, and +he bethought him that were he now to refuse he would be hourly plagued +by Gregory's speculations touching the boy's fate and recriminations +touching his own selfishness. On the other hand, however, the journey +daunted him. He was not a man to sacrifice his creature comforts, and to +be asked to sacrifice them to a mere whim, a shadow, added weight to his +inclination to refuse the undertaking. + +"Since you have the matter so much at heart," said he at length, "does +it not occur to you that you could plead with greater fervour, and be +the likelier to succeed?" + +"You know that Cromwell will lend a more willing ear to you than to +me--perchance because you know so well upon occasion how to weave your +stock of texts into your discourse," he added with a sneer. "Will you +go, Joseph?" + +"Bethink you that we know not where he is. I may have to wander for +weeks o'er the face of England." + +"Will you go?" Gregory repeated. + +"Oh, a pox on it," broke out Joseph, rising suddenly. "I'll go since +naught else will quiet you. I'll start to-morrow." + +"Joseph, I am grateful. I shall be more grateful yet if you will start +to-day." + +"No, sink me, no." + +"Yes, sink me, yes," returned Gregory. "You must, Joseph." + +Joseph spoke of the wind again; the sky, he urged, was heavy with rain. +"What signifies a day?" he whined. + +But Gregory stood his ground until almost out of self-protection the +other consented to do his bidding and set out as soon as he could make +ready. + +This being determined, Joseph left his brother, and cursing Master +Stewart for the amount of discomfort which he was about to endure on his +behoof, he went to prepare for the journey. + +Gregory lingered still in the chamber where they had dined, and sat +staring moodily before him at the table-linen. Anon, with a half-laugh +of contempt, he filled a glass of muscadine, and drained it. As he set +down the glass the door opened, and on the threshold stood a very dainty +girl, whose age could not be more than twenty. Gregory looked on the +fresh, oval face, with its wealth of brown hair crowning the low, broad +forehead, and told himself that in his daughter he had just cause for +pride. He looked again, and told himself that his brother was right; +she had not the air of a maid whose lover returns not from the wars. +Her lips were smiling, and the eyes--low-lidded and blue as the +heavens--were bright with mirth. + +"Why sit you there so glum," she cried, "whilst my uncle, they tell me, +is going on a journey?" + +Gregory was minded to put her feelings to the test. + +"Kenneth," he replied with significant emphasis, watching her closely. + +The mirth faded from her eyes, and they took on a grave expression that +added to their charm. But Gregory had looked for fear, leastways deep +concern, and in this he was disappointed. + +"What of him, father?" she asked, approaching. + +"Naught, and that's the rub. It is time we had news, and as none comes, +your uncle goes to seek it." + +"Think you that ill can have befallen him?" + +Gregory was silent a moment, weighing his answer. Then + +"We hope not, sweetheart," said he. "He may be a prisoner. We last had +news of him from Worcester, and 'tis a week and more since the battle +was fought there. Should he be a captive, your uncle has sufficient +influence to obtain his enlargement." + +Cynthia sighed, and moved towards the window. + +"Poor Kenneth," she murmured gently. "He may be wounded." + +"We shall soon learn," he answered. His disappointment grew keener; +where he had looked for grief he found no more than an expression of +pitying concern. Nor was his disappointment lessened when, after a spell +of thoughtful silence, she began to comment upon the condition of the +trees in the park below. Gregory had it in his mind to chide her for +this lack of interest in the fate of her intended husband, but he let +the impulse pass unheeded. After all, if Kenneth lived she should marry +him. Hitherto she had been docile and willing enough to be guided by +him; she had even displayed a kindness for Kenneth; no doubt she would +do so again when Joseph returned with him--unless he were among the +Worcester slain, in which case, perhaps, it would prove best that his +fate was not to cause her any prostration of grief. + +"The sky is heavy, father," said Cynthia from the window. "Poor uncle! +He will have rough weather for his journey." + +"I rejoice that someone wastes pity on poor uncle," growled Joseph, +who re-entered, "this uncle whom your father drives out of doors in all +weathers to look for his daughter's truant lover." + +Cynthia smiled upon him. + +"It is heroic of you, uncle." + +"There, there," he grumbled, "I shall do my best to find the laggard, +lest those pretty eyes should weep away their beauty." + +Gregory's glance reproved this sneer of Joseph's, whereupon Joseph drew +close to him: + +"Broken-hearted, is she not?" he muttered, to which Gregory returned no +answer. + +An hour later, as Joseph climbed into his saddle, he turned to his +brother again, and directing his eyes upon the girl, who stood patting +the glossy neck of his nag: + +"Come, now," said he, "you see that matters are as I said." + +"And yet," replied Gregory sternly, "I hope to see you return with the +boy. It will be better so." + +Joseph shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. Then, taking leave of his +brother and his niece, he rode out with two grooms at his heels, and +took the road South. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S + + +It was high noon next day, and Gregory Ashburn was taking the air upon +the noble terrace of Castle Marleigh, when the beat of hoofs, rapidly +approaching up the avenue, arrested his attention. He stopped in his +walk, and, turning, sought to discover who came. His first thought was +of his brother; his second, of Kenneth. Through the half-denuded trees +he made out two mounted figures, riding side by side; and from the fact +of there being two, he adduced that this could not be Joseph returning. + +Even as he waited he was joined by Cynthia, who took her stand beside +him, and voiced the inquiry that was in his mind. But her father could +no more than answer that he hoped it might be Kenneth. + +Then the horsemen passed from behind the screen of trees and came into +the clearing before the terrace, and unto the waiting glances of Ashburn +and his daughter was revealed a curiously bedraggled and ill-assorted +pair. The one riding slightly in advance looked like a Puritan of the +meaner sort, in his battered steeple-hat and cloak of rusty black. The +other was closely wrapped in a red mantle, uptilted behind by a sword of +prodigious length, and for all that his broad, grey hat was unadorned +by any feather, it was set at a rakish, ruffling, damn-me angle that +pronounced him no likely comrade for the piously clad youth beside him. + +But beneath that brave red cloak--alack!--as was presently seen when +they dismounted, that gentleman was in a sorry plight. He wore a leather +jerkin, so cut and soiled that any groom might have disdained it; a pair +of green breeches, frayed to their utmost; and coarse boots of untanned +leather, adorned by rusty spurs. + +On the terrace Gregory paused a moment to call his groom to attend +the new-comers, then he passed down the steps to greet Kenneth with +boisterous effusion. Behind him, slow and stately as a woman of twice +her years, came Cynthia. Calm was her greeting of her lover, contained +in courteous expressions of pleasure at beholding him safe, and +suffering him to kiss her hand. + +In the background, his sable locks uncovered out of deference to the +lady, stood Sir Crispin, his face pale and haggard, his lips parted, and +his grey eyes burning as they fell again, after the lapse of years, upon +the stones of this his home--the castle to which he was now come, hat in +hand, to beg for shelter. + +Gregory was speaking, his hands resting upon Kenneth's shoulder. + +"We have been much exercised concerning you, lad," he was saying. "We +almost feared the worst, and yesterday Joseph left us to seek news of +you at Cromwell's hands. Where have you tarried?" + +"Anon, sir; you shall learn anon. The story is a long one." + +"True; you will be tired, and perchance you would first rest a while. +Cynthia will see to it. But what scarecrow have you there? What +tatterdemalion is this?" he cried, pointing to Galliard. He had imagined +him a servant, but the dull flush that overspread Sir Crispin's face +told him of his error. + +"I would have you know, sir," Crispin began, with some heat, when +Kenneth interrupted him. + +"Tis to this gentleman, sir, that I owe my presence here. He was my +fellow-prisoner, and but for his quick wit and stout arm I should be +stiff by now. Anon, sir, you shall hear the story of it, and I dare +swear it will divert you. This gentleman is Sir Crispin Galliard, lately +a captain of horse with whom I served in Middleton's Brigade." + +Crispin bowed low, conscious of the keen scrutiny in which Gregory's +eyes were bent upon him. In his heart there arose a fear that, haply +after all, the years that were sped had not wrought sufficient change in +him. + +"Sir Crispin Galliard," Ashburn was saying, after the manner of one who +is searching his memory. "Galliard, Galliard--not he whom they called +'Rakehelly Galliard,' and who gave us such trouble in the late King's +time?" + +Crispin breathed once more. Ashburn's scrutiny was explained. + +"The same, sir," he answered, with a smile and a fresh bow. "Your +servant, sir; and yours, madam." + +Cynthia looked with interest at the lank, soldierly figure. She, too, +had heard--as who had not?--wild stories of this man's achievements. But +of no feat of his had she been told that could rival that of his escape +from Worcester; and when, that same evening, Kenneth related it, as they +supped, her low-lidded eyes grew very wide, and as they fell on Crispin, +admiration had taken now the place of interest. + +Romance swayed as great a portion of her heart as it does of most +women's. She loved the poets and their songs of great deeds; and here +was one who, in the light of that which they related of him, was like an +incarnation of some hero out of a romancer's ballad. + +Kenneth she never yet had held in over high esteem; but of a sudden, in +the presence of this harsh-featured dog of war, this grim, fierce-eyed +ruffler, he seemed to fade, despite his comeliness of face and form, +into a poor and puny insignificance. And when, presently, he unwisely +related how, when in the boat he had fainted, the maiden laughed +outright for very scorn. + +At this plain expression of contempt, her father shot her a quick, +uneasy glance. Kenneth stopped short, bringing his narrative abruptly to +a close. Reproachfully he looked at her, turning first red, then white, +as anger chased annoyance through his soul. Galliard looked on with +quiet relish; her laugh had contained that which for days he had carried +in his heart. He drained his bumper slowly, and made no attempt to +relieve the awkward silence that sat upon the company. + +Truth to tell, there was emotion enough in the soul of him who was wont +to be the life of every board he sat at to hold him silent and even +moody. + +Here, after eighteen years, was he again in his ancestral home of +Marleigh. But how was he returned? As one who came under a feigned name, +to seek from usurping hands a shelter 'neath his own roof; a beggar of +that from others which it should have been his to grant or to deny +those others. As an avenger he came. For justice he came, and armed with +retribution; the flame of a hate unspeakable burning in his heart, and +demanding the lives--no less--of those that had destroyed him and his. +Yet was he forced to sit a mendicant almost at that board whose head was +his by every right; forced to sit and curb his mood, giving no outward +sign of the volcano that boiled and raged within his soul as his eye +fell upon the florid, smiling face and portly, well-fed frame of Gregory +Ashburn. For the time was not yet. He must wait; wait until Joseph's +return, so that he might spend his vengeance upon both together. + +Patient had he been for eighteen years, confident that ere he died, a +just and merciful God would give him this for which he lived and waited. +Yet now that the season was at hand; now upon the very eve of that for +which he had so long been patient, a frenzy of impatience fretted him. + +He drank deep that night, and through deep drinking his manner +thawed--for in his cups it was not his to be churlish to friend or foe. +Anon Cynthia withdrew; next Kenneth, who went in quest of her. Still +Crispin sat on, and drank his host's health above his breath, and his +perdition under it, till in the end Gregory, who never yet had found +his master at the bottle, grew numb and drowsy, and sat blinking at the +tapers. + +Until midnight they remained at table, talking of this and that, and +each understanding little of what the other said. As the last hour of +night boomed out through the great hall, Gregory spoke of bed. + +"Where do I lie to-night?" asked Crispin. + +"In the northern wing," answered Gregory with a hiccough. + +"Nay, sir, I protest," cried Galliard, struggling to his feet, and +swaying somewhat as he stood. "I'll sleep in the King's chamber, none +other." + +"The King's chamber?" echoed Gregory, and his face showed the confused +struggles of his brain. "What know you of the King's chamber?" + +"That it faces the east and the sea, and that it is the chamber I love +best." + +"What can you know of it since, I take it, you have never seen it!" + +"Have I not?" he began, in a voice that was awful in its threatening +calm. Then, recollecting himself, and shaking some of the drunkenness +from him: "In the old days, when the Marleighs were masters here," he +mumbled, "I was often within these walls. Roland Marleigh was my friend. +The King's chamber was ever accorded me, and there, for old time's sake, +I'll lay these old bones of mine to-night." + +"You were Roland Marleigh's friend?" gasped Gregory. He was very white +now, and there was a sheen of moisture on his face. The sound of that +name had well-nigh sobered him. It was almost as if the ghost of Roland +Marleigh stood before him. His knees were loosened, and he sank back +into the chair from which he had but risen. + +"Aye, I was his friend!" assented Crispin. "Poor Roland! He married your +sister, did he not, and it was thus that, having no issue and the family +being extinct, Castle Marleigh passed to you?" + +"He married our cousin," Gregory amended. "They were an ill-fated +family." + +"Ill-fated, indeed, an all accounts be true," returned Crispin in a +maudlin voice. "Poor Roland! Well, for old time's sake, I'll sleep in +the King's chamber, Master Ashburn." + +"You shall sleep where you list, sir," answered Gregory, and they rose. + +"Do you look to honour us long at Castle Marleigh, Sir Crispin?" was +Gregory's last question before separating from his guest. + +"Nay, sir, 'tis likely I shall go hence to-morrow," answered Crispin, +unmindful of what he said. + +"I trust not," said Gregory, in accents of relief that belied him. "A +friend of Roland Marleigh's must ever be welcome in the house that was +Roland Marleigh's." + +"The house that was Roland Marleigh's," Crispin muttered. "Heigho! +Life is precarious as the fall of a die at best an ephemeral business. +To-night you say the house that was Roland Marleigh's; presently men +will be saying the house that the Ashburns lived--aye, and died--in. +Give you good night, Master Ashburn." + +He staggered off, and stumbled up the broad staircase at the head +of which a servant now awaited, taper in hand, to conduct him to the +chamber he demanded. + +Gregory followed him with a dull, frightened eye. Galliard's halting, +thickly uttered words had sounded like a prophecy in his ears. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH + + +When the morrow came, however, Sir Crispin showed no signs of carrying +out his proposal of the night before, and departing from Castle +Marleigh. Nor, indeed, did he so much as touch upon the subject, bearing +himself rather as one whose sojourn there was to be indefinite. + +Gregory offered no comment upon this; through what he had done for +Kenneth they were under a debt to Galliard, and whilst he was a fugitive +from the Parliament's justice it would ill become Gregory to hasten his +departure. Moreover, Gregory recalled little or nothing of the words +that had passed between them in their cups, save a vague memory that +Crispin had said that he had once known Roland Marleigh. + +Kenneth was content that Galliard should lie idle, and not call upon him +to go forth again to lend him the aid he had pledged himself to render +when Crispin should demand it. He marvelled, as the days wore on, that +Galliard should appear to have forgotten that task of his, and that he +should make no shift to set about it. For the rest, however, it troubled +him but little; enough preoccupation did he find in Cynthia's daily +increasing coldness. Upon all the fine speeches that he made her she +turned an idle ear, or if she replied at all it was but petulantly to +interrupt them, to call him a man of great words and small deeds. All +that he did she found ill done, and told him of it. His sober, godly +garments of sombre hue afforded her the first weapon of scorn wherewith +to wound him. A crow, she dubbed him; a canting, psalm-chanting +hypocrite; a Scripture-monger, and every other contumelious epithet of +like import that she should call to mind. He heard her in amazement. + +"Is it for you, Cynthia," he cried out in his surprise, "the child of a +God-fearing house, to mock the outward symbols of my faith?" + +"A faith," she laughed, "that is all outward symbols and naught besides; +all texts and mournings and nose-twangings." + +"Cynthia!" he exclaimed, in horror. + +"Go your ways, sir," she answered, half in jest, half in earnest. "What +need hath a true faith of outward symbols? It is a matter that lies +between your God and yourself, and it is your heart He will look at, +not your coat. Why, then, without becoming more acceptable in His eyes, +shall you but render yourself unsightly in the eyes of man?" + +Kenneth's cheeks were flushed with anger. From the terrace where they +walked he let his glance roam towards the avenue that split the park in +twain. Up this at that moment, with the least suspicion of a swagger +in his gait, Sir Crispin Galliard was approaching leisurely; he wore a +claret-coloured doublet edged with silver lace, and a grey hat decked +with a drooping red feather--which garments, together with the rest +of his apparel, he had drawn from the wardrobe of Gregory Ashburn. +His advent afforded Kenneth the retort he needed. Pointing him out to +Cynthia: + +"Would you rather," he cried hotly, "have me such a man as that?" + +"And, pray, why not?" she taunted him. "Leastways, you would then be a +man." + +"If, madam, a debauchee, a drunkard, a profligate, a brawler be your +conception of a man, I would in faith you did not account me one." + +"And what, sir, would you sooner elect to be accounted?" + +"A gentleman, madam," he answered pompously. + +"I think," said she quietly, "that you are in as little danger of +becoming the one as the other. A gentleman does not slander a man behind +his back, particularly when he owes that man his life. Kenneth, I am +ashamed of you." + +"I do not slander," he insisted hotly. "You yourself know of the drunken +excess wherewith three nights ago he celebrated his coming to Castle +Marleigh. Nor do I forget what I owe him, and payment is to be made in +a manner you little know of. If I said of him what I did, it was but in +answer to your taunts. Think you I could endure comparison with such a +man as that? Know you what name the Royalists give him? They call him +the Tavern Knight." + +She looked him over with an eye of quiet scorn. + +"And how, sir, do they call you? The pulpit knight? Or is it the knight +of the white feather? Mr. Stewart, you weary me. I would have a man who +with a man's failings hath also a man's redeeming virtues of honesty, +chivalry, and courage, and a record of brave deeds, rather than one who +has nothing of the man save the coat--that outward symbol you lay such +store by." + +His handsome, weak face was red with fury. + +"Since that is so, madam," he choked, "I leave you to your swaggering, +ruffling Cavalier." + +And, without so much as a bow, he swung round on his heel and left her. +It was her turn to grow angry now, and well it was for him that he had +not tarried. She dwelt with scorn upon his parting taunt, bethinking +herself that in truth she had exaggerated her opinions of Galliard's +merits. Her feelings towards that ungodly gentleman were rather of pity +than aught else. A brave, ready-witted man she knew him for, as much +from the story of his escape from Worcester as for the air that clung +to him despite his swagger, and she deplored that one possessing these +ennobling virtues should have fallen notwithstanding upon such evil ways +as those which Crispin trod. Some day, perchance, when she should come +to be better acquainted with him, she would seek to induce him to mend +his course. + +Such root did this thought take in her mind that soon thereafter--and +without having waited for that riper acquaintance which at first she had +held necessary--she sought to lead their talk into the channels of this +delicate subject. But he as sedulously confined it to trivial matter +whenever she approached him in this mood, fencing himself about with a +wall of cold reserve that was not lightly to be overthrown. In this +his conscience was at work. Cynthia was the flaw in the satisfaction he +might have drawn from the contemplation of the vengeance he was there to +wreak. He beheld her so pure, so sweet and fresh, that he marvelled how +she came to be the daughter of Gregory Ashburn. His heart smote him at +the thought of how she--the innocent--must suffer with the guilty, and +at the contemplation of the sorrow which he must visit upon her. Out of +this sprang a constraint when in her company, for other than stiff and +formal he dared not be lest he should deem himself no better than the +Iscariot. + +During the first days he had spent at Marleigh, he had been impatient for +Joseph Ashburn's return. Now he found himself hoping each morning that +Joseph might not come that day. + +A courier reached Gregory from Windsor with a letter wherein his brother +told him that the Lord General, not being at the castle, he was gone on +to London in quest of him. And Gregory, lacking the means to inform him +that the missing Kenneth was already returned, was forced to possess his +soul in patience until his brother, having learnt what was to be learnt +of Cromwell, should journey home. + +And so the days sped on, and a week wore itself out in peace at Castle +Marleigh, none dreaming of the volcano on which they stood. Each night +Crispin and Gregory sat together at the board after Kenneth and Cynthia +had withdrawn, and both drank deep--the one for the vice of it, the +other (as he had always done) to seek forgetfulness. + +He needed it now more than ever, for he feared that the consideration of +Cynthia might yet unman him. Had she scorned and avoided him and having +such evidences of his ways of life he marvelled that she did not--he +might have allowed his considerations of her to weigh less heavily. As +it was, she sought him out, nor seemed rebuffed at his efforts to evade +her, and in every way she manifested a kindliness that drove him almost +to the point of despair, and well-nigh to hating her. + +Kenneth, knowing naught of the womanly purpose that actuated her, +and seeing but the outward signs, which, with ready jealousy, he +misconstrued and magnified, grew sullen and churlish to her, to +Galliard, and even to Gregory. + +For hours he would mope alone, nursing his jealous mood, as though in +this clownish fashion matters were to be mended. Did Cynthia but speak +to Crispin, he scowled; did Crispin answer her, he grit his teeth at the +covert meaning wherewith his fancy invested Crispin's tones; whilst did +they chance to laugh together--a contingency that fortunately for his +sanity was rare--he writhed in fury. He was a man transformed, and at +times there was murder in his heart. Had he been a swordsman of more +than moderate skill and dared to pit himself against the Tavern Knight, +blood would have been shed in Marleigh Park betwixt them. + +It seemed at last as if with his insensate jealousy all the evil +humours that had lain dormant in the boy were brought to the surface, +to overwhelm his erstwhile virtues--if qualities that have bigotry for a +parent may truly be accounted virtues. + +He cast off, not abruptly, but piecemeal, those outward symbols--his +sombre clothes. First 'twas his hat he exchanged for a feather-trimmed +beaver of more sightly hue; then those stiff white bands that reeked of +sanctity and cant for a collar of fine point; next it was his coat that +took on a worldly edge of silver lace. And so, little by little, step +by step, was the metamorphosis effected, until by the end of the week +he came forth a very butterfly of fashion--a gallant, dazzling Cavalier. +Out of a stern, forbidding Covenanter he was transformed in a few days +into a most outrageous fop. He walked in an atmosphere of musk that he +himself exhaled; his fair hair--that a while ago had hung so straight +and limp--was now twisted into monstrous curls, a bunch of which were +gathered by his right ear in a ribbon of pale blue silk. + +Galliard noted the change in amazement, yet, knowing to what follies +youth is driven when it woos, he accounted Cynthia responsible for it, +and laughed in his sardonic way, whereat the boy would blush and scowl +in one. Gregory, too, looked on and laughed, setting it down to the +same cause. Even Cynthia smiled, whereat the Tavern Knight was driven to +ponder. + +With a courtier's raiment Kenneth put on, too, a courtier's ways; he +grew mincing and affected in his speech, and he--whose utterance a while +ago had been marked by a scriptural flavour--now set it off with some of +Galliard's less unseemly oaths. + +Since it was a ruffling gallant Cynthia required, he swore that a +ruffling gallant should she find him; nor had he wit enough to see +that his ribbons, his fopperies, and his capers served but to make him +ridiculous in her eyes. He did indeed perceive, however, that in spite +of this wondrous transformation, he made no progress in her favour. + +"What signify these fripperies?" she asked him, one day, "any more than +did your coat of decent black? Are these also outward symbols?" + +"You may take them for such, madam," he answered sulkily. "You liked me +not as I was--" + +"And I like you less as you are," she broke in. + +"Cynthia, you mock me," he cried angrily. + +"Now, Heaven forbid! I do but mark the change," she answered airily. +"These scented clothes are but a masquerade, even as your coat of black +and your cant were a masquerade. Then you simulated godliness; now +you simulate Heaven knows what. But now, as then, it is no more than a +simulation, a pretence of something that you are not." + +He left her in a pet, and went in search of Gregory, into whose ear +he poured the story of his woes that had their source in Cynthia's +unkindness. From this resulted a stormy interview 'twixt Cynthia and her +father, in which Cynthia at last declared that she would not be wedded +to a fop. + +Gregory shrugged his shoulders and laughed cynically, replying that it +was the way of young men to be fools, and that through folly lay the +road to wisdom. + +"Be that as it may," she answered him with spirit, "this folly +transcends all bounds. Master Stewart may return to his Scottish +heather; at Castle Marleigh he is wasting time." + +"Cynthia!" he cried. + +"Father," she pleaded, "why be angry? You would not have me marry +against the inclinations of my heart? You would not have me wedded to a +man whom I despise?" + +"By what right do you despise him?" he demanded, his brow dark. + +"By the right of the freedom of my thoughts--the only freedom that a +woman knows. For the rest it seems she is but a chattel; of no more +consideration to a man than his ox or his ass with which the Scriptures +rank her--a thing to be given or taken, bought or sold, as others shall +decree." + +"Child, child, what know you of these things?" he cried. "You are +overwrought, sweetheart." And with the promise to wait until a calmer +frame of mind in her should be more propitious to what he wished to say +further on this score, he left her. + +She went out of doors in quest of solitude among the naked trees of +the park; instead she found Sir Crispin, seated deep in thought upon a +fallen trunk. + +Through the trees she espied him as she approached, whilst the rustle +of her gown announced to him her coming. He rose as she drew nigh, and, +doffing his hat, made shift to pass on. + +"Sir Crispin," she called, detaining him. He turned. + +"Your servant, Mistress Cynthia." + +"Are you afraid of me, Sir Crispin?" + +"Beauty, madam, is wont to inspire courage rather than fear," he +answered, with a smile. + +"That, sir, is an evasion, not an answer." + +"If read aright, Mistress Cynthia, it is also an answer." + +"That you do not fear me?" + +"It is not a habit of mine." + +"Why, then, have you avoided me these three days past?" + +Despite himself Crispin felt his breath quickening--quickening with +a pleasure that he sought not to account for--at the thought that she +should have marked his absence from her side. + +"Because perhaps if I did not," he answered slowly, "you might come to +avoid me. I am a proud man, Mistress Cynthia." + +"Satan, sir, was proud, but his pride led him to perdition." + +"So indeed may mine," he answered readily, "since it leads me from you." + +"Nay, sir," she laughed, "you go from me willingly enough." + +"Not willingly, Cynthia. Oh, not willingly," he began. Then of a sudden +he checked his tongue, and asked himself what he was saying. With a +half-laugh and a courtier manner, he continued, "Of two evils, madam, we +must choose the lesser one." + +"Madam," she echoed, disregarding all else that he had said. "It is an +ugly word, and but a moment back you called me Cynthia." + +"Twas a liberty that methought my grey hairs warranted, and for which +you should have reproved me." + +"You have not grey hairs enough to warrant it, Sir Crispin," she +answered archly. "But what if even so I account it no liberty?" + +The heavy lids were lifted from her eyes, and as their glance, frank and +kindly, met his, he trembled. Then, with a polite smile, he bowed. + +"I thank you for the honour." + +For a moment she looked at him in a puzzled way, then moved past him, +and as he stood, stiffly erect, watching her graceful figure, he thought +that she was about to leave him, and was glad of it. But ere she had +taken half a dozen steps: + +"Sir Crispin," said she, looking back at him over her shoulder, "I am +walking to the cliffs." + +Never was a man more plainly invited to become an escort; but he ignored +it. A sad smile crept into his harsh face. + +"I shall tell Kenneth if I see him," said he. + +At that she frowned. + +"But I do not want him," she protested. "Sooner would I go alone." + +"Why, then, madam, I'll tell nobody." + +Was ever man so dull? she asked herself. + +"There is a fine view from the cliffs," said she. + +"I have always thought so," he agreed. + +She inclined to call him a fool; yet she restrained herself. She had an +impulse to go her way without him; but, then, she desired his company, +and Cynthia was unused to having her desires frustrated. So finding him +impervious to suggestion: + +"Will you not come with me?" she asked at last, point-blank. + +"Why, yes, if you wish it," he answered without alacrity. + +"You may remain, sir." + +Her offended tone aroused him now to the understanding that he was +impolite. Contrite he stood beside her in a moment. + +"With your permission, mistress, I will go with you. I am a dull fellow, +and to-day I know not what mood is on me. So sorry a one that I feared +I should be poor company. Still, if you'll endure me, I'll do my best to +prove entertaining." + +"By no means," she answered coldly. "I seek not the company of dull +fellows." And she was gone. + +He stood where she had left him, and breathed a most ungallant prayer of +thanks. Next he laughed softly to himself, a laugh that was woeful with +bitterness. + +"Fore George!" he muttered, "it is all that was wanting!" + +He reseated himself upon the fallen tree, and there he set himself to +reflect, and to realize that he, war-worn and callous, come to Castle +Marleigh on such an errand as was his, should wax sick at the very +thought of it for the sake of a chit of a maid, with a mind to make a +mock and a toy of him. Into his mind there entered even the possibility +of flight, forgetful of the wrongs he had suffered, abandoning the +vengeance he had sworn. Then with an oath he stemmed his thoughts. + +"God in heaven, am I a boy, beardless and green?" he asked himself. "Am +I turned seventeen again, that to look into a pair of eyes should make +me forget all things but their existence?" Then in a burst of passion: +"Would to Heaven," he muttered, "they had left me stark on Worcester +Field!" + +He rose abruptly, and set out to walk aimlessly along, until suddenly a +turn in the path brought him face to face with Cynthia. She hailed him +with a laugh. + +"Sir laggard, I knew that willy-nilly you would follow me," she cried. +And he, taken aback, could not but smile in answer, and profess that she +had conjectured rightly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN + + +Side by side stepped that oddly assorted pair along--the maiden whose +soul was as pure and fresh as the breeze that blew upon them from the +sea, and the man whose life years ago had been marred by a sorrow, the +quest of whose forgetfulness had led him through the mire of untold sin; +the girl upon the threshold of womanhood, her life all before her and +seeming to her untainted mind a joyous, wholesome business; the man +midway on his ill-starred career, his every hope blighted save the one +odious hope of vengeance, which made him cling to a life he had proved +worthless and ugly, and that otherwise he had likely enough cast from +him. And as they walked: + +"Sir Crispin," she ventured timidly, "you are unhappy, are you not?" + +Startled by her words and the tone of them, Galliard turned his head +that he might observe her. + +"I, unhappy?" he laughed; and it was a laugh calculated to acknowledge +the fitness of her question, rather than to refute it as he intended. +"Am I a clown, Cynthia, to own myself unhappy at such a season and while +you honour me with your company?" + +She made a wry face in protest that he fenced with her. + +"You are happy, then?" she challenged him. + +"What is happiness?" quoth he, much as Pilate may have questioned what +was truth. Then before she could reply he hastened to add: "I have not +been quite so happy these many years." + +"It is not of the present moment that I speak," she answered +reprovingly, for she scented no more than a compliment in his words, +"but of your life." + +Now either was he imbued with a sense of modesty touching the deeds +of that life of his, or else did he wisely realize that no theme could +there be less suited to discourse upon with an innocent maid. + +"Mistress Cynthia," said he as though he had not heard her question, "I +would say a word to you concerning Kenneth." + +At that she turned upon him with a pout. + +"But it is concerning yourself that I would have you talk. It is not +nice to disobey a lady. Besides, I have little interest in Master +Stewart." + +"To have little interest in a future husband augurs ill for the time +when he shall come to be your husband." + +"I thought that you, at least, understood me. Kenneth will never be +husband of mine, Sir Crispin." + +"Cynthia!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh, lackaday! Am I to wed a doll?" she demanded. "Is he--is he a man a +maid may love, Sir Crispin?" + +"Indeed, had you but seen the half of life that I have seen," said he +unthinkingly, "it might amaze you what manner of man a maid may love--or +at least may marry. Come, Cynthia, what fault do you find with him?" + +"Why, every fault." + +He laughed in unbelief. + +"And whom are we to blame for all these faults that have turned you so +against him?" + +"Whom?" + +"Yourself, Cynthia. You use him ill, child. If his behaviour has been +extravagant, you are to blame. You are severe with him, and he, in his +rash endeavours to present himself in a guise that shall render him +commendable in your eyes, has overstepped discretion." + +"Has my father bidden you to tell me this?" + +"Since when have I enjoyed your father's confidence to that degree? No, +no, Cynthia. I plead the boy's cause to you because--I know not because +of what." + +"It is ill to plead without knowing why. Let us forget the valiant +Kenneth. They tell me, Sir Crispin"--and she turned her glorious eyes +upon him in a manner that must have witched a statue into answering +her--"that in the Royal army you were known as the Tavern Knight." + +"They tell you truly. What of that?" + +"Well, what of it? Do you blush at the very thought?" + +"I blush?" He blinked, and his eyes were full of humour as they met her +grave--almost sorrowing glance. Then a full-hearted peal of laughter +broke from him, and scared a flight of gulls from the rocks of +Sheringham Hithe below. + +"Oh, Cynthia! You'll kill me!" he gasped. "Picture to yourself this +Crispin Galliard blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl beset by her +first lover. Picture it, I say! As well and as easily might you picture +old Lucifer warbling a litany for the edification of a Nonconformist +parson." + +Her eyes were severe in their reproach. + +"It is always so with you. You laugh and jest and make a mock of +everything. Such I doubt not has been your way from the commencement, +and 'tis thus that you are come to this condition." + +Again he laughed, but this time it was in bitterness. + +"Nay, sweet mistress, you are wrong--you are very wrong; it was not +always thus. Time was--" He paused. "Bah! 'Tis the coward cries "time +was"! Leave me the past, Cynthia. It is dead, and of the dead we should +speak no ill," he jested. + +"What is there in your past?" she insisted, despite his words. "What +is there in it so to have warped a character that I am assured was +once--is, indeed, still--of lofty and noble purpose? What is it has +brought you to the level you occupy--you who were born to lead; you +who--" + +"Have done, child. Have done," he begged. + +"Nay, tell me. Let us sit here." And taking hold of his sleeve, she sat +herself upon a mound, and made room for him beside her on the grass. +With a half-laugh and a sigh he obeyed her, and there, on the cliff, in +the glow of the September sun, he took his seat at her side. + +A silence prevailed about them, emphasized rather than broken by the +droning chant of a fisherman mending his nets on the beach below, the +intermittent plash of the waves on the shingle, and the scream of the +gulls that circled overhead. Before the eyes of his flesh was stretched +a wide desert of sky and water, and before the eyes of his mind the +hopeless desert of his thirty-eight years. + +He was almost tempted to speak. The note of sympathy in her voice +allured him, and sympathy was to him as drink to one who perishes of +thirst. A passionate, indefinable longing impelled him to pour out the +story that in Worcester he had related unto Kenneth, and thus to set +himself better in her eyes; to have her realize indeed that if he was +come so low it was more the fault of others than his own. The temptation +drew him at a headlong pace, to be checked at last by the memory that +those others who had brought him to so sorry a condition were her own +people. The humour passed. He laughed softly, and shook his head. + +"There is nothing that I can tell you, child. Let us rather talk of +Kenneth." + +"I do not wish to talk of Kenneth." + +"Nay, but you must. Willy-nilly must you. Think you it is only a +war-worn, hard-drinking, swashbuckling ruffler that can sin? Does it not +also occur to you that even a frail and tender little maid may do wrong +as well?" + +"What wrong have I done?" she cried in consternation. + +"A grievous wrong to this poor lad. Can you not realize how the only +desire that governs him is the laudable one of appearing favourably in +your eyes?" + +"That desire gives rise, then, to curious manifestations." + +"He is mistaken in the means he adopts, that is all. In his heart his +one aim is to win your esteem, and, after all, it is the sentiment that +matters, not its manifestation. Why, then, are you unkind to him?" + +"But I am not unkind. Or is it unkindness to let him see that I mislike +his capers? Would it not be vastly more unkind to ignore them and +encourage him to pursue their indulgence? I have no patience with him." + +"As for those capers, I am endeavouring to show you that you yourself +have driven him to them." + +"Sir Crispin," she cried out, "you grow tiresome." + +"Aye," said he, "I grow tiresome. I grow tiresome because I preach of +duty. Marry, it is in truth a tiresome topic." + +"How duty? Of what do you talk?" And a flush of incipient anger spread +now on her fair cheek. + +"I will be clearer," said he imperturbably. "This lad is your betrothed. +He is at heart a good lad, an honourable and honest lad--at times haply +over-honest and over-honourable; but let that be. To please a whim, a +caprice, you set yourself to flout him, as is the way of your sex when +you behold a man your utter slave. From this--being all unversed in +the obliquity of woman--he conceives, poor boy, that he no longer finds +favour in your eyes, and to win back this, the only thing that in the +world he values, he behaves foolishly. You flout him anew, and because +of it. He is as jealous with you as a hen with her brood." + +"Jealous?" echoed Cynthia. + +"Why, yes, jealous; and so far does he go as to be jealous even of me," +he cried, with infinitely derisive relish. "Think of it--he is jealous +of me! Jealous of him they call the Tavern Knight!" + +She did think of it as he bade her. And by thinking she stumbled upon a +discovery that left her breathless. + +Strange how we may bear a sentiment in our hearts without so much as +suspecting its existence, until suddenly a chance word shall so urge it +into life that it reveals itself with unmistakable distinctness. With +her the revelation began in a vague wonder at the scorn with which +Crispin invested the notion that Kenneth should have cause for jealousy +on his score. Was it, she asked herself, so monstrously unnatural? Then +in a flash the answer came--and it was, that far from being a matter for +derision, such an attitude in Kenneth lacked not for foundation. + +In that moment she knew that it was because of Crispin; because of this +man who spoke with such very scorn of self, that Kenneth had become in +her eyes so mean and unworthy a creature. Loved him she haply never had, +but leastways she had tolerated--been even flattered by--his wooing. +By contrasting him now with Crispin she had grown to despise him. His +weakness, his pusillanimity, his meannesses of soul, stood out in sharp +relief by contrast with the masterful strength and the high spirit of +Sir Crispin. + +So easily may our ideals change that the very graces of face and form +that a while ago had pleased her in Kenneth, seemed now effeminate +attributes, well-attuned to a vacillating, purposeless mind. Far greater +beauty did her eyes behold in this grimfaced soldier of fortune; the +man as firm of purpose as he was upright of carriage; gloomy, proud, and +reckless; still young, yet past the callow age of adolescence. Since +the day of his coming to Castle Marleigh she had brought herself to look +upon him as a hero stepped from the romancers' tales that in secret she +had read. The mystery that seemed to envelop him; those hints at a past +that was not good--but the measure of whose evil in her pure innocence +she could not guess; his very melancholy, his misfortunes, and the deeds +she had heard assigned to him, all had served to fire her fancy and more +besides, although, until that moment, she knew it not. + +Subconsciously all this had long dwelt in her mind. And now of a +sudden that self-deriding speech of Crispin's had made her aware of its +presence and its meaning. + +She loved him. That men said his life had not been nice, that he was +a soldier of fortune, little better than an adventurer, a man of no +worldly weight, were matters of no moment then to her. She loved him. +She knew it now because he had mockingly bidden her to think whether +Kenneth had cause to be jealous of him, and because upon thinking of it, +she found that did Kenneth know what was in her heart, he must have more +than cause. + + +She loved him with that rare love that will urge a woman to the last +sacrifice a man may ask; a love that gives and gives, and seeks nothing +in return; that impels a woman to follow the man at his bidding, be his +way through the world cast in places never so rugged; cleaving to him +where all besides shall have abandoned him; and, however dire his lot, +asking of God no greater blessing than that of sharing it. + +And to such a love as this Crispin was blind--blind to the very +possibility of its existence; so blind that he laughed to scorn the idea +of a puny milksop being jealous of him. And so, while she sat, her soul +all mastered by her discovery, her face white and still for very awe of +it, he to whom this wealth was given, pursued the odious task of wooing +her for another. + +"You have observed--you must have observed this insensate jealousy," he +was saying, "and how do you allay it? You do not. On the contrary, you +excite it at every turn. You are exciting it now by having--and I dare +swear for no other purpose--lured me to walk with you, to sit here with +you and preach your duty to you. And when, through jealousy, he shall +have flown to fresh absurdities, shall you regret your conduct and the +fruits it has borne? Shall you pity the lad, and by kindness induce him +to be wiser? No. You will mock and taunt him into yet worse displays. +And through these displays, which are--though you may not have bethought +you of it--of your own contriving, you will conclude that he is no fit +mate for you, and there will be heart-burnings, and years hence perhaps +another Tavern Knight, whose name will not be Crispin Galliard." + +She had listened with bent head; indeed, so deeply rapt by her +discovery, that she had but heard the half of what he said. Now, of a +sudden, she looked up, and meeting his glance: + +"Is--is it a woman's fault that you are as you are?" + +"No, it is not. But how does that concern the case of Kenneth?" + +"It does not. I was but curious. I was not thinking of Kenneth." + +He stared at her, dumfounded. Had he been talking of Kenneth to her with +such eloquence and such fervour, that she should calmly tell him as he +paused that it was not of Kenneth she had been thinking? + +"You will think of him, Cynthia?" he begged. "You will bethink you too +of what I have said, and by being kinder and more indulgent with this +youth you shall make him grow into a man you may take pride in. Deal +fairly with him, child, and if anon you find you cannot truly love him, +then tell him so. But tell him kindly and frankly, instead of using him +as you are doing." + +She was silent a moment, and in their poignancy her feelings went very +near to anger. Presently: + +"I would, Sir Crispin, you could hear him talk of you," said she. + +"He talks ill, not a doubt of it, and like enough he has good cause." + +"Yet you saved his life." + +The words awoke Crispin, the philosopher of love, to realities. He +recalled the circumstances of his saving Kenneth, and the price the boy +was to pay for that service; and it suddenly came to him that it was +wasted breath to plead Kenneth's cause with Cynthia, when by his own +future actions he was, himself, more than likely to destroy the boy's +every hope of wedding her. The irony of his attitude smote him hard, +and he rose abruptly. The sun hung now a round, red globe upon the very +brink of the sea. + +"Hereafter he may have little cause to thank me," muttered he. "Come, +Mistress Cynthia, it grows late." + +She rose in mechanical obedience, and together they retraced their steps +in silence, save for the stray word exchanged at intervals touching +matters of no moment. + +But he had not advocated Kenneth's cause in vain, for all that he little +recked what his real argument had been, what influences he had evoked +to urge her to make her peace with the lad. A melancholy listlessness of +mind possessed her now. Crispin did not see, never would see, what was +in her heart, and it might not be hers to show him. The life that might +have signified was not to be lived, and since that was so it seemed to +matter little what befell. + +It was thus that when on the morrow her father returned to the subject, +she showed herself tractable and docile out of her indifference, and to +Gregory she appeared not averse to listen to what he had to advance +in the boy's favour. Anon Kenneth's own humble pleading, allied to his +contrite and sorrowful appearance, were received by her with that same +indifference, as also with indifference did she allow him later to kiss +her hand and assume the flattering belief that he was rehabilitated in +her favour. + +But pale grew Mistress Cynthia's cheeks, and sad her soul. Wistful she +waxed, sighing at every turn, until it seemed to her--as haply it hath +seemed to many a maid--that all her life must she waste in vain sighs +over a man who gave no single thought to her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN + + +On his side Kenneth strove hard during the days that followed to right +himself in her eyes. But so headlong was he in the attempt, and +so misguided, that presently he overshot his mark by dropping an +unflattering word concerning Crispin, whereby he attributed to the +Tavern Knight's influence and example the degenerate change that had of +late been wrought in him. + +Cynthia's eyes grew hard as he spoke, and had he been wise he had better +served his cause by talking in another vein. But love and jealousy +had so addled what poor brains the Lord had bestowed upon him, that he +floundered on, unmindful of any warning that took not the blunt shape +of words. At length, however, she stemmed the flow of invective that his +lips poured forth. + +"Have I not told you already, Kenneth, that it better becomes a +gentleman not to slander the man to whom he owes his life? In fact, that +a gentleman would scorn such an action?" + +As he had protested before, so did he protest now, that what he had +uttered was no slander. And in his rage and mortification at the way she +used him, and for which he now bitterly upbraided her, he was very near +the point of tears, like the blubbering schoolboy that at heart he was. + +"And as for the debt, madam," he cried, striking the oaken table of the +hall with his clenched hand, "it is a debt that shall be paid, a debt +which this gentleman whom you defend would not permit me to contract +until I had promised payment--aye, 'fore George!--and with interest, for +in the payment I may risk my very life." + +"I see no interest in that, since you risk nothing more than what you +owe him," she answered, with a disdain that brought the impending +tears to his eyes. But if he lacked the manliness to restrain them, he +possessed at least the shame to turn his back and hide them from her. +"But tell me, sir," she added, her curiosity awakened, "if I am to +judge, what was the nature of this bargain?" + +He was silent for a moment, and took a turn in the hall--mastering +himself to speak--his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes bent +towards the polished floor which the evening sunlight, filtered through +the gules of the leaded windows, splashed here and there with a crimson +stain. She sat in the great leathern chair at the head of the board, +and, watching him, waited. + +He was debating whether he was bound to secrecy in the matter, and in +the end he resolved that he was not. Thereupon, pausing before her, +he succinctly told the story Crispin had related to him that night in +Worcester--the story of a great wrong, that none but a craven could have +left unavenged. He added nothing to it, subtracted nothing from it, but +told the tale as it had been told to him on that dreadful night, the +memory of which had still power to draw a shudder from him. + +Cynthia sat with parted lips and eager eyes, drinking in that touching +narrative of suffering that was rather as some romancer's fabrication +than a true account of what a living man had undergone. Now with sorrow +and pity in her heart and countenance, now with anger and loathing, she +listened until he had done, and even when he ceased speaking, and flung +himself into the nearest chair, she sat on in silence for a spell. + +Then of a sudden she turned a pair of flashing eyes upon the boy, and in +tones charged with a scorn ineffable: + +"You dare," she cried, "to speak of that man as you do, knowing all +this? Knowing what he has suffered, you dare to rail in his absence +against those sins to which his misfortunes have driven him? How, think +you, would it have fared with you, you fool, had you stood in the shoes +of this unfortunate? Had you fallen on your craven knees, and thanked +the Lord for allowing you to keep your miserable life? Had you succumbed +to the blows of fate with a whine of texts upon your lips? Who are you?" +she went on, rising, breathless in her wrath, which caused him to recoil +in sheer affright before her. "Who are you, and what are you, that +knowing what you know of this man's life, you dare to sit in judgment +upon his actions and condemn them? Answer me, you fool!" + +But never a word had he wherewith to meet that hail of angry, +contemptuous questions. The answer that had been so ready to his lips +that night at Worcester, when, in a milder form the Tavern Knight had +set him the same question, he dared not proffer now. The retort that Sir +Crispin had not cause enough in the evil of others, which had wrecked +his life, to risk the eternal damnation of his soul, he dared no longer +utter. Glibly enough had he said to that stern man that which he dared +not say now to this sterner beauty. Perhaps it was fear of her that +made him dumb, perhaps that at last he knew himself for what he was by +contrast with the man whose vices he had so heartily despised a while +ago. + +Shrinking back before her anger, he racked his shallow mind in vain for +a fitting answer. But ere he had found one, a heavy step sounded in the +gallery that overlooked the hall, and a moment later Gregory Ashburn +descended. His face was ghastly white, and a heavy frown furrowed the +space betwixt his brows. + +In the fleeting glance she bestowed upon her father, she remarked not +the disorder of his countenance; whilst as for Kenneth, he had enough to +hold his attention for the time. + +Gregory's advent set an awkward constraint upon them, nor had he any +word to say as he came heavily up the hall. + +At the lower end of the long table he paused, and resting his hand upon +the board, he seemed on the point of speaking when of a sudden a sound +reached him that caused him to draw a sharp breath; it was the rumble of +wheels and the crack of a whip. + +"It is Joseph!" he cried, in a voice the relief of which was so marked +that Cynthia noticed it. And with that exclamation he flung past them, +and out through the doorway to meet his brother so opportunely returned. + +He reached the terrace steps as the coach pulled up, and the lean figure +of Joseph Ashburn emerged from it. + +"So, Gregory," he grumbled for greeting, "it was on a fool's errand you +sent me, after all. That knave, your messenger, found me in London at +last when I had outworn my welcome at Whitehall. But, 'swounds, man," he +cried, remarking the pallor, of his brother's face, "what ails thee?" + +"I have news for you, Joseph," answered Gregory, in a voice that shook. + +"It is not Cynthia?" he inquired. "Nay, for there she stands-and her +pretty lover by her side. 'Slife, what a coxcomb the lad's grown." + +And with that he hastened forward to kiss his niece, and congratulate +Kenneth upon being restored to her. + +"I heard of it, lad, in London," quoth he, a leer upon his sallow +face--"the story of how a fire-eater named Galliard befriended you, +trussed a parson and a trooper, and dragged you out of jail a short hour +before hanging-time." + +Kenneth flushed. He felt the sneer in Joseph's, words like a stab. The +man's tone implied that another had done for him that which he would +not have dared do for himself, and Kenneth felt that this was so said in +Cynthia's presence with malicious, purpose. + +He was right. Partly it was Joseph's way to be spiteful and venomous +whenever chance afforded him the opportunity. Partly he had been +particularly soured at present by his recent discomforts, suffered in a +cause wherewith he had no, sympathy--that of the union Gregory desired +'twixt Cynthia and Kenneth. + +There was an evil smile on his thin lips, and his crooked eyes rested +tormentingly upon the young man. A fresh taunt trembled on his viperish +tongue, when Gregory plucked at the skirts of his coat, and drew him +aside. They entered the chamber where they had held their last interview +before Joseph had set out for news of Kenneth. With an air of mystery +Gregory closed the door, then turned to face his brother. He stayed him +in the act of unbuckling his sword-belt. + +"Wait, Joseph!" he cried dramatically. "This is no time to disarm. Keep +your sword on your thigh, man; you will need it as you never yet have +needed it." He paused, took a deep breath, and hurled the news at +his brother. "Roland Marleigh is here." And he sat down like a man +exhausted. + +Joseph did not start; he did not cry out; he did not so much as change +countenance. A slight quiver of the eyelids was the only outward sign +he gave of the shock that his brother's announcement had occasioned. The +hand that had rested on the buckle of his sword-belt slipped quietly +to his side, and he deliberately stepped up to Gregory, his eyes set +searchingly upon the pale, flabby face before him. A sudden suspicion +darting through his mind, he took his brother by the shoulders and shook +him vigorously. + +"Gregory, you fool, you have drunk overdeep in my absence." + +"I have, I have," wailed Gregory, "and, my God, 'twas he was my +table-fellow, and set me the example." + +"Like enough, like enough," returned Joseph, with a contemptuous laugh. +"My poor Gregory, the wine has so fouled your worthless wits at last, +that they conjure up phantoms to sit at the table with you. Come, man, +what petticoat business is this? Bestir yourself, fool." + +At that Gregory caught the drift of Joseph's suspicions. + +"Tis you are the fool," he retorted angrily, springing to his feet, and +towering above his brother. + +"It was no ghost sat with me, but Roland Marleigh, himself, in the +flesh, and strangely changed by time. So changed that I knew him not, +nor should I know him now but for that which, not ten minutes ago, I +overheard." + +His earnestness was too impressive, his sanity too obvious, and Joseph's +suspicions were all scattered before it. + +He caught Gregory's wrist in a grip that made him wince, and forced him +back into his seat. + +"Gadslife, man, what is it you mean?" he demanded through set teeth. +"Tell me." + +And forthwith Gregory told him of the manner of Kenneth's coming to +Sheringham and to Castle Marleigh, accompanied by one Crispin Galliard, +the same that had been known for his mad exploits in the late wars as +"rakehelly Galliard," and that was now known to the malignants as "The +Tavern Knight" for his debauched habits. Crispin's mention of Roland +Marleigh on the night of his arrival now returned vividly to Gregory's +mind, and he repeated it, ending with the story that that very evening +he had overheard Kenneth telling Cynthia. + +"And this Galliard, then, is none other than that pup of insolence, +Roland Marleigh, grown into a dog of war?" quoth Joseph. + +He was calm--singularly calm for one who had heard such news. + +"There remains no doubt of it." + +"And you saw this man day by day, sat with him night by night over your +damned sack, and knew him not? Oddswounds, man, where were your eyes?" + +"I may have been blind. But he is greatly changed. I would defy you, +Joseph, to have recognized him." + +Joseph sneered, and the flash of his eyes told of the contempt wherein +he held his brother's judgment and opinions. + +"Think not that, Gregory. I have cause enough to remember him," said +Joseph, with an unpleasant laugh. Then as suddenly changing his tone for +one of eager anxiety: + +"But the lad, Gregory, does he suspect, think you?" + +"Not a whit. In that lies this fellow's diabolical cunning. Learning of +Kenneth's relations with us, he seized the opportunity Fate offered him +that night at Worcester, and bound the lad on oath to help him when he +should demand it, without disclosing the names of those against whom he +should require his services. The boy expects at any moment to be bidden +to go forth with him upon his mission of revenge, little dreaming that +it is here that that tragedy is to be played out." + +"This comes of your fine matrimonial projects for Cynthia," muttered +Joseph acridly. He laughed his unpleasant laugh again, and for a spell +there was silence. + +"To think, Gregory," he broke out at last, "that for a fortnight he +should have been beneath this roof, and you should have found no means +of doing more effectively that which was done too carelessly eighteen +years ago." + +He spoke as coldly as though the matter were a trivial one. Gregory +shuddered and looked at his brother in alarm. + +"What now, fool?" cried Joseph, scowling. "Are you as cowardly as you +are blind? Damn me, sir, it seems well that I am returned. I'll have no +Marleigh plague my old age for me." He paused a moment, then continued +in a quieter voice, but one whose ring was sinister beyond words: +"Tomorrow I shall find a way to draw this your dog of war to some +secluded ground. I have some skill," he pursued, tapping his hilt as he +spoke, "besides, you shall be there, Gregory." And he smiled darkly. "Is +there no other way?" asked Gregory, in distress. + +"There was," answered Joseph. "There was in Parliament. At Whitehall I +met a man--one Colonel Pride--a bloodthirsty old Puritan soldier, who +would give his right hand to see this Galliard hanged. Galliard, it +seems, slew the fellow's son at Worcester. Had I but known," he added +regretfully--"had your wits been keener, and you had discovered it and +sent me word, I had found means to help Colonel Pride to his revenge. As +it is"--he shrugged his shoulders--"there is not time." + +"It may be--" began Gregory, then stopped abruptly with an exclamation +that caused Joseph to wheel sharply round. The door had opened, and on +the threshold Sir Crispin Galliard stood, deferentially, hat in hand. + +Joseph's astonished glance played rapidly over him for a second. Then: + +"Who the devil may you be?" he blurted out. + +Despite his anxiety, Gregory chuckled at the question. The Tavern Knight +came forward. "I am Sir Crispin Galliard, at your service," said he, +bowing. "I was told that the master of Marleigh was returned, and that +I should find you here, and I hasten, sir, to proffer you my thanks for +the generous shelter this house has given me this fortnight past." + +Whilst he spoke he measured Joseph with his eyes, and his glance was as +hateful as his words were civil. Joseph was lost in amazement. Little +trace was there in this fellow of the Roland Marleigh he had known. +Moreover, he had looked to find an older man, forgetting that Roland's +age could not exceed thirty-eight. Then, again, the fading light, whilst +revealing the straight, supple lines of his lank figure, softened the +haggardness of the face and made him appear yet younger than the light +of day would have shown him. + +In an instant Joseph had recovered from his surprise, and for all that +his mind misgave him tortured by a desire to learn whether Crispin was +aware of their knowledge concerning him--his smile was serene, and his +tones level and pleasant, as he made answer: + +"Sir, you are very welcome. You have valiantly served one dear to us, +and the entertainment of our poor house for as long as you may deign to +honour it is but the paltriest of returns." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE RECKONING + + +Sir Crispin had heard naught of what was being said as he entered the +room wherein the brothers plotted against him, and he little dreamt that +his identity was discovered. He had but hastened to perform that which, +under ordinary circumstances, would have been a natural enough duty +towards the master of the house. He had been actuated also by an +impatience again to behold this Joseph Ashburn--the man who had dealt +him that murderous sword-thrust eighteen years ago. He watched him +attentively, and gathering from his scrutiny that here was a dangerous, +subtle man, different, indeed, to his dull-witted brother, he had +determined to act at once. + +And so when he appeared in the hall at suppertime, he came armed and +booted, and equipped as for a journey. + +Joseph was standing alone by the huge fire-place, his face to the +burning logs, and his foot resting upon one of the andirons. Gregory and +his daughter were talking together in the embrasure of a window. By the +other window, across the hall, stood Kenneth, alone and disconsolate, +gazing out at the drizzling rain that had begun to fall. + +As Galliard descended, Joseph turned his head, and his eyebrows shot up +and wrinkled his forehead at beholding the knight's equipment. + +"How is this, Sir Crispin?" said he. "You are going a journey?" + +"Too long already have I imposed myself upon the hospitality of Castle +Marleigh," Crispin answered politely as he came and stood before the +blazing logs. "To-night, Mr. Ashburn, I go hence." + +A curious expression flitted across Joseph's face. The next moment, +his brows still knit as he sought to fathom his sudden action, he was +muttering the formal regrets that courtesy dictated. But Crispin had +remarked that singular expression on Joseph's face--fleeting though it +had been--and it flashed across his mind that Joseph knew him. And as he +moved away towards Cynthia and her father, he thanked Heaven that he had +taken such measures as he had thought wise and prudent for the carrying +out of his resolve. + +Following him with a glance, Joseph asked himself whether Crispin had +discovered that he was recognized, and had determined to withdraw, +leaving his vengeance for another and more propitious season. In +answer--little knowing the measure of the man he dealt with--he told +himself it must be so, and having arrived at that conclusion, he there +and then determined that Crispin should not depart free to return and +plague them when he listed. Since Galliard shrank from forcing matters +to an issue, he himself would do it that very night, and thereby settle +for all time his business. And so ere he sat down to sup Joseph looked +to it that his sword lay at hand behind his chair at the table-head. + +The meal was a quiet one enough. Kenneth was sulking 'neath the fresh +ill-usage--as he deemed it--that he had suffered at Cynthia's hands. +Cynthia, in her turn, was grave and silent. That story of Sir Crispin's +sufferings gave her much to think of, as did also his departure, and +more than once did Galliard find her eyes fixed upon him with a look +half of pity, half of some other feeling that he was at a loss to +interpret. Gregory's big voice was little heard. The sinister glitter +in his brother's eye made him apprehensive and ill at ease. For him the +hour was indeed in travail and like to bring forth strange doings--but +not half so much as it was for Crispin and Joseph, each bent upon +forcing matters to a head ere they quitted that board. And yet but for +these two the meal would have passed off in dismal silence. Joseph +was at pains to keep suspicion from his guest, and with that intent he +talked gaily of this and that, told of slight matters that had befallen +him on his recent journey and of the doings that in London he had +witnessed, investing each trifling incident with a garb of wit that +rendered it entertaining. + +And Galliard--actuated by the same motives grew reminiscent whenever +Joseph paused and let his nimble tongue--even nimblest at a table amuse +those present, or seem to amuse them, by a score of drolleries. + +He drank deeply too, and this Joseph observed with satisfaction. But +here again he misjudged his man. Kenneth, who ate but little, seemed +also to have developed an enormous thirst, and Crispin grew at length +alarmed at that ever empty goblet so often filled. He would have need +of Kenneth ere the hour was out, and he rightly feared that did matters +thus continue, the lad's aid was not to be reckoned with. Had Kenneth +sat beside him he might have whispered a word of restraint in his eat, +but the lad was on the other side of the board. + +At one moment Crispin fancied that a look of intelligence passed from +Joseph to Gregory, and when presently Gregory set himself to ply both +him and the boy with wine, his suspicions became certainties, and he +grew watchful and wary. + +Anon Cynthia rose. Upon the instant Galliard was also on his feet. He +escorted her to the foot of the staircase, and there: + +"Permit me, Mistress Cynthia," said he, "to take my leave of you. In an +hour or so I shall be riding away from Castle Marleigh." + +Her eyes sought the ground, and had he been observant of her he might +have noticed that she paled slightly. + +"Fare you well, sir," said she in a low voice. "May happiness attend +you." + +"Madam, I thank you. Fare you well." + +He bowed low. She dropped him a slight curtsey, and ascended the stairs. +Once as she reached the gallery above she turned. He had resumed his +seat at table, and was in the act of filling his glass. The servants had +withdrawn, and for half an hour thereafter they sat on, sipping their +wine, and making conversation--while Crispin drained bumper after +bumper and grew every instant more boisterous, until at length his +boisterousness passed into incoherence. His eyelids drooped heavily, and +his chin kept ever and anon sinking forward on to his breast. + +Kenneth, flushed with wine, yet master of his wits, watched him with +contempt. This was the man Cynthia preferred to him! Contempt was there +also in Joseph Ashburn's eye, mingled with satisfaction. He had not +looked to find the task so easy. At length he deemed the season ripe. + +"My brother tells me that you were once acquainted with Roland +Marleigh," said he. + +"Aye," he answered thickly. "I knew the dog--a merry, reckless soul, +d--n me. 'Twas his recklessness killed him, poor devil--that and your +hand, Mr. Ashburn, so the story goes." + +"What story?" + +"What story?" echoed Crispin. "The story that I heard. Do you say I +lie?" And, swaying in his chair, he sought to assume an air of defiance. + +Joseph laughed in a fashion that made Kenneth's blood run cold. + +"Why, no, I don't deny it. It was in fair fight he fell. Moreover, he +brought the duel upon himself." + +Crispin spoke no word in answer, but rose unsteadily to his feet, so +unsteadily that his chair was overset and fell with a crash behind him. +For a moment he surveyed it with a drunken leer, then went lurching +across the hall towards the door that led to the servants' quarters. +The three men sat on, watching his antics in contempt, curiosity, and +amusement. They saw him gain the heavy oaken door and close it. They +heard the bolts rasp as he shot them home, and the lock click; and they +saw him withdraw the key and slip it into his pocket. + +The cold smile still played round Joseph's lips as Crispin turned to +face them again, and on Joseph's lips did that same smile freeze as he +saw him standing there, erect and firm, his drunkenness all vanished, +and his eyes keen and fierce; as he heard the ring of his metallic +voice: + +"You lie, Joseph Ashburn. It was no fair fight. It was no duel. It was +a foul, murderous stroke you dealt him in the back, thinking to butcher +him as you butchered his wife and his babe. But there is a God, Master +Ashburn," he went on in an ever-swelling voice, "and I lived. Like a +salamander I came through the flames in which you sought to destroy all +trace of your vile deed. I lived, and I, Crispin Galliard, the debauched +Tavern Knight that was once Roland Marleigh, am here to demand a +reckoning." + +The very incarnation was he then of an avenger, as he stood towering +before them, his grim face livid with the passion into which he had +lashed himself as he spoke, his blazing eyes watching them in that +cunning, half-closed way that was his when his mood was dangerous. +And yet the only one that quailed was Kenneth, his ally, upon whom +comprehension burst with stunning swiftness. + +Joseph recovered quickly from the surprise of Crispin's suddenly +reassumed sobriety. He understood the trick that Galliard had played +upon them so that he might cut off their retreat in the only direction +in which they might have sought assistance, and he cursed himself for +not having foreseen it. Still, anxiety he felt none; his sword was to +his hand, and Gregory was armed; at the very worst they were two calm +and able men opposed to a half-intoxicated boy, and a man whom fury, he +thought, must strip of half his power. Probably, indeed, the lad would +side with them, despite his plighted word. Again, he had but to raise +his voice, and, though the door that Crispin had fastened was a stout +one, he never doubted but that his call would penetrate it and bring +his servants to his rescue. + +And so, a smile of cynical unconcern returned to his lips and his answer +was delivered in a cold, incisive voice. + +"The reckoning you have come to demand shall be paid you, sir. Rakehelly +Galliard is the hero of many a reckless deed, but my judgment is much +at fault if this prove not his crowning recklessness and his last one. +Gadswounds, sir, are you mad to come hither single-handed to beard the +lion in his den?" + +"Rather the cur in his kennel," sneered Crispin back. "Blood and wounds, +Master Joseph, think you to affright me with words?" + +Still Joseph smiled, deeming himself master of the situation. + +"Were help needed, the raising of my voice would bring it me. But it is +not. We are three to one." + +"You reckon wrongly. Mr. Stewart belongs to me to-night--bound by an +oath that 'twould damn his soul to break, to help me when and where I +may call upon him; and I call upon him now. Kenneth, draw your sword." + +Kenneth groaned as he stood by, clasping and unclasping his hands. + +"God's curse on you," he burst out. "You have tricked me, you have +cheated me." + +"Bear your oath in mind," was the cold answer. "If you deem yourself +wronged by me, hereafter you shall have what satisfaction you demand. +But first fulfil me what you have sworn. Out with your blade, man." + +Still Kenneth hesitated, and but for Gregory's rash action at that +critical juncture, it is possible that he would have elected to +break his plighted word. But Gregory fearing that he might determine +otherwise, resolved there and then to remove the chance of it. Whipping +out his sword, he made a vicious pass at the lad's breast. Kenneth +avoided it by leaping backwards, but in an instant Gregory had sprung +after him, and seeing himself thus beset, Kenneth was forced to draw +that he might protect himself. + +They stood in the space between the table and that part of the hall that +abutted on to the terrace; opposite to them, by the door which he +had closed, stood Crispin. At the table-head Joseph still sat cool, +self-contained, even amused. + +He realized the rashness of Gregory's attack upon one that might yet +have been won over to their side; but he never doubted that a few passes +would dispose of the lad's opposition, and he sought not to interfere. +Then he saw Crispin advancing towards him slowly, his rapier naked in +his hand, and he was forced to look to himself. He caught at the sword +that stood behind him, and leaping to his feet he sprang forward to +meet his grim antagonist. Galliard's eyes flashed out a look of joy, he +raised his rapier, and their blades met. + +To the clash of their meeting came an echoing clash from beyond the +table. + +"Hold, sir!" Kenneth had cried, as Gregory bore down upon him. But +Gregory's answer had been a lunge which the boy had been forced to +parry. Taking that crossing of blades for a sign of opposition, Gregory +thrust again more viciously. Kenneth parried narrowly, his blade +pointing straight at his aggressor. He saw the opening, and both +instinct and the desire to repel Gregory's onslaught drew him into +attempting a riposte, which drove Gregory back until his shoulders +touched the panels of the wall. Simultaneously the boy's foot struck the +back of the chair which in rising Crispin had overset, and he stumbled. +How it happened he scarcely knew, but as he hurtled forward his blade +slid along his opponent's, and entering Gregory's right shoulder pinned +him to the wainscot. + +Joseph heard the tinkle of a falling blade, and assumed it to be +Kenneth's. For the rest he was just then too busy to dare withdraw for +a second his eyes from Crispin's. Until that hour Joseph Ashburn had +accounted himself something of a swordsman, and more than a match +for most masters of the weapon. But in Crispin he found a fencer of a +quality such as he had never yet encountered. Every feint, every botte +in his catalogue had he paraded in quick succession, yet ever with the +same result--his point was foiled and put aside with ease. + +Desperately he fought now, darting that point of his hither and thither +in and out whenever the slightest opening offered; yet ever did it +meet the gentle averting pressure of Crispin's blade. He fought on and +marvelled as the seconds went by that Gregory came not to his aid. Then +the sickening thought that perhaps Gregory was overcome occurred to +him. In such a case he must reckon upon himself alone. He cursed +the over-confidence that had led him into that ever-fatal error of +underestimating his adversary. He might have known that one who had +acquired Sir Crispin's fame was no ordinary man, but one accustomed to +face great odds and master them. He might call for help. + +He marvelled as the thought occurred to him that the clatter of their +blades had not drawn his servants from their quarters. Fencing still, he +raised his voice: + +"Ho, there! John, Stephen!" + +"Spare your breath," growled the knight. "I dare swear you'll have need +of it. None will hear you, call as you will. I gave your four henchmen +a flagon of wine wherein to drink to my safe journey hence. They have +emptied it ere this, I make no doubt, and a single glass of it would set +the hardest toper asleep for the round of the clock." + +An oath was Joseph's only answer--a curse it was upon his own folly and +assurance. A little while ago he had thought to have drawn so tight +a net about this ruler, and here was he now taken in its very toils, +well-nigh exhausted and in his enemy's power. + +It occurred to him then that Crispin stayed his hand. That he fenced +only on the defensive, and he wondered what might his motive be. He +realized that he was mastered, and that at any moment Galliard might +send home his blade. He was bathed from head to foot in a sweat that was +at once of exertion and despair. A frenzy seized him. Might he not yet +turn to advantage this hesitancy of Crispin's to strike the final blow? + +He braced himself for a supreme effort, and turning his wrist from a +simulated thrust in the first position, he doubled, and stretching out, +lunged vigorously in quarte. As he lengthened his arm in the stroke +there came a sudden twitch at his wrist; the weapon was twisted from his +grasp, and he stood disarmed at Crispin's mercy. + +A gurgling cry broke despite him from his lips, and his eyes grew wide +in a sickly terror as they encountered the knight's sinister glance. Not +three paces behind him was the wall, and on it, within the hand's easy +reach, hung many a trophied weapon that might have served him then. But +the fascination of fear was upon him, benumbing his wits and paralysing +his limbs, with the thought that the next pulsation of his tumultuous +heart would prove its last. The calm, unflinching courage that had +been Joseph's only virtue was shattered, and his iron will that had +unscrupulously held hitherto his very conscience in bondage was turned +to water now that he stood face to face with death. + +Eons of time it seemed to him were sped since the sword was wrenched +from his hand, and still the stroke he awaited came not; still Crispin +stood, sinister and silent before him, watching him with magnetic, +fascinating eyes--as the snake watches the bird--eyes from which Joseph +could not withdraw his own, and yet before which it seemed to him that +he quaked and shrivelled. + +The candles were burning low in their sconces, and the corners of that +ample, gloomy hall were filled with mysterious shadows that formed a +setting well attuned to the grim picture made by those two figures--the +one towering stern and vengeful, the other crouching palsied and livid. + +Beyond the table, and with the wounded Gregory--lying unconscious and +bleeding--at his feet, stood Kenneth looking on in silence, in wonder +and in some horror too. + +To him also, as he watched, the seconds seemed minutes from the time +when Crispin had disarmed his opponent until with a laugh--short and +sudden as a stab--he dropped his sword and caught his victim by the +throat. + +However fierce the passion that had actuated Crispin, it had been held +hitherto in strong subjection. But now at last it suddenly welled up and +mastered him, causing him to cast all restraint to the winds, to abandon +reason, and to give way to the lust of rage that rendered ungovernable +his mood. + +Like a burst of flame from embers that have been smouldering was the +upleaping of his madness, transfiguring his face and transforming his +whole being. A new, unconquerable strength possessed him; his pulses +throbbed swiftly and madly with the quickened coursing of his blood, and +his soul was filled with the cruel elation that attends a lust about to +be indulged the elation of the beast about to rend its prey. + +He was pervaded by the desire to wreak slowly and with his hands the +destruction of his broken enemy. To have passed his sword through him +would have been too swiftly done; the man would have died, and Crispin +would have known nothing of his sufferings. But to take him thus by +the throat; slowly to choke the life's breath out of him; to feel his +desperate, writhing struggles; to be conscious of every agonized twitch +of his sinews, to watch the purpling face, the swelling veins, the +protruding eyes filled with the dumb horror of his agony; to hold him +thus--each second becoming a distinct, appreciable division of time--and +thus to take what payment he could for all the blighted years that lay +behind him--this he felt would be something like revenge. + +Meanwhile the shock of surprise at the unlooked-for movement had +awakened again the man in Joseph. For a second even Hope knocked at +his heart. He was sinewy and active, and perchance he might yet make +Galliard repent that he had discarded his rapier. The knight's reason +for doing so he thought he had in Crispin's contemptuous words: + +"Good steel were too great an honour for you, Mr. Ashburn." + +And as he spoke, his lean, nervous fingers tightened about Joseph's +throat in a grip that crushed the breath from him, and with it the +new-born hope of proving master in his fresh combat. He had not reckoned +with this galley-weaned strength of Crispin's, a strength that was a +revelation to Joseph as he felt himself almost lifted from the ground, +and swung this way and that, like a babe in the hands of a grown man. +Vain were his struggles. His strength ebbed fast; the blood, held +overlong in his head, was already obscuring his vision, when at last the +grip relaxed, and his breathing was freed. As his sight cleared again +he found himself back in his chair at the table-head, and beside him Sir +Crispin, his left hand resting upon the board, his right grasping once +more the sword, and his eyes bent mockingly and evilly upon his victim. + +Kenneth, looking on, could not repress a shudder. He had known Crispin +for a tempestuous man quickly moved to wrath, and he had oftentimes seen +anger make terrible his face and glance. But never had he seen aught +in him to rival this present frenzy; it rendered satanical the baleful +glance of his eyes and the awful smile of hate and mockery with which he +gazed at last upon the helpless quarry that he had waited eighteen +years to bring to earth. "I would," said Crispin, in a harsh, deliberate +voice, "that you had a score of lives, Master Joseph. As it is I have +done what I could. Two agonies have you undergone already, and I am +inclined to mercy. The end is at hand. If you have prayers to say, say +them, Master Ashburn, though I doubt me it will be wasted breath--you +are over-ripe for hell." + +"You mean to kill me," he gasped, growing yet a shade more livid. + +"Does the suspicion of it but occur to you?" laughed Crispin, "and yet +twice already have I given you a foretaste of death. Think you I but +jested?" + +Joseph's teeth clicked together in a snap of determination. That sneer +of Crispin's acted upon him as a blow--but as a blow that arouses the +desire to retaliate rather than lays low. He braced himself for fresh +resistance; not of action, for that he realized was futile, but of +argument. + +"It is murder that you do," he cried. + +"No; it is justice. It has been long on the way, but it has come at +last." + +"Bethink you, Mr. Marleigh--" + +"Call me not by that name," cried the other harshly, fearfully. "I have +not borne it these eighteen years, and thanks to what you have made +me, it is not meet that I should bear it now." There was a pause. Then +Joseph spoke again with great calm and earnestness. + +"Bethink you, Sir Crispin, of what you are about to do. It can benefit +you in naught." + +"Oddslife, think you it cannot? Think you it will benefit me naught to +see you earn at last your reward?" + +"You may have dearly to pay for what at best must prove a fleeting +satisfaction." + +"Not a fleeting one, Joseph," he laughed. "But one the memory of which +shall send me rejoicing through what years or days of life be left me. A +satisfaction that for eighteen years I have been waiting to experience; +though the moment after it be mine find me stark and cold." + +"Sir Crispin, you are in enmity with the Parliament--an outlaw almost. I +have some influence much influence. By exerting it--" + +"Have done, sir!" cried Crispin angrily. "You talk in vain. What to +me is life, or aught that life can give? If I have so long endured the +burden of it, it has been so that I might draw from it this hour. Do you +think there is any bribe you could offer would turn me from my purpose?" + +A groan from Gregory, who was regaining consciousness, drew his +attention aside. + +"Truss him up, Kenneth," he commanded, pointing to the recumbent +figure. "How? Do you hesitate? Now, as God lives, I'll be obeyed; or you +shall have an unpleasant reminder of the oath you swore me!" + +With a look of loathing the lad dropped on his knees to do as he was +bidden. Then of a sudden: + +"I have not the means," he announced. + +"Fool, does he not wear a sword-belt and a sash? Come, attend to it!" + +"Why do you force me to do this?" the lad still protested passionately. +"You have tricked and cheated me, yet I have kept my oath and rendered +you the assistance you required. They are in your power now, can you not +do the rest yourself?" + +"On my soul, Master Stewart, I am over-patient with you! Are we to +wrangle at every step before you'll take it? I will have your assistance +through this matter as you swore to give it. Come, truss me that fellow, +and have done with words." + +His fierceness overthrew the boy's outburst of resistance. Kenneth had +wit enough to see that his mood was not one to brook much opposition, +and so, with an oath and a groan, he went to work to pinion Gregory. + +Then Joseph spoke again. "Weigh well this act of yours, Sir Crispin," +he cried. "You are still young; much of life lies yet before you. Do not +wantonly destroy it by an act that cannot repair the past." + +"But it can avenge it, Joseph. As for my life, you destroyed it years +ago. The future has naught to offer me; the present has this." And he +drew back his sword to strike. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN + + +A new terror leapt into Joseph's eyes at that movement of Crispin's, +and for the third time that night did he taste the agony that is Death's +forerunner. Yet Galliard delayed the stroke. He held his sword poised, +the point aimed at Joseph's breast, and holding, he watched him, marking +each phase of the terror reflected upon his livid countenance. He was +loth to strike, for to strike would mean to end this exquisite torture +of horror to which he was subjecting him. + +Broken Joseph had been before and passive; now of a sudden he grew +violent again, but in a different way. He flung himself upon his knees +before Sir Crispin, and passionately he pleaded for the sparing of his +miserable life. + +Crispin looked on with an eye both of scorn and of cold relish. It was +thus he wished to see him, broken and agonized, suffering thus something +of all that which he himself had suffered through despair in the years +that were sped. With satisfaction then he watched his victim's agony; +he watched it too with scorn and some loathing--for a craven was in his +eyes an ugly sight, and Joseph in that moment was truly become as vile a +coward as ever man beheld. His parchment-like face was grey and mottled, +his brow bedewed with sweat; his lips were blue and quivering, his eyes +bloodshot and almost threatening tears. + +In the silence of one who waits stood Crispin, listening, calm and +unmoved, as though he heard not, until Joseph's whining prayers +culminated in an offer to make reparation. Then Crispin broke in at +length with an impatient gesture. + +"What reparation can you make, you murderer? Can you restore to me the +wife and child you butchered eighteen years ago?" + +"I can restore your child at least," returned the other. "I can and will +restore him to you if you but stay your hand. That and much more will I +do to repair the past." + +Unconsciously Crispin lowered his sword-arm, and for a full minute he +stood and stared at Joseph. His jaw was fallen and the grim firmness all +gone from his face, and replaced by amazement, then unbelief followed +by inquiry; then unbelief again. The pallor of his cheeks seemed to +intensify. At last, however, he broke into a hard laugh. + +"What lie is this you offer me? Zounds, man, are you not afraid?" + +"It is no lie," Joseph cried, in accents so earnest that some of the +unbelief passed again from Galliard's face. "It is the truth-God's +truth. Your son lives." + +"Hell-hound, it is a lie! On that fell night, as I swooned under +your cowardly thrust, I heard you calling to your brother to slit the +squalling bastard's throat. Those were your very words, Master Joseph." + +"I own I bade him do it, but I was not obeyed. He swore we should give +the babe a chance of life. It should never know whose son it was, he +said, and I agreed. We took the boy away. He has lived and thrived." + +The knight sank on to a chair as though bereft of strength. He sought to +think, but thinking coherently he could not. At last: + +"How shall I know that you are not lying? What proof can you advance?" +he demanded hoarsely. + +"I swear that what I have told you is true. I swear it by the cross +of our Redeemer!" he protested, with a solemnity that was not without +effect upon Crispin. Nevertheless, he sneered. + +"I ask for proofs, man, not oaths. What proofs can you afford me?" + +"There are the man and the woman whom the lad was reared by." + +"And where shall I find them?" + +Joseph opened his lips to answer, then closed them again. In his +eagerness he had almost parted with the information which he now +proposed to make the price of his life. He regained confidence at +Crispin's tone and questions, gathering from both that the knight was +willing to believe if proof were set before him. He rose to his feet, +and when next he spoke his voice had won back much of its habitual calm +deliberateness. + +"That," said he, "I will tell you when you have promised to go hence, +leaving Gregory and me unharmed. I will supply you with what money you +may need, and I will give you a letter to those people, so couched +that what they tell you by virtue of it shall be a corroboration of my +words." + +His elbow resting upon the table, and his hand to his brow so that it +shaded his eyes, sat Crispin long in thought, swayed by emotions and +doubts, the like of which he had never yet known in the whole of his +chequered life. Was Joseph lying to him? + +That was the question that repeatedly arose, and oddly enough, for all +his mistrust of the man, he was inclined to account true the ring of his +words. Joseph watched him with much anxiety and some hope. + +At length Crispin withdrew his hands from eyes that were grown haggard, +and rose. + +"Let us see the letter that you will write," said he. "There you have +pen, ink, and paper. Write." + +"You promise?" asked Joseph. + +"I will tell you when you have written." + +In a hand that shook somewhat, Joseph wrote a few lines, then handed +Crispin the sheet, whereon he read: + +The bearer of this is Sir Crispin Galliard, who is intimately interested +in the matter that lies betwixt us, and whom I pray you answer fully and +accurately the questions he may put you in that connexion. + +"I understand," said Crispin slowly. "Yes, it will serve. Now the +superscription." And he returned the paper. + +Ashburn was himself again by now. He realized the advantage he had +gained, and he would not easily relinquish it. + +"I shall add the superscription," said he calmly, "when you swear to +depart without further molesting us." + +Crispin paused a moment, weighing the position well in his mind. If +Joseph lied to him now, he would find means to return, he told himself, +and so he took the oath demanded. + +Joseph dipped his pen, and paused meditatively to watch a drop of ink, +wherewith it was overladen, fall back into the horn. The briefest of +pauses was it, yet it was not the accident it appeared to be. Hitherto +Joseph had been as sincere as he had been earnest, intent alone upon +saving his life at all costs, and forgetting in his fear of the present +the dangers that the future might hold for him were Crispin Galliard +still at large. But in that second of dipping his quill, assured that +the peril of the moment was overcome, and that Crispin would go forth as +he said, the devil whispered in his ear a cunning and vile suggestion. +As he watched the drop of ink roll from his pen-point, he remembered +that in London there dwelt at the sign of the Anchor, in Thames Street, +one Colonel Pride, whose son this Galliard had slain, and who, did he +once lay hands upon him, was not like to let him go again. In a second +was the thought conceived and the determination taken, and as he folded +the letter and set upon it the superscription, Joseph felt that he could +have cried out in his exultation at the cunning manner in which he was +outwitting his enemy. + +Crispin took the package, and read thereon: + +This is to Mr. Henry Lane, at the sign of the Anchor, Thames Street, +London. + +The name was a fictitious one--one that Joseph had set down upon the +spur of the moment, his intention being to send a messenger that should +outstrip Sir Crispin, and warn Colonel Pride of his coming. + +"It is well," was Crispin's only comment. He, too, was grown calm again +and fully master of himself. He placed the letter carefully within the +breast of his doublet. + +"If you have lied to me, if this is but a shift to win your miserable +life, rest assured, Master Ashburn, that you have but put off the day +for a very little while." + +It was on Joseph's lips to answer that none of us are immortal, but +he bethought him that the pleasantry might be ill-timed, and bowed in +silence. + +Galliard took his hat and cloak from the chair on which he had placed +them upon descending that evening. Then he turned again to Joseph. + +"You spoke of money a moment ago," he said, in the tones of one +demanding what is his own the tones of a gentleman speaking to his +steward. "I will take two hundred Caroluses. More I cannot carry in +comfort." + +Joseph gasped at the amount. For a second it even entered his mind to +resist the demand. Then he remembered that there was a brace of pistols +in his study; if he could get those he would settle matters there and +then without the aid of Colonel Pride. + +"I will fetch the money," said he, betraying his purpose by his +alacrity. + +"By your leave, Master Ashburn, I will come with you." + +Joseph's eyes flashed him a quick look of baffled hate. + +"As you will," said he, with an ill grace. + +As they passed out, Crispin turned to Kenneth. + +"Remember, sir, you are still in my service. See that you keep good +watch." + +Kenneth bent his head without replying. But Master Gregory required +little watching. He lay a helpless, half-swooning heap upon the floor, +which he had smeared with the blood oozing from his wounded shoulder. +Even were he untrussed, there was little to be feared from him. + +During the brief while they were alone together, Kenneth did not so much +as attempt to speak to him. He sat himself down upon the nearest chair, +and with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees he pondered +over the miserable predicament into which Sir Crispin had got him, and +more bitter than ever it had been was his enmity at that moment towards +the knight. That Galliard should be upon the eve of finding his son, and +a sequel to the story he had heard from him that night in Worcester, +was to Kenneth a thing of no interest or moment. Galliard had ruined him +with these Ashburns. He could never now hope to win the hand of Cynthia, +to achieve which he had been willing to turn both fool and knave--aye, +had turned both. There was naught left him but to return him to the +paltry Scottish estate of his fathers, there to meet the sneers of those +who no doubt had heard that he was gone South to marry a great English +heiress. + +That at such a season he could think of this but serves to prove the +shallow nature of his feelings. A love was his that had gain and +vanity for its foundation--in fact, it was no love at all. For what he +accounted love for Cynthia was but the love of himself, which through +Cynthia he sought to indulge. + +He cursed the ill-luck that had brought Crispin into his life. He cursed +Crispin for the evil he had suffered from him, forgetting that but for +Crispin he would have been carrion a month ago and more. + +Deep at his bitter musings was he when the door opened again to admit +Joseph, followed by Galliard. The knight came across the hall and +stooped to look at Gregory. + +"You may untruss him, Kenneth, when I am gone," said he. "And in a +quarter of an hour from now you are released from your oath to me. Fare +you well," he added with unusual gentleness, and turning a glance that +was almost regretful upon the lad. "We are not like to meet again, but +should we, I trust it may be in happier times. If I have harmed you in +this business, remember that my need was great. Fare you well." And he +held out his hand. + +"Take yourself to hell, sir!" answered Kenneth, turning his back upon +him. The ghost of an evil smile played round Joseph Ashburn's lips as he +watched them. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT + + +So soon as Sir Crispin had taken his departure, and whilst yet the beat +of his horse's hoofs was to be distinguished above the driving storm of +rain and wind without, Joseph hastened across the hall to the servants' +quarters. There he found his four grooms slumbering deeply, their faces +white and clammy, and their limbs twisted into odd, helpless attitudes. +Vainly did he rain down upon them kicks and curses; arouse them he could +not from the stupor in whose thrall they lay. + +And so, seizing a lanthorn, he passed out to the stables, whence Crispin +had lately taken his best nag, and with his own hands he saddled a +horse. His lips were screwed into a curious smile--a smile that still +lingered upon them when presently he retraced his steps to the room +where his brother sat with Kenneth. + +In his absence the lad had dressed Gregory's wound; he had induced him +to take a little wine, and had set him upon a chair, in which he now lay +back, white and exhausted. + +"The quarter of an hour is passed, sir," said Joseph coldly, as he +entered. + +Kenneth made no sign that he heard. He sat on like a man in a dream. His +eyes that saw nothing were bent upon Gregory's pale, flabby face. + +"The quarter of an hour is passed, sir," Joseph repeated in a louder +voice. + +Kenneth looked up, then rose and sighed, passing his hand wearily across +his forehead. + +"I understand, sir," he replied in a low voice. "You mean that I must +go?" + +Joseph waited a moment before replying. Then: + +"It is past midnight," he said slowly, "and the weather is wild. You may +lie here until morning, if you are so minded. But go you must then," +he added sternly. "I need scarce say, sir, that you must have no speech +with Mistress Cynthia, nor that never again must you set foot within +Castle Marleigh." + +"I understand, sir; I understand. But you deal hardly with me." + +Joseph raised his eyebrows in questioning surprise. + +"I was the victim of my oath, given when I knew not against whom my hand +was to be lifted. Oh, sir, am I to suffer all my life for a fault that +was not my own? You, Master Gregory," he cried, turning passionately to +Cynthia's father, "you are perchance more merciful? You understand my +position--how I was forced into it." + +Gregory opened his heavy eyes. + +"A plague on you, Master Stewart," he groaned. "I understand that you +have given me a wound that will take a month to heal." + +"It was an accident, sir. I swear it was an accident!" + +"To swear this and that appears to be your chief diversion in life," +growled Gregory for answer. "You had best go; we are not likely to +listen to excuses." + +"Did you rather suggest a remedy," Joseph put in quietly, "we might hear +you." + +Kenneth swung round and faced him, hope brightening his eyes. + +"What remedy is there? How can I undo what I have done? Show me but the +way, and I'll follow it, no matter where it leads!" + +Such protestations had Joseph looked to hear, and he was hard put to +it to dissemble his satisfaction. For a while he was silent, making +pretence to ponder. At length: + +"Kenneth," he said, "you may in some measure repair the evil you have +done, and if you are ready to undergo some slight discomfort, I shall be +willing on my side to forget this night." + +"Tell me how, sir, and whatever the cost I will perform it!" + +He gave no thought to the fact that Crispin's grievance against the +Ashburns was well-founded; that they had wrecked his life even as they +had sought to destroy it; even as eighteen years ago they had destroyed +his wife's. His only thought was Cynthia; his only wish was to possess +her. Besides that, justice and honour itself were of small account. + +"It is but a slight matter," answered Joseph. "A matter that I might +entrust to one of my grooms." + +That whilst his grooms lay drugged the matter was so pressing that his +messenger must set out that very night, Joseph did not think of adding. + +"I would, sir," answered the boy, "that the task were great and +difficult." + +"Yes, yes," answered Joseph with biting sarcasm, "we are acquainted with +both your courage and your resource." He sat silent and thoughtful for +some moments, then with a sudden sharp glance at the lad: + +"You shall have this chance of setting yourself right with us," he said. +Then abruptly he added. + +"Go make ready for a journey. You must set out within the hour for +London. Take what you may require and arm yourself; then return to me +here." + +Gregory, who, despite his sluggish wits, divined--partly, at least--what +was afoot, made shift to speak. But his brother silenced him with a +glance. + +"Go," Joseph said to the boy. And, without comment, Kenneth rose and +left them. + +"What would you do?" asked Gregory when the door had closed. + +"Make doubly sure of that ruffian," answered Joseph coldly. "Colonel +Pride might be absent when he arrives, and he might learn that none +of the name of Lane dwells at the Anchor in Thames Street. It would be +fatal to awaken his suspicions and bring him back to us." + +"But surely Richard or Stephen might carry your errand?" + +"They might were they not so drugged that they cannot be aroused. I +might even go myself, but it is better so." He laughed softly. "There is +even comedy in it. Kenneth shall outride our bloodthirsty knight to warn +Pride of his coming, and when he comes he will walk into the hands of +the hangman. It will be a surprise for him. For the rest I shall keep +my promise concerning his son. He shall have news of him from Pride--but +when too late to be of service." + +Gregory shuddered. + +"Fore God, Joseph, 'tis a foul thing you do," he cried. "Sooner would I +never set eyes on the lad again. Let him go his ways as you intended." + +"I never did intend it. What trustier messenger could I find now that +I have lent him zest by fright? To win Cynthia, we may rely upon him +safely to do that in which another might fail." + +"Joseph, you will roast in hell for it." + +Joseph laughed him to scorn. + +"To bed with you, you canting hypocrite; your wound makes you +light-headed." + +It was a half-hour ere Kenneth returned, booted, cloaked, and ready for +his journey. He found Joseph alone, busily writing, and in obedience to +a sign he sat him down to wait. + +A few minutes passed, then, with a final scratch and splutter Joseph +flung down his pen. With the sandbox tilted in the air, like a dicer +about to make his throw, he looked at the lad. + +"You will spare neither whip nor spur until you arrive in London, Master +Kenneth. You must ride night and day; the matter is of the greatest +urgency." + +Kenneth nodded that he understood, and Joseph sprinkled the sand over +the written page. + +"I know not when you should reach London so that you may be in time, +but," he continued, and as he spoke he creased the paper and poured +the superfluous sand back into the box, "I should say that by midnight +to-morrow your message should be delivered. Aye," he continued, in +answer to the lad's gasp of surprise, "it is hard riding, I know, but +if you would win Cynthia you must do it. Spare neither money nor +horseflesh, and keep to the saddle until you are in Thames Street." + +He folded the letter, sealed it, and wrote the superscription: "This to +Colonel Pride, at the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street." + +He rose and handed the package to Kenneth, to whom the superscription +meant nothing, since he had not seen that borne by the letter which +Crispin had received. + +"You will deliver this intact, and with your own hands, to Colonel Pride +in person--none other. Should he be absent from Thames Street upon your +arrival, seek him out instantly, wherever he may be, and give him this. +Upon your faithful observance of these conditions remember that your +future depends. If you are in time, as indeed I trust and think you will +be, you may account yourself Cynthia's husband. Fail and--well, you need +not return here." + +"I shall not fail, sir," cried Kenneth. "What man can do to accomplish +the journey within twenty-four hours, I will do." + +He would have stopped to thank Joseph for the signal favour of this +chance of rehabilitation, but Joseph cut him short. + +"Take this purse," he cried impatiently. "You will find a horse ready +saddled in the stables. Ride it hard. It will bear you to Norton at +least. There get you a fresh one, and when that is done, another. Now be +off." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY + + +When the Tavern Knight left the gates of Marleigh Park behind him on +that wild October night, he drove deep the rowels of his spurs, and set +his horse at a perilous gallop along the road to Norwich. The action was +of instinct rather than of thought. In the turbulent sea of his mind, +one clear current there was, and one only--the knowledge that he was +bound for London for news of this son of his whom Joseph told him lived. +He paused not even to speculate what manner of man his child was grown, +nor yet what walk of life he had been reared to tread. He lived: he was +somewhere in the world; that for the time sufficed him. The Ashburns +had not, it seemed, destroyed quite everything that made his life worth +enduring--the life that so often and so wantonly he had exposed. + +His son lived, and in London he should have news of him. To London then +must he get himself with all dispatch, and he swore to take no rest +until he reached it. And with that firm resolve to urge him, he ploughed +his horse's flanks, and sped on through the night. The rain beat in +his face, yet he scarce remarked it, as again more by instinct than by +reason--he buried his face to the eyes in the folds of his cloak. + +Later the rain ceased, and clearer grew the line of light betwixt the +hedgerows, by which his horse had steered its desperate career. Fitfully +a crescent moon peered out from among the wind-driven clouds. The poor +ruffler was fallen into meditation, and noted not that his nag did no +more than amble. He roused himself of a sudden when half-way down +a gentle slope some five miles from Norwich, and out of temper at +discovering the sluggishness of the pace, he again gave the horse a +taste of the spurs. The action was fatal. The incline was become a bed +of sodden clay, and he had not noticed with what misgivings his horse +pursued the treacherous footing. The sting of the spur made the animal +bound forward, and the next instant a raucous oath broke from Crispin +as the nag floundered and dropped on its knees. Like a stone from a +catapult Galliard flew over its head and rolled down the few remaining +yards of the slope into a very lake of slimy water at the bottom. + +Down this same hill, some twenty minutes later, came Kenneth Stewart +with infinite precaution. He was in haste--a haste more desperate +far than even Crispin's. But his character held none of Galliard's +recklessness, nor were his wits fogged by such news as Crispin had heard +that night. He realized that to be swift he must be cautious in his +night-riding. And so, carefully he came, with a firm hand on the reins, +yet leaving it to his horse to find safe footing. + +He had reached the level ground in safety, and was about to put his nag +to a smarter pace, when of a sudden from the darkness of the hedge he +was hailed by a harsh, metallic voice, the sound of which sent a tremor +through him. + +"Sir, you are choicely met, whoever you may be. I have suffered a +mischance down that cursed hill, and my horse has gone lame." + +Kenneth kept his cloak over his mouth, trusting that the muffling would +sufficiently disguise his accents as he made answer. + +"I am in haste, my master. What is your will?" + +"Why, marry, so am I in haste. My will is your horse, sir. Oh, I'm no +robber. I'll pay you for it, and handsomely. But have it I must. 'Twill +be no great discomfort for you to walk to Norwich. You may do it in an +hour." + +"My horse, sir, is not for sale," was Kenneth's brief answer. "Give you +good night." + +"Hold, man! Blood and hell, stop! If you'll not sell the worthless beast +to serve a gentleman, I'll shoot it under you. Make your choice." + +Kenneth caught the gleam of a pistol-barrel pointed at him from the +hedge, and he shivered. What was he to do? Every instant was precious to +him. As in a flash it came to him that perchance Sir Crispin also rode +to London, and that it was expected of him to arrive there first if he +were to be in time. Swiftly he weighed the odds in his mind, and took +the determination to dash past Sir Crispin, risking his aim and trusting +to the dark to befriend him. + +But even as he determined thus, what moon there was became unveiled, and +the light of it fell upon his face, which was turned towards Galliard. +An exclamation of surprise escaped Sir Crispin. + +"'Slife, Master Stewart, I knew not your voice. Whither do you ride?" + +"What is it to you? Have you not wrought enough of evil for me? Am I +never to be rid of you? Castle Marleigh," he added, with well-feigned +anger, "has closed its doors upon me. What does it signify to you +whither I ride? Suffer me leastways to pass unmolested, and to leave +you." + +Kenneth's passionate reproaches cut Galliard keenly. He held himself at +that moment a very knave for having dragged this boy into his work of +vengeance, and thereby cast a blight upon his life. He sought for words +wherein to give expression to something of what he felt, then realizing +how futile and effete all words must prove, he waved his hand in the +direction of the road. + +"Go, Master Stewart," he muttered. "Your way is clear." + +And Kenneth, waiting for no second invitation, rode on and left him. He +rode with gratitude in his heart to the Providence that had caused him +so easily to overcome an obstacle that at first he had held impassable. +Stronger grew in his mind the conviction that to fulfil the mission +Joseph required of him, he must reach London before Sir Crispin. The +knowledge that he was ahead of him, and that he must derive an ample +start from Galliard's mishap, warmed him like wine. + +His mind thus relieved from its weight of anxiety, he little recked +fatigue, and such excellent use did he make of his horse that he reached +Newmarket on it an hour before the morrow's moon. + +An hour he rested there, and broke his fast. Then on a fresh horse--a +powerful and willing animal he set out once more. + +By half-past two he was at Newport. But so hard had he ridden that man +and beast alike were in a lather of sweat, and whilst he himself felt +sick and tired, the horse was utterly unfit to bear him farther. For +half an hour he rested there, and made a meal whose chief constituent +was brandy. Then on a third horse he started upon the last stage of his +journey. + +The wind was damp and penetrating; the roads veritable morasses of mud, +and overhead gloomy banks of dark, grey clouds moved sluggishly, the +light that was filtered through them giving the landscape a bleak and +dreary aspect. In his jaded condition Kenneth soon became a prey to the +depression of it. His lightness of heart of some dozen hours ago was +now all gone, and not even the knowledge that his mission was well-nigh +accomplished sufficed to cheer him. To add to his discomfort a fine +rain set in towards four o'clock, and when a couple of hours later he +clattered along the road cut through a wooded slope in the direction of +Waltham, he was become a very limp and lifeless individual. + +He noticed not the horsemen moving cautiously among the closely-set +trees on either side of the road. It was growing prematurely dark, and +objects were none too distinct. And thus it befell that when from the +reverie of dejection into which he had fallen he was suddenly aroused by +the thud of hoofs, he looked up to find two mounted men barring the road +some ten yards in front of him. Their attitude was unmistakable, and it +crossed poor Kenneth's mind that he was beset by robbers. But a second +glance showed him their red cloaks and military steel caps, and he knew +them for soldiers of the Commonwealth. + +Hearing the beat of hoofs behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see +four other troopers closing rapidly down upon him. Clearly he was the +object of their attention. He had been a fool not to have perceived this +earlier, and his heart misgave him, for all that had he paused to think +he must have realized that he had naught to fear, and that in this some +mistake must lie. + +"Halt!" thundered the deep voice of the sergeant, who, with a trooper, +held the road in front. + +Kenneth drew up within a yard of them, conscious that the man's dark +eyes were scanning him sharply from beneath his morion. + +"Who are you, sir?" the bass voice demanded. + +Alas for the vanity of poor human mites! Even Kenneth, who never yet had +achieved aught for the cause he served, grew of a sudden chill to think +that perchance this sergeant might recognize his name for one that he +had heard before associated with deeds performed on the King's behalf. + +For a second he hesitated; then: + +"Blount," he stammered, "Jasper Blount." + +He little thought how that fruit of his vanity was to prove his undoing +thereafter. + +"Verily," sneered the sergeant, "it almost seemed you had forgotten it." +And from that sneer Kenneth gathered with fresh dread that the fellow +mistrusted him. + +"Whence are you, Master Blount?" + +Again Kenneth hesitated. Then recalling Ashburn's high favour with the +Parliament, and seeing that it could but advance his cause to state the +true sum of his journey: + +"From Castle Marleigh," he replied. + +"Verily, sir, you seem yet in some doubt. Whither do you go?" + +"To London." + +"On what errand?" The sergeant's questions fell swift as sword-strokes. + +"With letters for Colonel Pride." + +The reply, delivered more boldly than Kenneth had spoken hitherto, was +not without its effect. + +"From whom are these letters?" + +"From Mr. Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh." + +"Produce them." + +With trembling fingers Kenneth complied. This the sergeant observed as +he took the package. + +"What ails you, man?" quoth he. + +"Naught, sir 'tis the cold." + +The sergeant scanned the package and its seal. In a measure it was a +passport, and he was forced to the conclusion that this man was indeed +the messenger he represented himself. Certainly he had not the air nor +the bearing of him for whom they waited, nor did the sergeant think that +their quarry would have armed himself with a dummy package against such +a strait. And yet the sergeant was not master after all, and did he let +this fellow pursue his journey, he might reap trouble for it hereafter; +whilst likewise if he detained him, Colonel Pride, he knew, was not an +over-patient man. He was still debating what course to take, and had +turned to his companion with the muttered question: "What think you, +Peter?" when by his precipitancy Kenneth ruined his slender chance of +being permitted to depart. + +"I pray you, sir, now that you know my errand, suffer me to pass on." + +There was an eager tremor in his voice that the sergeant mistook for +fear. He noted it, and remembering the boy's hesitancy in answering his +earlier questions, he decided upon his course of action. + +"We shall not delay your journey, sir," he answered, eyeing Kenneth +sharply, "and as your way must lie through Waltham, I will but ask you +to suffer us to ride with you thus far, so that there you may answer any +questions our captain may have to ask ere you proceed." + +"But, sir--" + +"No more, master courier," snarled the sergeant. Then, beckoning a +trooper to his side, he whispered an order in his ear. + +As the man withdrew they wheeled their horses, and at a sharp word +of command Kenneth rode on towards Waltham between the sergeant and a +trooper. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE CONVERTED HOGAN + + +Night black and impenetrable had set in ere Kenneth and his escort +clattered over the greasy stones of Waltham's High Street, and drew up +in front of the Crusader Inn. + +The door stood wide and hospitable, and a warm shaft of light fell from +it and set a glitter upon the wet street. Avoiding the common-room, the +sergeant led Kenneth through the inn-yard, and into the hostelry by a +side entrance. He urged the youth along a dimly-lighted passage. On a +door at the end of this he knocked, then, lifting the latch, he ushered +Kenneth into a roomy, oak-panelled chamber. + +At the far end a huge fire burnt cheerfully, and with his back to it, +his feet planted wide apart upon the hearth, stood a powerfully built +man of medium height, whose youthful face and uprightness of carriage +assorted ill with the grey of his hair, pronouncing that greyness +premature. He seemed all clad in leather, for where his jerkin stopped +his boots began. A cuirass and feathered headpiece lay in a corner, +whilst on the table Kenneth espied a broad-brimmed hat, a huge sword, +and a brace of pistols. + +As the boy's eyes came back to the burly figure on the hearth, he was +puzzled by a familiar, intangible something in the fellow's face. + +He was racking his mind to recall where last he had seen it, when with +slightly elevated eyebrows and a look of recognition in his somewhat +prominent blue eyes. + +"Soul of my body," exclaimed the man in surprise, "Master Stewart, as I +live." + +"Stuart!" cried both sergeant and trooper in a gasp, starting forward to +scan their prisoner's face. + +At that the burly captain broke into a laugh. + +"Not the young man Charles Stuart," said he; "no, no. Your captive is +none so precious. It is only Master Kenneth Stewart, of Bailienochy." + +"Then it is not even our man," grumbled the soldier. + +"But Stewart is not the name he gave," cried the sergeant. "Jasper +Blount he told me he was called. It seems that after all we have +captured a malignant, and that I was well advised to bring him to you." + +The captain made a gesture of disdain. In that moment Kenneth recognized +him. He was Harry Hogan--the man whose life Galliard had saved in +Penrith. + +"Bah, a worthless capture, Beddoes," he said. + +"I know not that," retorted the sergeant. "He carries papers which he +states are from Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh, to Colonel +Pride. Colonel Pride's name is on the package, but may not that be a +subterfuge? Why else did he say he was called Blount?" + +Hogan's brows were of a sudden knit. + +"Faith, Beddoes, you are right. Remove his sword and search him." + +Calmly Kenneth suffered them to carry out this order. Inwardly he boiled +at the delay, and cursed himself for having so needlessly given the +name of Blount. But for that, it was likely Hogan would have straightway +dismissed him. He cheered himself with the thought that after all they +would not long detain him. Their search made, and finding nothing upon +him but Ashburn's letter, surely they would release him. + +But their search was very thorough. They drew off his boots, and +well-nigh stripped him naked, submitting each article of his apparel to +a careful examination. At length it was over, and Hogan held Ashburn's +package, turning it over in his hands with a thoughtful expression. + +"Surely, sir, you will now allow me to proceed," cried Kenneth. "I +assure you the matter is of the greatest urgency, and unless I am in +London by midnight I shall be too late." + +"Too late for what?" asked Hogan. + +"I--I don't know." + +"Oh?" The Irishman laughed unpleasantly. Colonel Pride and he were +on anything but the best of terms. The colonel knew him for a godless +soldier of fortune bound to the Parliament's cause by no interest beyond +that of gain; and, himself a zealot, Colonel Pride had with distasteful +frequency shown Hogan the quality of his feelings towards him. That +Hogan was not afraid of him, was because it was not in Hogan's nature to +be afraid of anyone. But he realized at least that he had cause to be, +and at the present moment it occurred to him that it would be passing +sweet to find a flaw in the old Puritan's armour. If the package were +harmless his having opened it was still a matter that the discharge of +his duty would sanction. Thus he reasoned; and he resolved to break the +seal and make himself master of the contents of that letter. + +Hogan's unpleasant laugh startled Kenneth. It suggested to him that +perhaps, after all, his delay was by no means at an end; that Hogan +suspected him of something--he could not think of what. + +Then in a flash an idea came to him. + +"May I speak to you privately for a moment, Captain Hogan?" he inquired +in such a tone of importance--imperiousness, almost--that the Irishman +was impressed by it. He scented disclosure. + +"Faith, you may if you have aught to tell me," and he signed to Beddoes +and his companion to withdraw. + +"Now, Master Hogan," Kenneth began resolutely as soon as they were +alone, "I ask you to let me go my way unmolested. Too long already has +the stupidity of your followers detained me here unjustly. That I reach +London by midnight is to me a matter of the gravest moment, and you +shall let me." + +"Soul of my body, Mr. Stewart, what a spirit you have acquired since +last we met." + +"In your place I should leave our last meeting unmentioned, master +turncoat." + +The Irishman's eyebrows shot up. + +"By the Mass, young cockerel, I mislike your tone--" + +"You'll have cause to dislike it more if you detain me." He was +desperate now. "What would your saintly, crop-eared friends say if they +knew as much of your past history as I do?" + +"Tis a matter for conjecture," said Hogan, humouring him. + +"How think you would they welcome the story of the roystering rake and +debauchee who deserted the army of King Charles because they were about +to hang him for murder?" + +"Ah! how, indeed?" sighed Hogan. + +"What manner of reputation, think you, that for a captain of the godly +army of the Commonwealth?" + +"A vile one, truly," murmured Hogan with humility. + +"And now, Mr. Hogan," he wound up loftily, "you had best return me that +package, and be rid of me before I sow mischief enough to bring you a +crop of hemp." + +Hogan stared at the lad's flushed face with a look of whimsical +astonishment, and for a brief spell there was silence between them. +Slowly then, with his eyes still fixed upon Kenneth's, the captain +unsheathed a dagger. The boy drew back, with a sudden cry of alarm. +Hogan vented a horse-laugh, and ran the blade under the seal of +Ashburn's letter. + +"Be not afraid, my man of threats," he said pleasantly. "I have no +thought of hurting you--leastways, not yet." He paused in the act of +breaking the seal. "Lest you should treasure uncomfortable delusions, +dear Master Stewart, let me remind you that I am an Irishman--not a +fool. Do you conceive my fame to be so narrow a thing that when I left +the beggarly army of King Charles for that of the Commonwealth, I did +not realize how at any moment I might come face to face with someone who +had heard of my old exploits, and would denounce me? You do not find me +masquerading under an assumed name. I am here, sir, as Harry Hogan, a +sometime dissolute follower of the Egyptian Pharaoh, Charles Stuart; +an erstwhile besotted, blinded soldier in the army of the Amalekite, +a whilom erring malignant, but converted by a crowning mercy into +a zealous, faithful servant of Israel. There were vouchsafings and +upliftings, and the devil knows what else, when this stray lamb was +gathered to the fold." + +He uttered the words with a nasal intonation, and a whimsical look at +Kenneth. + +"Now, Mr. Stewart, tell them what you will, and they will tell you yet +more in return, to show you how signally the light of grace hath been +shed over me." + +He laughed again, and broke the seal. Kenneth, crestfallen and abashed, +watched him, without attempting further interference. Of what avail? + +"You had been better advised, young sir, had you been less hasty and +anxious. It is a fatal fault of youth's, and one of which nothing but +time--if, indeed, you live--will cure you. Your anxiety touching this +package determines me to open it." + +Kenneth sneered at the man's conclusions, and, shrugging his shoulders, +turned slightly aside. + +"Perchance, master wiseacres, when you have read it, you will appreciate +how egotism may also lead men into fatal errors. Haply, too, you will be +able to afford Colonel Pride some satisfactory reason for tampering with +his correspondence." + +But Hogan heard him not. He had unfolded the letter, and at the first +words he beheld, a frown contracted his brows. As he read on the frown +deepened, and when he had done, an oath broke from his lips. "God's +life!" he cried, then again was silent, and so stood a moment with bent +head. At last he raised his eyes, and let them rest long and searchingly +upon Kenneth, who now observed him in alarm. + +"What--what is it?" the lad asked, with hesitancy. + +But Hogan never answered. He strode past him to the door, and flung it +wide. + +"Beddoes!" he called. A step sounded in the passage, and the sergeant +appeared. "Have you a trooper there?" + +"There is Peter, who rode with me." + +"Let him look to this fellow. Tell him to set him under lock and bolt +here in the inn until I shall want him, and tell him that he shall +answer for him with his neck." + +Kenneth drew back in alarm. + +"Sir--Captain Hogan--will you explain?" + +"Marry, you shall have explanations to spare before morning, else I'm +a fool. But have no fear, for we intend you no hurt," he added more +softly. "Take him away, Beddoes; then return to me here." + +When Beddoes came back from consigning Kenneth into the hands of his +trooper, he found Hogan seated in the leathern arm-chair, with Ashburn's +letter spread before him on the table. + +"I was right in my suspicions, eh?" ventured Beddoes complacently. + +"You were more than right, Beddoes, you were Heaven-inspired. It is no +State matter that you have chanced upon, but one that touches a man in +whom I am interested very nearly." + +The sergeant's eyes were full of questions, but Hogan enlightened him no +further. + +"You will ride back to your post at once, Beddoes," he commanded. +"Should Lord Oriel fall into your hands, as we hope, you will send him +to me. But you will continue to patrol the road, and demand the business +of all comers. I wish one Crispin Galliard, who should pass this way ere +long, detained, and brought to me. He is a tall, lank man--" + +"I know him, sir," Beddoes interrupted. "The Tavern Knight they called +him in the malignant army--a rakehelly, dissolute brawler. I saw him in +Worcester when he was taken after the fight." + +Hogan frowned. The righteous Beddoes knew overmuch. "That is the man," +he answered calmly. "Go now, and see that he does not ride past you. I +have great and urgent need of him." + +Beddoes' eyes were opened in surprise. + +"He is possessed of valuable information," Hogan explained. "Away with +you, man." + +When alone, Harry Hogan turned his arm-chair sideways towards the fire. +Then, filling himself a pipe--for in his foreign campaigning he had +acquired the habit of tobacco-smoking--he stretched his sinewy legs +across a second chair, and composed himself for meditation. An hour went +by; the host looked in to see if the captain required anything. Another +hour sped on, and the captain dozed. + +He awoke with a start. The fire had burned low, and the hands of the +huge clock in the corner pointed to midnight. From the passage came to +him the sound of steps and angry voices. + +Before Hogan could rise, the door was flung wide, and a tall, gaunt man +was hustled across the threshold by two soldiers. His head was bare, +and his hair wet and dishevelled. His doublet was torn and his shoulder +bleeding, whilst his empty scabbard hung like a lambent tail behind him. + +"We have brought him, captain," one of the men announced. + +"Aye, you crop-eared, psalm-whining cuckolds, you've brought me, d--n +you," growled Sir Crispin, whose eyes rolled fiercely. + +As his angry glance lighted upon Hogan's impressive face, he abruptly +stemmed the flow of invective that rushed to his lips. + +The Irishman rose, and looked past him at the troopers. "Leave us," he +commanded shortly. + +He remained standing by the hearth until the footsteps of his men had +died away, then he crossed the chamber, passed Crispin without a word, +and quietly locked the door. That done, he turned a friendly smile on +his tanned face--and holding out his hand: + +"At last, Cris, it is mine to thank you and to repay you in some measure +for the service you rendered me that night at Penrith." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE + + +In bewilderment Crispin took the outstretched hand of his old +fellow-roysterer. + +"Oddslife," he growled, "if to have me waylaid, dragged from my horse +and wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be your manner of +expressing gratitude, I'd as lief you had let me go unthanked." + +"And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another hour is +sped. Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle of strong waters +yonder--" + +Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the black jack +and poured half a glass of its contents, which he handed Crispin. + +"Drink, man," he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath, obeyed him. + +Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's back, +pushed a chair over to the table, and bade him sit. Again, nothing +loath, Crispin did as he was bidden. He was stiff from long riding, and +so with a sigh of satisfaction he settled himself down and stretched out +his long legs. + +Hogan slowly took the seat opposite to him, and coughed. He was at a +loss how to open the parlous subject, how to communicate to Crispin the +amazing news upon which he had stumbled. + +"Slife' Hogan," laughed Crispin dreamily, "I little thought it was to +you those crop-ears carried me with such violence. I little thought, +indeed, ever to see you again. But you have prospered, you knave, since +that night you left Penrith." + +And he turned his head the better to survey the Irishman. + +"Aye, I have prospered," Hogan assented. "My life is a sort of parable +of the fatted son and the prodigal calf. They tell me there is greater +joy in heaven over the repentance of a sinner than--than--Plague on it! +How does it go?" + +"Than over the downfall of a saint?" suggested Crispin. + +"I'll swear that's not the text, but any of my troopers could quote it +you; every man of them is an incarnate Church militant." He paused, +and Crispin laughed softly. Then abruptly: "And so you were riding to +London?" said he. + +"How know you that?" + +"Faith, I know more--much more. I can even tell you to what house you +rode, and on what errand. You were for the sign of the Anchor in Thames +Street, for news of your son, whom Joseph Ashburn hath told you lives." + +Crispin sat bolt upright, a look of mingled wonder and suspicion on his +face. + +"You are well informed, you gentlemen of the Parliament," he said. + +"On the matter of your errand," the Irishman returned quietly, "I am +much better informed than are you. Shall I tell you who lives at the +sign of the Anchor--not whom you have been told lives there, but who +really does occupy the house?" Hogan paused a second as though awaiting +some reply; then softly he answered his own question: "Colonel Pride." +And he sat back to await results. + +There were none. For the moment the name awoke no recollections, +conveyed no meaning to Crispin. + +"Who may Colonel Pride be?" he asked, after a pause. + +Hogan was visibly disappointed. + +"A certain powerful and vindictive member of the Rump, whose son you +killed at Worcester." + +This time the shaft went home. Galliard sprang out of the chair, his +brows darkening, and his cheeks pale beyond their wont. + +"Zounds, Hogan, do you mean that Joseph Ashburn was betraying me into +this man's hands?" + +"You have said it." + +"But--" + +Crispin stopped short. The pallor of his face increased; it became +ashen, and his eyes glittered as though a fever consumed him. He sank +back into his chair, and setting both hands upon the table before him, +he looked straight at Hogan. + +"But my son, Hogan, my son?" he pleaded, and his voice was broken as no +man had heard it yet. "Oh, God in heaven!" he cried in a sudden frenzy. +"What hell's work is this?" + +Behind his blue lips his teeth were chattering now. His hands shook as +he held them, still clenched, before him. Then, in a dull, concentrated +voice: + +"Hogan," he vowed, "I'll kill him for it. Fool, blind, pitiful fool that +I am." + +Then--his face distorted by passion--he broke into a torrent of +imprecations that was at length stemmed by Hogan. + +"Wait, Cris," said he, laying his hand upon the other's arm. "It is not +all false. Joseph Ashburn sought, it is true, to betray you into the +hands of Colonel Pride, sending you to the sign of the Anchor with the +assurance that there you should have news of your son. That was false; +yet not all false. Your son does live, and at the sign of the Anchor it +is likely you would have had the news of him you sought. But that news +would have come when too late to have been of value to you." + +Crispin tried to speak, but failed. Then, mastering himself by an +effort, and in a voice that was oddly shaken: + +"Hogan," he cried, "you are torturing me! What is the sum of your +knowledge?" + +At last the Irishman produced Ashburn's letter to Colonel Pride. + +"My men," said he, "are patrolling the roads in wait for a malignant +that has incurred the Parliament's displeasure. We have news that he is +making for Harwich, where a vessel lies waiting to carry him to France, +and we expect that he will ride this way. Three hours ago a young man +unable clearly to account for himself rode into our net, and was brought +to me. He was the bearer of a letter to Colonel Pride from Joseph +Ashburn. He had given my sergeant a wrong name, and betrayed such +anxiety to be gone that I deemed his errand a suspicious one, and broke +the seal of that letter. You may thank God, Galliard, every night of +your life that I did so." + +"Was this youth Kenneth Stewart?" asked Crispin. + +"You have guessed it." + +"D--n the lad," he began furiously. Then repressing himself, he sighed, +and in an altered tone, "No, no," said he. "I have grievously wronged +him! have wrecked his life--or at least he thinks so now. I can hardly +blame him for seeking to be quits with me." + +"The lad," returned Hogan, "must be himself a dupe. He can have had no +suspicion of the message he carried. Let me read it to you; it will make +all clear." + +Hogan drew a taper nearer, and spreading the paper upon the table, he +smoothed it out, and read: + +HONOURED SIR, + +The bearer of the present should, if he rides well, outstrip another +messenger I have dispatched to you upon a fool's errand, with a letter +addressed to one Mr. Lane at the sign of the Anchor. The bearer of that +is none other than the notorious malignant, Sir Crispin Galliard, by +whose hand your son was slain under your very eyes at Worcester, whose +capture I know that you warmly desire and with whom I doubt not you will +know how to deal. To us he has been a source of no little molestation; +his liberty, in fact, is a perpetual menace to our lives. For some +eighteen years this Galliard has believed dead a son that my cousin bore +him. News of this son, whom I have just informed him lives--as indeed he +does--is the bait wherewith I have lured him to your address. Forewarned +by the present, I make no doubt you will prepare to receive him +fittingly. But ere that justice he escaped at Worcester be meted out +to him at Tyburn or on Tower Hill, I would have you give him that news +touching his son which I am sending him to you to receive. Inform him, +sir, that his son, Jocelyn Marleigh... + +Hogan paused, and shot a furtive glance at Galliard. The knight was +leaning forward now, his eyes strained, his forehead beaded with +perspiration, and his breathing heavy. + +"Read on," he begged hoarsely. + +His son, Jocelyn Marleigh, is the bearer of this letter, the man whom +he has injured and who detests him, the youth with whom he has, by a +curious chance, been in much close association, and whom he has known as +Kenneth Stewart. + +"God!" gasped Crispin. Then with sudden vigour, "Oh, 'tis a lie," he +cried, "a fresh invention of that lying brain to torture me." + +Hogan held up his hand. + +"There is a little more," he said, and continued: + +Should he doubt this, bid him look closely into the lad's face, and ask +him, after he has scrutinized it, what image it evokes. Should he still +doubt thereafter, thinking the likeness to which he has been singularly +blind to be no more than accidental, bid them strip the lad's right +foot. It bears a mark that I think should convince him. For the rest, +honoured sir, I beg you to keep all information touching his parentage +from the boy himself, wherein I have weighty ends to serve. Within a +few days of your receipt of this letter, I look to have the honour of +waiting upon you. In the meanwhile, honoured sir, believe that while I +am, I am your obedient servant, + +JOSEPH ASHBURN + + +Across the narrow table the two men's glances met--Hogan's full of +concern and pity, Crispin's charged with amazement and horror. A little +while they sat thus, then Crispin rose slowly to his feet, and with +steps uncertain as a drunkard's he crossed to the window. He pushed it +open, and let the icy wind upon his face and head, unconscious of its +sting. Moments passed, during which the knight went over the last few +months of his turbulent life since his first meeting at Perth with +Kenneth Stewart. He recalled how strangely and unaccountably he had been +drawn to the boy when first he beheld him in the castle yard, and how, +owing to a feeling for which he could not account, since the lad's +character had little that might commend him to such a man as Crispin, he +had contrived that Kenneth should serve in his company. + +He recalled how at first--aye, and often afterwards even--he had sought +to win the boy's affection, despite the fact that there was naught +in the boy that he truly admired, and much that he despised. Was +it possible that these his feelings were dictated by Nature to his +unconscious mind? It must indeed be so, and the written words of Joseph +Ashburn to Colonel Pride were true. Kenneth was indeed his son; the +conviction was upon him. He conjured up the lad's face, and a cry of +discovery escaped him. How blind he had been not to have seen before the +likeness of Alice--his poor, butchered girl-wife of eighteen years ago. +How dull never before to have realized that that likeness it was had +drawn him to the boy. + +He was calm by now, and in his calm he sought to analyse his thoughts, +and he was shocked to find that they were not joyous. He yearned--as he +had yearned that night in Worcester--for the lad's affection, and yet, +for all his yearning, he realized that with the conviction that Kenneth +was his offspring came a dull sense of disappointment. He was not such +a son as the rakehelly knight would have had him. Swiftly he put the +thought from him. The craven hands that had reared the lad had warped +his nature; he would guide it henceforth; he would straighten it out +into a nobler shape. + +Then he smiled bitterly to himself. What manner of man was he to train +a youth to loftiness and honour?--he, a debauched ruler with a nickname +for which, had he any sense of shame, he would have blushed! Again he +remembered the lad's disposition towards himself; but these, he thought, +he hoped, he knew that he would now be able to overcome. + +He closed the window, and turned to face his companion. He was himself +again, and calm, for all that his face was haggard beyond its wont. + +"Hogan, where is the boy?" + +"I have detained him in the inn. Will you see him now?" + +"At once, Hogan. I am convinced." + +The Irishman crossed the chamber, and opening the door he called an +order to the trooper waiting in the passage. + +Some minutes they waited, standing, with no word uttered between them. +At last steps sounded in the corridor, and a moment later Kenneth was +rudely thrust into the room. Hogan signed to the trooper, who closed the +door and withdrew. + +As Kenneth entered, Crispin advanced a step and paused, his eyes +devouring the lad and receiving in exchange a glance that was full of +malevolence. + +"I might have known, sir, that you were not far away," he exclaimed +bitterly, forgetting for the moment how he had left Crispin behind him +on the previous night. "I might have guessed that my detention was your +work." + +"Why so?" asked Crispin quietly, his eyes ever scanning the lad's face +with a pathetic look. + +"Because it is your way, I know not why, to work my ruin in all things. +Not satisfied with involving me in that business at Castle Marleigh, you +must needs cross my path again when I am about to make amends, and so +blight my last chance. My God, sir, am I never to be rid of you? What +harm have I done you?" + +A spasm of pain, like a ripple over water, crossed the knight's swart +face. + +"If you but consider, Kenneth," he said, speaking very quietly, "you +must see the injustice of your words. Since when has Crispin Galliard +served the Parliament, that Roundhead troopers should do his bidding as +you suggest? And touching that business at Sheringham you are over-hard +with me. It was a compact you made, and but for which, you forget that +you had been carrion these three weeks." + +"Would to Heaven that I had been," the boy burst out, "sooner than pay +such a price for keeping my life!" + +"As for my presence here," Crispin continued, leaving the outburst +unheeded, "it has naught to do with your detention." + +"You lie!" + +Hogan caught his breath with a sharp hiss, and a dead silence followed. +That silence struck terror into Kenneth's heart. He encountered +Crispin's eye bent upon him with a look he could not fathom, and much +would he now have given to recall the two words that had burst from him +in the heat of his rage. He bethought him of the unscrupulous, deadly +character attributed to the man to whom he had addressed them, and in +his coward's fancy he saw already payment demanded. Already he +pictured himself lying cold and stark in the streets of Waltham with +a sword-wound through his middle. His face went grey and his lips +trembled. + +Then Galliard spoke at last, and the mildness of his tone filled Kenneth +with a new dread. In his experience of Crispin's ways he had come to +look upon mildness as the man's most dangerous phase: + +"You are mistaken," Crispin said. "I spoke the truth; it is a habit of +mine--haply the only gentlemanly habit left me. I repeat, I have had +naught to do with your detention. I arrived here half an hour ago, as +the captain will inform you, and I was conducted hither by force, having +been seized by his men, even as you were seized. No," he added, with a +sigh, "it was not my hand that detained you; it was the hand of Fate." +Then suddenly changing his voice to a more vehement key, "Know you on +what errand you rode to London?" he demanded. "To betray your father +into the hands of his enemies; to deliver him up to the hangman." + +Kenneth's eyes grew wide; his mouth fell open, and a frown of perplexity +drew his brows together. Dully, uncomprehendingly he met Sir Crispin's +sad gaze. + +"My father," he gasped at last. "'Sdeath, sir, what is it you mean? My +father has been dead these ten years. I scarce remember him." + +Crispin's lips moved, but no word did he utter. Then with a sudden +gesture of despair he turned to Hogan, who stood apart, a silent +witness. + +"My God, Hogan," he cried. "How shall I tell him?" + +In answer to the appeal, the Irishman turned to Kenneth. + +"You have been in error, sir, touching your parentage," quoth he +bluntly. "Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, was not your father." + +Kenneth looked from one to the other of them. + +"Sirs, is this a jest?" he cried, reddening. Then, remarking at length +the solemnity of their countenances, he stopped short. Crispin came +close up to him, and placed a hand upon his shoulder. The boy shrank +visibly beneath the touch, and again an expression of pain crossed the +poor ruffler's face. + +"Do you recall, Kenneth," he said slowly, almost sorrowfully, "the story +that I told you that night in Worcester, when we sat waiting for dawn +and the hangman?" + +The lad nodded vacantly. + +"Do you remember the details? Do you remember I told you how, when I +swooned beneath the stroke of Joseph Ashburn's sword, the last words +I heard were those in which he bade his brother slit the throat of the +babe in the cradle? You were, yourself, present yesternight at Castle +Marleigh when Joseph Ashburn told me Gregory had been mercifully +inclined; that my child had not died; that if I gave him his life he +would restore him to me. You remember?" + +Again Kenneth nodded. A vague, numbing fear was creeping round his +heart, and his blood seemed chilled by it and stagnant. With fascinated +eyes he watched the knight's face--drawn and haggard. + +"It was a trap that Joseph Ashburn set for me. Yet he did not altogether +lie. The child Gregory had indeed spared, and it seems from what I have +learned within the last half-hour that he had entrusted his rearing to +Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, seeking afterwards--I take it--to wed him +to his daughter, so that should the King come to his own again, they +should have the protection of a Marleigh who had served his King." + +"You mean," the lad almost whispered, and his accents were unmistakably +of horror, "you mean that I am your--Oh, God, I'll not believe it!" he +cried out, with such sudden loathing and passion that Crispin recoiled +as though he had been struck. A dull flush crept into his cheeks to fade +upon the instant and give place to a pallor, if possible, intenser than +before. + +"I'll not believe it! I'll not believe it!" the boy repeated, as if +seeking by that reiteration to shut out a conviction by which he was +beset. "I'll not believe it!" he cried again; and now his voice had lost +its passionate vehemence, and was sunk almost to a moan. + +"I found it hard to believe myself," was Crispin's answer, and his +voice was not free from bitterness. "But I have a proof here that seems +incontestable, even had I not the proof of your face to which I have +been blind these months. Blind with the eyes of my body, at least. The +eyes of my soul saw and recognized you when first they fell on you in +Perth. The voice of the blood ordered me then to your side, and though +I heard its call, I understood not what it meant. Read this letter, +boy--the letter that you were to have carried to Colonel Pride." + +With his eyes still fixed in a gaze of stupefaction upon Galliard's +face, Kenneth took the paper. Then slowly, involuntarily almost it +seemed, he dropped his glance to it, and read. He was long in reading, +as though the writing presented difficulties, and his two companions +watched him the while, and waited. At last he turned the paper over, +and examined seal and superscription as if suspicious that he held a +forgery. + +But in some subtle, mysterious way--that voice of the blood perchance +to which Crispin had alluded--he felt conviction stealing down upon his +soul. Mechanically he moved across to the table, and sat down. Without a +word, and still holding the crumpled letter in his clenched hand, he set +his elbows on the table, and, pressing his temples to his palms, he sat +there dumb. Within him a very volcano raged, and its fires were fed with +loathing--loathing for this man whom he had ever hated, yet never as he +hated him now, knowing him to be his father. It seemed as if to all +the wrongs which Crispin had done him during the months of their +acquaintanceship he had now added a fresh and culminating wrong by +discovering this parentage. + +He sat and thought, and his soul grew sick. He probed for some flaw, +sought for some mistake that might have been made. And yet the more +he thought, the more he dwelt upon his youth in Scotland, the more +convinced was he that Crispin had told him the truth. Pre-eminent +argument of conviction to him was the desire of the Ashburns that he +should marry Cynthia. Oft he had marvelled that they, wealthy, and even +powerful, selfish and ambitious, should have selected him, the scion of +an obscure and impoverished Scottish house, as a bridegroom for their +daughter. The news now before him made their motives clear; indeed, no +other motive could exist, no other explanation could there be. He was +the heir of Castle Marleigh, and the usurpers sought to provide against +the day when another revolution might oust them and restore the rightful +owners. + +Some elation his shallow nature felt at realizing this, but that +elation was short-lived, and dashed by the thought that this ruler, this +debauchee, this drunken, swearing, roaring tavern knight was his father; +dashed by the knowledge that meanwhile the Parliament was master, +and that whilst matters stood so, the Ashburns could defy--could even +destroy him, did they learn how much he knew; dashed by the memory that +Cynthia, whom in his selfish way--out of his love for himself--he loved, +was lost to him for all time. + +And here, swinging in a circle, his thoughts reverted to the cause of +this--Crispin Galliard, the man who had betrayed him into yesternight's +foul business and destroyed his every chance of happiness; the man whom +he hated, and whom, had he possessed the courage as he was possessed +by the desire, he had risen up and slain; the man that now announced +himself his father. + +And thinking thus, he sat on in silent, resentful vexation. He started +to feel a hand upon his shoulder, and to hear the voice of Galliard +evidently addressing him, yet using a name that was new to him. + +"Jocelyn, my boy," the voice trembled. "You have thought, and you have +realized--is it not so? I too thought, and thought brought me conviction +that what that paper tells is true." + +Vaguely then the boy remembered that Jocelyn was the name the letter +gave him. He rose abruptly, and brushed the caressing hand from his +shoulder. His voice was hard--possibly the knowledge that he had +gained told him that he had nothing to fear from this man, and in that +assurance his craven soul grew brave and bold and arrogant. + +"I have realized naught beyond the fact that I owe you nothing but +unhappiness and ruin. By a trick, by a low fraud, you enlisted me into +a service that has proved my undoing. Once a cheat always a cheat. What +credit in the face of that can I give this paper?" he cried, talking +wildly. "To me it is incredible, nor do I wish to credit it, for though +it were true, what then? What then?" he repeated, raising his voice into +accents of defiance. + +Grief and amazement were blended in Galliard's glance, and also, maybe, +some reproach. + +Hogan, standing squarely upon the hearth, was beset by the desire to +kick Master Kenneth, or Master Jocelyn, into the street. His lip curled +into a sneer of ineffable contempt, for his shrewd eyes read to the +bottom of the lad's mean soul and saw there clearly writ the confidence +that emboldened him to voice that insult to the man he must know for his +father. Standing there, he compared the two, marvelling deeply how they +came to be father and son. A likeness he saw now between them, yet +a likeness that seemed but to mark the difference. The one harsh, +resolute, and manly, for all his reckless living and his misfortunes; +the other mild, effeminate, hypocritical and shifty. He read it not on +their countenances alone, but in every line of their figures as they +stood, and in his heart he cursed himself for having been the instrument +to disclose the relationship in which they stood. + +The youth's insolent question was followed by a spell of silence. +Crispin could not believe that he had heard aright. At last he stretched +out his hands in a gesture of supplication--he who throughout his +thirty-eight years of life, and despite the misfortunes that had been +his, had never yet stooped to plead from any man. + +"Jocelyn," he cried, and the pain in his voice must have melted a heart +of steel, "you are hard. Have you forgotten the story of my miserable +life, the story that I told you in Worcester? Can you not understand how +suffering may destroy all that is lofty in a man; how the forgetfulness +of the winecup may come to be his only consolation; the hope of +vengeance his only motive for living on, withholding him from +self-destruction? Can you not picture such a life, and can you not pity +and forgive much of the wreck that it may make of a man once virtuous +and honourable?" + +Pleadingly he looked into the lad's face. It remained cold and unmoved. + +"I understand," he continued brokenly, "that I am not such a man as any +lad might welcome for a father. But you who know what my life has been, +Jocelyn, you can surely find it in your heart to pity. I had naught +that was good or wholesome to live for, Jocelyn; naught to curb the evil +moods that sent me along evil ways to seek forgetfulness and reparation. + +"But from to-night, Jocelyn, my life in you must find a new interest, a +new motive. I will abandon my old ways. For your sake, Jocelyn, I will +seek again to become what I was, and you shall have no cause to blush +for your father." + +Still the lad stood silent. + +"Jocelyn! My God, do I talk in vain?" cried the wretched man. "Have you +no heart, no pity, boy?" + +At last the youth spoke. He was not moved. The agony of this strong man, +the broken pleading of one whom he had ever known arrogant and strong +had no power to touch his mean, selfish mind, consumed as it was by the +contemplation of his undoing--magnified a hundredfold--which this man +had wrought. + +"You have ruined my life," was all he said. + +"I will rebuild it, Jocelyn," cried Galliard eagerly. "I have friends in +France--friends high in power who lack neither the means nor the will to +aid me. You are a soldier, Jocelyn." + +"As much a soldier as I'm a saint," sneered Hogan to himself. + +"Together we will find service in the armies of Louis," Crispin pursued. +"I promise it. Service wherein you shall gain honour and renown. There +we will abide until this England shakes herself out of her rebellious +nightmare. Then, when the King shall come to his own, Castle Marleigh +will be ours again. Trust in me, Jocelyn." Again his arms went out +appealingly: "Jocelyn my son!" + +But the boy made no move to take the outstretched hands, gave no sign of +relenting. His mind nurtured its resentment--cherished it indeed. + +"And Cynthia?" he asked coldly. + +Crispin's hands fell to his sides; they grew clenched, and his eyes +lighted of a sudden. + +"Forgive me, Jocelyn. I had forgotten! I understand you now. Yes, I +dealt sorely with you there, and you are right to be resentful. What, +after all, am I to you what can I be to you compared with her whose +image fills your soul? What is aught in the world to a man, compared +with the woman on whom his heart is set? Do I not know it? Have I not +suffered for it? + +"But mark me, Jocelyn"--and he straightened himself suddenly--"even in +this, that which I have done I will undo. As I have robbed you of your +mistress, so will I win her back for you. I swear it. And when that is +done, when thus every harm I have caused you is repaired, then, Jocelyn, +perhaps you will come to look with less repugnance upon your father, and +to feel less resentment towards him." + +"You promise much, sir," quoth the boy, with an illrepressed sneer. "How +will you accomplish it?" + +Hogan grunted audibly. Crispin drew himself up, erect, lithe and +supple--a figure to inspire confidence in the most despairing. He placed +a hand, nervous, and strong as steel, upon the boy's shoulder, and the +clutch of his fingers made Jocelyn wince. + +"Low though your father be fallen," said he sternly, "he has never yet +broken his word. I have pledged you mine, and to-morrow I shall set out +to perform what I have promised. I shall see you ere I start. You will +sleep here, will you not?" + +Jocelyn shrugged his shoulders. + +"It signifies little where I lie." + +Crispin smiled sadly, and sighed. + +"You have no faith in me yet. But I shall earn it, or"--and his voice +fell suddenly--"or rid you of a loathsome parent. Hogan, can you find +him quarters?" + +Hogan replied that there was the room he had already been confined in, +and that he could lie in it. And deeming that there was nothing to be +gained by waiting, he thereupon led the youth from the room and down +the passage. At the foot of the stairs the Irishman paused in the act of +descending, and raised the taper aloft so that its light might fall full +upon the face of his companion. + +"Were I your father," said he grimly, "I would kick you from one end of +Waltham to the other by way of teaching you filial piety! And were you +not his son, I would this night read you a lesson you'd never live to +practise. I would set you to sleep a last long sleep in the kennels +of Waltham streets. But since you are--marvellous though it seem--his +offspring, and since I love him and may not therefore hurt you, I +must rest content with telling you that you are the vilest thing that +breathes. You despise him for a roysterer, for a man of loose ways. Let +me, who have seen something of men, and who read you to-night to the +very dregs of your contemptible soul, tell you that compared with you he +is a very god. Come, you white-livered cur!" he ended abruptly. "I will +light you to your chamber." + +When presently Hogan returned to Crispin he found the Tavern +Knight--that man of iron in whom none had ever seen a trace of fear +or weakness seated with his arms before him on the table, and his face +buried in them, sobbing like a poor, weak woman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING + + +Through the long October night Crispin and Hogan sat on, and neither +sought his bed. Crispin's quick wits his burst of grief once over--had +been swift to fasten on a plan to accomplish that which he had +undertaken. + +One difficulty confronted him, and until he had mentioned it to Hogan +seemed unsurmountable he had need of a ship. But in this the Irishman +could assist him. He knew of a vessel then at Greenwich, whose master +was in his debt, which should suit the purpose. Money, however, would +be needed. But when Crispin announced that he was master of some two +hundred Caroluses, Hogan, with a wave of the hand, declared the matter +settled. Less than half that sum would hire the man he knew of. That +determined, Crispin unfolded his project to Hogan, who laughed at the +simplicity of it, for all that inwardly he cursed the risk Sir Crispin +must run for the sake of one so unworthy. + +"If the maid loves him, the thing is as good as done." + +"The maid does not love him; leastways, I fear not." + +Hogan was not surprised. + +"Why, then it will be difficult, well-nigh impossible." And the Irishman +became grave. + +But Crispin laughed unpleasantly. Years and misfortune had made him +cynical. + +"What is the love of a maid?" quoth he derisively. "A caprice, a fancy, +a thing that may be guided, overcome or compelled as the occasion shall +demand. Opportunity is love's parent, Hogan, and given that, any maid +may love any man. Cynthia shall love my son." + +"But if she prove rebellious? If she say nay to your proposals? There +are such women." + +"How then? Am I not the stronger? In such a case it shall be mine to +compel her, and as I find her, so shall I carry her away. It will be +none so poor a vengeance on the Ashburns after all." His brow grew +clouded. "But not what I had dreamed of; what I should have taken had +he not cheated me. To forgo it now--after all these years of waiting--is +another sacrifice I make to Jocelyn. To serve him in this matter I must +proceed cautiously. Cynthia may fret and fume and stamp, but willy-nilly +I shall carry her away. Once she is in France, friendless, alone, I make +no doubt that she will see the convenience of loving Jocelyn--leastways +of wedding him and thus shall I have more than repaired the injuries I +have done him." + +The Irishman's broad face was very grave; his reckless merry eye fixed +Galliard with a look of sorrow, and this grey-haired, sinning soldier of +fortune, who had never known a conscience, muttered softly: + +"It is not a nice thing you contemplate, Cris." + +Despite himself, Galliard winced, and his glance fell before Hogan's. +For a moment he saw the business in its true light, and he wavered in +his purpose. Then, with a short bark of laughter: + +"Gadso, you are sentimental, Harry!" said he, to add, more gravely: +"There is my son, and in this lies the only way to his heart.". + +Hogan stretched a hand across the table, and set it upon Crispin's arm. + +"Is he worth such a stain upon your honour, Crispin?" + +There was a pause. + +"Is it not late in the day, Hogan, for you and me to prate of honour?" +asked Crispin bitterly, yet with averted gaze. "God knows my honour is +as like honour as a beggar's rags are like unto a cloak of ermine. What +signifies another splash, another rent in that which is tattered beyond +all semblance of its original condition?" + +"I asked you," the Irishman persisted, "whether your son was worth the +sacrifice that the vile deed you contemplate entails?" + +Crispin shook his arm from the other's grip, and rose abruptly. He +crossed to the window, and drew back the curtain. + +"Day is breaking," said he gruffly. Then turning, and facing Hogan +across the room, "I have pledged my word to Jocelyn," he said. "The +way I have chosen is the only one, and I shall follow it. But if your +conscience cries out against it, Hogan, I give you back your promise of +assistance, and I shall shift alone. I have done so all my life." + +Hogan shrugged his massive shoulders, and reached out for the bottle of +strong waters. + +"If you are resolved, there is an end to it. My conscience shall not +trouble me, and upon what aid I have promised and what more I can give, +you may depend. I drink to the success of your undertaking." + +Thereafter they discussed the matter of the vessel that Crispin would +require, and it was arranged between them that Hogan should send a +message to the skipper, bidding him come to Harwich, and there await and +place himself at the command of Sir Crispin Galliard. For fifty pounds +Hogan thought that he would undertake to land Sir Crispin in France. The +messenger might be dispatched forthwith, and the Lady Jane should be at +Harwich, two days later. + +By the time they had determined upon this, the inmates of the hostelry +were astir, and from the innyard came to them the noise of bustle and +preparation for the day. + +Presently they left the chamber where they had sat so long, and at the +yard pump the Tavern Knight performed a rude morning toilet. Thereafter, +on a simple fare of herrings and brown ale, they broke their fast; and +ere that meal was done, Kenneth, pale and worn, with dark circles round +his eyes, entered the common room, and sat moodily apart. But when later +Hogan went to see to the dispatching of his messenger, Crispin rose and +approached the youth. + +Kenneth watched him furtively, without pausing in his meal. He had spent +a very miserable night pondering over the future, which looked +gloomy enough, and debating whether--forgetting and ignoring what had +passed--he should return to the genteel poverty of his Scottish home, or +accept the proffered service of this man who announced himself--and whom +he now believed--to be his father. He had thought, but he was far from +having chosen between Scotland and France, when Crispin now greeted him, +not without constraint. + +"Jocelyn," he said, speaking slowly, almost humbly. "In an hour's time I +shall set out to return to Marleigh to fulfil my last night's promise to +you. How I shall accomplish it I scarce know as yet; but accomplish it +I shall. I have arranged to have a vessel awaiting me, and within three +days--or four at the most--I look to cross to France, bearing your bride +with me." + +He paused for some reply, but none came. The boy sat on with an +impassive face, his eyes glued to the table, but his mind busy enough +upon that which his father was pouring into his ear. Presently Crispin +continued: + +"You cannot refuse to do as I suggest, Jocelyn. I shall make you the +fullest amends for the harm that I have done you, if you but obey my +directions. You must quit this place as soon as possible, and proceed on +your way to London. There you must find a boat to carry you to France, +and you will await me at the Auberge du Soleil at Calais. You are +agreed, Jocelyn?" + +There was a slight pause, and Jocelyn took his resolution. Yet there was +still a sullen look in the eyes he lifted to his father's face. + +"I have little choice, sir," he made answer, "and so I must agree. If +you accomplish what you promise, I own that you will have made amends, +and I shall crave your pardon for my yesternight's want of faith. I +shall await you at Calais." + +Crispin sighed, and for a second his face hardened. It was not the +answer to which he held himself entitled, and for a moment it rose to +the lips of this man of fierce and sudden moods to draw back and let +the son, whom at the moment he began to detest, go his own way, which +assuredly would lead him to perdition. But a second's thought sufficed +to quell that mood of his. + +"I shall not fail you," he said coldly. "Have you money for the +journey?" + +The boy flushed as he remembered that little was left of what Joseph +Ashburn had given him. Crispin saw the flush, and reading aright its +meaning, he drew from his pocket a purse that he had been fingering, +and placed it quietly upon the table. "There are fifty Caroluses in that +bag. That should suffice to carry you to France. Fare you well until we +meet at Calais." + +And without giving the boy time to utter thanks that might be unwilling, +he quickly left the room. + +Within the hour he was in the saddle, and his horse's head was turned +northwards once more. + +He rode through Newport some three hours later without drawing rein. By +the door of the Raven Inn stood a travelling carriage, upon which he did +not so much as bestow a look. + +By the merest thread hangs at times the whole of a man's future life, +the destinies even of men as yet unborn. So much may depend indeed upon +a glance, that had not Crispin kept his eyes that morning upon the grey +road before him, had he chanced to look sideways as he passed the Raven +Inn at Newport, and seen the Ashburn arms displayed upon the panels of +that coach, he would of a certainty have paused. And had he done so, his +whole destiny would assuredly have shaped a different course from that +which he was unconsciously steering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. GREGORY'S ATTRITION + + +Joseph's journey to London was occasioned by his very natural anxiety to +assure himself that Crispin was caught in the toils of the net he had so +cunningly baited for him, and that at Castle Marleigh he would trouble +them no more. To this end he quitted Sheringham on the day after +Crispin's departure. + +Not a little perplexed was Cynthia at the topsy-turvydom in which that +morning she had found her father's house. Kenneth was gone; he had left +in the dead of night, and seemingly in haste and suddenness, since on +the previous evening there had been no talk of his departing. Her father +was abed with a wound that made him feverish. Their grooms were all +sick, and wandered in a dazed and witless fashion about the castle, +their faces deadly pale and their eyes lustreless. In the hall she had +found a chaotic disorder upon descending, and one of the panels of the +wainscot she saw was freshly cracked. + +Slowly the idea forced itself upon her mind that there had been brawling +the night before, yet was she far from surmising the motives that could +have led to it. The conclusion she came to in the end was that the men +had drunk deep, that in their cups they had waxed quarrelsome, and that +swords had been drawn. + +Of Joseph then she sought enlightenment, and Joseph lied right +handsomely, like the ready-witted knave he was. A wondrously plausible +story had he for her ear; a story that played cunningly upon her +knowledge of the compact that existed between Kenneth and Sir Crispin. + +"You may not know," said he--full well aware that she did know--"that +when Galliard saved Kenneth's life at Worcester he exacted from the +lad the promise that in return Kenneth should aid him in some vengeful +business he had on hand." + +Cynthia nodded that she understood or that she knew, and glibly Joseph +pursued: + +"Last night, when on the point of departing, Crispin, who had drunk +over-freely, as is his custom, reminded Kenneth of his plighted word, +and demanded of the boy that he should upon the instant go forth with +him. Kenneth replied that the hour was overlate to be setting out upon +a journey, and he requested Galliard to wait until to-day, when he +would be ready to fulfil what he had promised. But Crispin retorted that +Kenneth was bound by his oath to go with him when he should require it, +and again he bade the boy make ready at once. Words ensued between them, +the boy insisting upon waiting until to-day, and Crispin insisting upon +his getting his boots and cloak and coming with him there and then. More +heated grew the argument, till in the end Galliard, being put out of +temper, snatched at his sword, and would assuredly have spitted the +boy had not your father interposed, thereby getting himself wounded. +Thereafter, in his drunken lust Sir Crispin went the length of wantonly +cracking that panel with his sword by way of showing Kenneth what he +had to expect unless he obeyed him. At that I intervened, and using my +influence, I prevailed upon Kenneth to go with Galliard as he demanded. +To this, for all his reluctance, Kenneth ended by consenting, and so +they are gone." + +By that most glib and specious explanation Cynthia was convinced. True, +she added a question touching the amazing condition of the grooms, in +reply to which Joseph afforded her a part of the truth. + +"Sir Crispin sent them some wine, and they drank to his departure so +heartily that they are not rightly sober yet." + +Satisfied with this explanation Cynthia repaired to her father. + +Now Gregory had not agreed with Joseph what narrative they were to offer +Cynthia, for it had never crossed his dull mind that the disorder of +the hall and the absence of Kenneth might cause her astonishment. And so +when she touched upon the matter of his wound, like the blundering fool +he was, he must needs let his tongue wag upon a tale which, if no less +imaginative than Joseph's, was vastly its inferior in plausibility and +had yet the quality of differing from it totally in substance. + +"Plague on that dog, your lover, Cynthia," he growled from the mountain +of pillows that propped him. "If he should come to wed my daughter after +pinning me to the wainscot of my own hall may I be for ever damned." + +"How?" quoth she. "Do you say that Kenneth did it?" + +"Aye, did he. He ran at me ere I could draw, like the coward he is, sink +him, and had me through the shoulder in the twinkling of an eye." + +Here was something beyond her understanding. What were they concealing +from her? She set her wits to the discovery and plied her father with +another question. + +"How came you to quarrel?" + +"How? 'Twas--'twas concerning you, child," replied Gregory at random, +and unable to think of a likelier motive. + +"How, concerning me?" + +"Leave me, Cynthia," he groaned in despair. "Go, child. I am grievously +wounded. I have the fever, girl. Go; let me sleep." + +"But tell me, father, what passed." + +"Unnatural child," whined Gregory feebly, "will you plague a sick man +with questions? Would you keep him from the sleep that may mean recovery +to him?" + +"Father, dear," she murmured softly, "if I thought it was as you say, +I would leave you. But you know that you are but attempting to conceal +something from me something that I should know, that I must know. +Bethink you that it is of my lover that you have spoken." + +By a stupendous effort Gregory shaped a story that to him seemed likely. + +"Well, then, since know you must," he answered, "this is what befell: +we had all drunk over-deep to our shame do I confess it--and growing +tenderhearted for you, and bethinking me of your professed distaste to +Kenneth's suit, I told him that for all the results that were likely +to attend his sojourn at Castle Marleigh, he might as well bear Crispin +company in his departure. He flared up at that, and demanded of me that +I should read him my riddle. Faith, I did by telling him that we were +like to have snow on midsummer's day ere he 'became your husband. That +speech of mine so angered him, being as he was all addled with wine and +ripe for any madness, that he sprang up and drew on me there and then. +The others sought to get between us, but he was over-quick, and before I +could do more than rise from the table his sword was through my shoulder +and into the wainscot at my back. After that it was clear he could +not remain here, and I demanded that he should leave upon the instant. +Himself he was nothing loath, for he realized his folly, and he misliked +the gleam of Joseph's eye--which can be wondrous wicked upon occasion. +Indeed, but for my intercession Joseph had laid him stark." + +That both her uncle and her father had lied to her--the one cunningly, +the other stupidly--she had never a doubt, and vaguely uneasy was +Cynthia to learn the truth. Later that day the castle was busy with the +bustle of Joseph's departure, and this again was a matter that puzzled +her. + +"Whither do you journey, uncle?" she asked of him as he was in the act +of stepping out to enter the waiting carriage. + +"To London, sweet cousin," was his brisk reply. "I am, it seems, +becoming a very vagrant in my old age. Have you commands for me?" + +"What is it you look to do in London?" + +"There, child, let that be for the present. I will tell you perhaps when +I return. The door, Stephen." + +She watched his departure with uneasy eyes and uneasy heart. A fear +pervaded her that in all that had befallen, in all that was befalling +still--what ever it might be--some evil was at work, and an evil that +had Crispin for its scope. She had neither reason nor evidence from +which to draw this inference. It was no more than the instinct whose +voice cries out to us at times a presage of ill, and oftentimes compels +our attention in a degree far higher than any evidence could command. + +The fear that was in her urged her to seek what information she could +on every hand, but without success. From none could she cull the merest +scrap of evidence to assist her. + +But on the morrow she had information as prodigal as it was +unlooked-for, and from the unlikeliest of sources--her father himself. +Chafing at his inaction and lured into indiscretions by the subsiding of +the pain of his wound, Gregory quitted his bed and came below that +night to sup with his daughter. As his wont had been for years, he drank +freely. That done, alive to the voice of his conscience, and seeking to +drown its loud-tongued cry, he drank more freely still, so that in the +end his henchman, Stephen, was forced to carry him to bed. + +This Stephen had grown grey in the service of the Ashburns, and amongst +much valuable knowledge that he had amassed, was a skill in dealing with +wounds and a wide understanding of the ways to go about healing +them. This knowledge made him realize how unwise at such a season was +Gregory's debauch, and sorrowfully did he wag his head over his master's +condition of stupor. + +Stephen had grave fears concerning him, and these fears were realized +when upon the morrow Gregory awoke on fire with the fever. They summoned +a leech from Sheringham, and this cunning knave, with a view to adding +importance to the cure he was come to effect, and which in reality +presented no alarming difficulty, shook his head with ominous gravity, +and whilst promising to do "all that his skill permitted," he spoke of a +clergyman to help Gregory make his peace with God. For the leech had no +cause to suspect that the whole of the Sacred College might have found +the task beyond its powers. + +A wild fear took Gregory in its grip. How could he die with such a load +as that which he now carried upon his soul? And the leech, seeing how +the matter preyed upon his patient's mind, made shift--but too late--to +tranquillize him with assurances that he was not really like to die, and +that he had but mentioned a parson so that Gregory in any case should be +prepared. + +The storm once raised, however, was not so easily to be allayed, and the +conviction remained with Gregory that his sands were well-nigh run, and +that the end could be but a matter of days in coming. + +Realizing as he did how richly he had earned damnation, a frantic terror +was upon him, and all that day he tossed and turned, now blaspheming, +now praying, now weeping. His life had been indeed one protracted course +of wrong-doing, and many had suffered by Gregory's evil ways--many a man +and many a woman. But as the stars pale and fade when the sun mounts the +sky, so too were the lesser wrongs that marked his earthly pilgrimage of +sin rendered pale or blotted into insignificance by the greater wrong +he had done Ronald Marleigh--a wrong which was not ended yet, but whose +completion Joseph was even then working to effect. If only he could save +Crispin even now in the eleventh hour; if by some means he could warn +him not to repair to the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street. His +disordered mind took no account of the fact that in the time that was +sped since Galliard's departure, the knight should already have reached +London. + +And so it came about that, consumed at once by the desire to make +confession to whomsoever it might be, and the wish to attempt yet to +avert the crowning evil of whose planning he was partly guilty inasmuch +as he had tacitly consented to Joseph's schemes, Gregory called for his +daughter. She came readily enough, hoping for exactly that which was +about to take place, yet fearing sorely that her hopes would suffer +frustration, and that she would learn nothing from her father. + +"Cynthia," he cried, in mingled dread and sorrow, "Cynthia, my child, I +am about to die." + +She knew both from Stephen and from the leech that this was far from +being his condition. Nevertheless her filial piety was at that moment a +touching sight. She smoothed his pillows with a gentle grace that was +in itself a soothing caress, even as her soft sympathetic voice was +a caress. She took his hand, and spoke to him endearingly, seeking to +relieve the sombre mood whose prey he was become, assuring him that the +leech had told her his danger was none so imminent, and that with quiet +and a little care he would be up and about again ere many days were +sped. But Gregory rejected hopelessly all efforts at consolation. + +"I am on my death-bed, Cynthia," he insisted, "and when I am gone I know +not whom there may be to cheer and comfort your lot in life. Your lover +is away on an errand of Joseph's, and it may well betide that he will +never again cross the threshold of Castle Marleigh. Unnatural though I +may seem, sweetheart, my dying wish is that this may be so." + +She looked up in some surprise. + +"Father, if that be all that grieves you, I can reassure you. I do not +love Kenneth." + +"You apprehend me amiss," said he tartly. "Do you recall the story of +Sir Crispin Galliard's life that you had from Kenneth on the night of +Joseph's return?" His voice shook as he put the question. + +"Why, yes. I am not like to forget it, and nightly do I pray," she went +on, her tongue outrunning discretion and betraying her feelings +for Galliard, "that God may punish those murderers who wrecked his +existence." + +"Hush, girl," he whispered in a quavering voice. "You know not what you +say." + +"Indeed I do; and as there is a just God my prayer shall be answered." + +"Cynthia," he wailed. His eyes were wild, and the hand that rested in +hers trembled violently. "Do you know that it is against your father and +your father's brother that you invoke God's vengeance?" + +She had been kneeling at his bedside; but now, when he pronounced those +words, she rose slowly and stood silent for a spell, her eyes seeking +his with an awful look that he dared not meet. At last: + +"Oh, you rave," she protested, "it is the fever." + +"Nay, child, my mind is clear, and what I have said is true." + +"True?" she echoed, no louder than a whisper, and her eyes grew round +with horror. "True that you and my uncle are the butchers who slew their +cousin, this man's wife, and sought to murder him as well--leaving him +for dead? True that you are the thieves who claiming kinship by virtue +of that very marriage have usurped his estates and this his castle +during all these years, whilst he himself went an outcast, homeless and +destitute? Is that what you ask me to believe?" + +"Even so," he assented, with a feeble sob. + +Her face was pale--white to the very lips, and her blue eyes smouldered +behind the shelter of her drooping lids. She put her hand to her breast, +then to her brow, pushing back the brown hair by a mechanical gesture +that was pathetic in the tale of pain it told. For support she was +leaning now against the wall by the head of his couch. In silence she +stood so while you might count to twenty; then with a sudden vehemence +revealing the passion of anger and grief that swayed her: + +"Why," she cried, "why in God's name do you tell me this?" + +"Why?" His utterance was thick, and his eyes, that were grown dull as a +snake's, stared straight before him, daring not to meet his daughter's +glance. "I tell it you," he said, "because I am a dying man." And he +hoped that the consideration of that momentous fact might melt her, and +might by pity win her back to him--that she was lost to him he realized. + +"I tell you because I am a dying man," he repeated. "I tell it you +because in such an hour I fain would make confession and repent, that +God may have mercy upon my soul. I tell it you, too, because the tragedy +begun eighteen years ago is not yet played out, and it may yet be mine +to avert the end we had prepared--Joseph and I. Thus perhaps a merciful +God will place it in my power to make some reparation. Listen, child. +It was against us, as you will have guessed, that Galliard enlisted +Kenneth's services, and here on the night of Joseph's return he called +upon the boy to fulfil him what he had sworn. The lad had no choice but +to obey; indeed, I forced him to it by attacking him and compelling him +to draw, which is how I came by this wound. + +"Crispin had of a certainty killed Joseph but that your uncle bethought +him of telling him that his son lived." + +"He saved his life by a lie! That was worthy of him," said Cynthia +scornfully. + +"Nay, child, he spoke the truth, and when Joseph offered to restore the +boy to him, he had every intention of so doing. But in the moment of +writing the superscription to the letter Crispin was to bear to those +that had reared the child, Joseph bethought him of a foul scheme for +Galliard's final destruction. And so he has sent him to London instead, +to a house in Thames Street, where dwells one Colonel Pride, who +bears Sir Crispin a heavy grudge, and into whose hands he will be thus +delivered. Can aught be done, Cynthia, to arrest this--to save Sir +Crispin from Joseph's snare?" + +"As well might you seek to restore the breath to a dead man," she +answered, and her voice was so oddly calm, so cold and bare of +expression, that Gregory shuddered to hear it. + +"Do not delude yourself," she added. "Sir Crispin will have reached +London long ere this, and by now Joseph will be well on his way to see +that there is no mistake made, and that the life you ruined hopelessly +years ago is plucked at last from this unfortunate man. Merciful God! am +I truly your daughter?" she cried. "Is my name indeed Ashburn, and have +I been reared upon the estates that by crime you gained possession of? +Estates that by crime you hold--for they are his; every stone, every +stick that goes to make the place belongs to him, and now he has gone to +his death by your contriving." + +A moan escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. A moment +she stood rocking there--a fair, lissom plant swept by a gale of +ineffable emotion. Then the breath seemed to go all out of her in one +great sigh, and Gregory, who dared not look her way, heard the swish of +her gown, followed by a thud as she collapsed and lay swooning on the +ground. + +So disturbed at that was Gregory's spirit that, forgetting his wound, +his fever, and the death which he had believed impending, he leapt from +his couch, and throwing wide the door, bellowed lustily for Stephen. In +frightened haste came his henchman to answer the petulant summons, and +in obedience to Gregory's commands he went off again as quickly in quest +of Catherine--Cynthia's woman. + +Between them they bore the unconscious girl to her chamber, leaving +Gregory to curse himself for having been lured into a confession that +it now seemed to him had been unnecessary, since in his newly found +vitality he realized that death was none so near a thing as that +scoundrelly fool of a leech had led him to believe. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA + + +Cynthia's swoon was after all but brief. Upon recovering consciousness +her first act was to dismiss her woman. She had need to be alone--the +need of the animal that is wounded to creep into its lair and hide +itself. And so alone with her sorrow she sat through that long day. + +That her father's condition was grievous she knew to be untrue, so that +concerning him there was not even that pity that she might have felt had +she believed--as he would have had her believe that he was dying. + +As she pondered the monstrous disclosure he had made, her heart hardened +against him, and even as she had asked him whether indeed she was his +daughter, so now she vowed to herself that she would be his daughter no +longer. She would leave Castle Marleigh, never again to set eyes upon +her father, and she hoped that during the little time she must yet +remain there--a day, or two at most--she might be spared the ordeal of +again meeting a parent for whom respect was dead, and who inspired her +with just that feeling of horror she must have for any man who confessed +himself a murderer and a thief. + +She resolved to repair to London to a sister of her mother's, where for +her dead mother's sake she would find a haven extended readily. + +At eventide she came at last from her chamber. + +She had need of air, need of the balm that nature alone can offer in +solitude to poor wounded human souls. + +It was a mild and sunny evening, worthy rather of August than of +October, and aimlessly Mistress Cynthia wandered towards the cliffs +overlooking Sheringham Hithe. There she sate herself in sad dejection +upon the grass, and gazed wistfully seaward, her mind straying now from +the sorry theme that had held dominion in it, to the memories that very +spot evoked. + +It was there, sitting as she sat now, her eyes upon the shimmering waste +of sea, and the gulls circling overhead, that she had awakened to +the knowledge of her love for Crispin. And so to him strayed now her +thoughts, and to the fate her father had sent him to; and thus back +again to her father and the evil he had wrought. It is matter for +conjecture whether her loathing for Gregory would have been as intense +as it was, had another than Crispin Galliard been his victim. + +Her life seemed at an end as she sat that October evening on the cliffs. +No single interest linked her to existence; nothing, it seemed, was left +her to hope for till the end should come--and no doubt it would be long +in coming, for time moves slowly when we wait. + +Wistful she sat and thought, and every thought begat a sigh, and then +of a sudden--surely her ears had tricked her, enslaved by her +imagination--a crisp, metallic voice rang out close behind her. + +"Why are we pensive, Mistress Cynthia?" + +There was a catch in her breath as she turned her head. Her cheeks took +fire, and for a second were aflame. Then they went deadly white, and +it seemed that time and life and the very world had paused in its +relentless progress towards eternity. For there stood the object of her +thoughts and sighs, sudden and unexpected, as though the earth had cast +him up on to her surface. + +His thin lips were parted in a smile that softened wondrously the +harshness of his face, and his eyes seemed then to her alight with +kindness. A moment's pause there was, during which she sought her voice, +and when she had found it, all that she could falter was: + +"Sir, how came you here? They told me that you rode to London." + +"Why, so I did. But on the road I chanced to halt, and having halted I +discovered reason why I should return." + +He had discovered a reason. She asked herself breathlessly what might +that reason be, and finding herself no answer to the question, she put +it next to him. + +He drew near to her before replying. "May I sit with you awhile, +Cynthia?" + +She moved aside to make room for him, as though the broad cliff had been +a narrow ledge, and with the sigh of a weary man finding a resting-place +at last, he sank down beside her. + +There was a tenderness in his voice that set her pulses stirring wildly. +Did she guess aright the reason that had caused him to break his journey +and return? That he had done so--no matter what the reason--she thanked +God from her inmost heart, as for a miracle that had saved him from the +doom awaiting him in London town. + +"Am I presumptuous, child, to think that haply the meditation in which +I found you rapt was for one, unworthy though he be, who went hence but +some few days since?" + +The ambiguous question drove every thought from her mind, filling it to +overflowing with the supreme good of his presence, and the frantic hope +that she had read aright the reason of it. + +"Have I conjectured rightly?" he asked, since she kept silence. + +"Mayhap you have," she whispered in return, and then, marvelling at her +boldness, blushed. He glanced sharply at her from narrowing eyes. It was +not the answer he had looked to hear. + +As a father might have done he took the slender hand that rested upon +the grass beside him, and she, poor child, mistaking the promptings of +that action, suffered it to lie in his strong grasp. With averted head +she gazed upon the sea below, until a mist of tears rose up to blot it +out. The breeze seemed full of melody and gladness. God was very good +to her, and sent her in her hour of need this great consolation--a +consolation indeed that must have served to efface whatever sorrow could +have beset her. + +"Why then, sweet lady, is my task that I had feared to find all fraught +with difficulty, grown easy indeed." + +And hearing him pause: + +"What task is that, Sir Crispin?" she asked, intent on helping him. + +He did not reply at once. He found it difficult to devise an answer. +To tell her brutally that he was come to bear her away, willing +or unwilling, on behalf of another, was not easy. Indeed, it was +impossible, and he was glad that inclinations in her which he had little +dreamt of, put the necessity aside. + +"My task, Mistress Cynthia, is to bear you hence. To ask you to resign +this peaceful life, this quiet home in a little corner of the world, +and to go forth to bear life's hardships with one who, whatever be his +shortcomings, has the all-redeeming virtue of loving you beyond aught +else in life." + +He gazed intently at her as he spoke, and her eyes fell before his +glance. He noted the warm, red blood suffusing her cheeks, her brow, her +very neck; and he could have laughed aloud for joy at finding so simple +that which he had feared would prove so hard. Some pity, too, crept +unaccountably into his stern heart, fathered by the little faith which +in his inmost soul he reposed in Jocelyn. And where, had she resisted +him, he would have grown harsh and violent, her acquiescence struck +the weapons from his hands, and he caught himself well-nigh warning her +against accompanying him. + +"It is much to ask," he said. "But love is selfish, and love asks much." + +"No, no," she protested softly, "it is not much to ask. Rather is it +much to offer." + +At that he was aghast. Yet he continued: + +"Bethink you, Mistress Cynthia, I have ridden back to Sheringham to ask +you to come with me into France, where my son awaits us?" + +He forgot for the moment that she was in ignorance of his relationship +to him he looked upon as her lover, whilst she gave this mention of his +son, of whose existence she had already heard from her; father, little +thought at that moment. The hour was too full of other things that +touched her more nearly. + +"I ask you to abandon the ease and peace of Sheringham for a life as a +soldier's bride that may be rough and precarious for a while, though, +truth to tell, I have some influence at the Luxembourg, and friends upon +whose assistance I can safely count, to find your husband honourable +employment, and set him on the road to more. And how, guided by so sweet +a saint, can he but mount to fame and honour?" + +She spoke no word, but the hand resting in his entwined his fingers in +an answering pressure. + +"Dare I then ask so much?" cried he. And as if the ambiguity which +had marked his speech were not enough, he must needs, as he put this +question, bend in his eagerness towards her until her brown tresses +touched his swart cheek. Was it then strange that the eagerness +wherewith he urged another's suit should have been by her interpreted as +her heart would have had it? + +She set her hands upon his shoulders, and meeting his eager gaze with +the frank glance of the maid who, out of trust, is fearless in her +surrender: + +"Throughout my life I shall thank God that you have dared it," she made +answer softly. + +A strange reply he deemed it, yet, pondering, he took her meaning to be +that since Jocelyn had lacked the courage to woo boldly, she was glad +that he had sent an ambassador less timid. + +A pause followed, and for a spell they sat silent, he thinking of how +to frame his next words; she happy and content to sit beside him without +speech. + +She marvelled somewhat at the strangeness of his wooing, which was +like unto no wooing her romancer's tales had told her of, but then +she reflected how unlike he was to other men, and therein she saw the +explanation. + +"I wish," he mused, "that matters were easier; that it might be mine +to boldly sue your hand from your father, but it may not be. Even had +events not fallen out as they have done, it had been difficult; as it +is, it is impossible." + +Again his meaning was obscure, and when he spoke of suing for her hand +from her father, he did not think of adding that he would have sued it +for his son. + +"I have no father," she replied. "This very day have I disowned him." +And observing the inquiry with which his eyes were of a sudden charged: +"Would you have me own a thief, a murderer, my father?" she demanded, +with a fierceness of defiant shame. + +"You know, then?" he ejaculated. + +"Yes," she answered sorrowfully, "I know all there is to be known. I +learnt it all this morning. All day have I pondered it in my shame to +end in the resolve to leave Sheringham. I had intended going to London +to my mother's sister. You are very opportunely come." She smiled up at +him through the tears that were glistening in her eyes. "You come even +as I was despairing--nay, when already I had despaired." + +Sir Crispin was no longer puzzled by the readiness of her acquiescence. +Here was the explanation of it. Forced by the honesty of her pure soul +to abandon the house of a father she knew at last for what he was, the +refuge Crispin now offered her was very welcome. She had determined +before he came to quit Castle Marleigh, and timely indeed was his offer +of the means of escape from a life that was grown impossible. A great +pity filled his heart. She was selling herself, he thought; accepting +the proposal which, on his son's behalf, he made, and from which at any +other season, he feared, she would have shrunk in detestation. + +That pity was reflected on his countenance now, and noting its +solemnity, and misconstruing it, she laughed outright, despite herself. +He did not ask her why she laughed, he did not notice it; his thoughts +were busy already upon another matter. + +When next he spoke, it was to describe to her the hollow of the road +where on the night of his departure from the castle he had been flung +from his horse. She knew the spot, she told him, and there at dusk upon +the following day she would come to him. Her woman must accompany her, +and for all that he feared such an addition to the party might retard +their flight, yet he could not gainsay her resolution. Her uncle, he +learnt from her, was absent from Sheringham; he had set out four days +ago for London. For her father she would leave a letter, and in this +matter Crispin urged her to observe circumspection, giving no indication +of the direction of her journey. + +In all he said, now that matters were arranged he was calm, practical, +and unloverlike, and for all that she would he had been less +self-possessed, her faith in him caused her, upon reflection, even to +admire this which she conceived to be restraint. Yet, when at parting he +did no more than courteously bend before her, and kiss her hand as any +simpering gallant might have done, she was all but vexed, and not to be +outdone in coldness, she grew frigid. But it was lost upon him. He had +not a lover's discernment, quickened by anxious eyes that watch for each +flitting change upon his mistress's face. + +They parted thus, and into the heart of Mistress Cynthia there crept +that night a doubt that banished sleep. Was she wise in entrusting +herself so utterly to a man of whom she knew but little, and that learnt +from rumours which had not been good? But scarcely was it because +of that that doubts assailed her. Rather was it because of his cool +deliberateness which argued not the great love wherewith she fain would +fancy him inspired. + +For consolation she recalled a line that had it great fires were soon +burnt out, and she sought to reassure herself that the flame of his +love, if not all-consuming, would at least burn bright and steadfastly +until the end of life. And so she fell asleep, betwixt hope and fear, +yet no longer with any hesitancy touching the morrow's course. + +In the morning she took her woman into her confidence, and scared her +with it out of what little sense the creature owned. Yet to such purpose +did she talk, that when that evening, as Crispin waited by the coach he +had taken, in the hollow of the road, he saw approaching him a portly, +middle-aged dame with a valise. This was Cynthia's woman, and Cynthia +herself was not long in following, muffled in a long, black cloak. + +He greeted her warmly--affectionately almost yet with none of the +rapture to which she held herself entitled as some little recompense for +all that on his behalf she left behind. + +Urbanely he handed her into the coach, and, after her, her woman. Then +seeing that he made shift to close the door: + +"How is this?" she cried. "Do you not ride with us?" + +He pointed to a saddled horse standing by the roadside, and which she +had not noticed. + +"It will be better so. You will be at more comfort in the carriage +without me. Moreover, it will travel the lighter and the swifter, and +speed will prove our best friend." + +He closed the door, and stepped back with a word of command to the +driver. The whip cracked, and Cynthia flung herself back almost in a +pet. What manner of lover, she asked herself, was thin and what manner +of woman she, to let herself be borne away by one who made so little use +of the arts and wiles of sweet persuasion? To carry her off, and yet not +so much as sit beside her, was worthy only of a man who described such a +journey as tedious. She marvelled greatly at it, yet more she marvelled +at herself that she did not abandon this mad undertaking. + +The coach moved on and the flight from Sheringham was begun. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT + + +Throughout the night they went rumbling on their way at a pace whose +sluggishness elicited many an oath from Crispin as he rode a few yards +in the rear, ever watchful of the possibility of pursuit. But there was +none, nor none need he have feared, since whilst he rode through the +cold night, Gregory Ashburn slept as peacefully as a man may with the +fever and an evil conscience, and imagined his dutiful daughter safely +abed. + +With the first streaks of steely light came a thin rain to heighten +Crispin's discomfort, for of late he had been overmuch in the saddle, +and strong though he was, he was yet flesh and blood, and subject to +its ills. Towards ten o'clock they passed through Denham. When they were +clear of it Cynthia put her head from the window. She had slept well, +and her mood was lighter and happier. As Crispin rode a yard or so +behind, he caught sight of her fresh, smiling face, and it affected him +curiously. The tenderness that two days ago had been his as he talked +to her upon the cliffs was again upon him, and the thought that anon she +would be linked to him by the ties of relationship, was pleasurable. +She gave him good morrow prettily, and he, spurring his horse to the +carriage door, was solicitous to know of her comfort. Nor did he again +fall behind until Stafford was reached at noon. Here, at the sign of the +Suffolk Arms, he called a halt, and they broke their fast on the best +the house could give them. + +Cynthia was gay, and so indeed was Crispin, yet she noted in him that +coolness which she accounted restraint, and gradually her spirits sank +again before it. + +To Crispin's chagrin there were no horses to be had. Someone in great +haste had ridden through before them, and taken what relays the hostelry +could give, leaving four jaded beasts in the stable. It seemed, indeed, +that they must remain there until the morrow, and in coming to that +conclusion, Sir Crispin's temper suffered sorely. + +"Why need it put you so about," cried Cynthia, in arch reproach, "since +I am with you?" + +"Blood and fire, madam," roared Galliard, "it is precisely for that +reason that I am exercised. What if your father came upon us here?" + +"My father, sir, is abed with a sword-wound and a fever," she replied, +and he remembered then how Kenneth had spitted Gregory through the +shoulder. + +"Still," he returned, "he will have discovered your flight, and I dare +swear we shall have his myrmidons upon our heels. Should they come up +with us we shall hardly find them more gentle than he would be." + +She paled at that, and for a second there was silence. Then her hand +stole forth upon his arm, and she looked at him with tightened lips and +a defiant air. + +"What, indeed, if they do? Are you not with me?" A king had praised +his daring, and for his valour had dubbed him knight upon a field of +stricken battle; yet the honour of it had not brought him the elation +those words--expressive of her utter faith in him and his prowess--begat +in his heart. Upon the instant the delay ceased to fret him. + +"Madam," he laughed, "since you put it so, I care not who comes. The +Lord Protector himself shall not drag you from me." + +It was the nearest he had gone to a passionate speech since they had +left Sheringham, and it pleased her; yet in uttering it he had stood a +full two yards away, and in that she had taken no pleasure. + +Bidding her remain and get what rest she might, he left her, and she, +following his straight, lank figure--so eloquent of strength--and the +familiar poise of his left hand upon the pummel of his sword, felt proud +indeed that he belonged to her, and secure in his protection. She sat +herself at the window when he was gone, and whilst she awaited his +return, she hummed a gay measure softly to herself. Her eyes were +bright, and there was a flush upon her cheeks. Not even in the wet, +greasy street could she find any unsightliness that afternoon. But as +she waited, and the minutes grew to hours, that flush faded, and the +sparkle died gradually from her eyes. The measure that she had hummed +was silenced, and her shapely mouth took on a pout of impatience, which +anon grew into a tighter mould, as he continued absent. + +A frown drew her brows together, and Mistress Cynthia's thoughts were +much as they had been the night before she left Castle Marleigh. Where +was he? Why came he not? She took up a book of plays that lay upon the +table, and sought to while away the time by reading. The afternoon faded +into dusk, and still he did not come. Her woman appeared, to ask whether +she should call for lights and at that Cynthia became almost violent. + +"Where is Sir Crispin?" she demanded. And to the dame's quavering answer +that she knew not, she angrily bade her go ascertain. + +In a pet, Cynthia paced the chamber whilst Catherine was gone upon that +errand. Did this man account her a toy to while away the hours for which +he could find no more profitable diversion, and to leave her to die of +ennui when aught else offered? Was it a small thing that he had asked of +her, to go with him into a strange land, that he should show himself so +little sensible of the honour done him? + +With such questions did she plague herself, and finding them either +unanswerable, or answerable only by affirmatives, she had well-nigh +resolved upon leaving the inn, and making her way back to London to seek +out her aunt, when the door opened and her woman reappeared. + +"Well?" cried Cynthia, seeing her alone. "Where is Sir Crispin?" + +"Below, madam." + +"Below?" echoed she. "And what, pray, doth he below?" + +"He is at dice with a gentleman from London." + +In the dim light of the October twilight the woman saw not the sudden +pallor of her mistress's cheeks, but she heard the gasp of pain that +was almost a cry. In her mortification, Cynthia could have wept had she +given way to her feelings. The man who had induced her to elope with him +sat at dice with a gentleman from London! Oh, it was monstrous! At the +thought of it she broke into a laugh that appalled her tiring-woman; +then mastering her hysteria, she took a sudden determination. + +"Call me the host," she cried, and the frightened Catherine obeyed her +at a run. + +When the landlord came, bearing lights, and bending his aged back +obsequiously: + +"Have you a pillion?" she asked abruptly. "Well, fool, why do you stare? +Have you a pillion?" + +"I have, madam." + +"And a knave to ride with me, and a couple more as escort?" + +"I might procure them, but--" + +"How soon?" + +"Within half an hour, but--" + +"Then go see to it," she broke in, her foot beating the ground +impatiently. + +"But, madam--" + +"Go, go, go!" she cried, her voice rising at each utterance of that +imperative. + +"But, madam," the host persisted despairingly, and speaking quickly so +that he might get the words out, "I have no horses fit to travel ten +miles." + +"I need to go but five," she retorted quickly, her only thought being to +get the beasts, no matter what their condition. "Now, go, and come not +back until all is ready. Use dispatch and I will pay you well, and above +all, not a word to the gentleman who came hither with me." + +The sorely-puzzled host withdrew to do her bidding, won to it by her +promise of good payment. + +Alone she sat for half an hour, vainly fostering the hope that ere +the landlord returned to announce the conclusion of his preparations, +Crispin might have remembered her and come. But he did not appear, and +in her solitude this poor little maid was very miserable, and shed +some tears that had still more of anger than sorrow in their source. At +length the landlord came. She summoned her woman, and bade her follow by +post on the morrow. The landlord she rewarded with a ring worth twenty +times the value of the service, and was led by him through a side door +into the innyard. + +Here she found three horses, one equipped with the pillion on which she +was to ride behind a burly stableboy. The other two were mounted by +a couple of stalwart and well-armed men, one of whom carried a +funnel-mouthed musketoon with a swagger that promised prodigies of +valour. + +Wrapped in her cloak, she mounted behind the stable-boy, and bade him +set out and take the road to Denham. Her dream was at an end. + +Master Quinn, the landlord, watched her departure with eyes that +were charged with doubt and concern. As he made fast the door of the +stableyard after she had passed out, he ominously shook his hoary head +and muttered to himself humble, hostelry-flavoured philosophies touching +the strange ways of men with women, and the stranger ways of women with +men. Then, taking up his lanthorn, he slowly retraced his steps to the +buttery where his wife was awaiting him. + +With sleeves rolled high above her pink and deeply-dimpled elbows stood +Mistress Quinn at work upon the fashioning of a pastry, when her husband +entered and set down his lanthorn with a sigh. + +"To be so plagued," he growled. "To be browbeaten by a slip of a +wench--a fine gentleman's baggage with the airs and vapours of a lady of +quality. Am I not a fool to have endured it?" + +"Certainly you are a fool," his wife agreed, kneading diligently, +"whatever you may have endured. What now?" + +His fat face was puckered into a thousand wrinkles. His little eyes +gazed at her with long-suffering malice. + +"You are my wife," he answered pregnantly, as who would say: Thus is +my folly clearly proven! and seeing that the assertion was not one that +admitted of dispute, Mistress Quinn was silent. + +"Oh, 'tis ill done!" he broke out a moment later. "Shame on me for it; +it is ill done!" + +"If you have done it 'tis sure to be ill done, and shame on you in good +sooth--but for what?" put in his wife. + +"For sending those poor jaded beasts upon the road." + +"What beasts?" + +"What beasts? Do I keep turtles? My horses, woman." + +"And whither have you sent them?" + +"To Denham with the baggage that came hither this morning in the company +of that very fierce gentleman who was in such a pet because we had no +horses." + +"Where is he?" inquired the hostess. + +"At dice with those other gallants from town." + +"At dice quotha? And she's gone, you say?" asked Mrs. Quinn, pausing in +her labours squarely to face her husband. + +"Aye," said he. + +"Stupid!" rejoined his docile spouse, vexed by his laconic assent. "Do +you mean she has run away?" + +"Tis what anyone might take from what I have told you," he answered +sweetly. + +"And you have lent her horses and helped her to get away, and you leave +her husband at play in there?" + +"You have seen her marriage lines, I make no doubt," he sneered +irrelevantly. + +"You dolt! If the gentleman horsewhips you, you will have richly earned +it." + +"Eh? What?" gasped he, and his rubicund cheeks lost something of their +high colour, for here was a possibility that had not entered into his +calculations. But Mistress Quinn stayed not to answer him. Already she +was making for the door, wiping the dough from her hands on to her apron +as she went. A suspicion of her purpose flashed through her husband's +mind. + +"What would you do?" he inquired nervously. + +"Tell the gentleman what has taken place." + +"Nay," he cried, resolutely barring her way. "Nay. That you shall not. +Would you--would you ruin me?" + +She gave him a look of contempt, and dodging his grasp she gained the +door and was half-way down the passage towards the common room before he +had overtaken her and caught her round the middle. + +"Are you mad, woman?" he shouted. "Will you undo me?" + +"Do you undo me," she bade him, snatching at his hands. But he clutched +with the tightness of despair. + +"You shall not go," he swore. "Come back and leave the gentleman to +make the discovery for himself. I dare swear it will not afflict him +overmuch. He has abandoned her sorely since they came; not a doubt of +it but that he is weary of her. At least he need not know I lent her +horses. Let him think she fled a-foot, when he discovers her departure." + +"I will go," she answered stubbornly, dragging him with her a yard or +two nearer the door. "The gentleman shall be warned. Is a woman to run +away from her husband in my house, and the husband never be warned of +it?" + +"I promised her," he began. + +"What care I for your promises?" she asked. "I will tell him, so that he +may yet go after her and bring her back." + +"You shall not," he insisted, gripping her more closely. But at that +moment a delicately mocking voice greeted their ears. + +"Marry, 'tis vastly diverting to hear you," it said. They looked round, +to find one of the party of town sparks that had halted at the inn +standing arms akimbo in the narrow passage, clearly waiting for them +to make room. "A touching sight, sir," said he sardonically to the +landlord. "A wondrous touching sight to behold a man of your years +playing the turtle-dove to his good wife like the merest fledgeling. +It grieves me to intrude myself so harshly upon your cooing, though +if you'll but let me pass you may resume your chaste embrace without +uneasiness, for I give you my word I'll never look behind me." + +Abashed, the landlord and his dame fell apart. Then, ere the gentleman +could pass her, Mistress Quinn, like a true opportunist, sped swiftly +down the passage and into the common room before her husband could again +detain her. + +Now, within the common room of the Suffolk Arms Sir Crispin sat face to +face with a very pretty fellow, all musk and ribbons, and surrounded by +some half-dozen gentlemen on their way to London who had halted to rest +at Stafford. + +The pretty gentleman swore lustily, affected a monstrous wicked look, +assured that he was impressing all who stood about with some conceit of +the rakehelly ways he pursued in town. + +A game started with crowns to while away the tedium of the enforced +sojourn at the inn had grown to monstrous proportions. Fortune had +favoured the youth at first, but as the stakes grew her favours to him +diminished, and at the moment that Cynthia rode out of the inn-yard, Mr. +Harry Foster flung his last gold piece with an oath upon the table. + +"Rat me," he groaned, "there's the end of a hundred." + +He toyed sorrowfully with the red ribbon in his black hair, and Crispin, +seeing that no fresh stake was forthcoming, made shift to rise. But the +coxcomb detained him. + +"Tarry, sir," he cried, "I've not yet done. 'Slife, we'll make a night +of it." + +He drew a ring from his finger, and with a superb gesture of disdain +pushed it across the board. + +"What'll ye stake?" And, in the same breath, "Boy, another stoup," he +cried. + +Crispin eyed the gem carelessly. + +"Twenty Caroluses," he muttered. + +"Rat me, sir, that nose of yours proclaims you a jew, without more. Say +twenty-five, and I'll cast." + +With a tolerant smile, and the shrug of a man to whom twenty-five or +a hundred are of like account, Crispin consented. They threw; Crispin +passed and won. + +"What'll ye stake?" cried Mr. Foster, and a second ring followed the +first. + +Before Crispin could reply, the door leading to the interior of the inn +was flung open, and Mrs. Quinn, breathless with exertion and excitement, +came scurrying across the room. In the doorway stood the host in +hesitancy and fear. Bending to Crispin's ear, Mrs. Quinn delivered her +message in a whisper that was heard by most of those who were about. + +"Gone!" cried Crispin in consternation. + +The woman pointed to her husband, and Crispin, understanding from this +that she referred him to the host, called to him. + +"What know you, landlord?" he shouted. "Come hither, and tell me whither +is she gone!" + +"I know not," replied the quaking host, adding the particulars of +Cynthia's departure, and the information that the lady seemed in great +anger. + +"Saddle me a horse," cried Crispin, leaping to his feet, and pitching +Mr. Foster's trinket upon the table as though it were a thing of no +value. "Towards Denham you say they rode? Quick, man!" And as the host +departed he swept the gold and the ring he had won into his pockets +preparing to depart. + +"Hoity toity!" cried Mr. Foster. "What sudden haste is this?" + +"I am sorry, sir, that Fortune has been unkind to you, but I must go. +Circumstances have arisen which--" + +"D--n your circumstances!" roared Foster, get ting on his feet. "You'll +not leave me thus!" + +"With your permission, sir, I will." + +"But you shall not have my permission!" + +"Then I shall be so unfortunate as to go without it. But I shall +return." + +"Sir, 'tis an old legend, that!" + +Crispin turned about in despair. To be embroiled now might ruin +everything, and by a miracle he kept his temper. He had a moment to +spare while his horse was being saddled. + +"Sir," he said, "if you have upon your pretty person trinkets to half +the value of what I have won from you, I'll stake the whole against +them on one throw, after which, no matter what the result, I take my +departure. Are you agreed?" + +There was a murmur of admiration from those present at the recklessness +and the generosity of the proposal, and Foster was forced to accept it. +Two more rings he drew forth, a diamond from the ruffles at his throat, +and a pearl that he wore in his ear. The lot he set upon the board, and +Crispin threw the winning cast as the host entered to say that his horse +was ready. + +He gathered the trinkets up, and with a polite word of regret he was +gone, leaving Mr. Harry Foster to meditate upon the pledging of one of +his horses to the landlord in discharge of his lodging. + +And so it fell out that before Cynthia had gone six miles along the road +to Denham, one of her attendants caught a rapid beat of hoofs behind +them, and drew her attention to it, suggesting that they were being +followed. Faster Cynthia bade them travel, but the pursuer gained +upon them at every stride. Again the man drew her attention to it, and +proposed that they should halt and face him who followed. The possession +of the musketoon gave him confidence touching the issue. But Cynthia +shuddered at the thought, and again, with promises of rich reward, urged +them to go faster. Another mile they went, but every moment brought the +pursuing hoof-beats nearer and nearer, until at last a hoarse challenge +rang out behind them, and they knew that to go farther would be vain; +within the next half-mile, ride as they might, their pursuer would be +upon them. + +The night was moonless, yet sufficiently clear for objects to be +perceived against the sky, and presently the black shadow of him who +rode behind loomed up upon the road, not a hundred paces off. + +Despite Cynthia's orders not to fire, he of the musketoon raised his +weapon under cover of the darkness and blazed at the approaching shadow. + +Cynthia cried out--a shriek of dismay it was; the horses plunged, and +Sir Crispin laughed aloud as he bore down upon them. He of the musketoon +heard the swish of a sword being drawn, and saw the glitter of the blade +in the dark. A second later there was a shock as Crispin's horse dashed +into his, and a crushing blow across the forehead, which Galliard +delivered with the hilt of his rapier, sent him hurtling from the +saddle. His comrade clapped spurs to his horse at that and was running a +race with the night wind in the direction of Denham. + +Before Cynthia quite knew what had happened the seat on the pillion in +front of her was empty, and she was riding back to Stafford with Crispin +beside her, his hand upon the bridle of her horse. + +"You little fool!" he said half-angrily, half-gibingly; and thereafter +they rode in silence--she too mortified with shame and anger to venture +upon words. + +That journey back to Stafford was a speedy one, and soon they stood +again in the inn-yard out of which she had ridden but an hour ago. +Avoiding the common room, Crispin ushered her through the side door by +which she had quitted the house. The landlord met them in the passage, +and looking at Crispin's face the pallor and fierceness of it drove him +back without a word. + +Together they ascended to the chamber where in solitude she had +spent the day. Her feelings were those of a child caught in an act of +disobedience, and she was angry with herself and her weakness that +it should be so. Yet within the room she stood with bent head, never +glancing at her companion, in whose eyes there was a look of blended +anger and amazement as he observed her. At length in calm, level tones: + +"Why did you run away?" he asked. + +The question was to her anger as a gust of wind to a smouldering fire. +She threw back her head defiantly, and fixed him with a glance as fierce +as his own. + +"I will tell you," she cried, and suddenly stopped short. The fire died +from her eyes, and they grew wide in wonder--in fascinated wonder--to +see a deep stain overspreading one side of his grey doublet, from the +left shoulder downwards. Her wonder turned to horror as she realized the +nature of that stain and remembered that one of her men had fired upon +him. + +"You are wounded?" she faltered. + +A sickly smile came into his face, and seemed to accentuate its pallor. +He made a deprecatory gesture. Then, as if in that gesture he had +expended his last grain of strength, he swayed suddenly as he stood. +He made as if to reach a chair, but at the second step he stumbled, and +without further warning he fell prone at her feet, his left hand upon +his heart, his right outstretched straight from the shoulder. The loss +of blood he had sustained, following upon the fatigue and sleeplessness +that had been his of late, had demanded its due from him, man of iron +though he was. + +Upon the instant her anger vanished. A great fear that he was dead +descended upon her, and to heighten the horror of it came the thought +that he had received his death-wound through her agency. With a moan of +anguish she went down upon her knees beside him. She raised his head +and pillowed it in her lap, calling to him by name, as though her +voice alone must suffice to bring him back to life and consciousness. +Instinctively she unfastened his doublet at the neck, and sought to draw +it away that she might see the nature of his hurt and staunch the wound +if possible, but her strength ebbed away from her, and she abandoned her +task, unable to do more than murmur his name. + +"Crispin, Crispin, Crispin!" + +She stooped and kissed the white, clammy forehead, then his lips, and +as she did so a tremor ran through her, and he opened his eyes. A moment +they looked dull and lifeless, then they waxed questioning. + +A second ago these two had stood in anger with the width of the room +betwixt them; now, in a flash, he found his head on her lap, her lips on +his. How came he there? What meant it? + +"Crispin, Crispin," she cried, "thank God you did but swoon!" + +Then the awakening of his soul came swift upon the awakening of his +body. He lay there, oblivious of his wound, oblivious of his mission, +oblivious of his son. He lay with senses still half dormant and +comprehension dulled, but with a soul alert he lay, and was supremely +happy with a happiness such as he had never known in all his ill-starred +life. + +In a feeble voice he asked: + +"Why did you run away?" + +"Let us forget it," she answered softly. + +"Nay--tell me first." + +"I thought--I thought--" she stammered; then, gathering courage, "I +thought you did not really care, that you made a toy of me," said she. +"When they told me that you sat at dice with a gentleman from London I +was angry at your neglect. If you loved me, I told myself, you would not +have used me so, and left me to mope alone." + +For a moment Crispin let his grey eyes devour her blushing face. Then +he closed them and pondered what she had said, realization breaking upon +him now like a great flood. The light came to him in one blinding yet +all-illuming flash. A hundred things that had puzzled him in the last +two days grew of a sudden clear, and filled him with a joy unspeakable. +He dared scarce believe that he was awake, and Cynthia by him--that he +had indeed heard aright what she had said. How blind he had been, how +nescient of himself! + +Then, as his thoughts travelled on to the source of the misapprehension +he remembered his son, and the memory was like an icy hand upon his +temples that chilled him through and through. Lying there with eyes +still closed he groaned. Happiness was within his grasp at last. Love +might be his again did he but ask it, and the love of as pure and sweet +a creature as ever God sent to chasten a man's life. A great tenderness +possessed him. A burning temptation to cast to the winds his plighted +word, to make a mock of faith, to deride honour, and to seize this woman +for his own. She loved him he knew it now; he loved her--the knowledge +had come as suddenly upon him. Compared with this what could his faith, +his word, his honour give him? What to him, in the face of this, was +that paltry fellow, his son, who had spurned him! + +The hardest fight he ever fought, he fought it there, lying supine upon +the ground, his head in her lap. + +Had he fought it out with closed eyes, perchance honour and his plighted +word had won the day; but he opened them, and they met Cynthia's. + +A while they stayed thus; the hungry glance of his grey eyes peering +into the clear blue depths of hers; and in those depths his soul was +drowned, his honour stifled. + +"Cynthia," he cried, "God pity me, I love you!" And he swooned again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. TO FRANCE + + +That cry, which she but half understood, was still ringing in her ears, +when the door was of a sudden flung open, and across the threshold a +very daintily arrayed young gentleman stepped briskly, the expostulating +landlord following close upon his heels. + +"I tell thee, lying dog," he cried, "I saw him ride into the yard, and, +'fore George, he shall give me the chance of mending my losses. Be off +to your father, you Devil's natural." + +Cynthia looked up in alarm, whereupon that merry blood catching sight of +her, halted in some confusion at what he saw. + +"Rat me, madam," he cried, "I did not know--I had not looked to--" He +stopped, and remembering at last his manners he made her a low bow. + +"Your servant, madam," said he, "your servant Harry Foster." + +She gazed at him, her eyes full of inquiry, but said nothing, whereat +the pretty gentleman plucked awkwardly at his ruffles and wished himself +elsewhere. + +"I did not know, madam, that your husband was hurt." + +"He is not my husband, sir," she answered, scarce knowing what she said. + +"Gadso!" he ejaculated. "Yet you ran away from him?" + +Her cheeks grew crimson. + +"The door, sir, is behind you." + +"So, madam, is that thief the landlord," he made answer, no whit +abashed. "Come hither, you bladder of fat, the gentleman is hurt." + +Thus courteously summoned, the landlord shuffled forward, and Mr. +Foster begged Cynthia to allow him with the fellow's aid to see to the +gentleman's wound. Between them they laid Crispin on a couch, and the +town spark went to work with a dexterity little to have been expected +from his flippant exterior. He dressed the wound, which was in the +shoulder and not in itself of a dangerous character, the loss of blood +it being that had brought some gravity to the knight's condition. They +propped his head upon a pillow, and presently he sighed and, opening his +eyes, complained of thirst, and was manifestly surprised at seeing the +coxcomb turned leech. + +"I came in search of you to pursue our game," Foster explained when they +had ministered to him, "and, 'fore George, I am vastly grieved to find +you in this condition." + +"Pish, sir, my condition is none so grievous--a scratch, no more, and +were my heart itself pierced the knowledge that I have gained--" He +stopped short. "But there, sir," he added presently, "I am grateful +beyond words for your timely ministration, and if to my debt you will +add that of leaving me awhile to rest, I shall appreciate it." + +His glance met Cynthia's and he smiled. The host coughed significantly, +and shuffled towards the door. But Master Foster made no shift to move; +but stood instead beside Galliard, though in apparent hesitation. + +"I should like a word with you ere I go," he said at length. Then +turning and perceiving the landlord standing by the door in an attitude +of eloquent waiting: "Take yourself off," he cried to him. "Crush me, +may not one gentleman say a word to another without being forced to +speak into your inquisitive ears as well? You will forgive my heat, +madam, but, God a'mercy, that greasy rascal tries me sorely." + +"Now, sir," he resumed, when the host was gone. "I stand thus: I have +lost to you to-day a sum of money which, though some might account +considerable, is in itself no more than a trifle. + +"I am, however, greatly exercised at the loss of certain trinkets which +have to me a peculiar value, and which, to be frank, I staked in a +moment of desperation. I had hoped, sir, to retrieve my losses o'er a +friendly main this evening, for I have still to stake a coach and four +horses--as noble a set of beasts as you'll find in England, aye rat +me. Your wound, sir, renders it impossible for me to ask you to give +yourself the fatigue of obliging me. I come, then, to propose that you +return me those trinkets against my note of hand for the amount that was +staked on them. I am well known in town, sir," he added hurriedly, "and +you need have no anxiety." + +Crispin stopped him with a wave of the hand. + +"I have none, sir, in that connexion, and I am willing to do as you +suggest." He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew forth the rings, +the brooch and the ear-ring he had won. "Here, sir, are your trinkets." + +"Sir," cried Mr. Foster, thrown into some confusion by Galliard's +unquestioning generosity, "I am indebted to you. Rat me, sir, I am +indeed. You shall have my note of hand on the instant. How much shall we +say?" + +"One moment, Mr. Foster," said Crispin, an idea suddenly occurring to +him. "You mentioned horses. Are they fresh?" + +"As June roses." + +"And you are returning to London, are you not?" + +"I am." + +"When do you wish to proceed?" + +"To-morrow." + +"Why, then, sir, I have a proposal to make which will remove the need of +your note of hand. Lend me your horses, sir, to reach Harwich. I wish to +set out at once!" + +"But your wound?" cried Cynthia. "You are still faint." + +"Faint! Not I. I am awake and strong. My wound is no wound, for a +scratch may not be given that name. So there, sweetheart." He laughed, +and drawing down her head, he whispered the words: "Your father." Then +turning again to Foster. "Now, sir," he continued, "there are four +tolerable posthorses of mine below, on which you can follow tomorrow to +Harwich, there exchanging them again for your own, which you shall find +awaiting you, stabled at the Garter Inn. For this service, to me of +immeasurable value, I will willingly cede those gewgaws to you." + +"But, rat me, sir," cried Foster in bewilderment, "tis too +generous--'pon honour it is. I can't consent to it. No, rat me, I +can't." + +"I have told you how great a boon you will confer. Believe me, sir, to +me it is worth twice, a hundred times the value of those trinkets." + +"You shall have my horses, sir, and my note of hand as well," said +Foster firmly. + +"Your note of hand is of no value to me, sir. I look to leave England +to-morrow, and I know not when I may return." + +Thus in the end it came about that the bargain was concluded. Cynthia's +maid was awakened and bidden to rise. The horses were harnessed to +Crispin's coach, and Crispin, leaning upon Harry Foster's arm, descended +and took his place within the carriage. + +Leaving the London blood at the door of the Suffolk Arms, crushing, +burning, damning and ratting himself at Crispin's magnificence, they +rolled away through the night in the direction of Ipswich. + +Ten o'clock in the morning beheld them at the door of the Garter Inn at +Harwich. But the jolting of the coach had so hardly used Crispin that he +had to be carried into the hostelry. He was much exercised touching the +Lady Jane and his inability to go down to the quay in quest of her, when +he was accosted by a burly, red-faced individual who bluntly asked him +was he called Sir Crispin Galliard. Ere he could frame an answer the man +had added that he was Thomas Jackson, master of the Lady Jane--at which +piece of good news Crispin felt like to shout for joy. + +But his reflection upon his present position, when at last he lay in the +schooner's cabin, brought him the bitter reverse of pleasure. He had set +out to bring Cynthia to his son; he had pledged his honour to accomplish +it. How was he fulfilling his trust? In his despondency, during a moment +when alone, he cursed the knave that had wounded him for his clumsiness +in not having taken a lower aim when he fired, and thus solved him this +ugly riddle of life for all time. + +Vainly did he strive to console himself and endeavour to palliate the +wrong he had done with the consideration that he was the man Cynthia +loved, and not his son; that his son was nothing to her, and that she +would never have accompanied him had she dreamt that he wooed her for +another. + +No. The deed was foul, and rendered fouler still by virtue of those +other wrongs in whose extenuation it had been undertaken. For a moment +he grew almost a coward. He was on the point of bidding Master Jackson +avoid Calais and make some other port along the coast. But in a moment +he had scorned the craven argument of flight, and determined that come +what might he would face his son, and lay the truth before him, leaving +him to judge how strong fate had been. As he lay feverish and fretful in +the vessel's cabin, he came well-nigh to hating Kenneth; he remembered +him only as a poor, mean creature, now a bigot, now a fop, now a +psalm-monger, now a roysterer, but ever a hypocrite, ever a coward, +and never such a man as he could have taken pride in presenting as his +offspring. + +They had a fair wind, and towards evening Cynthia, who had been absent +from his side a little while, came to tell him that the coast of France +grew nigh. + +His answer was a sigh, and when she chid him for it, he essayed a smile +that was yet more melancholy. For a second he was tempted to confide +in her; to tell her of the position in which he found himself and to +lighten his load by sharing it with her. But this he dared not do. +Cynthia must never know. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. THE AUBERGE DU SOLEIL + + +In a room of the first floor of the Auberge du Soleil, at Calais, the +host inquired of Crispin if he were milord Galliard. At that question +Crispin caught his breath in apprehension, and felt himself turn pale. +What it portended, he guessed; and it stifled the hope that had been +rising in him since his arrival, and because he had not found his +son awaiting him either on the jetty or at the inn. He dared ask no +questions, fearing that the reply would quench that hope, which rose +despite himself, and begotten of a desire of which he was hardly +conscious. + +He sighed before replying, and passing his brown, nervous hand across +his brow, he found it moist. + +"My name, M. l'hote, is Crispin Galliard. What news have you for me?" + +"A gentleman--a countryman of milord's--has been here these three days +awaiting him." + +For a little while Crispin sat quite still, stripped of his last rag of +hope. Then suddenly bracing himself, he sprang up, despite his weakness. + +"Bring him to me. I will see him at once." + +"Tout-a-l'heure, monsieur," replied the landlord. "At the moment he is +absent. He went out to take the air a couple of hours ago, and is not +yet returned." + +"Heaven send he has walked into the sea!" Crispin broke out +passionately. Then as passionately he checked himself. "No, no, my +God--not that! I meant not that." + +"Monsieur will sup?" + +"At once, and let me have lights." The host withdrew, to return a moment +later with a couple of lighted tapers, which he set upon the table. + +As he was retiring, a heavy step sounded on the stair, accompanied by +the clank of a scabbard against the baluster. + +"Here comes milord's countryman," the landlord announced. + +And Crispin, looking up in apprehension, saw framed in the doorway the +burly form of Harry Hogan. + +He sat bolt upright, staring as though he beheld an apparition. With +a sad smile, Hogan advanced, and set his hand affectionately upon +Galliard's shoulder. + +"Welcome to France, Crispin," said he. "If not him whom you looked to +find, you have at least a loyal friend to greet you." + +"Hogan!" gasped the knight. "What make you here? How came you here? +Where is Jocelyn?" + +The Irishman looked at him gravely for a moment, then sighed and sank +down upon a chair. "You have brought the lady?" he asked. + +"She is here. She will be with us presently." + +Hogan groaned and shook his grey head sorrowfully. + +"But where is Jocelyn?" cried Galliard again, and his haggard face +looked very wan and white as he turned it inquiringly upon his +companion. "Why is he not here?" + +"I have bad news." + +"Bad news?" muttered Crispin, as though he understood not the meaning of +the words. "Bad news?" he repeated musingly. Then bracing himself, "What +is this news?" + +"And you have brought the lady too!" Hogan complained. "Faith, I had +hoped that you had failed in that at least." + +"Sdeath, Harry," Crispin exclaimed. "Will you tell me the news?" + +Hogan pondered a moment. Then: + +"I will relate the story from the very beginning," said he. "Some four +hours after your departure from Waltham) my men brought in the malignant +we were hunting. I dispatched my sergeant and the troop forthwith to +London with the prisoner, keeping just two troopers with me. An hour or +so later a coach clattered into the yard, and out of it stepped a short, +lean man in black, with a very evil face and a crooked eye, who bawled +out that he was Joseph Ashburn of Castle Marleigh, a friend of the Lord +General's, and that he must have horses on the instant to proceed upon +his journey to London. I was in the yard at the time, and hearing the +full announcement I guessed what his business in London was. He entered +the inn to refresh himself and I followed him. In the common room the +first man his eyes lighted on was your son. He gasped at sight of him, +and when he had recovered his breath he let fly as round a volley of +blasphemy as ever I heard from the lips of a Puritan. When that was +over, "Fool," he yells, "what make you here?" The lad stammered and grew +confused. At last--"I was detained here," says he. "Detained!" thunders +the other, "and by whom?" "By my father, you murdering villain!" was the +hot answer. + +"At that Master Ashburn grows very white and very evil-looking. "So," he +says, in a playful voice, "you have learnt that, have you? Well, by God! +the lesson shall profit neither you nor that rascal your father. But +I'll begin with you, you cur." And with that he seizes a jug of ale that +stood on the table, and empties it over the boy's face. Soul of my body! +The lad showed such spirit then as I had never looked to find in him. +"Outside," yells he, tugging at his sword with one hand, and pointing +to the door with the other. "Outside, you hound, where I can kill you!" +Ashburn laughed and cursed him, and together they flung past me into the +yard. The place was empty at the moment, and there, before the clash of +their blades had drawn interference, the thing was over--and Ashburn had +sent his sword through Jocelyn's heart." + +Hogan paused, and Crispin sat very still and white, his soul in torment. + +"And Ashburn?" he asked presently, in a voice that was singularly hoarse +and low. "What became of him? Was he not arrested?" + +"No," said Hogan grimly, "he was not arrested. He was buried. Before he +had wiped his blade I had stepped up to him and accused him of murdering +a beardless boy. I remembered the reckoning he owed you, I remembered +that he had sought to send you to your death; I saw the boy's body still +warm and bleeding upon the ground, and I struck him with my knuckles on +the mouth. Like the cowardly ruffian he was, he made a pass at me with +his sword before I had got mine out. I avoided it narrowly, and we set +to work. + +"People rushed in and would have stopped us, but I cursed them so whilst +I fenced, swearing to kill any man that came between us, that they held +off and waited. I didn't keep them overlong. I was no raw youngster +fresh from the hills of Scotland. I put the point of my sword through +Joseph Ashburn's throat within a minute of our engaging. + +"It was then as I stood in that shambles and looked down upon my +handiwork that I recalled in what favour Master Ashburn was held by the +Parliament, and I grew sick to think of what the consequences might be. +To avoid them I got me there and then to horse, and rode in a straight +line for Greenwich, hoping to find the Lady Jane still there. But my +messenger had already sent her to Harwich for you. I was well ahead of +possible pursuit, and so I pushed on to Dover, and thence I crossed, +arriving here three days ago." + +Crispin rose and stepped up to Hogan. "The last time you came to me +after killing a man, Harry, I was of some service to you. You shall find +me no less useful now. You will come to Paris with me?" + +"But the lady?" gasped Hogan, amazed at Crispin's lack of thought for +her. + +"I hear her step upon the stairs. Leave me now, Harry, but as you go, +desire the landlord to send for a priest. The lady remains." + +One look of utter bewilderment did Hogan bestow upon Sir Crispin, and +for once his glib, Irish tongue could shape no other words than: + +"Soul of my body!" + +He wrung Crispin's hand, and in a state of ineffable perplexity he +hurried from the room to do what was required of him. + +For a moment Crispin stood by the window, and looking out into the night +he thanked God from his heart for his solution of the monstrous riddle +that had been set him. + +Then the rustle of a gown drew his attention, and he swung round to find +Cynthia smiling upon him from the threshold. + +He advanced to meet her, and setting his hands upon her shoulders, he +held her at arm's length, looking down into her eyes. + +"Cynthia, my Cynthia!" he cried. And she, breaking past the barrier of +his grasp, nestled up to him with a sigh of sweet and unalloyed content. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tavern Knight, by Rafael Sabatini + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TAVERN KNIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 3030.txt or 3030.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/3/3030/ + +Produced by Polly Stratton + +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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THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY + +VIII. THE TWISTED BAR + +IX. THE BARGAIN + +X. THE ESCAPE + +XI. THE ASHBURNS + +XII. THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S + +XIII. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH + +XIV. THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN + +XV. JOSEPH'S RETURN + +XVI. THE RECKONING + +XVII. JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN + +XVIII. COUNTER-PLOT + +XIX. THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY + +XX. THE CONVERTED HOGAN + +XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE + +XXII. SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING + +XXIII. GREGORY'S ATTRITION + +XXIV. THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA + +XXV. CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT + +XXVI. TO FRANCE + +XXVII. THE AUBERGINE DU SOLEIL + + + + + + +THE TAVERN KNIGHT By Rafael Sabatini + + + + +CHAPTER I + +ON THE MARCH + +He whom they called the Tavern Knight laughed an evil laugh - +such a laugh as might fall from the lips of Satan in a sardonic +moment. + +He sat within the halo of yellow light shed by two tallow +candles, whose sconces were two empty bottles, and +contemptuously he eyed the youth in black, standing with white +face and quivering lip in a corner of the mean chamber. Then +he laughed again, and in a hoarse voice, sorely suggestive of +the bottle, he broke into song. He lay back in his chair, his +long, spare legs outstretched, his spurs jingling to the lilt +of his ditty whose burden ran: + + On the lip so red of the wench that's sped + His passionate kiss burns, still-O! + For 'tis April time, and of love and wine + Youth's way is to take its fill-O! + Down, down, derry-do! + + So his cup he drains and he shakes his reins, + And rides his rake-helly way-O! + She was sweet to woo and most comely, too, + But that was all yesterday-O! + Down, down, derry-do! + +The lad started forward with something akin to a shiver. + +"Have done," he cried, in a voice of loathing, "or, if croak +you must, choose a ditty less foul!" + +"Eh?" The ruffler shook back the matted hair from his lean, +harsh face, and a pair of eyes that of a sudden seemed ablaze +glared at his companion; then the lids drooped until those eyes +became two narrow slits - catlike and cunning - and again he +laughed. + +"Gad's life, Master Stewart, you have a temerity that should +save you from grey hairs! What is't to you what ditty my fancy +seizes on? 'Swounds, man, for three weary months have I curbed +my moods, and worn my throat dry in praising the Lord; for +three months have I been a living monument of Covenanting zeal +and godliness; and now that at last I have shaken the dust of +your beggarly Scotland from my heels, you - the veriest milksop +that ever ran tottering from its mother's lap would chide me +because, yon bottle being done, I sing to keep me from waxing +sad in the contemplation of its emptiness!" + +There was scorn unutterable on the lad's face as he turned +aside. + +"When I joined Middleton's horse and accepted service under +you, I held you to be at least a gentleman," was his daring +rejoinder. + +For an instant that dangerous light gleamed again from his +companion's eye. Then, as before, the lids drooped, and, as +before, he laughed. + +"Gentleman!" he mocked. "On my soul, that's good! And what +may you know of gentlemen, Sir Scot? Think you a gentleman is +a Jack Presbyter, or a droning member of your kirk committee, +strutting it like a crow in the gutter? Gadswounds, boy, when +I was your age, and George Villiers lived - " + +"Oh, have done!" broke in the youth impetuously. "Suffer me to +leave you, Sir Crispin, to your bottle, your croaking, and your +memories." + +"Aye, go your ways, sir; you'd be sorry company for a dead man +- the sorriest ever my evil star led me into. The door is +yonder, and should you chance to break your saintly neck on the +stairs, it is like to be well for both of us." + +And with that Sir Crispin Galliard lay back in his chair once +more, and took up the thread of his interrupted song + + But, heigh-o! she cried, at the Christmas-tide, + That dead she would rather be-O! + Pale and wan she crept out of sight, and wept + + 'Tis a sorry - + +A loud knock that echoed ominously through the mean chamber, +fell in that instant upon the door. And with it came a panting +cry of - + +"Open, Cris! Open, for the love of God!" + +Sir Crispin's ballad broke off short, whilst the lad paused in +the act of quitting the room, and turned to look to him for +direction. + +"Well, my master," quoth Galliard, "for what do you wait?" + +"To learn your wishes, sir," was the answer sullenly delivered. + +"My wishes! Rat me, there's one without whose wishes brook +less waiting! Open, fool!" + +Thus rudely enjoined, the lad lifted the latch and set wide the +door, which opened immediately upon the street. Into the +apartment stumbled a roughly clad man of huge frame. He was +breathing hard, and fear was writ large upon his rugged face. +An instant he paused to close the door after him, then turning +to Galliard, who had risen and who stood eyeing him in +astonishment - + +"Hide me somewhere, Cris," he panted - his accent proclaiming +his Irish origin. "My God, hide me, or I'm a dead man this +night!" + +"'Slife, Hogan! What is toward? Has Cromwell overtaken us?" + +"Cromwell, quotha? Would to Heaven 'twere no worse! I've +killed a man!" + +"If he's dead, why run?" + +The Irishman made an impatient gesture. + +"A party of Montgomery's foot is on my heels. They've raised +the whole of Penrith over the affair, and if I'm taken, soul of +my body, 'twill be a short shrift they'll give me. The King +will serve me as poor Wrycraft was served two days ago at +Kendal. Mother of Mercy!" he broke off, as his ear caught the +clatter of feet and the murmur of voices from without. "Have +you a hole I can creep into?" + +"Up those stairs and into my room with you!" said Crispin +shortly. "I will try to head them off. Come, man, stir +yourself; they are here." + +Then, as with nimble alacrity Hogan obeyed him and slipped from +the room, he turned to the lad, who had been a silent spectator +of what had passed. From the pocket of his threadbare doublet +he drew a pack of greasy playing cards. + +"To table," he said laconically. + +But the boy, comprehending what was required of him, drew back +at sight of those cards as one might shrink from a thing +unclean. + +"Never!" he began. "I'll not defile - " + +"To table, fool!" thundered Crispin, with a vehemence few men +could have withstood. "Is this a time for Presbyterian +scruples? To table, and help a me play this game, or, by the +living God, I'll - " Without completing his threat he leaned +forward until Kenneth felt his hot, wine-laden breath upon his +cheek. Cowed by his words, his gesture, and above all, his +glance, the lad drew up a chair, mumbling in explanation - +intended as an excuse to himself for his weakness - that he +submitted since a man's life was at stake. + +Opposite him Galliard resumed his seat with a mocking smile +that made him wince. Taking up the cards, he flung a portion +of them to the boy, whilst those he retained he spread fanwise +in his hand as if about to play. Silently Kenneth copied his +actions. + +Nearer and louder grew the sounds of the approach, lights +flashed before the window, and the two men, feigning to play, +sat on and waited. + +"Have a care, Master Stewart," growled Crispin sourly, then in +a louder voice - for his quick eye had caught a glimpse of a +face that watched them from the window - "I play the King of +Spades!" he cried, with meaning look. + +A blow was struck upon the door, and with it came the command +to "Open in the King's name!" Softly Sir Crispin rapped out an +oath. Then he rose, and with a last look of warning to +Kenneth, he went to open. And as he had greeted Hogan he now +greeted the crowd mainly of soldiers - that surged about the +threshold. + +"Sirs, why this ado? Hath the Sultan Oliver descended upon +us?" + +In one hand he still held his cards, the other he rested upon +the edge of the open door. It was a young ensign who stood +forward to answer him. + +"One of Lord Middleton's officers hath done a man to death not +half an hour agone; he is an Irishman Captain Hogan by name." + +"Hogan - Hogan?" repeated Crispin, after the manner of one who +fumbles in his memory. "Ah, yes - an Irishman with a grey head +and a hot temper. And he is dead, you say?" + +"Nay, he has done the killing." + +"That I can better understand. 'Tis not the first time, I'll +be sworn." + +"But it will be the last, Sir Crispin." + +"Like enough. The King is severe since we crossed the Border." +Then in a brisker tone: "I thank you for bringing me this +news," said he, "and I regret that in my poor house there be +naught I can offer you wherein to drink His Majesty's health +ere you proceed upon your search. Give you good night, sir." +And by drawing back a pace he signified his wish to close the +door and be quit of them. + +"We thought," faltered the young officer, "that - that +perchance you would assist us by - " + +"Assist you!" roared Crispin, with a fine assumption of anger. +"Assist you take a man? Sink me, sir, I would have you know I +am a soldier, not a tipstaff!" + +The ensign's cheeks grew crimson under the sting of that veiled +insult. + +"There are some, Sir Crispin, that have yet another name for +you." + +"Like enough - when I am not by," sneered Crispin. "The world +is full of foul tongues in craven heads. But, sirs, the night +air is chill and you are come inopportunely, for, as you'll +perceive, I was at play. Haply you'll suffer me to close the +door." + +"A moment, Sir Crispin. We must search this house. He is +believed to have come this way." + +Crispin yawned. "I will spare you the trouble. You may take +it from me that he could not be here without my knowledge. I +have been in this room these two hours past." + +"Twill not suffice," returned the officer doggedly. "We must +satisfy ourselves." + +"Satisfy yourselves?" echoed the other, in tones of deep +amazement. "What better satisfaction can I afford you than my +word? 'Swounds, sir jackanapes," he added, in a roar that sent +the lieutenant back a pace as though he had been struck, "am I +to take it that your errand is a trumped-up business to affront +me? First you invite me to turn tipstaff, then you add your +cursed innuendoes of what people say of me, and now you end by +doubting me! You must satisfy yourself!" he thundered, waxing +fiercer at every word. "Linger another moment on that +threshold, and d -n me, sir, I'll give you satisfaction of +another flavour! Be off!" + +Before that hurricane of passion the ensign recoiled, despite +himself. + +"I will appeal to General Montgomery," he threatened. + +"Appeal to the devil! Had you come hither with your errand in +a seemly fashion you had found my door thrown wide in welcome, +and I had received you courteously. As it is, sir, the cause +for complaint is on my side, and complain I will. We shall see +whether the King permits an old soldier who has followed the +fortunes of his family these eighteen years to be flouted by a +malapert bantam of yesterday's brood!" + +The subaltern paused in dismay. Some demur there was in the +gathered crowd. Then the officer fell back a pace, and +consulted an elderly trooper at his elbow. The trooper was of +opinion that the fugitive must have gone farther. Moreover, he +could not think, from what Sir Crispin had said, that it would +have been possible for Hogan to have entered the house. With +this, and realizing that much trouble and possible loss of time +must result from Sir Crispin's obstinacy, did they attempt to +force a way into the house, and bethinking himself, also, +maybe, how well this rascally ruffler stood with Lord +Middleton, the ensign determined to withdraw, and to seek +elsewhere. + +And so he took his leave with a venomous glance, and a parting +threat to bring the matter to the King's ears, upon which +Galliard slammed the door before he had finished. + +There was a curious smile on Crispin's face as he walked slowly +to the table, and resumed his seat. + +"Master Stewart," he whispered, as he spread his cards anew, +"the comedy is not yet played out. There is a face glued to +the window at this moment, and I make little doubt that for the +next hour or so we shall be spied upon. That pretty fellow was +born to be a thief-taker." + +The boy turned a glance of sour reproof upon his companion. He +had not stirred from his chair while Crispin had been at the +door. + +"You lied to them," he said at last. + +"Sh! Not so loud, sweet youth," was the answer that lost +nothing of menace by being subdued. "Tomorrow, if you please, +I will account to you for offending your delicate soul by +suggesting a falsehood in your presence. To-night we have a +man's life to save, and that, I think, is work enough. Come, +Master Stewart, we are being watched. Let us resume our game." + +His eye, fixed in cold command upon the boy, compelled +obedience. And the lad, more out of awe of that glance than +out of any desire to contribute to the saving of Hogan, mutely +consented to keep up this pretence. But in his soul he +rebelled. He had been reared in an atmosphere of honourable +and religious bigotry. Hogan was to him a coarse ruffler; an +evil man of the sword; such a man as he abhorred and accounted +a disgrace to any army - particularly to an army launched upon +England under the auspices of the Solemn League and Covenant. + +Hogan had been guilty of an act of brutality; he had killed a +man; and Kenneth deemed himself little better, since he +assisted in harbouring instead of discovering him, as he held +to be his duty. But 'neath the suasion of Galliard's +inexorable eye he sat limp and docile, vowing to himself that +on the morrow he would lay the matter before Lord Middleton, +and thus not only endeavour to make amends for his present +guilty silence, but rid himself also of the companionship of +this ruffianly Sir Crispin, to whom no doubt a hempen justice +would be meted. + +Meanwhile, he sat on and left his companion's occasional +sallies unanswered. In the street men stirred and lanthorns +gleamed fitfully, whilst ever and anon a face surmounted by a +morion would be pressed against the leaded panes of the window. + +Thus an hour wore itself out during which poor Hogan sat above, +alone with his anxiety and unsavoury thoughts. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ARCADES AMBO + + +Towards midnight at last Sir Crispin flung down his cards and +rose. It was close upon an hour and a half since Hogan's +advent. In the streets the sounds had gradually died down, and +peace seemed to reign again in Penrith. Yet was Sir Crispin +cautious - for to be cautious and mistrustful of appearances +was the lesson life had taught him. + +"Master Stewart," said he, "it grows late, and I doubt me you +would be abed. Give you good night!" + +The lad rose. A moment he paused, hesitating, then - + +"To-morrow, Sir Crispin - " he began. But Crispin cut him +short. + +"Leave to-morrow till it dawn, my friend. Give you good night. +Take one of those noisome tapers with you, and go." + +In sullen silence the boy took up one of the candle-bearing +bottles and passed out through the door leading to the stairs. + +For a moment Crispin remained standing by the table, and in +that moment the expression of his face was softened. A +momentary regret of his treatment of the boy stirred in him. +Master Stewart might be a milksop, but Crispin accounted him +leastways honest, and had a kindness for him in spite of all. +He crossed to the window, and throwing it wide he leaned out, +as if to breathe the cool night air, what time he hummed the +refrain of `Rub-a-dub-dub' for the edification of any chance +listeners. + +For a half-hour he lingered there, and for all that he used the +occasion to let his mind stray over many a theme, his eyes were +alert for the least movement among the shadows of the street. +Reassured at last that the house was no longer being watched, +he drew back, and closed the lattice. + +Upstairs he found the Irishman seated in dejection upon his +bed, awaiting him. + +"Soul of my body!" cried Hogan ruefully, "I was never nearer +being afraid in my life." + +Crispin laughed softly for answer, and besought of him the tale +of what had passed. + +"Tis simple enough, faith," said Hogan coolly. "The landlord +of The Angel hath a daughter maybe 'twas after her he named his +inn - who owns a pair of the most seductive eyes that ever a +man saw perdition in. She hath, moreover, a taste for +dalliance, and my brave looks and martial trappings did for her +what her bold eyes had done for me. We were becoming the +sweetest friends, when, like an incarnate fiend, that loutish +clown, her lover, sweeps down upon us, and, with more jealousy +than wit, struck me - struck me, Harry Hogan! Soul of my body, +think of it, Cris!" And he grew red with anger at the +recollection. "I took him by the collar of his mean smock and +flung him into the kennel - the fittest bed he ever lay in. +Had he remained there it had been well for him; but the fool, +accounting himself affronted, came up to demand satisfaction. +I gave it him, and plague on it - he's dead!" + +"An ugly tale," was Crispin's sour comment. + +"Ugly, maybe," returned Hogan, spreading out his palms, "but +what choice had I? The fool came at me, bilbo in hand, and I +was forced to draw.' + +"But not to slay, Hogan!" + +"Twas an accident. Sink me, it was! I sought his sword-arm; +but the light was bad, and my point went through his chest +instead." + +For a moment Crispin stood frowning, then his brow cleared, as +though he had put the matter from him. + +"Well, well - since he's dead, there's an end to it." + +"Heaven rest his soul!" muttered the Irishman, crossing himself +piously. And with that he dismissed the subject of the great +wrong that through folly he had wrought - the wanton +destruction of a man's life, and the poisoning of a woman's +with a remorse that might be everlasting. + +"It will tax our wits to get you out of Penrith," said Crispin. +Then, turning and looking into the Irishman's great, +good-humoured face - "I am sorry you leave us, Hogan," he +added. + +"Not so am I," quoth Hogan with a shrug. "Such a march as this +is little to my taste. Bah! Charles Stuart or Oliver Cromwell, +'tis all one to me. What care I whether King or Commonwealth +prevail? Shall Harry Hogan be the better or the richer under +one than under the other? Oddslife, Cris, I have trailed a +pike or handled a sword in well-nigh every army in Europe. I +know more of the great art of war than all the King's generals +rolled into one. Think you, then, I can rest content with a +miserable company of horse when plunder is forbidden, and even +our beggarly pay doubtful? Whilst, should things go ill - as +well they may, faith, with an army ruled by parsons - the wage +will be a swift death on field or gallows, or a lingering one +in the plantations, as fell to the lot of those poor wretches +Noll drove into England after Dunbar. Soul of my body, it is +not thus that I had looked to fare when I took service at +Perth. I had looked for plunder, rich and plentiful plunder, +according to the usages of warfare, as a fitting reward for a +toilsome march and the perils gone through. + +"Thus I know war, and for this have I followed the trade these +twenty years. Instead, we have thirty thousand men, marching +to battle as prim and orderly as a parcel of acolytes in a +Corpus-Christi procession. 'Twas not so bad in Scotland haply +because the country holds naught a man may profitably plunder - +but since we have crossed the Border, 'slife, they'll hang you +if you steal so much as a kiss from a wench in passing." + +"Why, true," laughed Crispin, "the Second Charles hath an +over-tender stomach. He will not allow that we are marching +through an enemy's country; he insists that England is his +kingdom, forgetting that he has yet to conquer it, and - " + +"Was it not also his father's kingdom?" broke in the impetuous +Hogan. "Yet times are sorely changed since we followed the +fortunes of the Martyr. In those days you might help yourself +to a capon, a horse, a wench, or any other trifle of the +enemy's, without ever a word of censure or a question asked. +Why, man, it is but two days since His Majesty had a poor devil +hanged at Kendal for laying violent hands upon a pullet. Pox +on it, Cris, my gorge rises at the thought! When I saw that +wretch strung up, I swore to fall behind at the earliest +opportunity, and to-night's affair makes this imperative." + +"And what may your plans be?" asked Crispin. + +"War is my trade, not a diversion, as it is with Wilmot and +Buckingham and the other pretty gentlemen of our train. And +since the King's army is like to yield me no profit, faith, +I'll turn me to the Parliament's. If I get out of Penrith with +my life, I'll shave my beard and cut my hair to a comely and +godly length; don a cuckoldy steeple hat and a black coat, and +carry my sword to Cromwell with a line of text." + +Sir Crispin fell to pondering. Noting this, and imagining that +he guessed aright the reason: + +"I take it, Cris," he put in, keenly glancing at the other, +"that you are much of my mind?" + +"Maybe I am," replied Crispin carelessly. + +"Why, then," cried Hogan, "need we part company?" + +There was a sudden eagerness in his tone, born of the +admiration in which this rough soldier of fortune held one whom +he accounted his better in that same harsh trade. But Galliard +answered coldly: + +"You forget, Harry." + +"Not so! Surely on Cromwell's side your object - " + +"T'sh! I have well considered. My fortunes are bound up with +the King's. In his victory alone lies profit for me; not the +profit of pillage, Hogan, but the profit of those broad lands +that for nigh upon twenty years have been in usurping hands. +The profit I look for, Hogan, is my restoration to Castle +Marleigh, and of this my only hope lies in the restoration of +King Charles. If the King doth not prevail - which God +forfend! - why, then, I can but die. I shall have naught left +to hope for from life. So you see, good Hogan," he ended with +a regretful smile, "my going with you is not to be dreamed of." + +Still the Irishman urged him, and a good half-hour did he +devote to it, but in vain. Realizing at last the futility of +his endeavours, he sighed and moved uneasily in his chair, +whilst the broad, tanned face was clouded with regret. Crispin +saw this, and approaching him, he laid a hand upon his +shoulder. + +"I had counted upon your help to clear the Ashburns from Castle +Marleigh and to aid me in my grim work when the time is ripe. +But if you go - " + +"Faith, I may aid you yet. Who shall say?" Then of a sudden +there crept into the voice of this hardened pike-trader a note +of soft concern. "Think you there be danger to yourself in +remaining?" he inquired. + +"Danger? To me?" echoed Crispin. + +"Aye - for having harboured me. That whelp of Montgomery's +Foot suspects you." + +"Suspects? Am I a man of straw to be overset by a breath of +suspicion?" + +"There is your lieutenant, Kenneth Stewart." + +"Who has been a party to your escape, and whose only course is +therefore silence, lest he set a noose about his own neck. +Come, Harry," he added, briskly, changing his manner, "the +night wears on, and we have your safety to think of." + +Hogan rose with a sigh. + +"Give me a horse," said he, "and by God's grace tomorrow shall +find me in Cromwell's camp. Heaven prosper and reward you, +Cris." + +"We must find you clothes more fitting than these - a coat more +staid and better attuned to the Puritan part you are to play." + +"Where have you such a coat?" + +"My lieutenant has. He affects the godly black, from a habit +taken in that Presbyterian Scotland of his." + +"But I am twice his bulk!" + +"Better a tight coat to your back than a tight rope to your +neck, Harry. Wait." + +Taking a taper, he left the room, to return a moment later with +the coat that Kenneth had worn that day, and which he had +abstracted from the sleeping lad's chamber. + +"Off with your doublet," he commanded, and as he spoke he set +himself to empty the pocket of Kenneth's garment; a +handkerchief and a few papers he found in them, and these he +tossed carelessly on the bed. Next he assisted the Irishman to +struggle into the stolen coat. + +"May the Lord forgive my sins," groaned Hogan, as he felt the +cloth straining upon his back and cramping his limbs. "May He +forgive me, and see me safely out of Penrith and into +Cromwell's camp, and never again will I resent the resentment +of a clown whose sweetheart I have made too free with." + +"Pluck that feather from your hat," said Crispin. + +Hogan obeyed him with a sigh. + +"Truly it is written in Scripture that man in his time plays +many parts. Who would have thought to see Harry Hogan playing +the Puritan?" + +"Unless you improve your acquaintance with Scripture you are +not like to play it long," laughed Crispin, as he surveyed him. +"There, man, you'll do well enough. Your coat is somewhat +tight in the back, somewhat short in the skirt; but neither so +tight nor so short but that it may be preferred to a +winding-sheet, and that is the alternative, Harry." + +Hogan replied by roundly cursing the coat and his own +lucklessness. That done - and in no measured terms - he +pronounced himself ready to set out, whereupon Crispin led the +way below once more, and out into a hut that did service as a +stable. + +By the light of a lanthorn he saddled one of the two nags that +stood there, and led it into the yard. Opening the door that +abutted on to a field beyond, he bade Hogan mount. He held his +stirrup for him, and cutting short the Irishman's voluble +expressions of gratitude, he gave him "God speed," and urged +him to use all dispatch in setting as great a distance as +possible betwixt himself and Penrith before the dawn. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE LETTER + + +It was with a countenance sadly dejected that Crispin returned +to his chamber and sate himself wearily upon the bed. With +elbows on his knees and chin in his palms he stared straight +before him, the usual steely brightness of his grey eyes dulled +by the despondency that sat upon his face and drew deep furrows +down his fine brow. + +With a sigh he rose at last and idly fingered the papers he had +taken from the pocket of Kenneth's coat. As he did so his +glance was arrested by the signature at the foot of one. +"Gregory Ashburn" was the name he read. + +Ashen grew his cheeks as his eyes fastened upon that name, +whilst the hand, to which no peril ever brought a tremor, shook +now like an aspen. Feverishly he spread the letter on his +knee, and with a glance, from dull that it had been, grown of a +sudden fierce and cruel, he read the contents. + + + +DEAR KENNETH, + +Again I write in the hope that I may prevail upon you to quit +Scotland and your attachment to a king, whose fortunes prosper +not, nor can prosper. Cynthia is pining, and if you tarry +longer from Castle Marleigh she must perforce think you but a +laggard lover. Than this I have no more powerful argument +wherewith to draw you from Perth to Sheringham, but this I +think should prevail where others have failed me. We await you +then, and whilst we wait we daily drink your health. Cynthia +commends herself to your memory as doth my brother, and soon we +hope to welcome you at Castle Marleigh. Believe, my dear +Kenneth, that whilst I am, I am yours in affection. + + GREGORY ASHBURN + +Twice Crispin read the letter through. Then with set teeth and +straining eyes he sat lost in thought. + +Here indeed was a strange chance! This boy whom he had met at +Perth, and enrolled in his company, was a friend of Ashburn's - +the lover of Cynthia. Who might this Cynthia be? + +Long and deep were his ponderings upon the unfathomable ways of +Fate - for Fate he now believed was here at work to help him, +revealing herself by means of this sign even at the very moment +when he decried his luck. In memory he reviewed his meeting +with the lad in the yard of Perth Castle a fortnight ago. +Something in the boy's bearing, in his air, had caught +Crispin's eye. He had looked him over, then approached, and +bluntly asked his name and on what business he was come there. +The youth had answered him civilly enough that he was Kenneth +Stewart of Bailienochy, and that he was come to offer his sword +to the King. Thereupon he had interested himself in the lad's +behalf and had gained him a lieutenancy in his own company. +Why he was attracted to a youth on whom never before had he set +eyes was a matter that puzzled him not a little. Now he held, +he thought, the explanation of it. It was the way of Fate. + +This boy was sent into his life by a Heaven that at last showed +compassion for the deep wrongs he had suffered; sent him as a +key wherewith, should the need occur, to open him the gates of +Castle Marleigh. + +In long strides he paced the chamber, turning the matter over +in his mind. Aye, he would use the lad should the need arise. +Why scruple? Had he ever received aught but disdain and scorn +at the hands of Kenneth. + +Day was breaking ere he sought his bed, and already the sun was +up when at length he fell into a troubled sleep, vowing that he +would mend his wild ways and seek to gain the boy's favour +against the time when he might have need of him. + +When later he restored the papers to Kenneth, explaining to +what use he had put the coat, he refrained from questioning him +concerning Gregory Ashburn. The docility of his mood on that +occasion came as a surprise to Kenneth, who set it down to Sir +Crispin's desire to conciliate him into silence touching the +harbouring of Hogan. In that same connexion Crispin showed him +calmly and clearly that he could not now inform without +involving himself to an equally dangerous extent. And partly +through the fear of this, partly won over by Crispin's +persuasions, the lad determined to hold his peace. + +Nor had he cause to regret it thereafter, for throughout that +tedious march he found his roystering companion singularly meek +and kindly. Indeed he seemed a different man. His old swagger +and roaring bluster disappeared; he drank less, diced less, +blasphemed less, and stormed less than in the old days before +the halt at Penrith; but rode, a silent, thoughtful figure, so +self-contained and of so godly a mien as would have rejoiced +the heart of the sourest Puritan. The wild tantivy boy had +vanished, and the sobriquet of "Tavern Knight" was fast +becoming a misnomer. + +Kenneth felt drawn more towards him, deeming him a penitent +that had seen at last the error of his ways. And thus things +prevailed until the almost triumphal entry into the city of +Worcester on the twenty-third of August. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +AT THE SIGN OF THE MITRE + + +For a week after the coming of the King to Worcester, Crispin's +relations with Kenneth steadily improved. By an evil chance, +however, there befell on the eve of the battle that which +renewed with heightened intensity the enmity which the lad had +fostered for him, but which lately he had almost overcome. + +The scene of this happening - leastways of that which led to it +- was The Mitre Inn, in the High Street of Worcester. + +In the common-room one day sat as merry a company of carousers +as ever gladdened the soul of an old tantivy boy. Youthful +ensigns of Lesley's Scottish horse - caring never a fig for the +Solemn League and Covenant - rubbed shoulders with beribboned +Cavaliers of Lord Talbot's company; gay young lairds of +Pitscottie's Highlanders, unmindful of the Kirk's harsh +commandments of sobriety, sat cheek by jowl with rakehelly +officers of Dalzell's Brigade, and pledged the King in many a +stoup of canary and many a can of stout March ale. + +On every hand spirits ran high and laughter filled the chamber, +the mirth of some having its source in a neighbour's quip, that +of others having no source at all save in the wine they had +taken. + +At one table sat a gentleman of the name of Faversham, who had +ridden on the previous night in that ill-fated camisado that +should have resulted in the capture of Cromwell at Spetchley, +but which, owing to a betrayal - when was a Stuart not betrayed +and sold? - miscarried. He was relating to the group about him +the details of that disaster. + +"Oddslife, gentlemen," he was exclaiming, "I tell you that, but +for that roaring dog, Sir Crispin Galliard, the whole of +Middleton's regiment had been cut to pieces. There we stood on +Red Hill, trapped as ever fish in a net, with the whole of +Lilburne's men rising out of the ground to enclose and destroy +us. A living wall of steel it was, and on every hand the call +to surrender. There was dismay in my heart, as I'll swear +there was dismay in the heart of every man of us, and I make +little doubt, gentlemen, that with but scant pressing we had +thrown down our arms, so disheartened were we by that ambush. +Then of a sudden there arose above the clatter of steel and +Puritan cries, a loud, clear, defiant shout of "Hey for +Cavaliers!" + +"I turned, and there in his stirrups stood that madman +Galliard, waving his sword and holding his company together +with the power of his will, his courage, and his voice. The +sight of him was like wine to our blood. "Into them, +gentlemen; follow me!" he roared. And then, with a hurricane +of oaths, he hurled his company against the pike-men. The blow +was irresistible, and above the din of it came that voice of +his again: "Up, Cavaliers! Slash the cuckolds to ribbons, +gentlemen!" The cropears gave way, and like a river that has +burst its dam, we poured through the opening in their ranks and +headed back for Worcester." + +There was a roar of voices as Faversham ended, and around that +table "The Tavern Knight" was for some minutes the only toast. + +Meanwhile half a dozen merry-makers at a table hard by, having +drunk themselves out of all sense of fitness, were occupied in +baiting a pale-faced lad, sombrely attired, who seemed sadly +out of place in that wild company - indeed, he had been better +advised to have avoided it. + +The matter had been set afoot by a pleasantry of Ensign +Tyler's, of Massey's dragoons, with a playful allusion to a +letter in a feminine hand which Kenneth had let fall, and which +Tyler had restored to him. Quip had followed quip until in +their jests they transcended all bounds. Livid with passion +and unable to endure more, Kenneth had sprung up. + +"Damnation!" he blazed, bringing his clenched hand down upon +the table. "One more of your foul jests and he that utters it +shall answer to me!" + +The suddenness of his action and the fierceness of his tone and +gesture - a fierceness so grotesquely ill-attuned to his +slender frame and clerkly attire left the company for a moment +speechless with amazement. Then a mighty burst of laughter +greeted him, above which sounded the shrill voice of Tyler, who +held his sides, and down whose crimson cheeks two tears of +mirth were trickling. + +"Oh, fie, fie, good Master Stewart!" he gasped. "What think +you would the reverend elders say to this bellicose attitude +and this profane tongue of yours?" + +"And what think you would the King say to this drunken +poltroonery of yours?" was the hot unguarded answer. +"Poltroonery, I say," he repeated, embracing the whole company +in his glance. + +The laughter died down as Kenneth's insult penetrated their +befuddled minds. An instant's lull there was, like the lull in +nature that precedes a clap of thunder. Then, as with one +accord, a dozen of them bore down upon him. + +It was a vile thing they did, perhaps; but then they had drunk +deep, and Kenneth Stewart counted no friend amongst them. In +an instant they had him, kicking and biting, on the floor; his +doublet was torn rudely open, and from his breast Tyler plucked +the letter whose existence had led to this shameless scene. + +But ere he could so much as unfold it, a voice rang harsh and +imperative: + +"Hold!" + +Pausing, they turned to confront a tall, gaunt man in a leather +jerkin and a broad hat decked by goose-quill, who came slowly +forward. + +"The Tavern Knight," cried one, and the shout of "A rouse for +the hero of Red Hill!" was taken up on every hand. For despite +his sour visage and ungracious ways there was not a roysterer +in the Royal army to whom he was not dear. + +But as he now advanced, the coldness of his bearing and the +forbidding set of his face froze them into silence. + +"Give me that letter," he demanded sternly of Tyler. + +Taken aback, Tyler hesitated for a second, whilst Crispin +waited with hand outstretched. Vainly did he look round for +sign or word of help or counsel. None was afforded him by his +fellow-revellers, who one and all hung back in silence. + +Seeing himself thus unsupported, and far from wishing to try +conclusions with Galliard, Tyler with an ill grace surrendered +the paper; and, with a pleasant bow and a word of thanks, +delivered with never so slight a saturnine smile, Crispin +turned on his heel and left the tavern as abruptly as he had +entered it. + +The din it was that had attracted him as he passed by on his +way to the Episcopal Palace where a part of his company was on +guard duty. Thither he now pursued his way, bearing with him +the letter which so opportunely he had become possessed of, and +which he hoped might throw further light upon Kenneth's +relations with the Ashburns. + +But as he reached the palace there was a quick step behind him. +and a hand fell upon his arm. He turned. + +"Ah, 'tis you, Kenneth," he muttered, and would have passed on, +but the boy's hand took him by the sleeve. + +"Sir Crispin," said he, "I came to thank you." + +"I have done nothing to deserve your thanks. Give you good +evening." And he made shift to mount the steps when again +Kenneth detained him. + +"You are forgetting the letter, Sir Crispin," he ventured, and +he held out his hand to receive it. + +Galliard saw the gesture, and for a moment it crossed his mind +in self-reproach that the part he chose to play was that of a +bully. A second he hesitated. Should he surrender the letter +unread, and fight on without the aid of the information it +might bring him? Then the thought of Ashburn and of his own +deep wrongs that cried out for vengeance, overcame and stifled +the generous impulse. His manner grew yet more frozen as he +made answer: + +"There has been too much ado about this letter to warrant my so +lightly parting with it. First I will satisfy myself that I +have been no unconscious abettor of treason. You shall have +your letter tomorrow, Master Stewart." + +"Treason!" echoed Kenneth. And before that cold rebuff of +Crispin's his mood changed from conciliatory to resentful - +resentful towards the fates that made him this man's debtor. + +"I assure you, on my honour," said he, mastering his feelings, +"that this is but a letter from the lady I hope to make my +wife. Assuredly, sir, you will not now insist upon reading +it." + +"Assuredly I shall." + +"But, sir - " + +"Master Stewart, I am resolved, and were you to talk from now +till doomsday, you would not turn me from my purpose. So good +night to you." + +"Sir Crispin," cried the boy, his voice quavering with passion, +"while I live you shall not read that letter!" + +"Hoity-toity, sir! What words! What heroics! And yet you +would have me believe this paper innocent?" + +"As innocent as the hand that penned it, and if I so oppose +your reading it, it is because thus much I owe her. Believe +me, sir," he added, his accents returning to a beseeching key, +"when again I swear that it is no more than such a letter any +maid may write her lover. I thought that you had understood +all this when you rescued me from those bullies at The Mitre. +I thought that what you did was a noble and generous deed. +Instead - " The lad paused. + +"Continue, sir," Galliard requested coldly. "Instead?" + +"There can be no instead, Sir Crispin. You will not mar so +good an action now. You will give me my letter, will you not?" + +Callous though he was, Crispin winced. The breeding of earlier +days - so sadly warped, alas! - cried out within him against +the lie that he was acting by pretending to suspect treason in +that woman's pothooks. Instincts of gentility and generosity +long dead took life again, resuscitated by that call of +conscience. He was conquered. + +"There, take your letter, boy, and plague me no more," he +growled, as he held it out to Kenneth. And without waiting for +reply or acknowledgment, he turned on his heel, and entered the +palace. But he had yielded overlate to leave a good impression +and, as Kenneth turned away, it was with a curse upon Galliard, +for whom his detestation seemed to increase at every step. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +AFTER WORCESTER FIELD + + +The morn of the third of September - that date so propitious to +Cromwell, so disastrous to Charles - found Crispin the centre +of a company of gentlemen in battle-harness, assembled at The +Mitre Inn. For a toast he gave them "The damnation of all +crop-ears." + +"Sirs," quoth he, "a fair beginning to a fair day. God send +the evening find us as merry." + +It was not to be his good fortune, however, to be in the +earlier work of the day. Until afternoon he was kept within +the walls of Worcester, chafing to be where hard knocks were +being dealt - with Montgomery at Powick Bridge, or with +Pittscottie on Bunn's Hill. But he was forced to hold his mood +in curb, and wait until Charles and his advisers should elect +to make the general attack. + +It came at last, and with it came the disastrous news that +Montgomery was routed, and Pittscottie in full retreat, whilst +Dalzell had surrendered, and Keith was taken. Then was it that +the main body of the Royal army formed up at the Sidbury Gate, +and Crispin found himself in the centre, which was commanded by +the King in person. In the brilliant charge that followed +there was no more conspicuous figure, no voice rang louder in +encouragement to the men. For the first time that day +Cromwell's Ironsides gave back before the Royalists, who in +that fierce, irresistible charge, swept all before them until +they had reached the battery on Perry Wood, and driven the +Roundheads from it hell-to-leather. + +It was a glorious moment, a moment in which the fortunes of the +day hung in the balance; the turn of the tide it seemed to them +at last. + +Crispin was among the first to reach the guns, and with a great +shout of "Hurrah for Cavaliers!" he had cut down two gunners +that yet lingered. His cry lacked not an echo, and a deafening +cheer broke upon the clamorous air as the Royalists found +themselves masters of the position. Up the hill on either side +pressed the Duke of Hamilton and the Earl of Derby to support +the King. It but remained for Lesley's Scottish horse to +follow and complete the rout of the Parliamentarian forces. +Had they moved at that supreme moment who shall say what had +been the issue of Worcester field? But they never stirred, and +the Royalists waiting on Perry Wood cursed Lesley for a foul +traitor who had sold his King. + +With bitterness did they then realize that their great effort +was to be barren, their gallant charge in vain. Unsupported, +their position grew fast untenable. + +And presently, when Cromwell had gathered his scattered +Ironsides, that gallant host was driven fighting, down the hill +and back to the shelter of Worcester. With the Roundheads +pressing hotly upon them they gained at last the Sidbury Gate, +but only to find that an overset ammunition wagon blocked the +entrance. In this plight, and without attempting to move it, +they faced about to make a last stand against the Puritan +onslaught. + +Charles had flung himself from his charger and climbed the +obstruction, and in this he was presently followed by others, +amongst whom was Crispin. + +In the High Street Galliard came upon the King, mounted on a +fresh horse, addressing a Scottish regiment of foot. The +soldiers had thrown down their arms and stood sullenly before +him, refusing to obey his command to take them up again and +help him attempt, even at that late hour, to retrieve the +fortunes of the day. Crispin looked on in scorn and loathing. +His passions awakened at the sight of Lesley's inaction needed +but this last breath to fan it into a very blaze of wrath. And +what he said to them touching themselves, their country, and +the Kirk Committee that had made sheep of them, was so bitter +and contemptuous that none but men in the most parlous and +pitiable of conditions could have suffered it. + +He was still hurling vituperations at them when Colonel Pride +with a troop of Parliamentarian horse - having completely +overcome the resistance at the Sidbury Gate - rode into the +town. At the news of this, Crispin made a last appeal to the +infantry. + +"Afoot, you Scottish curs!" he thundered. "Would you rather be +cut to pieces as you stand? Up, you dogs, and since you know +not how to live, die at least without shame!" + +But in vain did he rail. In sullen quiet they remained, their +weapons on the ground before them. And then, as Crispin was +turning away to see to his own safety, the King rode up again, +and again he sought to revive the courage that was dead in +those Scottish hearts. If they would not stand by him, he +cried at last, let them slay him there, sooner than that he +should be taken captive to perish on the scaffold. + +While he was still urging them, Crispin unceremoniously seized +his bridle. + +"Will you stand here until you are taken, sire?" he cried. +"Leave them, and look to your safety." + +Charles turned a wondering eye upon the resolute, battle-grimed +face of the man that thus addressed him. A faint, sad smile +parted his lips. + +"You are right, sir," he made answer. "Attend me." And +turning about he rode down a side street with Galliard +following closely in his wake. + +With the intention of doffing his armour and changing his +apparel, he made for the house in New Street where he had been +residing. As they drew up before the door, Crispin, chancing +to look over his shoulder, rapped out an oath. + +"Hasten, sire," he exclaimed, "here is a portion of Colonel's +Pride's troop." + +The King looked round, and at sight of the Parliamentarians, +"It is ended," he muttered despairingly. But already Crispin +had sprung from his horse. + +"Dismount, sire," he roared, and he assisted him so vigorously +as to appear to drag him out of the saddle. + +"Which way?" demanded Charles, looking helplessly from left to +right. "Which way?" + +But Crispin's quick mind had already shaped a plan. Seizing +the royal arm - for who in such straits would deal +ceremoniously? - he thrust the King across the threshold, and, +following, closed the door and shot its only bolt. But the +shout set up by the Puritans announced to them that their +movement had been detected. + +The King turned upon Sir Crispin, and in the half-light of the +passage wherein they stood Galliard made out the frown that +bent the royal brows. + +"And now?" demanded Charles, a note almost of reproach in his +voice. + +"And now begone, sire," returned the knight. "Begone ere they +come." + +"Begone?" echoed Charles, in amazement. "But whither, sir? +Whither and how?" + +His last words were almost drowned in the din without, as the +Roundheads pulled up before the house. + +"By the back, sire," was the impatient answer. "Through door +or window - as best you can. The back must overlook the +Corn-Market; that is your way. But hasten - in God's name +hasten! - ere they bethink them of it and cut off your +retreat." + +As he spoke a violent blow shook the door. + +"Quick, Your Majesty," he implored, in a frenzy. + +Charles moved to depart, then paused. "But you, sir? Do you +not come with me?" + +Crispin stamped his foot, and turned a face livid with +impatience upon his King. In that moment all distinction of +rank lay forgotten. + +"I must remain," he answered, speaking quickly. "That crazy +door will not hold for a second once a stout man sets his +shoulder to it. After the door they will find me, and for your +sake I trust I may prove of stouter stuff. Fare you well, +sire," he ended in a softer tone. "God guard Your Majesty and +send you happier days." + +And, bending his knee, Crispin brushed the royal hand with his +hot lips. + +A shower of blows clattered upon the timbers of the door, and +one of its panels was splintered by a musket-shot. Charles saw +it, and with a muttered word that was not caught by Crispin, he +obeyed the knight, and fled. + +Scarce had he disappeared down that narrow passage, when the +door gave way completely and with a mighty crash fell in. Over +the ruins of it sprang a young Puritan-scarce more than a boy - +shouting: "The Lord of Hosts!" + +But ere he had taken three strides the point of Crispin's +tuck-sword gave him pause. + +"Halt! You cannot pass this way." + +"Back, son of Moab!" was the Roundhead's retort. "Hinder me +not, at your peril." + +Behind him, in the doorway, pressed others, who cried out to +him to cut down the Amalekite that stood between them and the +young man Charles Stuart. But Crispin laughed grimly for +answer, and kept the officer in check with his point. + +"Back, or I cut you down," threatened the Roundhead. "I am +seeking the malignant Stuart." + +"If by those blasphemous words you mean his sacred Majesty, +learn that he is where you will never be - in God's keeping." + +"Presumptuous hound," stormed the lad, "giveway!" + +Their swords met, and for a moment they ground one against the +other; then Crispin's blade darted out, swift as a lightning +flash, and took his opponent in the throat. + +"You would have it so, rash fool," he deprecated. + +The boy hurtled back into the arms of those behind, and as he +fell he dropped his rapier, which rolled almost to Crispin's +feet. The knight stooped, and when again he stood erect, +confronting the rebels in that narrow passage, he held a sword +in either hand. + +There was a momentary pause in the onslaught, then to his +dismay Crispin saw the barrel of a musket pointed at him over +the shoulder of one of his foremost assailants. He set his +teeth for what was to come, and braced himself with the hope +that the King might already have made good his escape. + +The end was at hand, he thought, and a fitting end, since his +last hope of redress was gone-destroyed by that fatal day's +defeat. + +But of a sudden a cry rang out in a voice wherein rage and +anguish were blended fearfully, and simultaneously the musket +barrel was dashed aside. + +"Take him alive!" was the cry of that voice. "Take him alive!" +It was Colonel Pride himself, who having pushed his way +forward, now beheld the bleeding body of the youth Crispin had +slain. "Take him alive!" roared the old man. Then his voice +changing to one of exquisite agony - "My son, my boy," he +moaned. + +At a glance Crispin caught the situation; but the old Puritan's +grief left him unmoved. + +"You must have me alive?" he laughed grimly. "Gadslife, but +the honour is like to cost you dear. Well, sirs? Who will be +next to court the distinction of dying by the sword of a +gentleman?" he mocked them. "Come on, you sons of dogs!" + +His answer was an angry growl, and straightway two men sprang +forward. More than two could not attack him at once by virtue +of the narrowness of the passage. Again steel clashed on +steel. Crispin - lithe as a panther crouched low, and took one +of their swords on each of his. + +A disengage and a double he foiled with ease, then by a turn of +the wrist he held for a second one opponent's blade; and before +the fellow could disengage again, he had brought his right-hand +sword across, and stabbed him in the neck. Simultaneously his +other opponent had rushed in and thrust. It was a risk Crispin +was forced to take, trusting to his armour to protect him. It +did him the service he hoped from it; the trooper's sword +glanced harmlessly aside, whilst the fellow himself, +overbalanced by the fury of his onslaught, staggered helplessly +forward. Ere he could recover, Crispin had spitted him from +side to side betwixt the straps that held his back and breast +together. + +As the two men went down, one after the other, the watching +troopers set up a shout of rage, and pressed forward in a body. +But the Tavern Knight stood his ground, and his points danced +dangerously before the eyes of the two foremost. Alarmed, they +shouted to those behind to give them room to handle their +swords; but too late. Crispin had seen the advantage, and +taken it. Twice he had thrust, and another two sank bleeding +to the ground. + +At that there came a pause, and somewhere in the street a knot +of them expostulated with Colonel Pride, and begged to be +allowed to pick off that murderous malignant with their +pistols. But the grief-stricken father was obdurate. He would +have the Amalekite alive that he might cause him to die a +hundred deaths in one. + +And so two more were sent in to try conclusions with the +indomitable Galliard. They went to work more warily. He on +the left parried Crispin's stroke, then knocking up the +knight's blade, he rushed in and seized his wrist, shouting to +those behind to follow up. But even as he did so, Crispin sent +back his other antagonist, howling and writhing with the pain +of a transfixed sword-arm, and turned his full attention upon +the foe that clung to him. Not a second did he waste in +thought. To have done so would have been fatal. Instinctively +he knew that whilst he shortened his blade, others would rush +in; so, turning his wrist, he caught the man a crushing blow +full in the face with the pommel of his disengaged sword. + +Fulminated by that terrific stroke, the man reeled back into +the arms of another who advanced. + +Again there fell a pause. Then silently a Roundhead charged +Sir Crispin with a pike. He leapt nimbly aside, and the +murderous lunge shot past him; as he did so he dropped his +left-hand sword and caught at the halberd. Exerting his whole +strength in a mighty pull, he brought the fellow that wielded +it toppling forward, and received him on his outstretched +blade. + +Covered with blood - the blood of others --Crispin stood before +them now. He was breathing hard and sweating at every pore, +but still grim and defiant. His strength, he realized, was +ebbing fast. Yet he shook himself, and asked them with a +gibing laugh did they not think that they had better shoot him. + +The Roundheads paused again. The fight had lasted but a few +moments, and already five of them were stretched upon the +ground, and a sixth disabled. There was something in the +Tavern Knight's attitude and terrific, blood-bespattered +appearance that deterred them. From out of his +powder-blackened face his eyes flashed fiercely, and a mocking +diabolical smile played round the corners of his mouth. What +manner of man, they asked themselves, was this who could laugh +in such an extremity? Superstition quickened their alarm as +they gazed upon his undaunted front, and told themselves this +was no man they fought against, but the foul fiend himself. + +"Well, sirs," he mocked them presently. "How long am I to +await your pleasure?" + +They snarled for answer, yet hung back until Colonel Pride's +voice shook them into action. In a body they charged him now, +so suddenly and violently that he was forced to give way. +Cunningly did he ply his sword before them, but ineffectually. +They had adopted fresh tactics, and engaging his blade they +acted cautiously and defensively, advancing steadily, and +compelling him to fall back. + +Sir Crispin guessed their scheme at last, and vainly did he try +to hold his ground; his retreat slackened perhaps, but it was +still a retreat, and their defensive action gave him no +opening. Vainly, yet by every trick of fence he was master of, +did he seek to lure the two foremost into attacking him; +stolidly they pursued the adopted plan, and steadily they +impelled him backward. + +At last he reached the staircase, and he realized that did he +allow himself to go farther he was lost irretrievably. Yet +farther was he driven; despite the strenuous efforts he put +forth, until on his right there was room for a man to slip on +to the stairs and take him in the flank. Twice one of his +opponents essayed it, and twice did Galliard's deadly point +repel him. But at the third attempt the man got through, +another stepped into his place in front, and thus from two, +Crispin's immediate assailants became increased to three. + +He realized that the end was at hand, and wildly did he lay +about him, but to no purpose. And presently, he who had gained +the stairs leaped suddenly upon him sideways, and clung to his +swordarm. Before he could make a move to shake himself free, +the two that faced him had caught at his other arm. + +Like one possessed he struggled then, for the sheer lust of +striving; but they that held him gripped effectively. + +Thrice they bore him struggling to the ground, and thrice he +rose again and sought to shake them from him as a bull shakes +off a pack of dogs. But they held fast, and again they forced +him down; others sprang to their aid, and the Tavern Knight +could rise no more. + +"Disarm the dog!" cried Pride. "Disarm and truss him hand and +foot." + +"Sirs, you need not," he answered, gasping. "I yield me. Take +my sword. I'll do your bidding." + +The fight was fought and lost, but it had been a great Homeric +struggle, and he rejoiced almost that upon so worthy a scene of +his life was the curtain to fall, and again to hope that, +thanks to the stand he had made, the King should have succeeded +in effecting his escape. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE + + +Through the streets of Worcester the Roundheads dragged Sir +Crispin, and for all that he was as hard and callous a man as +any that ever buckled on a cuirass, the horrors that in going +he beheld caused him more than once to shudder. + +The place was become a shambles, and the very kennels ran with +blood. The Royalist defeat was by now complete, and Cromwell's +fanatic butchers overran the town, vying to outdo one another +in savage cruelty and murder. Houses were being broken into +and plundered, and their inmates - resisting or unresisting; +armed or unarmed; men, women and children alike were pitilessly +being put to the sword. Charged was the air of Worcester with +the din of that fierce massacre. The crashing of shivered +timbers, as doors were beaten in, mingled with the clatter and +grind of sword on sword, the crack of musket and pistol, the +clank of armour, and the stamping of men and horses in that +troubled hour. + +And above all rang out the fierce, raucous blasphemy of the +slayers, and the shrieks of agony, the groans, the prayers, and +curses of their victims. + +All this Sir Crispin saw and heard, and in the misery of it +all, he for the while forgot his own sorry condition, and left +unheeded the pike-butt wherewith the Puritan at his heels was +urging him along. + +They paused at length in a quarter unknown to him before a +tolerably large house. Its doors hung wide, and across the +threshold, in and out, moved two continuous streams of officers +and men. + +A while Crispin and his captors stood in the spacious hall; +then they ushered him roughly into one of the abutting rooms. +Here he was brought face to face with a man of middle height, +red and coarse of countenance and large of nose, who stood +fully armed in the centre of the chamber. His head was +uncovered, and on the table at his side stood the morion he had +doffed. He looked up as they entered, and for a few seconds +rested his glance sourly upon the lank, bold-eyed prisoner, who +coldly returned his stare. + +"Whom have we here?" he inquired at length, his scrutiny having +told him nothing. + +"One whose offence is too heinous to have earned him a +soldier's death, my lord," answered Pride. + +"Therein you lie, you damned rebel!" cried Crispin. "If accuse +you must, announce the truth. Tell Master Cromwell" - for he +had guessed the man's identity - "that single-handed I held my +own against you and a score of you curs, and that not until I +had cut down seven of them was I taken. Tell him that, master +psalm-singer, and let him judge whether you lied or not. Tell +him, too, that you, who - " + +"Have done!" cried Cromwell at length, stamping his foot. +"Peace, or I'll have you gagged. Now, Colonel, let us hear +your accusation." + +At great length, and with endless interlarding of proverbs did +Pride relate how this impious malignant had been the means of +the young man, Charles Stuart, making good his escape when +otherwise he must have fallen into their hands. He accused him +also of the murder of his son and of four other stout, +God-fearing troopers, and urged Cromwell to let him deal with +the malignant as he deserved. + +The Lord General's answer took expression in a form that was +little puritanical. Then, checking himself: + +"He is the second they have brought me within ten minutes +charged with the same offence," said he. "The other one is a +young fool who gave Charles Stuart his horse at Saint Martin's +Gate. But for him again the young man had been taken." + +"So he has escaped!" cried Crispin. "Now, God be praised!" + +Cromwell stared at him blankly for a moment, then: + +"You will do well, sir," he muttered sourly, "to address the +Lord on your own behalf. As for that young man of Baal, your +master, rejoice not yet in his escape. By the same crowning +mercy in which the Lord hath vouchsafed us victory to-day shall +He also deliver the malignant youth into my hands. For your +share in retarding his capture your life, sir, shall pay +forfeit. You shall hang at daybreak together with that other +malignant who assisted Charles at the Saint Martin's Gate." + +"I shall at least hang in good company," said Crispin +pleasantly, "and for that, sir, I give you thanks." + +"You will pass the night with that other fool," Cromwell +continued, without heeding the interruption, "and I pray that +you may spend it in such meditation as shall fit you for your +end. Take him away." + +"But, my lord," exclaimed Pride, advancing. + +"What now?" + +Crispin caught not his answer, but his half-whispered words +were earnest and pleading. Cromwell shook his head. + +"I cannot sanction it. Let it satisfy you that he dies. I +condole with you in your bereavement, but it is the fortune of +war. Let the thought that your son died in a godly cause be of +comfort to you. Bear in mind, Colonel Pride, that Abraham +hesitated not to offer up his child to the Lord. And so, fare +you well." + +Colonel Pride's face worked oddly, and his eyes rested for a +second upon the stern, unmoved figure of the Tavern Knight in +malice and vindictiveness. Then, shrugging his shoulders in +token of unwilling resignation, he withdrew, whilst Crispin was +led out. + +In the hall again they kept him waiting for some moments, until +at length an officer came up, and bidding him follow, led the +way to the guardroom. Here they stripped him of his +back-and-breast, and when that was done the officer again led +the way, and Crispin followed between two troopers. They made +him mount three flights of stairs, and hurried him along a +passage to a door by which a soldier stood mounting guard. At +a word from the officer the sentry turned, and unfastening the +heavy bolts, he opened the door. Roughly the officer bade Sir +Crispin enter, and stood aside that he might pass. + +Crispin obeyed him silently, and crossed the threshold to find +himself within a mean, gloomy chamber, and to hear the heavy +door closed and made fast again behind him. His stout heart +sank a little as he realized that that closed door shut out to +him the world for ever; but once again would he cross that +threshold, and that would be the preface to the crossing of the +greater threshold of eternity. + +Then something stirred in one of that room's dark corners, and +he started, to see that he was not alone, remembering that +Cromwell had said he was to have a companion in his last hours. + +"Who are you?" came a dull voice - a voice that was eloquent of +misery. + +"Master Stewart!" he exclaimed, recognizing his companion. "So +it was you gave the King your horse at the Saint Martin's Gate! +May Heaven reward you. Gadswounds," he added, "I had little +thought to meet you again this side the grave." + +"Would to Heaven you had not!" was the doleful answer. "What +make you here?" + +"By your good leave and with your help I'll make as merry as a +man may whose sands are all but run. The Lord General - whom +the devil roast in his time will make a pendulum of me at +daybreak, and gives me the night in which to prepare." + +The lad came forward into the light, and eyed Sir Crispin +sorrowfully. + +"We are companions in misfortune, then." + +"Were we ever companions in aught else? Come, sir, be of better +cheer. Since it is to be our last night in this poor world, +let us spend it as pleasantly as may be." + +"Pleasantly?" + +"Twill clearly be difficult," answered Crispin, with a laugh. +"Were we in Christian hands they'd not deny us a black jack +over which to relish our last jest, and to warm us against the +night air, which must be chill in this garret. But these +crop-ears ..." He paused to peer into the pitcher on the +table. "Water! Pah! A scurvy lot, these psalm-mongers!" + +"Merciful Heaven! Have you no thought for your end?" + +"Every thought, good youth, every thought, and I would fain +prepare me for the morning's dance in a more jovial and hearty +fashion than Old Noll will afford me - damn him!" + +Kenneth drew back in horror. His old dislike for Crispin was +all aroused by this indecent flippancy at such a time. Just +then the thought of spending the night in his company almost +effaced the horror of the gallows whereof he had been a prey. + +Noting the movement, Crispin laughed disdainfully, and walked +towards the window. It was a small opening, by which two iron +bars, set crosswise, defied escape. Moreover, as Crispin +looked out, he realized that a more effective barrier lay in +the height of the window itself. The house overlooked the +river on that side; it was built upon an embankment some thirty +feet high; around this, at the base of the edifice, and some +forty feet below the window, ran a narrow pathway protected by +an iron railing. But so narrow was it, that had a man sprung +from the casement of Crispin's prison, it was odds he would +have fallen into the river some seventy feet below. Crispin +turned away with a sigh. He had approached the window almost +in hope; he quitted it in absolute despair. + +"Ah, well," said he, "we will hang, and there's the end of it." + +Kenneth had resumed his seat in the corner, and, wrapped in his +cloak, he sat steeped in meditation, his comely young face +seared with lines of pain. As Crispin looked upon him then, +his heart softened and went out to the lad - went out as it had +done on the night when first he had beheld him in the courtyard +of Perth Castle. + +He recalled the details of that meeting; he remembered the +sympathy that had drawn him to the boy, and how Kenneth had at +first appeared to reciprocate that feeling, until he came to +know him for the rakehelly, godless ruffler that he was. He +thought of the gulf that gradually had opened up between them. +The lad was righteous and God-fearing, truthful and sober, +filled with stern ideals by which he sought to shape his life. +He had taxed Crispin with his dissoluteness, and Crispin, +despising him for a milksop, had returned to his disgust with +mockery, and had found a fiendish pleasure in arousing that +disgust at every turn. + +To-night, as Crispin eyed the youth, and remembered that at +dawn he was to die in his company, he realized that he had used +him ill, that his behaviour towards him had been that of the +dissolute ruffler he was become, rather than of the gentleman +he had once accounted himself. + +"Kenneth," he said at length, and his voice bore so unusually +mild a ring that the lad looked up in surprise. "I have heard +tell that it is no uncommon thing for men upon the threshold of +eternity to seek to repair some of the evil they may have done +in life." + +Kenneth shuddered. Crispin's words reminded him again of his +approaching end. The ruffler paused a moment, as if awaiting a +reply or a word of encouragement. Then, as none came, he +continued: + +"I am not one of your repentant sinners, Kenneth. I have lived +my life - God, what a life! - and as I have lived I shall die, +unflinching and unchanged. Dare one to presume that a few +hours spent in whining prayers shall atone for years of +reckless dissoluteness? "Tis a doctrine of cravens, who, +having lacked in life the strength to live as conscience bade +them, lack in death the courage to stand by that life's deeds. +I am no such traitor to myself. If my life has been vile my +temptations have been sore, and the rest is in God's hands. +But in my course I have sinned against many men; many a tall +fellow's life have I wantonly wrecked; some, indeed, I have +even taken in wantonness or anger. They are not by, nor, were +they, could I now make amends. But you at least are here, and +what little reparation may lie in asking pardon I can make. +When I first saw you at Perth it was my wish to make you my +friend - a feeling I have not had these twenty years towards +any man. I failed. How else could it have been? The dove may +not nest with the carrion bird." + +"Say no more, sir," cried Kenneth, genuinely moved, and still +more amazed by this curious humility in one whom he had never +known other than arrogant and mocking. "I beseech you, say no +more. For what trifling wrongs you may have done me I forgive +you as freely as I would be forgiven. Is it not written that +it shall be so?" And he held out his hand. + +"A little more I must say, Kenneth," answered the other, +leaving the outstretched hand unheeded. "The feeling that was +born in me towards you at Perth Castle is on me again. I seek +not to account for it. Perchance it springs from my +recognition of the difference betwixt us; perchance I see in +you a reflection of what once I was myself - honourable and +true. But let that be. The sun is setting over yonder, and +you and I will behold it no more. That to me is a small thing. +I am weary. Hope is dead; and when that is dead what does it +signify that the body die also? Yet in these last hours that +we shall spend together I would at least have your esteem. I +would have you forget my past harshness and the wrongs that I +may have done you down to that miserable affair of your +sweetheart's letter, yesterday. I would have you realize that +if I am vile, I am but such as a vile world hath made me. And +tomorrow when we go forth together, I would have you see in me +at least a man in whose company you are not ashamed to die." + +Again the lad shuddered. + +"Shall I tell you my story, Kenneth? I have a strong desire to +go over this poor life of mine again in memory, and by giving +my thoughts utterance it may be that they will take more vivid +shape. For the rest my tale may wile away a little of the time +that's left, and when you have heard me you shall judge me, +Kenneth. What say you?" + +Despite the parlous condition whereunto the fear of the morrow +had reduced him, this new tone of Galliard's so wrought upon +him then that he was almost eager in his request that Sir +Crispin should unfold his story. And this the Tavern Knight +then set himself to do. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE TAVERN KNIGHT'S STORY + + +Sir Crispin walked from the window by which he had been +standing, to the rough bed, and flung himself full length upon +it. The only chair that dismal room contained was occupied by +Kenneth. Galliard heaved a sigh of physical satisfaction. + +"Fore George, I knew not I was so tired," he murmured. And +with that he lapsed for some moments into silence, his brows +contracted in the frown of one who collects his thoughts. At +length he began, speaking in calm, unemotional tones that held +perchance deeper pathos than a more passionate utterance could +have endowed them with: + +"Long ago - twenty years ago - I was, as I have said, an +honourable lad, to whom the world was a fair garden, a place of +rosebuds, fragrant with hope. Those, Kenneth, were my +illusions. They are the illusions of youth; they are youth +itself, for when our illusions are gone we are no longer young +no matter what years we count. Keep your illusions, Kenneth; +treasure them, hoard them jealously for as long as you may." + +"I dare swear, sir," answered the lad, with bitter humour, +"that such illusions as I have I shall treasure all my life. +You forget, Sir Crispin." + +"'Slife, I had indeed forgotten. For the moment I had gone +back twenty years, and to-morrow was none so near." He laughed +softly, as though his lapse of memory amused him. Then he +resumed: + +"I was the only son, Kenneth, of the noblest gentleman that +ever lived - the heir to an ancient, honoured name, and to a +castle as proud and lands as fair and broad as any in England. + +"They lie who say that from the dawn we may foretell the day. +Never was there a brighter dawn than that of my life; never a +day so wasted; never an evening so dark. But let that be. + +"Our lands were touched upon the northern side by those of a +house with which we had been at feud for two hundred years and +more. Puritans they were, stern and haughty in their ungodly +righteousness. They held us dissolute because we enjoyed the +life that God had given us, and there I am told the hatred +first began. + +"When I was a lad of your years, Kenneth, the hall - ours was +the castle, theirs the hall - was occupied by two young sparks +who made little shift to keep up the pious reputation of their +house. They dwelt there with their mother - a woman too weak +to check their ways, and holding, mayhap, herself, views not +altogether puritanical. They discarded the sober black their +forbears had worn for generations, and donned gay Cavalier +garments. They let their love-locks grow; set plumes in their +castors and jewels in their ears; they drank deep, ruffled it +with the boldest and decked their utterance with great oaths - +for to none doth blasphemy come more readily than to lips that +in youth have been overmuch shaped in unwilling prayer. + +"Me they avoided as they would a plague, and when at times we +met, our salutations were grave as those of, men on the point +of crossing swords. I despised them for their coarse, ruffling +apostasy more than ever my father had despised their father for +a bigot, and they guessing or knowing by instinct what was in +my mind held me in deeper rancour even than their ancestors had +done mine. And more galling still and yet a sharper spur to +their hatred did those whelps find in the realization that all +the countryside held, as it had held for ages, us to be their +betters. A hard blow to their pride was that, but their +revenge was not long in coming. + +"It chanced they had a cousin - a maid as sweet and fair and +pure as they were hideous and foul. We met in the meads - she +and I. Spring was the time - God! It seems but yesterday! - +and each in our bearing towards the other forgot the traditions +of the names we bore. And as at first we had met by chance, so +did we meet later by contrivance, not once or twice, but many +times. God, how sweet she was! How sweet was all the world! +How sweet it was to live and to be young! We loved. How else +could it have been? What to us were traditions, what to us the +hatred that for centuries had held our families asunder? In us +it lay to set aside all that. + +"And so I sought my father. He cursed me at first for an +unnatural son who left unheeded the dictates of our blood. But +anon, when on my knees I had urged my cause with all the +eloquent fervour that is but of youth - youth that loves - my +father cursed no more. His thoughts went back maybe to the +days of his own youth, and he bade me rise and go a-wooing as I +listed. Nay, more than that he did. The first of our name was +he out of ten generations to set foot across the threshold of +the hall; he went on my behalf to sue for their cousin's hand. + +"Then was their hour. To them that had been taught the +humiliating lesson that we were their betters, one of us came +suing. They from whom the countryside looked for silence when +one of us spoke, had it in their hands at length to say us nay. +And they said it. What answer my father made them, Kenneth, I +know not, but very white was his face when I met him on the +castle steps on his return. In burning words he told me of the +insult they had put upon him, then silently he pointed to the +Toledo that two years before he had brought me out of Spain, +and left me. But I had understood. Softly I unsheathed that +virgin blade and read the Spanish inscription, that through my +tears of rage and shame seemed blurred; a proud inscription was +it, instinct with the punctilio of proud Spain - "Draw me not +without motive, sheathe me not without honour." Motive there +was and to spare; honour I swore there should be; and with that +oath, and that brave sword girt to me, I set out to my first +combat." + +Sir Crispin paused and a sigh escaped him, followed by a laugh +of bitterness. + +"I lost that sword years ago," said he musingly. "The sword +and I have been close friends in life, but my companion has +been a blade of coarser make, carrying no inscriptions to prick +at a man's conscience and make a craven of him." + +He laughed again, and again he fell a-musing, till Kenneth's +voice aroused him. + +"Your story, sir." + +Twilight shadows were gathering in their garret, and as he +turned his face towards the youth, he was unable to make out +his features; but his tone had been eager, and Crispin noted +that he sat with head bent forward and that his eyes shone +feverishly. + +"It interests you, eh? Ah, well - hot foot I went to the hall, +and with burning words I called upon those dogs to render +satisfaction for the dishonour they had put upon my house. +Will you believe, Kenneth, that they denied me? They sheltered +their craven lives behind a shield of mock valour. They would +not fight a boy, they said, and bade me get my beard grown when +haply they would give ear to my grievance. + +"And so, a shame and rage a hundredfold more bitter than that +which I had borne thither did I carry thence. My father bade +me treasure up the memory of it against the time when my riper +years should compel them to attend me, and this, by my every +hope of heaven, I swore to do. He bade me further efface for +ever from my mind all thought or hope of union with their +cousin, and though I made him no answer at the time, yet in my +heart I promised to obey him in that, too. But I was young - +scarce twenty. A week without sight of my mistress and I grew +sick with despair. Then at length I came upon her, pale and +tearful, one evening, and in an agony of passion and +hopelessness I flung myself at her feet, and implored her to +keep true to me and wait, and she, poor maid, to her undoing +swore that she would. You are yourself a lover, Kenneth, and +you may guess something of the impatience that anon beset me. +How could I wait? I asked her this. + +"Some fifty miles from the castle there was a little farm, in +the very heart of the country, which had been left me by a +sister of my mother's. Thither I now implored her to repair +with me. I would find a priest to wed us, and there we should +live a while in happiness, in solitude, and in love. An +alluring picture did I draw with all a lover's cunning, and to +the charms of it she fell a victim. We fled three days later. + +"We were wed in the village that pays allegiance to the castle, +and thereafter we travelled swiftly and undisturbed to that +little homestead. There in solitude, with but two servants - a +man and a maid whom I could trust - we lived and loved, and for +a season, brief as all happiness is doomed to be, we were +happy. Her cousins had no knowledge of that farm of mine, and +though they searched the country for many a mile around, they +searched in vain. My father knew - as I learned afterwards - +but deeming that what was done might not be undone, he held his +peace. In the following spring a babe was born to us, and our +bliss made heaven of that cottage. + +"Twas a month or so after the birth of our child that the blow +descended. I was away, enjoying alone the pleasures of the +chase; my man was gone a journey to the nearest town, whence he +would not return until the morrow. Oft have I cursed the folly +that led me to take my gun and go forth into the woods, leaving +no protector for my wife but one weak woman. + +"I returned earlier than I had thought to do, led mayhap by +some angel that sought to have me back in time. But I came too +late. At my gate I found two freshly ridden horses tethered, +and it was with a dull foreboding in my heart that I sprang +through the open door. Within - O God, the anguish of it! - +stretched on the floor I beheld my love, a gaping sword-wound +in her side, and the ground all bloody about her. For a moment +I stood dumb in the spell of that horror, then a movement +beyond, against the wall, aroused me, and I beheld her +murderers cowering there, one with a naked sword in his hand. + +"In that fell hour, Kenneth, my whole nature changed, and one +who had ever been gentle was transformed into the violent, +passionate man that you have known. As my eye encountered then +her cousins, my blood seemed on the instant curdled in my +veins; my teeth were set hard; my nerves and sinews knotted; my +hands instinctively shifted to the barrel of my fowling-piece +and clutched it with the fierceness that was in me - the +fierceness of the beast about to spring upon those that have +brought it to bay. + +"For a moment I stood swaying there, my eyes upon them, and +holding their craven glances fascinated. Then with a roar I +leapt forward, the stock of my fowling-piece swung high above +my head. And, as God lives, Kenneth, I had sent them straight +to hell ere they could have raised a hand or made a cry to stay +me. But as I sprang my foot slipped in the blood of my +beloved, and in my fall I came close to her where she lay. The +fowling-piece had escaped my grasp and crashed against the +wall. + +"I scarce knew what I did, but as I lay beside her it came to +me that I did not wish to rise again - that already I had lived +overlong. It came to me that, seeing me fallen, haply those +cowards would seize the chance to make an end of me as I lay. +I wished it so in that moment's frenzy, for I made no attempt +to rise or to defend myself; instead I set my arms about my +poor murdered love, and against her cold cheek I set my face +that was well-nigh as cold. + +"And thus I lay, nor did they keep me long. A sword was passed +through me from back to breast, whilst he who did it cursed me +with a foul oath. The room grew dim; methought it swayed and +that the walls were tottering; there was a buzz of sound in my +ears, then a piercing cry in a baby voice. At the sound of it +I vaguely wished for the strength to rise. As in the distance, +I heard one of those butchers cry, "Haste, man; slit me that +squalling bastard's throat!" And then I must have swooned." + +Kenneth shuddered. + +"My God, how horrible!" he cried. "But you were avenged, Sir +Crispin," he added eagerly; "you were avenged?" + +"When I regained consciousness," Crispin continued, as if he +had not heard Kenneth's exclamation, "the cottage was in +flames, set alight by them to burn the evidence of their foul +deed. What I did I know not. I have tried to urge my memory +along from the point of my awakening, but in vain. By what +miracle I crawled forth, I cannot tell; but in the morning I +was found by my man lying prone in the garden, half a dozen +paces from the blackened ruins of the cottage, as near death as +man may go and live. + +"God willed that I should not die, but it was close upon a year +before I was restored to any semblance of my former self, and +then I was so changed that I was hardly to be recognized as +that same joyous, vigorous lad, who had set out, fowling-piece +on shoulder, one fine morning a year agone. There was grey in +my hair, as much as there is now, though I was but twenty-one; +my face was seared and marked as that of a man who had lived +twice my years. It was to my faithful servant that I owed my +life, though I ask myself to-night whether I have cause for +gratitude towards him on that score. + +"So soon as I had regained sufficient strength, I went secretly +home, wishing that men might continue to believe me dead. My +father I found much aged by grief, but he was kind and tender +with me beyond all words. From him I had it that our enemies +were gone to France; it would seem they had thought it better +to remain absent for a while. He had learnt that they were in +Paris, and hither I determined forthwith to follow them. +Vainly did my father remonstrate with me; vainly did he urge me +rather: to bear my story to the King at Whitehall and seek. +for justice. I had been well advised had I obeyed this +counsel, but I burned to take my vengeance with my own hands, +and with this purpose I repaired to France. + +"Two nights after my arrival in Paris it was my, ill-fortune to +be embroiled in a rough-and-tumble in the streets, and by an +ill-chance I killed a man - the first was he of several that I +have sent whither I am going to-morrow. The affair was like to +have cost me my life, but by another of those miracles which +have prolonged it, I was sent instead to the galleys on the +Mediterranean. It was only wanting that, after all that +already I had endured, I should become a galley-slave! + +"For twelve long years I toiled at an oar, and waited. If I +lived I would return to England; and if I returned, woe unto +those that had wrecked my life - my body and my soul. I did +live, and I did return. The Civil War had broken out, and I +came to throw my sword into the balance on the King's side: I +came, too, to be avenged, but that would wait. + +"Meanwhile, the score had grown heavier. I went home to find +the castle in usurping hands - in the hands of my enemies. My +father was dead; he died a few months after I had gone to +France; and those murderers had advanced a claim that through +my marriage with their cousin, since dead, and through my own +death, there being no next of kin, they were the heirs-at-law. +The Parliament allowed their claim, and they were installed. +But when I came they were away, following the fortunes of the +Parliament that had served them so well. And so I determined +to let my vengeance wait until the war were ended and the +Parliament destroyed. In a hundred engagements did I +distinguish myself by my recklessness even as at other seasons +I distinguished myself by my debaucheries. + +"Ah, Kenneth, you have been hard upon me for my vices, for my +abuses of the cup, and all the rest. But can you be hard upon +me still, knowing what I had suffered, and what a weight of +misery I bore with me? I, whose life was wrecked beyond +salvation; who only lived that I might slit the throats of +those that had so irreparably wronged me. Think you still that +it was so vicious a thing, so unpardonable an offence to seek +the blessed nepenthe of the wine-cup, the heavenly +forgetfulness that its abuses brought me? Is it strange that I +became known as the wildest tantivy boy that rode with the +King? What else had I?" + +"In all truth your trials were sore," said the lad in a voice +that contained a note of sympathy. And yet there was a certain +restraint that caught the Tavern Knight's ear. He turned his +head and bent his eyes in the lad's direction, but it was quite +dark by now, and he failed to make out his companion's face. + +"My tale is told, Kenneth. The rest you can guess. The King +did not prevail and I was forced to fly from England with those +others who escaped from the butchers that had made a martyr of +Charles. I took service in France under the great Conde, and I +saw some mighty battles. At length came the council of Breda +and the invitation to Charles the Second to receive the crown +of Scotland. I set out again to follow his fortunes as I had +followed his father's, realizing that by so doing I followed my +own, and that did he prevail I should have the redress and +vengeance so long awaited. To-day has dashed my last hope; +to-morrow at this hour it will not signify. And yet much would +I give to have my fingers on the throats of those two hounds +before the hangman's close around my own." + +There was a spell of silence as the two men sat, both breathing +heavily in the gloom that enveloped them. At length: + +"You have heard my story, Kenneth," said Crispin. + +"I have heard, Sir Crispin, and God knows I pity you." + +That was all, and Galliard felt that it was not enough. He had +lacerated his soul with those grim memories to earn a yet +kinder word. He had looked even to hear the lad suing for +pardon for the harsh opinions wherein he had held him. Strange +was this yearning of his for the boy's sympathy. He who for +twenty years had gone unloving and unloved, sought now in his +extremity affection from a fellow-man. + +And so in the gloom he waited for a kinder word that came not; +then - so urgent was his need - he set himself to beg it. + +"Can you not understand now, Kenneth, how I came to fall so +low? Can you not understand this dissoluteness of mine, which +led them to dub me the Tavern Knight after the King conferred +upon me the honour of knighthood for that stand of mine in +Fifeshire? You must understand, Kenneth," he insisted almost +piteously, "and knowing all, you must judge me more mercifully +than hitherto." + +"It is not mine to judge, Sir Crispin. I pity you with all my +heart," the lad replied, not ungently. + +Still the knight was dissatisfied. "Yours it is to judge as +every man may judge his fellowman. You mean it is not yours to +sentence. But if yours it were, Kenneth, what then?" + +The lad paused a moment ere he answered. His bigoted +Presbyterian training was strong within him, and although, as +he said, he pitied Galliard, yet to him whose mind was stuffed +with life's precepts, and who knew naught of the trials it +brings to some and the temptations to which they were not human +did they not succumb - it seemed that vice was not to be +excused by misfortune. Out of mercy then he paused, and for a +moment he had it even in his mind to cheer his fellow-captive +with a lie. Then, remembering that he was to die upon the +morrow, and that at such a time it was not well to risk the +perdition of his soul by an untruth, however merciful, he +answered slowly: + +"Were I to judge you, since you ask me, sir, I should be +merciful because of your misfortunes. And yet, Sir Crispin, +your profligacy and the evil you have wrought in life must +weigh heavily against you." Had this immaculate bigot, this +churlish milksop been as candid with himself as he was with +Crispin, he must have recognized that it was mainly Crispin's +offences towards himself that his mind now dwelt on in=deeper +rancour than became one so well acquainted with the Lord's +Prayer. + +"You had not cause enough," he added impressively, "to defile +your soul and risk its eternal damnation because the evil of +others had wrecked your life." + +Crispin drew breath with the sharp hiss of one in pain, and for +a moment after all was still. Then a bitter laugh broke from +him. + +"Bravely answered, reverend sir," he cried with biting scorn. +"I marvel only that you left your pulpit to gird on a sword; +that you doffed your cassock to don a cuirass. Here is a text +for you who deal in texts, my brave Jack Presbyter - "Judge you +your neighbour as you would yourself be judged; be merciful as +you would hope for mercy." Chew you the cud of that until the +hangman's coming in the morning. Good night to you." + +And throwing himself back upon the bed, Crispin sought comfort +in sleep. His limbs were heavy and his heart was sick. + +"You misapprehend me, Sir Crispin," cried the lad, stung almost +to shame by Galliard's reproach, and also mayhap into some fear +that hereafter he should find little mercy for his own lack of +it towards a poor fellow-sinner. "I spoke not as I would +judge, but as the Church teaches." + +"If the Church teaches no better I rejoice that I was no +churchman," grunted Crispin. + +"For myself," the lad pursued, heeding not the irreverent +interruption, "as I have said, I pity you with all my heart. +More than that, so deeply do I feel, so great a loathing and +indignation has your story sown in my heart, that were our +liberty now restored us I would willingly join hands with you +in wreaking vengeance on these evildoers." + +Sir Crispin laughed. He judged the tone rather than the words, +and it rang hollow. + +"Where are your wits, O casuist?" he cried mockingly. "Where +are your doctrines? 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!' +Pah!" + +And with that final ejaculation, pregnant with contempt and +bitterness, he composed himself to sleep. + +He was accursed he told himself. He must die alone, as he had +lived. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE TWISTED BAR + + +Nature asserted herself, and, despite his condition, Crispin +slept. Kenneth sat huddled on his chair, and in awe and +amazement he listened to his companion's regular breathing. He +had not Galliard's nerves nor Galliard's indifference to death, +so that neither could he follow his example, nor yet so much as +realize how one should slumber upon the very brink of eternity. + +For a moment his wonder stood perilously near to admiration; +then his religious training swayed him, and his righteousness +almost drew from him a contempt of this man's apathy. There +was much of the Pharisee's attitude towards the publican in his +mood. + +Anon that regular breathing grew irritating to him; it drew so +marked a contrast 'twixt Crispin's frame of mind and his own. +Whilst Crispin had related his story, the interest it awakened +had served to banish the spectre of fear which the thought of +the morrow conjured up. Now that Crispin was silent and +asleep, that spectre returned, and the lad grew numb and sick +with the horror of his position. + +Thought followed thought as he sat huddled there with sunken +head and hands clasped tight between his knees, and they were +mostly of his dull uneventful days in Scotland, and ever and +anon of Cynthia, his beloved. Would she hear of his end? +Would she weep for him? - as though it mattered! And every +train of thought that he embarked upon brought him to the same +issue - to-morrow! Shuddering he would clench his hands still +tighter, and the perspiration would stand' out in beads upon +his callow brow. + +At length he flung himself upon his knees to address not so +much a prayer as a maudlin grievance to his Creator. He felt +himself a craven - doubly so by virtue of the peaceful +breathing of that sinner he despised - and he told himself that +it was not in fear a gentleman should meet his end. + +"But I shall be brave to-morrow. I shall be brave," he +muttered, and knew not that it was vanity begat the thought, +and vanity that might uphold him on the morrow when there were +others by, however broken might be his spirit now. + +Meanwhile Crispin slept. When he awakened the light of a +lanthorn was on his face, and holding it stood beside him a +tall black figure in a cloak and a slouched hat whose broad +brim left the features unrevealed. + +Still half asleep, and blinking like an owl, he sat up. + +"I have always held burnt sack to be well enough, but - " + +He stopped short, fully awake at last, and, suddenly +remembering his condition and thinking they were come for him, +he drew a sharp breath and in a voice as indifferent as he +could make it: + +"What's o'clock?" he asked. + +"Past midnight, miserable wretch," was the answer delivered in +a deep droning voice. "Hast entered upon thy last day of life +- a day whose sun thou'lt never see. But five hours more are +left thee." + +"And it is to tell me this that you have awakened me?" demanded +Galliard in such a voice that he of the cloak recoiled a step, +as if he thought a blow must follow. "Out on you for an +unmannerly cur to break upon a gentleman's repose." + +"I come," returned the other in his droning voice, "to call +upon thee to repent." + +"Plague me not," answered Crispin, with a yawn. "I would +sleep." + +"Soundly enough shalt thou sleep in a few hours' time. Bethink +thee, miserable sinner, of thy soul." + +"Sir," cried the Tavern Knight, "I am a man of marvellous short +endurance. But mark you this your ways to heaven are not my +ways. Indeed, if heaven be peopled by such croaking things as +you, I shall be thankful to escape it. So go, my friend, ere I +become discourteous." + +The minister stood in silence for a moment; then setting his +lanthorn upon the table, he raised his hands and eyes towards +the low ceiling of the chamber. + +"Vouchsafe, O Lord," he prayed, "to touch yet the callous heart +of this obdurate, incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjured +and blasphemous malignant, whose - " + +He got no further. Crispin was upon his feet, his harsh +countenance thrust into the very face of the minister; his eyes +ablaze. + +"Out!" he thundered, pointing to the door. "Out! Begone! I +would not be guilty at the end of my life of striking a man in +petticoats. But go whilst I can bethink me of it! Go - take +your prayers to hell." + +The minister fell back before that blaze of passion. For a +second he appeared to hesitate, then he turned towards Kenneth, +who stood behind in silence. But the lad's Presbyterian +rearing had taught him to hate a sectarian as he would a papist +or as he would the devil, and he did no more than echo +Galliard's words - though in a gentler key. + +"I pray you go," he said. "But if you would perform an act of +charity, leave your lanthorn. It will be dark enough +hereafter." + +The minister looked keenly at the boy, and won over by the +humility of his tone, he set the lanthorn on the table. Then +moving towards the door, he stopped and addressed himself to +Crispin. + +"I go since you oppose with violence my ministrations. But I +shall pray for you, and I will return anon, when perchance your +heart shall be softened by the near imminence of your end." + +"Sir," quoth Crispin wearily, "you would outtalk a woman." + +"I've done, I've done," he cried in trepidation, making shift +to depart. On the threshold he paused again. "I leave you the +lanthorn," he said. "May it light you to a godlier frame of +mind. I shall return at daybreak." And with that he went. + +Crispin yawned noisily when he was gone, and stretched himself. +Then pointing to the pallet: + +"Come, lad, 'tis your turn," said he. + +Kenneth shivered. "I could not sleep," he cried. "I could +not." + +"As you will." And shrugging his shoulders, Crispin sat down +on the edge of the bed. + +"For cold comforters commend me to these cropeared cuckolds," +he grumbled. "They are all thought for a man's soul, but for +his body they care nothing. Here am I who for the last ten +hours have had neither meat nor drink. Not that I mind the +meat so much, but, 'slife, my throat is dry as one of their +sermons, and I would cheerfully give four of my five hours of +life for a posset of sack. A paltry lot are they, Kenneth, +holding that because a man must die at dawn he need not sup +to-night. Heigho! Some liar hath said that he who sleeps +dines, and if I sleep perchance I shall forget my thirst." + +He stretched himself upon the bed, and presently he slept +again. + +It was Kenneth who next awakened him. He opened his eyes to +find the lad shivering as with an ague. His face was ashen. + +"Now, what's amiss? Oddslife, what ails you?" he cried. + +"Is there no way, Sir Crispin? Is there naught you can do?" +wailed the youth. + +Instantly Galliard sat up. + +"Poor lad, does the thought of the rope affright you?" + +Kenneth bowed his head in silence. + +"Tis a scurvy death, I own. Look you, Kenneth, there is a +dagger in my boot. If you would rather have cold steel, 'tis +done. It is the last service I may render you, and I'll be as +gentle as a mistress. Just there, over the heart, and you'll +know no more until you are in Paradise." + +Turning down the leather of his right boot, he thrust his hand +down the side of his leg. But Kenneth sprang back with a cry. + +"No, no," he cried, covering his face with his hands. "Not +that! You don't understand. It is death itself I would cheat. +What odds to exchange one form for another? Is there no way +out of this? Is there no way, Sir Crispin?" he demanded with +clenched hands. + +"The approach of death makes you maudlin, sir," quoth the +other, in whom this pitiful show of fear produced a profound +disgust. "Is there no way; say you? There is the window, but +'tis seventy feet above the river; and there is the door, but +it is locked, and there is a sentry on the other side." + +"I might have known it. I might have known that you would mock +me. What is death to you, to whom life offers nothing? For +you the prospect of it has no terrors. But for me - bethink +you, sir, I am scarce eighteen years of age," he added +brokenly, "and life was full of promise for me. O God, pity +me!" + +"True, lad, true," the knight returned in softened tones. "I +had forgotten that death is not to you the blessed release that +it is to me. And yet, and yet," he mused, "do I not die +leaving a task unfulfilled - a task of vengeance? And by my +soul, I know no greater spur to make a man cling to life. Ah," +he sighed wistfully, "if indeed I could find a way." + +"Think, Sir Crispin, think," cried the boy feverishly. + +"To what purpose? There is the window. But even if the bars +were moved, which I see no manner of accomplishing, the drop to +the river is seventy feet at least. I measured it with my eyes +when first we entered here. We have no rope. Your cloak rent +in two and the pieces tied together would scarce yield us ten +feet. Would you care to jump the remaining sixty?" + +At the very thought of it the lad trembled, noting which Sir +Crispin laughed softly. + +"There. And yet, boy, it would be taking a risk which if +successful would mean life - if otherwise, a speedier end than +even the rope will afford you. Oddslife," he cried, suddenly +springing to his feet, and seizing the lanthorn. "Let us look +at these bars." + +He stepped across to the window, and held the light so that its +rays fell full upon the base of the vertical iron that barred +the square. + +"It is much worn by rust, Kenneth," he muttered. "The removal +of this single piece of iron," and he touched the lower arm of +the cross, "should afford us passage. Who knows? Hum!" + +He walked back to the table and set the lanthorn down. In a +tremble, Kenneth watched his every movement, but spoke no word. + +"He who throws a main," said Galliard, "must set a stake upon +the board. I set my life - a stake that is already forfeit - +and I throw for liberty. If I win, I win all; if I lose, I +lose naught. 'Slife, I have thrown many a main with Fate, but +never one wherein the odds were more generous. Come, Kenneth, +it is the only way, and we will attempt it if we can but move +the bar." + +"You mean to leap?" gasped the lad. + +"Into the river. It is the only way." + +"O God, I dare not. It is a fearsome drop." + +"Longer, I confess, than they'll give you in an hour's time, if +you remain; but it may lead elsewhere." + +The boy's mouth was parched. His eyes burned in their, +sockets, and yet his limbs shook with cold - but not the cold +of that September night. + +"I'll try it," he muttered with a gulp. Then suddenly +clutching Galliard's arm, he pointed to the window. + +"What ails you now?" quoth Crispin testily. + +"The dawn, Sir Crispin. The dawn." + +Crispin looked, and there, like a gash in the blackness of the +heavens, he beheld a streak of grey. + +"Quick, Sir Crispin; there is no time to lose. The minister +said he would return at daybreak." + +"Let him come," answered Galliard grimly, as he moved towards +the casement. + +He gripped the lower bar with his lean, sinewy hands, and +setting his knee against the masonry beneath it, he exerted the +whole of his huge strength - that awful strength acquired +during those years of toil as a galley-slave, which even his +debaucheries had not undermined. He felt his sinews straining +until it seemed that they must crack; the sweat stood out upon +his brow; his breathing grew stertorous. + +"It gives," he panted at last. "It gives." + +He paused in his efforts, and withdrew his hands. + +"I must breathe a while. One other effort such as that, and it +is done. 'Fore George," he laughed, "it is the first time +water has stood my friend, for the rains have sadly rusted that +iron." + +Without, their sentry was pacing before the door; his steps +came nearer, passed, and receded; turned, came nigh again, and +again passed on. As once more they grew faint, Crispin seized +the bar and renewed his attempt. This time it was easier. +Gradually it ceded to the strain Galliard set upon it. + +Nearer came the sentry's footsteps, but they went unheeded by +him who toiled, and by him who watched with bated breath and +beating heart. He felt it giving - giving - giving. Crack! + +With a report that rang through the room like a pistol shot, it +broke off in its socket. Both men caught their breath, , and +stood for a second crouching, with straining ears. The sentry +had stopped at their door. + +Galliard was a man of quick action, swift to think, and as +swift to execute the thought. To thrust Kenneth into a corner, +to extinguish the light, and to fling himself upon the bed was +all the work of an instant. + +The key grated in the lock, and Crispin answered it with a +resounding snore. The door opened, and on the threshold stood +the Roundhead trooper, holding aloft a lanthorn whose rays were +flashed back by his polished cuirass. He beheld Crispin on the +bed with closed eyes and open mouth, and he heard his +reassuring and melodious snore. He saw Kenneth seated +peacefully upon the floor, with his back against the wall, and +for a moment he was puzzled. + +"Heard you aught?" he asked. + +"Aye," answered Kenneth, in a strangled voice, "I heard +something like a shot out there." + +The gesture with which he accompanied the words was fatal. +Instinctively he had jerked his thumb towards the window, +thereby drawing the soldier's eyes in that direction. The +fellow's glance fell upon the twisted bar, and a sharp +exclamation of surprise escaped him. + +Had he been aught but a fool he must have guessed at once how +it came so, and having guessed it, he must have thought twice +ere he ventured within reach of a man who could so handle iron. +But he was a slow-reasoning clod, and so far, thought had not +yet taken the place of surprise. He stepped into, the chamber +and across to the window, that he might more closely view that +broken bar. + +With eyes that were full of terror and despair, Kenneth watched +him; their last hope had failed them. Then, as he looked, it +seemed to him that in one great leap from his recumbent +position on the bed, Crispin had fallen upon the soldier. + +The lanthorn was dashed from the fellow's hand, and rolled to +Kenneth's feet. The fellow had begun' a cry, which broke off +suddenly into a gurgle as Galliard's fingers closed about his +windpipe. He was a big fellow, and in his mad struggles he +carried: Crispin hither and thither about the room. Together: +they hurtled against the table, which would have: gone crashing +over had not Kenneth caught it and drawn it softly to the wall. + +Both men were now upon the bed. Crispin had guessed the +soldier's intent to fling himself upon the ground so that the +ring of his armour might be heard, and perchance bring others +to his aid. To avoid this, Galliard had swung him towards the +bed, and hurled him on to it. There he pinned him with his +knee, and with his fingers he gripped the Roundhead's throat, +pressing the apple inwards with his thumb. + +"The door, Kenneth!" he commanded, in a whisper. "Close the +door!" + +Vain were the trooper's struggles to free himself from that. +throttling grip. Already his efforts grew his face was purple; +his veins stood out in ropes upon his brow till they seemed +upon the point of bursting; his eyes protruded like a lobster's +and there was a horrible grin upon his mouth; still his heels +beat the bed, and still he struggled. With his fingers he +plucked madly at the throttling hands on his neck, and tore at +them with his nails until the blood streamed from them. Still +Galliard held him firmly, and with a smile - a diabolical smile +it seemed to the poor, half-strangled wretch - he gazed upon +his choking victim. + +"Someone comes!" gasped Kenneth suddenly. "Someone comes, Sir +Crispin!" he repeated, shaking his hands in a frenzy. + +Galliard listened. Steps were approaching. The soldier heard +them also, and renewed his efforts. Then Crispin spoke. + +"Why stand you there like a fool?" he growled. "Quench the +light - stay, we may want it! Cast your cloak over it! Quick, +man, quick!" + +The steps came nearer. The lad had obeyed him, and they were +in darkness. + +"Stand by the door," whispered Crispin. "Fall upon him as he +enters, and see that no cry escapes him. Take him by the +throat, and as you love your life, do not let him get away." + +The footsteps halted. Kenneth crawled softly to his post. The +soldier's struggles grew of a sudden still, and Crispin +released his throat at last. Then calmly drawing the fellow's +dagger, he felt for the straps of his cuirass, and these he +proceeded to cut. As he did so the door was opened. + +By the light of the lamp burning in the passage they beheld +silhouetted upon the threshold a black figure crowned by a +steeple hat. Then the droning voice of the Puritan minister +greeted them. + +"Your hour is at hand!" he announced. + +"Is it time?" asked Galliard from the bed. And as he put the +question he softly thrust aside the trooper's breastplate, and +set his hand to the fellow's heart. It still beat faintly. + +"In another hour they will come for you," answered the +minister. And Crispin marvelled anxiously what Kenneth was +about. "Repent then, miserable sinners, whilst yet - " + +He broke off abruptly, awaking out of his religious zeal to a +sense of strangeness at the darkness and the absence of the +sentry, which hitherto he had not remarked. + +"What hath - " he began. Then Galliard heard a gasp, followed +by the noise of a fall, and two struggling men came rolling +across the chamber floor. + +"Bravely done, boy!" he cried, almost mirthfully. "Cling to +him, Kenneth; cling to him a second yet!" + +He leapt from the bed, and guided by the faint light coming +through the door, he sprang across the intervening space and +softly closed it. Then he groped his way along the wall to the +spot where he had seen the lanthorn stand when Kenneth had +flung his cloak over it. As he went, the two striving men came +up against him. + +"Hold fast, lad," he cried, encouraging Kenneth, "hold him yet +a moment, and I will relieve you!" + +He reached the lanthorn at last, and pulling aside the cloak, +he lifted the light and set it upon the table. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE BARGAIN + + +By the lanthorn's yellow glare Crispin beheld the two men-a +mass of writhing bodies and a bunch of waving legs - upon the +ground. Kenneth, who was uppermost, clung purposefully to the +parson's throat. The faces of both were alike distorted, but +whilst the lad's breath came in gasping hisses, the other's +came not at all. + +Going over to the bed, Crispin drew the unconscious trooper's +tuck-sword. He paused for a moment to bend over the man's +face; his breath came faintly, and Crispin knew that ere many +moments were sped he would regain consciousness. He smiled +grimly to see how well he had performed his work of suffocation +without yet utterly destroying life. + +Sword in hand, he returned to Kenneth and the parson. The +Puritan's struggles were already becoming mere spasmodic +twitchings; his face was as ghastly as the trooper's had been a +while ago. + +"Release him, Kenneth," said Crispin shortly. + +"He struggles still." + +"Release him, I say," Galliard repeated, and stooping he caught +the lad's wrist and compelled him to abandon his hold. + +"He will cry out," exclaimed Kenneth, in apprehension. + +"Not he," laughed Crispin. "Leastways, not yet awhile. +Observe the wretch." + +With mouth wide agape, the minister lay gasping like a fish +newly taken from the water. Even now that his throat was free +he appeared to struggle for a moment before he could draw +breath. Then he took it in panting gulps until it seemed that +he must choke in his gluttony of air. + +"Fore George," quoth Crispin, "I was no more than in time. +Another second, and we should have had him, too, unconscious. +There, he is recovering." + +The blood was receding from the swollen veins of the parson's +head, and his cheeks were paling to their normal hue. Anon +they went yet paler than their wont, as Galliard rested the +point of his sword against the fellow's neck. + +"Make sound or movement," said Crispin coldly, "and I'll pin +you to the floor like a beetle. Obey me, and no harm shall +come to you." + +"I will obey you," the fellow answered, in a wheezing whisper. +"I swear I will. But of your charity, good sir, I beseech you +remove your sword. Your hand might slip, sir," he whined, a +wild terror in his eyes. + +Where now was the deep bass of his whilom accents? Where now +the grotesque majesty of his bearing, and the impressive +gestures that erstwhile had accompanied his words of +denunciation? + +"Your hand might slip, sir," he whined again. + +"It might - and, by Gad, it shall if I hear more from you. So +that you are discreet and obedient, have no fear of my hand." +Then, still keeping his eye upon the fellow: "Kenneth," he +said, "attend to the crop-ear yonder, he will be recovering. +Truss him with the bedclothes, and gag him with his scarf. See +to it, Kenneth, and do it well, but leave his nostrils free +that he may breathe." + +Kenneth carried out Galliard's orders swiftly and effectively, +what time Crispin remained standing over the recumbent +minister. At length, when Kenneth announced that it was done, +he bade the Puritan rise. + +"But have a care," he added, "or you shall taste the joys of +the Paradise you preach of. Come, sir parson; afoot!" + +A prey to a fear that compelled unquestioning obedience, the +fellow rose with alacrity. + +"Stand there, sir. So," commanded Crispin, his point within an +inch of the man's Geneva bands. "Take your kerchief, Kenneth, +and pinion his wrists behind him." + +That done, Crispin bade the lad unbuckle and remove the +parson's belt. Next he ordered that man of texts to be seated +upon their only chair, and with that same belt he commanded +Kenneth to strap him to it. When at length the Puritan was +safely bound, Crispin lowered his rapier, and seated himself +upon the table edge beside him. + +"Now, sir parson," quoth he, "let us talk a while. At your +first outcry I shall hurry you into that future world whither +it is your mission to guide the souls of others. Maybe you'll +find it a better world to preach of than to inhabit, and so, +for your own sake, I make no doubt you will obey me. To your +honour, to your good sense and a parson's natural horror of a +lie, I look for truth in answer to what questions I may set +you. Should I find you deceiving me, sir, I shall see that +your falsehood overtakes you." And eloquently raising his +blade, he intimated the exact course he would adopt. "Now, +sir, attend to me. How soon are our friends likely to discover +this topsy-turvydom?" + +"When they come for you," answered the parson meekly. + +"And how soon, O prophet, will they come?" + +"In an hour's time, or thereabout," replied the Puritan, +glancing towards the window as he spoke. Galliard followed his +glance, and observed that the light was growing perceptibly +stronger. + +"Aye," he commented, "in an hour's time there should be light +enough to hang us by. Is there no chance of anyone coming +sooner?" + +"None that I can imagine. The only other occupants of the +house are a party of half a dozen troopers in the guardroom +below." + +"Where is the Lord General?" + +"Away - I know not where. But he will be here at sunrise." + +"And the sentry that was at our door - is he not to a changed +'twixt this and hanging-time?" + +"I cannot say for sure, but I think not. The guard was +relieved just before I came." + +"And the men in the guardroom - answer me truthfully, O Elijah +- what manner of watch are they keeping?" + +"Alas, sir, they have drunk enough this night to put a +rakehelly Cavalier to shame. I was but exhorting them." + +When Kenneth had removed the Puritan's girdle, a small Bible - +such as men of his calling were wont to carry - had dropped +out. This Kenneth had placed upon the table. Galliard now +took it up, and, holding it before the Puritan's eyes, he +watched him narrowly the while. + +"Will you swear by this book that you have answered nothing but +the truth?" + +Without a moment's hesitation the parson pledged his oath, +that, to the best of his belief, he had answered accurately. + +"That is well, sir. And now, though it grieve me to cause you +some slight discomfort, I must ensure your silence, my friend." + +And, placing his sword upon the table, he passed behind the +Puritan, and taking the man's own scarf, he effectively gagged +him with it. + +"Now, Kenneth," said he, turning to the lad. Then he stopped +abruptly as if smitten by a sudden thought. Presently - +"Kenneth," he continued in a different tone, "a while ago I +mind me you said that were your liberty restored you, you would +join hands with me in punishing the evildoers who wrecked my +life." + +"I did, Sir Crispin." + +For a moment the knight paused. It was a vile thing that he +was about to do, he told himself, and as he realized how vile, +his impulse was to say no more; to abandon the suddenly formed +project and to trust to his own unaided wits and hands. But as +again he thought of the vast use this lad would be to him - +this lad who was the betrothed of Cynthia Ashburn - he saw that +the matter was not one hastily to be judged and dismissed. +Carefully he weighed it in the balance of his mind. On the one +hand was the knowledge that did they succeed in making good +their escape, Kenneth would naturally fly for shelter to his +friends the Ashburns - the usurpers of Castle Marleigh. What +then more natural than his taking with him the man who had +helped him to escape, and who shared his own danger of +recapture? And with so plausible a motive for admission to +Castle Marleigh, how easy would not his vengeance become? He +might at first wean himself into their good graces, and +afterwards - + +Before his mental eyes there unfolded itself the vista of a +great revenge; one that should be worthy of him, and +commensurate with the foul deed that called for it. + +In the other scale the treacherous flavour of this method +weighed heavily. He proposed to bind the lad to a promise, the +shape of whose fulfilment he would withhold - a promise the lad +would readily give, and yet, one that he must sooner die than +enter into, did he but know what manner of fulfilment would be +exacted. It amounted to betraying the lad into a betrayal of +his friends - the people of his future wife. Whatever the +issue for Crispin, 'twas odds Kenneth's prospect of wedding +this Cynthia would be blighted for all time by the action into +which Galliard proposed to thrust him all unconscious. + +So stood the case in Galliard's mind, and the scales fell now +on one side, now on the other. But against his scruples rose +the memory of the treatment which the lad had meted out to him +that night; the harshness of the boy's judgment; the +irrevocable contempt wherein he had clearly seen that he was +held by this fatuous milksop. All this aroused his rancour +now, and steeled his heart against the voice of honour. What +was this boy to him, he asked himself, that he should forego +for him the accomplishing of his designs? How had this lad +earned any consideration from him? What did he owe him? +Naught! Still, he would not decide in haste. + +It was characteristic of the man whom Kenneth held to be +destitute of all honourable principles, to stand thus in the +midst of perils, when every second that sped lessened their +chances of escape, turning over in his mind calmly and +collectedly a point of conduct. It was in his passions only +that Crispin was ungovernable, in violence only that he was +swift - in all things else was he deliberate. + +Of this Kenneth had now a proof that set him quaking with +impatient fear. Anxiously, his hands clenched and his face +pale, he watched his companion, who stood with brows knit in +thought, and his grey eyes staring at the ground. At length he +could brook that, to him, incomprehensible and mad delay no +longer. + +"Sir Crispin," he whispered, plucking at his sleeve; "Sir +Crispin." + +The knight flashed him a glance that was almost of anger. Then +the fire died out of his eyes; he sighed and spoke. In that +second's glance he had seen the lad's face; the fear and +impatience written on it had disgusted him, and caused the +scales to fall suddenly and definitely against the boy. + +"I was thinking how it might be accomplished," he said. + +"There is but one way," cried the lad. + +"On the contrary, there are two, and I wish to choose +carefully." + +"If you delay your choice much longer, none will be left you," +cried Kenneth impatiently. + +Noting the lad's growing fears, and resolved now upon his +course, Galliard set himself to play upon them until terror +should render the boy as wax in his hands. + +"There speaks your callow inexperience," said he, with a +pitying smile. "When you shall have lived as long as I have +done, and endured as much; when you shall have set your wits to +the saving of your life as often as have I - you will have +learnt that haste is fatal to all enterprises. Failure means +the forfeiture of something; tonight it would mean the +forfeiture of our lives, and it were a pity to let such good +efforts as these" - and with a wave of the hand he indicated +their two captors - "go wasted." + +"Sir," exclaimed Kenneth, well-nigh beside himself, "if you +come not with me, I go alone!" + +"Whither?" asked Crispin dryly. + +"Out of this." + +Galliard bowed slightly. + +"Fare you well, sir. I'll not detain you. Your way is clear, +and it is for you to choose between the door and the window." + +And with that Crispin turned his back upon his companion and +crossed to the bed, where the trooper lay glaring in mute +anger. He stooped, and unbuckling the soldier's swordbelt - to +which the scabbard was attached - he girt himself with it. +Without raising his eyes, and keeping his back to Kenneth, who +stood between him and the door, he went next to the table, and, +taking up the sword that he had left there, he restored it to +the sheath. As the hilt clicked against the mouth of the +scabbard: + +"Come, Sir Crispin!" cried the lad. "Are you ready?" + +Galliard wheeled sharply round. + +"How? Not gone yet?" said he sardonically. + +"I dare not," the lad confessed. "I dare not go alone." + +Galliard laughed softly; then suddenly waxed grave. + +"Ere we go, Master Kenneth, I would again remind you of your +assurance that were we to regain our liberty you would aid me +in the task of vengeance that lies before me." + +"Once already have I answered you that it is so." + +"And pray, are you still of the same mind?" + +"I am, I am! Anything, Sir Crispin; anything so that you come +away!" + +"Not so fast, Kenneth. The promise that I shall ask of you is +not to be so lightly given. If we escape I may fairly claim to +have saved your life, 'twixt what I have done and what I may +yet do. Is it not so?" + +"Oh, I acknowledge it!" + +"Then, sir, in payment I shall expect your aid hereafter to +help me in that which I must accomplish, that which the hope of +accomplishing is the only spur to my own escape." + +"You have my promise!" cried the lad. + +"Do not give it lightly, Kenneth," said Crispin gravely. "It +may cause you much discomfort, and may be fraught with danger +even to your life." + +"I promise." + +Galliard bowed his head; then, turning, he took the Bible from +the table. + +"With your hand upon this book, by your honour, your faith, and +your every hope of salvation, swear that if I bear you alive +out of this house you will devote yourself to me and to my task +of vengeance until it shall be accomplished or until I perish; +swear that you will set aside all personal matters and +inclinations of your own, to serve me when I shall call upon +you. Swear that, and, in return, I will give my life if need +be to save yours to-night, in which case you will be released +from your oath without more ado." + +The lad paused a moment. Crispin was so impressive, the oath +he imposed so solemn, that for an instant the boy hesitated. +His cautious, timid nature whispered to him that perchance he +should know more of this matter ere he bound himself so +irrevocably. But Crispin, noting the hesitation, stifled it by +appealing to the lad's fears. + +"Resolve yourself," he exclaimed abruptly. "It grows light, +and the time for haste is come." + +"I swear!" answered Kenneth, overcome by his impatience. "I +swear, by my honour, my faith, and my every hope of heaven to +lend you my aid, when and how you may demand it, until your +task be accomplished." + +Crispin took the Bible from the boy's hands, and replaced it on +the table. His lips were pressed tight, and he avoided the +lad's eyes. + +"You shall not find me wanting in my part of the bargain," he +muttered, as he took up the soldier's cloak and hat. "Come, +take that parson's steeple hat and his cloak, and let us be +going." + +He crossed to the door, and opening it he peered down the +passage. A moment he stood listening. All was still. Then he +turned again. In the chamber the steely light of the breaking +day was rendering more yellow still the lanthorn's yellow +flame. + +"Fare you well, sir parson," he said. "Forgive me the +discomfort I have been forced to put upon you, and pray for the +success of our escape. Commend me to Oliver of the ruby nose. +Fare you well, sir. Come, Kenneth." + +He held the door for the lad to pass out. As they stood in the +dimly lighted passage he closed it softly after them, and +turned the key in the lock. + +"Come," he said again, and led the way to the stairs, Kenneth +tiptoeing after him with wildly beating heart. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE ESCAPE + + +Treading softly, and with ears straining for the slightest +sound, the two men descended to the first floor of the house. +They heard nothing to alarm them as they crept down, and not +until they paused on the first landing to reconnoitre did they +even catch the murmur of voices issuing from the guardroom +below. So muffled was the sound that Crispin guessed how +matters stood even before he had looked over the balusters into +the hall beneath. The faint grey of the dawn was the only +light that penetrated the gloom of that pit. + +"The Fates are kind, Kenneth," he whispered. "Those fools sit +with closed doors. Come." + +But Kenneth laid his hand upon Galliard's sleeve. "What if the +door should open as we pass?" + +"Someone will die," muttered Crispin back. "But pray God that +it may not. We must run the risk." + +"Is there no other way?" + +"Why, yes," returned Galliard sardonically, "we can linger here +until we are taken. But, oddslife, I'm not so minded. Come." + +And as he spoke he drew the lad along. + +His foot was upon the topmost stair of the flight, when of a +sudden the stillness of the house was broken by a loud knock +upon the street door. Instantly - as though they had been +awaiting it there was a stir of feet below and the bang of an +overturned chair; then a shaft of yellow light fell athwart the +darkness of the hall as the guardroom door was opened. + +"Back!" growled Galliard. "Back, man!" + +They were but in time. Peering over the balusters they saw two +troopers pass out of the guardroom, and cross the hall to the +door. A bolt was drawn and a chain rattled, then followed the +creak of hinges, and on the stone flags rang the footsteps and +the jingling of spurs of those that entered. + +"Is all well?" came a voice, which Crispin recognized as +Colonel Pride's, followed by an affirmative reply from one of +the soldiers. + +"Hath a minister visited the malignants?" + +"Master Toneleigh is with them even now." + +In the hall Crispin could now make out the figures of Colonel +Pride and of three men who came with him. But he had scant +leisure to survey them, for the colonel was in haste. + +"Come, sirs," he heard him say, "light me to their garret. I +would see them - leastways, one of them, before he dies. They +are to hang where the Moabites hanged Gives yesterday. Had I +my way ... But, there lead on, fellow." + +"Oh, God!" gasped Kenneth, as the soldier set foot upon the +stairs. Under his breath Crispin swore a terrific oath. For +an instant it seemed to him there was naught left but to stand +there and await recapture. Through his mind it flashed that +they were five, and he but one; for his companion was unarmed. + +With that swiftness which thought alone can compass did he +weigh the odds, and judge his chances. He realized how +desperate they were did he remain, and even as he thought he +glanced sharply round. + +Dim indeed was the light, but his sight was keen, and quickened +by the imminence of danger. Partly his eyes and partly his +instinct told him that not six paces behind him there must be a +door, and if Heaven pleased it should be unlocked, behind it +they must look for shelter. It even crossed his mind in that +second of crowding, galloping thought, that perchance the room +might be occupied. That was a risk he must take - the lesser +risk of the two, the choice of one of which was forced upon +him. He had determined all this ere the soldier's foot was +upon the third step of the staircase, and before the colonel +had commenced the ascent. Kenneth stood palsied with fear, +gazing like one fascinated at the approaching peril. + +Then upon his ear fell the fierce whisper: "Come with me, and +tread lightly as you love your life." + +In three long strides, and by steps that were softer than a +cat's, Crispin crossed to the door which he had rather guessed +than seen. He ran his hand along until he caught the latch. +Softly he tried it; it gave, and the door opened. Kenneth was +by then beside him. He paused to look back. + +On the opposite wall the light of the trooper's lanthorn fell +brightly. Another moment and the fellow would have reached and +turned the corner of the stairs, and his light must reveal them +to him. But ere that instant was passed Crispin had drawn his +companion through, and closed the door as softly as he had +opened it. The chamber was untenanted and almost bare of +furniture, at which discovery Crispin breathed more freely. + +They stood there, and heard the ascending footsteps, and the +clank-clank of a sword against the stair-rail. A bar of yellow +light came under the door that sheltered them. Stronger it +grew and farther it crept along the floor; then stopped and +receded again, as he who bore the lanthorn turned and began to +climb to the second floor. An instant later and the light had +vanished, eclipsed by those who followed in the fellow's wake. + +"The window, Sir Crispin," cried Kenneth, in an excited whisper +- "the window!" + +"No," answered Crispin calmly. "The drop is a long one, and we +should but light in the streets, and be little better than we +are here. Wait." + +He listened. The footsteps had turned the corner leading to +the floor above. He opened the door, partly at first, then +wide. For an instant he stood listening again. The steps were +well overhead by now; soon they would mount the last flight, +and then discovery must be swift to follow. + +"Now," was all Crispin said, and, drawing his sword he led the +way swiftly, yet cautiously, to the stairs once more. In +passing he glanced over the rails. The guardroom door stood +ajar, and he caught the murmurs of subdued conversation. But +he did not pause. Had the door stood wide he would not have +paused then. There was not a second to be lost; to wait was to +increase the already overwhelming danger. Cautiously, and +leaning well upon the stout baluster, he began the descent. +Kenneth followed him mechanically, with white face and a +feeling of suffocation in his throat. + +They gained the corner, and turning, they began what was truly +the perilous part of their journey. Not more than a dozen +steps were there; but at the bottom stood the guardroom door, +and through the chink of its opening a shaft of light fell upon +the nethermost step. Once a stair creaked, and to their +quickened senses it sounded like a pistol-shot. As loud to +Crispin sounded the indrawn breath of apprehension from Kenneth +that followed it. He had almost paused to curse the lad when, +thinking him of how time pressed, he went on. + +Within three steps of the bottom were they, and they could +almost distinguish what was being said in the room, when +Crispin stopped, and turning his head to attract Kenneth's +attention, he pointed straight across the hall to a dimly +visible door. It was that of the chamber wherein he had been +brought before Cromwell. Its position had occurred to him some +moments before, and he had determined then upon going that way. + +The lad followed the indication of his finger, and signified by +a nod that he understood. Another step Galliard descended; +then from the guardroom came a loud yawn, to send the boy +cowering against the wall. It was followed by the sound of +someone rising; a chair grated upon the floor, and there was a +movement of feet within the chamber. Had Kenneth been alone, +of a certainty terror would have frozen him to the wall. + +But the calm, unmovable Crispin proceeded as if naught had +chanced; he argued that even if he who had risen were coming +towards the door, there was nothing to be gained by standing +still. Their only chance lay now in passing before it might be +opened. + +They that walk through perils in a brave man's company cannot +but gain confidence from the calm of his demeanour. So was it +now with Kenneth. The steady onward march of that tall, lank +figure before him drew him irresistibly after it despite his +tremors. And well it was for him that this was so. They +gained the bottom of the staircase at length; they stood beside +the door of the guardroom, they passed it in safety. Then +slowly - painfully slowly - to avoid their steps from ringing +upon the stone floor, they crept across towards the door that +meant safety to Sir Crispin. Slowly, step by step, they moved, +and with every stride Crispin looked behind him, prepared to +rush the moment he had sign they were discovered. But it was +not needed. In silence and in safety they were permitted to +reach the door. To Crispin's joy it was unfastened. Quietly +he opened it, then with calm gallantry he motioned to his +companion to go first, holding it for him as he passed in, and +keeping watch with eye and ear the while. + +Scarce had Kenneth entered the chamber when from above came the +sound of loud and excited voices, announcing to them that their +flight was at last discovered. It was responded to by a rush +of feet in the guardroom, and Crispin had but time to dart in +after his companion and close the door ere the troopers poured +out into the hall and up the stairs, with confused shouts that +something must be amiss. + +Within the room that sheltered him Crispin chuckled, as he ran +his hand along the edge of the door until he found the bolt, +and softly shot it home. + +"'Slife," he muttered, "'twas a close thing! Aye, shout, you +cuckolds," he went on. "Yell yourselves hoarse as the crows +you are! You'll hang us where Gives are hanged, will you?" + +Kenneth tugged at the skirts of his doublet. "What now?" he +inquired. + +"Now," said Crispin, "we'll leave by the window, if it please +you." + +They crossed the room, and a moment or two later they had +dropped on to the narrow railed pathway overlooking the river, +which Crispin had observed from their prison window the evening +before. He had observed, too, that a small boat was moored at +some steps about a hundred yards farther down the stream, and +towards that spot he now sped along the footpath, followed +closely by Kenneth. The path sloped in that direction, so that +by the time the spot was reached the water flowed not more than +six feet or so beneath them. Half a dozen steps took them down +this to the moorings of that boat, which fortunately had not +been removed. + +"Get in, Kenneth," Crispin commanded. "There, I'll take the +oars, and I'll keep under shelter of the bank lest those +blunderers should bethink them of looking out of our prison +window. Oddswounds, Kenneth, I am hungry as a wolf, and as dry +- ough, as dry as Dives when he begged for a sup of water. +Heaven send we come upon some good malignant homestead ere we +go far, where a Christian may find a meal and a stoup of ale. +'Tis a miracle I had strength enough to crawl downstairs. +Swounds, but an empty stomach is a craven comrade in a +desperate enterprise. Hey! Have a care, boy. Now, sink me if +this milksop hasn't fainted!" + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE ASHBURNS + + +Gregory Ashburn pushed back his chair and made shift to rise +from the table at which he and his brother had but dined. + +He was a tall, heavily built man, with a coarse, florid +countenance set in a frame of reddish hair that hung straight +and limp. In the colour of their hair lay the only point of +resemblance between the brothers. For the rest Joseph was +spare and of middle weight, pale of face, thin-lipped, and +owning a cunning expression that was rendered very evil by +virtue of the slight cast in his colourless eyes. + +In earlier life Gregory had not been unhandsome; debauchery and +sloth had puffed and coarsened him. Joseph, on the other hand, +had never been aught but ill-favoured. + +"Tis a week since Worcester field was fought," grumbled +Gregory, looking lazily sideways at the mullioned windows as he +spoke, "and never a word from the lad." + +Joseph shrugged his narrow shoulders and sneered. It was +Joseph's habit to sneer when he spoke, and his words were wont +to fit the sneer. + +"Doth the lack of news trouble you?" he asked, glancing across +the table at his brother. + +Gregory rose without meeting that glance. + +"Truth to tell it does trouble me," he muttered. + +"And yet," quoth Joseph, "tis a natural thing enough. When +battles are fought it is not uncommon for men to die." + +Gregory crossed slowly to the window, and stared out at the +trees of the park which autumn was fast stripping. + +"If he were among the fallen - if he were dead then indeed the +matter would be at an end." + +"Aye, and well ended." + +"You forget Cynthia," Gregory reproved him. + +"Forget her? Not I, man. Listen." And he jerked his thumb in +the direction of the wainscot. + +To the two men in that rich chamber of Castle Marleigh was +borne the sound - softened by distance of a girlish voice +merrily singing. + +Joseph laughed a cackle of contempt. + +"Is that the song of a maid whose lover comes not back from the +wars?" he asked. + +"But bethink you, Joseph, the child suspects not the +possibility of his having fallen." + +"Gadswounds, sir, did your daughter give the fellow a thought +she must be anxious. A week yesterday since the battle, and no +word from him. I dare swear, Gregory, there's little in that +to warrant his mistress singing." + +"Cynthia is young - a child. She reasons not as you and I, nor +seeks to account for his absence." + +"Troubles not to account for it," Joseph amended. + +"Be that as it may," returned Gregory irritably, "I would I +knew." + +"That which we do not know we may sometimes infer. I infer him +to be dead, and there's the end of it." + +"What if he should not be?" + +"Then, my good fool, he would be here." + +"It is unlike you, Joseph, to argue so loosely. What if he +should be a prisoner?" + +"Why, then, the plantations will do that which the battle hath +left undone. So that, dead or captive, you see it is all one." + +And, lifting his glass to the light, he closed one eye, the +better to survey with the other the rich colour of the wine. +Not that Joseph was curious touching that colour, but he was a +juggler in gestures, and at that moment he could think of no +other whereby he might so naturally convey the utter +indifference of his feelings in the matter. + +"Joseph, you are wrong," said Gregory, turning his back upon +the window and facing his brother. "It is not all one. What +if he return some day?" + +"Oh, what if - what if - what if!" cried Joseph testily. +"Gregory, what a casuist you might have been had not nature +made you a villain! You are as full of "what if s" as an egg of +meat. Well what if some day he should return? I fling your +question back - what if?" + +"God only knows." + +"Then leave it to Him," was the flippant answer; and Joseph +drained his glass. + +"Nay, brother, 'twere too great a risk. I must and I will know +whether Kenneth were slain or not. If he is a prisoner, then +we must exert ourselves to win his freedom." + +"Plague take it," Joseph burst out. "Why all this ado? Why +did you ever loose that graceless whelp from his Scottish +moor?" + +Gregory sighed with an air of resigned patience. + +"I have more reasons than one," he answered slowly. "If you +need that I recite them to you, I pity your wits. Look you, +Joseph, you have more influence with Cromwell; more - far more +- than have I, and if you are minded to do so, you can serve me +in this." + +"I wait but to learn how." + +"Then go to Cromwell, at Windsor or wherever he may be, and +seek to learn from him if Kenneth is a prisoner. If he is not, +then clearly he is dead." + +Joseph made a gesture of impatience. + +"Can you not leave Fate alone?" + +"Think you I have no conscience, Joseph?" cried the other with +sudden vigour. + +"Pish! you are womanish." + +"Nay, Joseph, I am old. I am in the autumn of my days, and I +would see these two wed before I die." + +"And are damned for a croaking, maudlin' craven," added Joseph. +"Pah! You make me sick." + +There was a moment's silence, during which the brothers eyed +each other, Gregory with a sternness before which Joseph's +mocking eye was forced at length to fall. + +"Joseph, you shall go to the Lord General." + +"Well," said Joseph weakly, "we will say that I go. But if +Kenneth be a prisoner, what then?" + +"You must beg his liberty from Cromwell. He will not refuse +you." + +"Will he not? I am none so confident." + +"But you can make the attempt, and leastways we shall have some +definite knowledge of what has befallen the boy." + +"The which definite knowledge seems to me none so necessary. +Moreover, Gregory, bethink you; there has been a change, and +the wind carries an edge that will arouse every devil of +rheumatism in my bones. I am not a lad, Gregory, and +travelling at this season is no small matter for a man of +fifty." + +Gregory approached the table, and leaning his hand upon it: + +"Will you go?" he asked, squarely eyeing his brother. + +Joseph fell a-pondering. He knew Gregory to be a man of fixed +ideas, and he bethought him that were he now to refuse he would +be hourly plagued by Gregory's speculations touching the boy's +fate and recriminations touching his own selfishness. On the +other hand, however, the journey daunted him. He was not a man +to sacrifice his creature comforts, and to be asked to +sacrifice them to a mere whim, a shadow, added weight to his +inclination to refuse the undertaking. + +"Since you have the matter so much at heart," said he at +length, "does it not occur to you that you could plead with +greater fervour, and be the likelier to succeed?" + +"You know that Cromwell will lend a more willing ear to you +than to me - perchance because you know so well upon occasion +how to weave your stock of texts into your discourse," he added +with a sneer. "Will you go, Joseph?" + +"Bethink you that we know not where he is. I may have to +wander for weeks o'er the face of England." + +"Will you go?" Gregory repeated. + +"Oh, a pox on it," broke out Joseph, rising suddenly. "I'll go +since naught else will quiet you. I'll start to-morrow." + +"Joseph, I am grateful. I shall be more grateful yet if you +will start to-day." + +"No, sink me, no." + +"Yes, sink me, yes," returned Gregory. "You must, Joseph." + +Joseph spoke of the wind again; the sky, he urged, was heavy +with rain. "What signifies a day?" he whined. + +But Gregory stood his ground until almost out of +self-protection the other consented to do his bidding and set +out as soon as he could make ready. + +This being determined, Joseph left his brother, and cursing +Master Stewart for the amount of discomfort which he was about +to endure on his behoof, he went to prepare for the journey. + +Gregory lingered still in the chamber where they had dined, and +sat staring moodily before him at the table-linen. Anon, with +a half-laugh of contempt, he filled a glass of muscadine, and +drained it. As he set down the glass the door opened, and on +the threshold stood a very dainty girl, whose age could not be +more than twenty. Gregory looked on the fresh, oval face, with +its wealth of brown hair crowning the low, broad forehead, and +told himself that in his daughter he had just cause for pride. +He looked again, and told himself that his brother was right; +she had not the air of a maid whose lover returns not from the +wars. Her lips were smiling, and the eyes - low-lidded and +blue as the heavens - were bright with mirth. + +"Why sit you there so glum, she cried, "whilst my uncle, they +tell me, is going on a journey?" + +Gregory was minded to put her feelings to the test. + +"Kenneth," he replied with significant emphasis, watching her +closely. + +The mirth faded from her eyes, and they took on a grave +expression that added to their charm. But Gregory had looked +for fear, leastways deep concern, and in this he was +disappointed. + +"What of him, father?" she asked, approaching. + +"Naught, and that's the rub. It is time we had news, and as +none comes, your uncle goes to seek it." + +"Think you that ill can have befallen him?" + +Gregory was silent a moment, weighing his answer. Then + +"We hope not, sweetheart," said he. "He may be a prisoner. We +last had news of him from Worcester, and 'tis a week and more +since the battle was fought there. Should he be a captive, +your uncle has sufficient influence to obtain his enlargement." + +Cynthia sighed, and moved towards the window. + +"Poor Kenneth," she murmured gently. "He may be wounded." + +"We shall soon learn," he answered. His disappointment grew +keener; where he had looked for grief he found no more than an +expression of pitying concern. Nor was his disappointment +lessened when, after a spell of thoughtful silence, she began +to comment upon the condition of the trees in the park below. +Gregory had it in his mind to chide her for this lack of +interest in the fate of her intended husband, but he let the +impulse pass unheeded. After all, if Kenneth lived she should +marry him. Hitherto she had been docile and willing enough to +be guided by him; she had even displayed a kindness for +Kenneth; no doubt she would do so again when Joseph returned +with him - unless he were among the Worcester slain, in which +case, perhaps, it would prove best that his fate was not to +cause her any prostration of grief. + +"The sky is heavy, father," said Cynthia from the window. +"Poor uncle! He will have rough weather for his journey." + +"I rejoice that someone wastes pity on poor uncle," growled +Joseph, who re-entered, "this uncle whom your father drives out +of doors in all weathers to look for his daughter's truant +lover." + +Cynthia smiled upon him. + +"It is heroic of you, uncle." + +"There, there," he grumbled, "I shall do my best to find the +laggard, lest those pretty eyes should weep away their beauty." + +Gregory's glance reproved this sneer of Joseph's, whereupon +Joseph drew close to him: + +"Broken-hearted, is she not?" he muttered, to which Gregory +returned no answer. + +An hour later, as Joseph climbed into his saddle, he turned to +his brother again, and directing his eyes upon the girl, who +stood patting the glossy neck of his nag: + +"Come, now," said he, "you see that matters are as I said." + +"And yet," replied Gregory sternly, "I hope to see you return +with the boy. It will be better so." + +Joseph shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. Then, taking +leave of his brother and his niece, he rode out with two grooms +at his heels, and took the road South. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS ROLAND MARLEIGH'S + + +It was high noon next day, and Gregory Ashburn was taking the +air upon the noble terrace of Castle Marleigh, when the beat of +hoofs, rapidly approaching up the avenue, arrested his +attention. He stopped in his walk, and, turning, sought to +discover who came. His first thought was of his brother; his +second, of Kenneth. Through the half-denuded trees he made out +two mounted figures, riding side by side; and from the fact of +there being two, he adduced that this could not be Joseph +returning. + +Even as he waited he was joined by Cynthia, who took her stand +beside him, and voiced the inquiry that was in his mind. But +her father could no more than answer that he hoped it might be +Kenneth. + +Then the horsemen passed from behind the screen of trees and +came into the clearing before the terrace, and unto the waiting +glances of Ashburn and his daughter was revealed a curiously +bedraggled and ill-assorted pair. The one riding slightly in +advance looked like a Puritan of the meaner sort, in his +battered steeple-hat and cloak of rusty black. The other was +closely wrapped in a red mantle, uptilted behind by a sword of +prodigious length, and for all that his broad, grey hat was +unadorned by any feather, it was set at a rakish, ruffling, +damn-me angle that pronounced him no likely comrade for the +piously clad youth beside him. + +But beneath that brave red cloak - alack! - as was presently +seen when they dismounted, that gentleman was in a sorry +plight. He wore a leather jerkin, so cut and soiled that any +groom might have disdained it; a pair of green breeches, frayed +to their utmost; and coarse boots of untanned leather, adorned +by rusty spurs. + +On the terrace Gregory paused a moment to call his groom to +attend the new-comers, then he passed down the steps to greet +Kenneth with boisterous effusion. Behind him, slow and stately +as a woman of twice her years, came Cynthia. Calm was her +greeting of her lover, contained in courteous expressions of +pleasure at beholding him safe, and suffering him to kiss her +hand. + +In the background, his sable locks uncovered out of deference +to the lady, stood Sir Crispin, his face pale and haggard, his +lips parted, and his grey eyes burning as they fell again, +after the lapse of years, upon the stones of this his home - +the castle to which he was now come, hat in hand, to beg for +shelter. + +Gregory was speaking, his hands resting upon Kenneth's +shoulder. + +"We have been much exercised concerning you, lad," he was +saying. "We almost feared the worst, and yesterday Joseph left +us to seek news of you at Cromwell's hands. Where have you +tarried?" + +"Anon, sir; you shall learn anon. The story is a long one." + +"True; you will be tired, and perchance you would first rest a +while. Cynthia will see to it. But what scarecrow have you +there? What tatterdemalion is this?" he cried, pointing to +Galliard. He had imagined him a servant, but the dull flush +that overspread Sir Crispin's face told him of his error. + +"I would have you know, sir," Crispin began, with some heat, +when Kenneth interrupted him. + +"Tis to this gentleman, sir, that I owe my presence here. He +was my fellow-prisoner, and but for his quick wit and stout arm +I should be stiff by now. Anon, sir, you shall hear the story +of it, and I dare swear it will divert you. This gentleman is +Sir Crispin Galliard, lately a captain of horse with whom I +served in Middleton's Brigade." + +Crispin bowed low, conscious of the keen scrutiny in which +Gregory's eyes were bent upon him. In his heart there arose a +fear that, haply after all, the years that were sped had not +wrought sufficient change in him. + +"Sir Crispin Galliard," Ashburn was saying, after the manner of +one who is searching his memory. "Galliard, Galliard - not he +whom they called "Rakehelly Galliard," and who gave us such +trouble in the late King's time?" + +Crispin breathed once more. Ashburn's scrutiny was explained. + +"The same, sir," he answered, with a smile and a fresh bow. +"Your servant, sir; and yours, madam." + +Cynthia looked with interest at the lank, soldierly figure. +She, too, had heard - as who had not? - wild stories of this +man's achievements. But of no feat of his had she been told +that could rival that of his escape from Worcester; and when, +that same evening, Kenneth related it, as they supped, her +low-lidded eyes grew very wide, and as they fell on Crispin, +admiration had taken now the place of interest. + +Romance swayed as great a portion of her heart as it does of +most women's. She loved the poets and their songs of great +deeds; and here was one who, in the light of that which they +related of him, was like an incarnation of some hero out of a +romancer's ballad. + +Kenneth she never yet had held in over high esteem; but of a +sudden, in the presence of this harsh-featured dog of war, this +grim, fierce-eyed ruffler, he seemed to fade, despite his +comeliness of face and form, into a poor and puny +insignificance. And when, presently, he unwisely related how, +when in the boat he had fainted, the maiden laughed outright +for very scorn. + +At this plain expression of contempt, her father shot her a +quick, uneasy glance. Kenneth stopped short, bringing his +narrative abruptly to a close. Reproachfully he looked at her, +turning first red, then white, as anger chased annoyance +through his soul. Galliard looked on with quiet relish; her +laugh had contained that which for days he had carried in his +heart. He drained his bumper slowly, and made no attempt to +relieve the awkward silence that sat upon the company. + +Truth to tell, there was emotion enough in the soul of him who +was wont to be the life of every board he sat at to hold him +silent and even moody. + +Here, after eighteen years, was he again in his ancestral home +of Marleigh. But how was he returned? As one who came under a +feigned name, to seek from usurping hands a shelter 'neath his +own roof; a beggar of that from others which it should have +been his to grant or to deny those others. As an avenger he +came. For justice he came, and armed with retribution; the +flame of a hate unspeakable burning in his heart, and demanding +the lives - no less - of those that had destroyed him and his. +Yet was he forced to sit a mendicant almost at that board whose +head was his by every right; forced to sit and curb his mood, +giving no outward sign of the volcano that boiled and raged +within his soul as his eye fell upon the florid, smiling face +and portly, well-fed frame of Gregory Ashburn. For the time +was not yet. He must wait; wait until Joseph's return, so that +he might spend his vengeance upon both together. + +Patient had he been for eighteen years, confident that ere he +died, a just and merciful God would give him this for which he +lived and waited. Yet now that the season was at hand; now +upon the very eve of that for which he had so long been +patient, a frenzy of impatience fretted him. + +He drank deep that night, and through deep drinking his manner +thawed - for in his cups it was not his to be churlish to +friend or foe. Anon Cynthia withdrew; next Kenneth, who went +in quest of her. Still Crispin sat on, and drank his host's +health above his breath, and his perdition under it, till in +the end Gregory, who never yet had found his master at the +bottle, grew numb and drowsy, and sat blinking at the tapers. + +Until midnight they remained at table, talking of this and +that, and each understanding little of what the other said. As +the last hour of night boomed out through the great hall, +Gregory spoke of bed. + +"Where do I lie to-night?" asked Crispin. + +"In the northern wing," answered Gregory with a hiccough. + +"Nay, sir, I protest," cried Galliard, struggling to his feet, +and swaying somewhat as he stood. "I'll sleep in the King's +chamber, none other." + +"The King's chamber?" echoed Gregory, and his face showed the +confused struggles of his brain. "What know you of the King's +chamber?" + +"That it faces the east and the sea, and that it is the chamber +I love best." + +"What can you know of it since, I take it, you have never seen +it!" + +"Have I not?" he began, in a voice that was awful in its +threatening calm. Then, recollecting himself, and shaking some +of the drunkenness from him: "In the old days, when the +Marleighs were masters here," he mumbled, "I was often within +these walls. Roland Marleigh was my friend. The King's +chamber was ever accorded me, and there, for old time's sake, +I'll lay these old bones of mine to-night." + +"You were Roland Marleigh's friend?" gasped Gregory. He was +very white now, and there was a sheen of moisture on his face. +The sound of that name had well-nigh sobered him. It was +almost as if the ghost of Roland Marleigh stood before him. +His knees were loosened, and he sank back into the chair from +which he had but risen. + +"Aye, I was his friend!" assented Crispin. "Poor Roland! He +married your sister, did he not, and it was thus that, having +no issue and the family being extinct, Castle Marleigh passed +to you?" + +"He married our cousin," Gregory amended. "They were an +ill-fated family." + +"Ill-fated, indeed, an all accounts be true," returned Crispin +in a maudlin voice. "Poor Roland! Well, for old time's sake, +I'll sleep in the King's chamber, Master Ashburn." + +"You shall sleep where you list, sir," answered Gregory, and +they rose. + +"Do you look to honour us long at Castle Marleigh, Sir +Crispin?" was Gregory's last question before separating from +his guest. + +"Nay, sir, 'tis likely I shall go hence to-morrow," answered +Crispin, unmindful of what he said. + +"I trust not," said Gregory, in accents of relief that belied +him. "A friend of Roland Marleigh's must ever be welcome in +the house that was Roland Marleigh's." + +"The house that was Roland Marleigh's," Crispin muttered. +"Heigho! Life is precarious as the fall of a die at best an +ephemeral business. To-night you say the house that was Roland +Marleigh's; presently men will be saying the house that the +Ashburns lived - aye, and died - in. Give you good night, +Master Ashburn." + +He staggered off, and stumbled up the broad staircase at the +head of which a servant now awaited, taper in hand, to conduct +him to the chamber he demanded. + +Gregory followed him with a dull, frightened eye. Galliard's +halting, thickly uttered words had sounded like a prophecy in +his ears. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE METAMORPHOSIS OF KENNETH + + +When the morrow came, however, Sir Crispin showed no signs of +carrying out his proposal of the night before, and departing +from Castle Marleigh. Nor, indeed, did he so much as touch +upon the subject, bearing himself rather as one whose sojourn +there was to be indefinite. + +Gregory offered no comment upon this; through what he had done +for Kenneth they were under a debt to Galliard, and whilst he +was a fugitive from the Parliament's justice it would ill +become Gregory to hasten his departure. Moreover, Gregory +recalled little or nothing of the words that had passed between +them in their cups, save a vague memory that Crispin had said +that he had once known Roland Marleigh. + +Kenneth was content that Galliard should lie idle, and not call +upon him to go forth again to lend him the aid he had pledged +himself to render when Crispin should demand it. He marvelled, +as the days wore on, that Galliard should appear to have +forgotten that task of his, and that he should make no shift to +set about it. For the rest, however, it troubled him but +little; enough preoccupation did he find in Cynthia's daily +increasing coldness. Upon all the fine speeches that he made +her she turned an idle ear, or if she replied at all it was but +petulantly to interrupt them, to call him a man of great words +and small deeds. All that he did she found ill done, and told +him of it. His sober, godly garments of sombre hue afforded +her the first weapon of scorn wherewith to wound him. A crow, +she dubbed him; a canting, psalm-chanting hypocrite; a +Scripture-monger, and every other contumelious epithet of like +import that she should call to mind. He heard her in +amazement. + +"Is it for you, Cynthia," he cried out in his surprise, "the +child of a God-fearing house, to mock the outward symbols of my +faith?" + +"A faith," she laughed, "that is all outward symbols and naught +besides; all texts and mournings and nose-twangings." + +"Cynthia!" he exclaimed, in horror. + +"Go your ways, sir," she answered, half in jest, half in +earnest. "What need hath a true faith of outward symbols? It +is a matter that lies between your God and yourself, and it is +your heart He will look at, not your coat. Why, then, without +becoming more acceptable in His eyes, shall you but render +yourself unsightly in the eyes of man?" + +Kenneth's cheeks were flushed with anger. From the terrace +where they walked he let his glance roam towards the avenue +that split the park in twain. Up this at that moment, with the +least suspicion of a swagger in his gait, Sir Crispin Galliard +was approaching leisurely; he wore a claret-coloured doublet +edged with silver lace, and a grey hat decked with a drooping +red feather - which garments, together with the rest of his +apparel, he had drawn from the wardrobe of Gregory Ashburn. +His advent afforded Kenneth the retort he needed. Pointing him +out to Cynthia: + +"Would you rather," he cried hotly, "have me such a man as +that?" + +"And, pray, why not?" she taunted him. "Leastways, you would +then be a man." + +"If, madam, a debauchee, a drunkard, a profligate, a brawler be +your conception of a man, I would in faith you did not account +me one." + +"And what, sir, would you sooner elect to be accounted?" + +"A gentleman, madam," he answered pompously. + +"I think," said she quietly, "that you are in as little danger +of becoming the one as the other. A gentleman does not slander +a man behind his back, particularly when he owes that man his +life. Kenneth, I am ashamed of you." + +"I do not slander," he insisted hotly. "You yourself know of +the drunken excess wherewith three nights ago he celebrated his +coming to Castle Marleigh. Nor do I forget what I owe him, and +payment is to be made in a manner you little know of. If I +said of him what I did, it was but in answer to your taunts. +Think you I could endure comparison with such a man as that? +Know you what name the Royalists give him? They call him the +Tavern Knight." + +She looked him over with an eye of quiet scorn. + +"And how, sir, do they call you? The pulpit knight? Or is it +the knight of the white feather? Mr. Stewart, you weary me. I +would have a man who with a man's failings hath also a man's +redeeming virtues of honesty, chivalry, and courage, and a +record of brave deeds, rather than one who has nothing of the +man save the coat - that outward symbol you lay such store by." + +His handsome, weak face was red with fury. + +"Since that is so, madam," he choked, "I leave you to your +swaggering, ruffling Cavalier." + +And, without so much as a bow, he swung round on his heel and +left her. It was her turn to grow angry now, and well it was +for him that he had not tarried. She dwelt with scorn upon his +parting taunt, bethinking herself that in truth she had +exaggerated her opinions of Galliard's merits. Her feelings +towards that ungodly gentleman were rather of pity than aught +else. A brave, ready-witted man she knew him for, as much from +the story of his escape from Worcester as for the air that +clung to him despite his swagger, and she deplored that one +possessing these ennobling virtues should have fallen +notwithstanding upon such evil ways as those which Crispin +trod. Some day, perchance, when she should come to be better +acquainted with him, she would seek to induce him to mend his +course. + +Such root did this thought take in her mind that soon +thereafter - and without having waited for that riper +acquaintance which at first she had held necessary - she sought +to lead their talk into the channels of this delicate subject. +But he as sedulously confined it to trivial matter whenever she +approached him in this mood, fencing himself about with a wall +of cold reserve that was not lightly to be overthrown. In this +his conscience was at work. Cynthia was the flaw in the +satisfaction he might have drawn from the contemplation of the +vengeance he was there to wreak. He beheld her so pure, so +sweet and fresh, that he marvelled how she came to be the +daughter of Gregory Ashburn. His heart smote him at the +thought of how she - the innocent - must suffer with the +guilty, and at the contemplation of the sorrow which he must +visit upon her. Out of this sprang a constraint when in her +company, for other than stiff and formal he dared not be lest +he should deem himself no better than the Iscariot. + +During the first days he had pent at Marleigh, he had been +impatient for Joseph Ashburn's return. Now he found himself +hoping each morning that Joseph might not come that day. + +A courier reached Gregory from Windsor with a letter wherein +his brother told him that the Lord General, not being at the +castle, he was gone on to London in quest of him. And Gregory, +lacking the means to inform him that the missing Kenneth was +already returned, was forced to possess his soul in patience +until his brother, having learnt what was to be learnt of +Cromwell, should journey home. + +And so the days sped on, and a week wore itself out in peace at +Castle Marleigh, none dreaming of the volcano on which they +stood. Each night Crispin and Gregory sat together at the +board after Kenneth and Cynthia had withdrawn, and both drank +deep - the one for the vice of it, the other (as he had always +done) to seek forgetfulness. + +He needed it now more than ever, for he feared that the +consideration of Cynthia might yet unman him. Had she scorned +and avoided him and having such evidences of his ways of life +he marvelled that she did not - he might have allowed his +considerations of her to weigh less heavily. As it was, she +sought him out, nor seemed rebuffed at his efforts to evade +her, and in every way she manifested a kindliness that drove +him almost to the point of despair, and well-nigh to hating +her. + +Kenneth, knowing naught of the womanly purpose that actuated +her, and seeing but the outward signs, which, with ready +jealousy, he misconstrued and magnified, grew sullen and +churlish to her, to Galliard, and even to Gregory. + +For hours he would mope alone, nursing his jealous mood, as +though in this clownish fashion matters were to be mended. Did +Cynthia but speak to Crispin, he scowled; did Crispin answer +her, he grit his teeth at the covert meaning wherewith his +fancy invested Crispin's tones; whilst did they chance to laugh +together - a contingency that fortunately for his sanity was +rare - he writhed in fury. He was a man transformed, and at +times there was murder in his heart. Had he been a swordsman +of more than moderate skill and dared to pit himself against +the Tavern Knight, blood would have been shed in Marleigh Park +betwixt them. + +It seemed at last as if with his insensate jealousy all the +evil humours that had lain dormant in the boy were brought to +the surface, to overwhelm his erstwhile virtues - if qualities +that have bigotry for a parent may truly be accounted virtues. + +He cast off, not abruptly, but piecemeal, those outward symbols +- his sombre clothes. First 'twas his hat he exchanged for a +feather-trimmed beaver of more sightly hue; then those stiff +white bands that reeked of sanctity and cant for a collar of +fine point; next it was his coat that took on a worldly edge of +silver lace. And so, little by little, step by step, was the +metamorphosis effected, until by the end of the week he came +forth a very butterfly of fashion - a gallant, dazzling +Cavalier. Out of a stern, forbidding Covenanter he was +transformed in a few days into a most outrageous fop. He +walked in an atmosphere of musk that he himself exhaled; his +fair hair - that a while ago had hung so straight and limp - +was now twisted into monstrous curls, a bunch of which were +gathered by his right ear in a ribbon of pale blue silk. + +Galliard noted the change in amazement, yet, knowing to what +follies youth is driven when it woos, he accounted Cynthia +responsible for it, and laughed in his sardonic way, whereat +the boy would blush and scowl in one. Gregory, too, looked on +and laughed, setting it down to the same cause. Even Cynthia +smiled, whereat the Tavern Knight was driven to ponder. + +With a courtier's raiment Kenneth put on, too, a courtier's +ways; he grew mincing and affected in his speech, and he - +whose utterance a while ago had been marked by a scriptural +flavour - now set it off with some of Galliard's less unseemly +oaths. + +Since it was a ruffling gallant Cynthia required, he swore that +a ruffling gallant should she find him; nor had he wit enough +to see that his ribbons, his fopperies, and his capers served +but to make him ridiculous in her eyes. He did indeed +perceive, however, that in spite of this wondrous +transformation, he made no progress in her favour. + +"What signify these fripperies?" she asked him, one day, "any +more than did your coat of decent black? Are these also +outward symbols?" + +"You may take them for such, madam," he answered sulkily. "You +liked me not as I was - " + +"And I like you less as you are," she broke in. + +"Cynthia, you mock me," he cried angrily. + +"Now, Heaven forbid! I do but mark the change," she answered +airily. "These scented clothes are but a masquerade, even as +your coat of black and your cant were a masquerade. Then you +simulated godliness; now you simulate Heaven knows what. But +now, as then, it is no more than a simulation, a pretence of +something that you are not." + +He left her in a pet, and went in search of Gregory, into whose +ear he poured the story of his woes that had their source in +Cynthia's unkindness. From this resulted a stormy interview +'twixt Cynthia and her father, in which Cynthia at last +declared that she would not be wedded to a fop. + +Gregory shrugged his shoulders and laughed cynically, replying +that it was the way of young men to be fools, and that through +folly lay the road to wisdom. + +"Be that as it may," she answered him with spirit, "this folly +transcends all bounds. Master Stewart may return to his +Scottish heather; at Castle Marleigh he is wasting time." + +"Cynthia!" he cried. + +"Father," she pleaded, "why be angry? You would not have me +marry against the inclinations of my heart? You would not have +me wedded to a man whom I despise?" + +"By what right do you despise him?" he demanded, his brow dark. + +"By the right of the freedom of my thoughts - the only freedom +that a woman knows. For the rest it seems she is but a +chattel; of no more consideration to a man than his ox or his +ass with which the Scriptures rank her - a thing to be given or +taken, bought or sold, as others shall decree." + +"Child, child, what know you of these things?" he cried. "You +are overwrought, sweetheart." And with the promise to wait +until a calmer frame of mind in her should be more propitious +to what he wished to say further on this score, he left her. + +She went out of doors in quest of solitude among the naked +trees of the park; instead she found Sir Crispin, seated deep +in thought upon a fallen trunk. + +Through the trees she espied him as she approached, whilst the +rustle of her gown announced to him her coming. He rose as she +drew nigh, and, doffing his hat, made shift to pass on. + +"Sir Crispin," she called, detaining him. He turned. + +"Your servant, Mistress Cynthia." + +"Are you afraid of me, Sir Crispin?" + +"Beauty, madam, is wont to inspire courage rather than fear," +he answered, with a smile. + +"That, sir, is an evasion, not an answer." + +"If read aright, Mistress Cynthia, it is also an answer." + +"That you do not fear me?" + +"It is not a habit of mine." + +"Why, then, have you avoided me these three days past?" + +Despite himself Crispin felt his breath quickening - quickening +with a pleasure that he sought not to account for - at the +thought that she should have marked his absence from her side. + +"Because perhaps if I did not," he answered slowly, "you might +come to avoid me. I am a proud man, Mistress Cynthia." + +"Satan, sir, was proud, but his pride led him to perdition." + +"So indeed may mine," he answered readily, "since it leads me +from you." + +"Nay, sir," she laughed, "you go from me willingly enough." + +"Not willingly, Cynthia. Oh, not willingly," he began. Then +of a sudden he checked his tongue, and asked himself what he +was saying. With a half-laugh and a courtier manner, he +continued, "Of two evils, madam, we must choose the lesser +one." + +"Madam," she echoed, disregarding all else that he had said. +"It is an ugly word, and but a moment back you called me +Cynthia " + +"Twas a liberty that methought my grey hairs warranted, and for +which you should have reproved me." + +"You have not grey hairs enough to warrant it, Sir Crispin," +she answered archly. "But what if even so I account it no +liberty?" + +The heavy lids were lifted from her eyes, and as their glance, +frank and kindly, met his, he trembled. Then, with a polite +smile, he bowed. + +"I thank you for the honour." + +For a moment she looked at him in a puzzled way, then moved +past him, and as he stood, stiffly erect, watching her graceful +figure, he thought that she was about to leave him, and was +glad of it. But ere she had taken half a dozen steps: + +"Sir Crispin," said she, looking back at him over her shoulder, +"I am walking to the cliffs." + +Never was a man more plainly invited to become an escort; but +he ignored it. A sad smile crept into his harsh face. + +"I shall tell Kenneth if I see him," said he. + +At that she frowned. + +"But I do not want him," she protested. "Sooner would I go +alone." + +"Why, then, madam, I'll tell nobody." + +Was ever man so dull? she asked herself. + +"There is a fine view from the cliffs," said she. + +"I have always thought so," he agreed. + +She inclined to call him a fool; yet she restrained herself. +She had an impulse to go her way without him; but, then, she +desired his company, and Cynthia was unused to having her +desires frustrated. So finding him impervious to suggestion: + +"Will you not come with me?" she asked at last, point-blank. + +"Why, yes, if you wish it," he answered without alacrity. + +"You may remain, sir." + +Her offended tone aroused him now to the understanding that he +was impolite. Contrite he stood beside her in a moment. + +"With your permission, mistress, I will go with you. I am a +dull fellow, and to-day I know not what mood is on me. So +sorry a one that I feared I should be poor company. Still, if +you'll endure me, I'll do my best to prove entertaining." + +"By no means," she answered coldly. "I seek not the company of +dull fellows." And she was gone. + +He stood where she had left him, and breathed a most ungallant +prayer of thanks. Next he laughed softly to himself, a laugh +that was woeful with bitterness. + +"Fore George!" he muttered, "it is all that was wanting!" + +He reseated himself upon the fallen tree, and there he set +himself to reflect, and to realize that he, war-worn and +callous, come to Castle Marleigh on such an errand as was his, +should wax sick at the very thought of it for the sake of a +chit of a maid, with a mind to make a mock and a toy of him. +Into his mind there entered even the possibility of flight, +forgetful of the wrongs he had suffered, abandoning the +vengeance he had sworn. Then with an oath he stemmed his +thoughts. + +"God in heaven, am I a boy, beardless and green?" he asked +himself. "Am I turned seventeen again, that to look into a +pair of eyes should make me forget all things but their +existence?" Then in a burst of passion: "Would to Heaven," he +muttered, "they had left me stark on Worcester Field!" + +He rose abruptly, and set out to walk aimlessly along, until +suddenly a turn in the path brought him face to face with +Cynthia. She hailed him with a laugh. + +"Sir laggard, I knew that willy-nilly you would follow me," she +cried. And he, taken aback, could not but smile in answer, and +profess that she had conjectured rightly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE HEART OF CYNTHIA ASHBURN + + +Side by side stepped that oddly assorted pair along - the +maiden whose soul was as pure and fresh as the breeze that blew +upon them from the sea, and the man whose life years ago had +been marred by a sorrow, the quest of whose forgetfulness had +led him through the mire of untold sin; the girl upon the +threshold of womanhood, her life all before her and seeming to +her untainted mind a joyous, wholesome business; the man midway +on his ill-starred career, his every hope blighted save the one +odious hope of vengeance, which made him cling to a life he had +proved worthless and ugly, and that otherwise he had likely +enough cast from him. And as they walked: + +"Sir Crispin," she ventured timidly, "you are unhappy, are you +not?" + +Startled by her words and the tone of them, Galliard turned his +head that he might observe her. + +"I, unhappy?" he laughed; and it was a laugh calculated to +acknowledge the fitness of her question, rather than to refute +it as he intended. "Am I a clown, Cynthia, to own myself +unhappy at such a season and while you honour me with your +company?" + +She made a wry face in protest that he fenced with her. + +"You are happy, then?" she challenged him. + +"What is happiness?" quoth he, much as Pilate may have +questioned what was truth. Then before she could reply he +hastened to add: "I have not been quite so happy these many +years." + +"It is not of the present moment that I speak," she answered +reprovingly, for she scented no more than a compliment in his +words, "but of your life." + +Now either was he imbued with a sense of modesty touching the +deeds of that life of his, or else did he wisely realize that +no theme could there he less suited to discourse upon with an +innocent maid. + +"Mistress Cynthia," said he as though he had not heard her +question, "I would say a word to you concerning Kenneth." + +At that she turned upon him with a pout. + +"But it is concerning yourself that I would have you talk. It +is not nice to disobey a lady. Besides, I have little interest +in Master Stewart." + +"To have little interest in a future husband augurs ill for the +time when he shall come to be your husband." + +"I thought that you, at least, understood me. Kenneth will +never be husband of mine, Sir Crispin." + +"Cynthia!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh, lackaday! Am I to wed a doll?" she demanded. "Is he - is +he a man a maid may love, Sir Crispin?" + +"Indeed, had you but seen the half of life that I have seen," +said he unthinkingly, "it might amaze you what manner of man a +maid may love - or at least may marry. Come, Cynthia, what +fault do you find with him?" + +"Why, every fault." + +He laughed in unbelief. + +"And whom are we to blame for all these faults that have turned +you so against him?" + +"Whom?" + +"Yourself, Cynthia. You use him ill, child. If his behaviour +has been extravagant, you are to blame. You are severe with +him, and he, in his rash endeavours to present himself in a +guise that shall render him commendable in your eyes, has +overstepped discretion." + +"Has my father bidden you to tell me this?" + +"Since when have I enjoyed your father's confidence to that +degree? No, no, Cynthia. I plead the boy's cause to you +because - I know not because of what." + +"It is ill to plead without knowing why. Let us forget the +valiant Kenneth. They tell me, Sir Crispin" - and she turned +her glorious eyes upon him in a manner that must have witched a +statue into answering her - "that in the Royal army you were +known as the Tavern Knight." + +"They tell you truly. What of that?" + +"Well, what of it? Do you blush at the very thought?" + +"I blush?" He blinked, and his eyes were full of humour as +they met her grave - almost sorrowing glance. Then a +full-hearted peal of laughter broke from him, and scared a +flight of gulls from the rocks of Sheringham Hithe below. + +"Oh, Cynthia! You'll kill me!" he gasped. "Picture to +yourself this Crispin Galliard blushing and giggling like a +schoolgirl beset by her first lover. Picture it, I say! As +well and as easily might you picture old Lucifer warbling a +litany for the edification of a Nonconformist parson." + +Her eyes were severe in their reproach. + +"It is always so with you. You laugh and jest and make a mock +of everything. Such I doubt not has been your way from the +commencement, and 'tis thus that you are come to this +condition." + +Again he laughed, but this time it was in bitterness. + +"Nay, sweet mistress, you are wrong - you are very wrong; it +was not always thus. Time was - " He paused. "Bah! 'Tis the +coward cries "time was"! Leave me the past, Cynthia. It is +dead, and of the dead we should speak no ill," he jested. + +"What is there in your past?" she insisted, despite his words. +"What is there in it so to have warped a character that I am +assured was once - is, indeed, still - of lofty and noble +purpose? What is it has brought you to the level you occupy - +you who were born to lead; you who - " + +"Have done, child. Have done," he begged. + +"Nay, tell me. Let us sit here." And taking hold of his +sleeve, she sat herself upon a mound, and made room for him +beside her on the grass. With a half-laugh and a sigh he +obeyed her, and there, on the cliff, in the glow of the +September sun, he took his seat at her side. + +A silence prevailed about them, emphasized rather than broken +by the droning chant of a fisherman mending his nets on the +beach below, the intermittent plash of the waves on the +shingle, and the scream of the gulls that circled overhead. +Before the eyes of his flesh was stretched a wide desert of sky +and water, and before the eyes of his mind the hopeless desert +of his thirty-eight years. + +He was almost tempted to speak. The note of sympathy in her +voice allured him, and sympathy was to him as drink to one who +perishes of thirst. A passionate, indefinable longing impelled +him to pour out the story that in Worcester he had related unto +Kenneth, and thus to set himself better in her eyes; to have +her realize indeed that if he was come so low it was more the +fault of others than his own. The temptation drew him at a +headlong pace, to be checked at last by the memory that those +others who had brought him to so sorry a condition were her own +people. The humour passed. He laughed softly, and shook his +head. + +"There is nothing that I can tell you, child. Let us rather +talk of Kenneth." + +"I do not wish to talk of Kenneth." + +"Nay, but you must. Willy-nilly must you. Think you it is +only a war-worn, hard-drinking, swashbuckling ruffler that can +sin? Does it not also occur to you that even a frail and +tender little maid may do wrong as well?" + +"What wrong have I done?" she cried in consternation. + +"A grievous wrong to this poor lad. Can you not realize how +the only desire that governs him is the laudable one of +appearing favourably in your eyes?" + +"That desire gives rise, then, to curious manifestations." + +"He is mistaken in the means he adopts, that is all. In his +heart his one aim is to win your esteem, and, after all, it is +the sentiment that matters, not its manifestation. Why, then, +are you unkind to him?" + +"But I am not unkind. Or is it unkindness to let him see that +I mislike his capers? Would it not be vastly more unkind to +ignore them and encourage him to pursue their indulgence? I +have no patience with him." + +"As for those capers, I am endeavouring to show you that you +yourself have driven him to them." + +"Sir Crispin," she cried out, "you grow tiresome." + +"Aye," said he, "I grow tiresome. I grow tiresome because I +preach of duty. Marry, it is in truth a tiresome topic." + +"How duty? Of what do you talk?" And a flush of incipient +anger spread now on her fair cheek. + +"I will be clearer," said he imperturbably. "This lad is your +betrothed. He is at heart a good lad, an honourable and honest +lad - at times haply over-honest and over-honourable; but let +that be. To please a whim, a caprice, you set yourself to +flout him, as is the way of your sex when you behold a man your +utter slave. From this - being all unversed in the obliquity +of woman - he conceives, poor boy, that he no longer finds +favour in your eyes, and to win back this, the only thing that +in the world he values, he behaves foolishly. You flout him +anew, and because of it. He is as jealous with you as a hen +with her brood." + +"Jealous?" echoed Cynthia. + +"Why, yes, jealous; and so far does he go as to be jealous even +of me," he cried, with infinitely derisive relish. "Think of +it - he is jealous of me! Jealous of him they call the Tavern +Knight!" + +She did think of it as he bade her. And by thinking she +stumbled upon a discovery that left her breathless. + +Strange how we may bear a sentiment in our hearts without so +much as suspecting its existence, until suddenly a chance word +shall so urge it into life that it reveals itself with +unmistakable distinctness. With her the revelation began in a +vague wonder at the scorn with which Crispin invested the +notion that Kenneth should have cause for jealousy on his +score. Was it, she asked herself, so monstrously unnatural? +Then in a flash the answer came - and it was, that far from +being a matter for derision, such an attitude in Kenneth lacked +not for foundation. + +In that moment she knew that it was because of Crispin; because +of this man who spoke with such very scorn of self, that +Kenneth had become in her eyes so mean and unworthy a creature. +Loved him she haply never had, but leastways she had tolerated +- been even flattered by - his wooing. By contrasting him now +with Crispin she had grown to despise him. His weakness, his +pusillanimity, his meannesses of soul, stood out in sharp +relief by contrast with the masterful strength and the high +spirit of Sir Crispin. + +So easily may our ideals change that the very graces of face +and form that a while ago had pleased her in Kenneth, seemed +now effeminate attributes, well-attuned to a vacillating, +purposeless mind. Far greater beauty did her eyes behold in +this grimfaced soldier of fortune; the man as firm of purpose +as he was upright of carriage; gloomy, proud, and reckless; +still young, yet past the callow age of adolescence. Since the +day of his coming to Castle Marleigh she had brought herself to +look upon him as a hero stepped from the romancers' tales that +in secret she had read. The mystery that seemed to envelop +him; those hints at a past that was not good - but the measure +of whose evil in her pure innocence she could not guess; his +very melancholy, his misfortunes, and the deeds she had heard +assigned to him, all had served to fire her fancy and more +besides, although, until that moment, she knew it not. + +Subconsciously all this had long dwelt in her mind. And now of +a sudden that self-deriding speech of Crispin's had made her +aware of its presence and its meaning. + +She loved him. That men said his life had not been nice, that +he was a soldier of fortune, little better than an adventurer, +a man of no worldly weight, were matters of no moment then to +her. She loved him. She knew it now because he had mockingly +bidden her to think whether Kenneth had cause to be jealous of +him, and because upon thinking of it, she found that did +Kenneth know what was in her heart, he must have more than +cause. + +She loved him with that rare love that will urge a woman to the +last sacrifice a man may ask; a love that gives and gives, and +seeks nothing in return; that impels a woman to follow the man +at his bidding, be his way through the world cast in places +never so rugged; cleaving to him where all besides shall have +abandoned him; and, however dire his lot, asking of God no +greater blessing than that of sharing it. + +And to such a love as this Crispin was blind - blind to the +very possibility of its existence; so blind that he laughed to +scorn the idea of a puny milksop being jealous of him. And so, +while she sat, her soul all mastered by her discovery, her face +white. and still for very awe of it, he to whom this wealth +was given, pursued the odious task of wooing her for another. + +"You have observed - you must have observed this insensate +jealousy," he was saying, "and how do you allay it? You do +not. On the contrary, you excite it at every turn. You are +exciting it now by having - and I dare swear for no other +purpose - lured me to walk with you, to sit here with you and +preach your duty to you. And when, through jealousy, he shall +have flown to fresh absurdities, shall you regret your conduct +and the fruits it has borne? Shall you pity the lad, and by +kindness induce him to be wiser? No. You will mock and taunt +him into yet worse displays. And through these displays, which +are - though you may not have bethought you of it - of your own +contriving, you will conclude that he is no fit mate for you, +and there will be heart-burnings, and years hence perhaps +another Tavern Knight, whose name will not be Crispin +Galliard." + +She had listened with bent head; indeed, so deeply rapt by her +discovery, that she had but heard the half of what he said. +Now, of a sudden, she looked up, and meeting his glance: + +"Is - is it a woman's fault that you are as you are?" + +"No, it is not. But how does that concern the case of +Kenneth?" + +"It does not. I was but curious. I was not thinking of +Kenneth." + +He stared at her, dumfounded. Had he been talking of Kenneth +to her with such eloquence and such fervour, that she should +calmly tell him as he paused that it was not of Kenneth she had +been thinking? + +"You will think of him, Cynthia?" he begged. "You will bethink +you too of what I have said, and by being kinder and more +indulgent with this youth you shall make him grow into a man +you may take pride in. Deal fairly with him, child, and if +anon you find you cannot truly love him, then tell him so. But +tell him kindly and frankly, instead of using him as you are +doing." + +She was silent a moment, and in their poignancy her feelings +went very near to anger. Presently: + +"I would, Sir Crispin, you could hear him talk of you," said +she. + +"He talks ill, not a doubt of it, and like enough he has good +cause." + +"Yet you saved his life." + +The words awoke Crispin, the philosopher of love, to realities. +He recalled the circumstances of his saving Kenneth, and the +price the boy was to pay for that service; and it suddenly came +to him that it was wasted breath to plead Kenneth's cause with +Cynthia, when by his own future actions he was, himself, more +than likely to destroy the boy's every hope of wedding her. +The irony of his attitude smote him hard, and he rose abruptly. +The sun hung now a round, red globe upon the very brink of the +sea. + +"Hereafter he may have little cause to thank me," muttered he. +"Come, Mistress Cynthia, it grows late." + +She rose in mechanical obedience, and together they retraced +their steps in silence, save for the stray word exchanged at +intervals touching matters of no moment. + +But he had not advocated Kenneth's cause in vain, for all that +he little recked what his real argument had been, what +influences he had evoked to urge her to make her peace with the +lad. A melancholy listlessness of mind possessed her now. +Crispin did not see, never would see, what was in her heart, +and it might not be hers to show him. The life that might have +signified was not to be lived, and since that was so it seemed +to matter little what befell. + +It was thus that when on the morrow her father returned to the +subject, she showed herself tractable and docile out of her +indifference, and to Gregory she appeared not averse to listen +to what he had to advance in the boy's favour. Anon Kenneth's +own humble pleading, allied to his contrite and sorrowful +appearance, were received by her with that same indifference, +as also with indifference did she allow him later to kiss her +hand and assume the flattering belief that he was rehabilitated +in her favour. + +But pale grew Mistress Cynthia's cheeks, and sad her soul. +Wistful she waxed, sighing at every turn, until it seemed to +her - as haply it hath seemed to many a maid - that all her +life must she waste in vain sighs over a man who gave no single +thought to her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +JOSEPH'S RETURN + + +On his side Kenneth strove hard during the days that followed +to right himself in her eyes. But so headlong was he in the +attempt, and so misguided, that presently he overshot his mark +by dropping an unflattering word concerning Crispin, whereby he +attributed to the Tavern Knight's influence and example the +degenerate change that had of late been wrought in him. + +Cynthia's eyes grew hard as he spoke, and had he been wise he +had better served his cause by talking in another vein. But +love and jealousy had so addled what poor brains the Lord had +bestowed upon him, that he floundered on, unmindful of any +warning that took not the blunt shape of words. At length, +however, she stemmed the flow of invective that his lips poured +forth. + +"Have I not told you already, Kenneth, that it better becomes a +gentleman not to slander the man to whom he owes his life? In +fact, that a gentleman would scorn such an action?" + +As he had protested before, so did he protest now, that what he +had uttered was no slander. And in his rage and mortification +at the way she used him, and for which he now bitterly +upbraided her, he was very near the point of tears, like the +blubbering schoolboy that at heart he was. + +"And as for the debt, madam," he cried, striking the oaken +table of the hall with his clenched hand, "it is a debt that +shall be paid, a debt which this gentleman whom you defend +would not permit me to contract until I had promised payment - +aye, 'fore George! - and with interest, for in the payment I +may risk my very life." + +"I see no interest in that, since you risk nothing more than +what you owe him," she answered, with a disdain that brought +the impending tears to his eyes. But if he lacked the +manliness to restrain them, he possessed at least the shame to +turn his back and hide them from her. "But tell me, sir," she +added, her curiosity awakened, "if I am to judge, what was the +nature of this bargain?" + +He was silent for a moment, and took a turn in the hall - +mastering himself to speak - his hands clasped behind his back, +and his eyes bent towards the polished floor which the evening +sunlight, filtered through the gules of the leaded windows, +splashed here and there with a crimson stain. She sat in the +great leathern chair at the head of the board, and, watching +him, waited. + +He was debating whether he was bound to secrecy in the matter, +and in the end he resolved that he was not. Thereupon, pausing +before her, he succinctly told the story Crispin had related to +him that night in Worcester - the story of a great wrong, that +none but a craven could have left unavenged. He added nothing +to it, subtracted nothing from it, but told the tale as it had +been told to him on that dreadful night, the memory of which +had still power to draw a shudder from him. + +Cynthia sat with parted lips and eager eyes, drinking in that +touching narrative of suffering that was rather as some +romancer's fabrication than a true account of what a living man +had undergone. Now with sorrow and pity in her heart and +countenance, now with anger and loathing, she listened until he +had done, and even when he ceased speaking, and flung himself +into the nearest chair, she sat on in silence for a spell. + +Then of a sudden she turned a pair of flashing eyes upon the +boy, and in tones charged with a scorn ineffable: + +"You dare," she cried, "to speak of that man as you do, knowing +all this? Knowing what he has suffered, you dare to rail in +his absence against those sins to which his misfortunes have +driven him? How, think you, would it have fared with you, you +fool, had you stood in the shoes of this unfortunate? Had you +fallen on your craven knees, and thanked the Lord for allowing +you to keep your miserable life? Had you succumbed to the +blows of fate with a whine of texts upon your lips? Who are +you?" she went on, rising, breathless in her wrath, which +caused him to recoil in sheer affright before her. "Who are +you, and what are you, that knowing what you know of this man's +life, you dare to sit in judgment upon his actions and condemn +them? Answer me, you fool!" + +But never a word had he wherewith to meet that hail of angry, +contemptuous questions. The answer that had been so ready to +his lips that night at Worcester, when, in a milder form the +Tavern Knight had set him the same question, he dared hot +proffer now. The retort that Sir Crispin had not cause enough +in the evil of others, which had wrecked his life, to risk the +eternal damnation of his soul, he dared no longer utter. +Glibly enough had he said to that stern man that which he dared +not say now to this sterner beauty. Perhaps it was fear of her +that made him dumb, perhaps that at last he knew himself for +what he was by contrast with the man whose vices he had so +heartily despised a while ago. + +Shrinking back before her anger, he racked his shallow mind in +vain for a fitting answer. But ere he had found one, a heavy +step sounded in the gallery that overlooked the hall, and a +moment later Gregory Ashburn descended. His face was ghastly +white, and a heavy frown furrowed the space betwixt his brows. + +In the fleeting glance she bestowed upon her father, she +remarked not the disorder of his countenance; whilst as for +Kenneth, he had enough to hold his attention for the time. + +Gregory's advent set an awkward constraint upon them, nor had +he any word to say as he came heavily up the hall. + +At the lower end of the long table he paused, and resting his +hand upon the board, he seemed on the point of speaking when of +a sudden a sound reached him that caused him to draw a sharp +breath; it was the rumble of wheels and the crack of a whip. + +"It is Joseph!" he cried, in a voice the relief of which was so +marked that Cynthia noticed it. And with that exclamation he +flung past them, and out through the doorway to meet his +brother so opportunely returned. + +He reached the terrace steps as the coach pulled up, and the +lean figure of Joseph Ashburn emerged from it. + +"So, Gregory," he grumbled for greeting, "it was on a fool's +errand you sent me, after all. That knave, your messenger, +found me in London at last when I had outworn my welcome at +Whitehall. But, 'swounds, man," he cried, remarking the +pallor, of his brother's face, "what ails thee?" + +"I have news for you, Joseph," answered Gregory, in a voice +that shook. + +"It is not Cynthia?" he inquired. "Nay, for there she stands +-and her pretty lover by her side. 'Slife, what a coxcomb the +lad's grown." + +And with that he hastened forward to kiss his niece, and +congratulate Kenneth upon being restored to her. + +"I heard of it, lad, in London," quoth he, a leer upon his +sallow face - "the story of how a fire-eater named Galliard +befriended you, trussed a parson and a trooper, and dragged you +out of jail a short hour before hanging-time." + +Kenneth flushed. He felt the sneer in Joseph's, words like a +stab. The man's tone implied that another had done for him +that which he would not have dared do for himself, and Kenneth +felt that this was so said in Cynthia's presence with +malicious, purpose. + +He was right. Partly it was Joseph's way to be spiteful and +venomous whenever chance afforded him the opportunity. Partly +he had been particularly soured at present by his recent +discomforts, suffered in a cause wherewith he had no, sympathy +- that of the union Gregory desired 'twixt Cynthia and Kenneth. + +There was an evil smile on his thin lips, and his crooked eyes +rested tormentingly upon the young man. A fresh taunt trembled +on his viperish tongue, when Gregory plucked at the skirts of +his coat, and drew him aside. They entered the chamber where +they had held their last interview before Joseph had set out +for news of Kenneth. With an air of mystery Gregory closed the +door, then turned to face his brother. He stayed him in the +act of unbuckling his sword-belt. + +"Wait, Joseph!" he cried dramatically. "This is no time to +disarm. Keep your sword on your thigh, man; you will need it +as you never yet have needed it." He paused, took a deep +breath, and hurled the news at his brother. "Roland Marleigh +is here." And he sat down like a man exhausted. + +Joseph did not start; he did not cry out; he did not so much as +change countenance. A slight quiver of the eyelids was the +only outward sign he gave of the shock that his brother's +announcement had occasioned. The hand that had rested on the +buckle of his sword-belt slipped quietly to his side, and he +deliberately stepped up to Gregory, his eyes set searchingly +upon the pale, flabby face before him. A sudden suspicion +darting through his mind, he took his brother by the shoulders +and shook him vigorously. + +"Gregory, you fool, you have drunk overdeep in my absence." + +"I have, I have," wailed Gregory, "and, my God, 'twas he was my +table-fellow, and set me the example." + +"Like enough, like enough," returned Joseph, with a +contemptuous laugh. "My poor Gregory, the wine has so fouled +your worthless wits at last, that they conjure up phantoms to +sit at the table with you. Come, man, what petticoat business +is this? Bestir yourself, fool." + +At that Gregory caught the drift of Joseph's suspicions. + +"Tis you are the fool," he retorted angrily, springing to his +feet, and towering above his brother. + +"It was no ghost sat with me, but Roland Marleigh, himself, in +the flesh, and strangely changed by time. So changed that I +knew him not, nor should I know him now but for that which, not +ten minutes ago, I overheard." + +His earnestness was too impressive, his sanity too obvious, and +Joseph's suspicions were all scattered before it. + +He caught Gregory's wrist in a grip that made him wince, and +forced him back into his seat. + +"Gadslife, man, what is it you mean?" he demanded through set +teeth. "Tell me." + +And forthwith Gregory told him of the manner of Kenneth's +coming to Sheringham and to Castle Marleigh, accompanied by one +Crispin Galliard, the same that had been known for his mad +exploits in the late wars as "rakehelly Galliard," and that was +now known to the malignants as "The Tavern Knight" for his +debauched habits. Crispin's mention of Roland Marleigh on the +night of his arrival now returned vividly to Gregory's mind, +and he repeated it, ending with the story that that very +evening he had overheard Kenneth telling Cynthia. + +"And this Galliard, then, is none other than that pup of +insolence, Roland Marleigh, grown into a dog of war?" quoth +Joseph. + +He was calm - singularly calm for one who had heard such news. + +"There remains no doubt of it." + +"And you saw this man day by day, sat with him night by night +over your damned sack, and knew him not? Oddswounds, man, +where were your eyes?" + +"I may have been blind. But he is greatly changed. I would +defy you, Joseph, to have recognized him." + +Joseph sneered, and the flash of his eyes told of the contempt +wherein he held his brother's judgment and opinions. + +"Think not that, Gregory. I have cause enough to remember +him," said Joseph, with an unpleasant laugh. Then as suddenly +changing his tone for one of eager anxiety: + +"But the lad, Gregory, does he suspect, think you?" + +"Not a whit. In that lies this fellow's diabolical cunning. +Learning of Kenneth's relations with us, he seized the +opportunity Fate offered him that night at Worcester, and bound +the lad on oath to help him when he should demand it, without +disclosing the names of those against whom he should require +his services. The boy expects at any moment to be bidden to go +forth with him upon his mission of revenge, little dreaming +that it is here that that tragedy is to be played out." + +"This comes of your fine matrimonial projects for Cynthia," +muttered Joseph acridly. He laughed his unpleasant laugh +again, and for a spell there was silence. + +"To think, Gregory," he broke out at last, "that for a +fortnight he should have been beneath this roof, and you should +have found no means of doing more effectively that which was +done too carelessly eighteen years ago." + +He spoke as coldly as though the matter were a trivial one. +Gregory shuddered and looked at his brother in alarm. + +"What now, fool?" cried Joseph, scowling. "Are you as cowardly +as you are blind? Damn me, sir, it seems well that I am +returned. I'll have no Marleigh plague my old age for me." He +paused a moment, then continued in a quieter voice, but one +whose ring was sinister beyond words: "Tomorrow I shall find a +way to draw this your dog of war to some secluded ground. I +have some skill," he pursued, tapping his hilt as he spoke, +"besides, you shall be there, Gregory." And he smiled darkly. +"Is there no other way?" asked Gregory, in distress. + +"There was," answered Joseph. "There was in Parliament. At +Whitehall I met a man - one Colonel Pride - a bloodthirsty old +Puritan soldier, who would give his right hand to see this +Galliard hanged. Galliard, it seems, slew the fellow's son at +Worcester. Had I but known," he added regretfully - "had your +wits been keener, and you had discovered it and sent me word, I +had found means to help Colonel Pride to his revenge. As it +is" - he shrugged his shoulders - "there is not time." + +"It may be - " began Gregory, then stopped abruptly with an +exclamation that caused Joseph to wheel sharply round. The +door had opened, and on the threshold Sir Crispin Galliard +stood, deferentially, hat in hand. + +Joseph's astonished glance played rapidly over him for a +second. Then: + +"Who the devil may you be?" he blurted out. + +Despite his anxiety, Gregory chuckled at the question. The +Tavern Knight came forward. "I am Sir Crispin Galliard, at +your service," said he, bowing. "I was told that the master of +Marleigh was returned, and that I should find you here, and I +hasten, sir, to proffer you my thanks for the generous shelter +this house has given me this fortnight past." + +Whilst he spoke he measured Joseph with his eyes, and his +glance was as hateful as his words were civil. Joseph was lost +in amazement. Little trace was there in this fellow of the +Roland Marleigh he had known. Moreover, he had looked to find +an older man, forgetting that Roland's age could not exceed +thirty-eight. Then, again, the fading light, whilst revealing +the straight, supple lines of his lank figure, softened the +haggardness of the face and made him appear yet younger than +the light of day would have shown him. + +In an instant Joseph had recovered from his surprise, and for +all that his mind misgave him tortured by a desire to learn +whether Crispin was aware of their knowledge concerning him - +his smile was serene, and his tones level and pleasant, as he +made answer: + +"Sir, you are very welcome. You have valiantly served one dear +to us, and the entertainment of our poor house for as long as +you may deign to honour it is but the paltriest of returns." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE RECKONING + + +Sir Crispin had heard naught of what was being said as he +entered the room wherein the brothers plotted against him, and +he little dreamt that his identity was discovered. He had but +hastened to perform that which, under ordinary circumstances, +would have been a natural enough duty towards the master of the +house. He had been actuated also by an impatience again to +behold this Joseph Ashburn - the man who had dealt him that +murderous sword-thrust eighteen years ago. He watched him +attentively, and gathering from his scrutiny that here was a +dangerous, subtle man, different, indeed, to his dull-witted +brother, he had determined to act at once. + +And so when he appeared in the hall at suppertime, he came +armed and booted, and equipped as for a journey. + +Joseph was standing alone by the huge fire-place, his face to +the burning logs, and his foot resting upon one of the +andirons. Gregory and his daughter were talking together in +the embrasure of a window. By the other window, across the +hall, stood Kenneth, alone and disconsolate, gazing out at the +drizzling rain that had begun to fall. + +As Galliard descended, Joseph turned his head, and his eyebrows +shot up and wrinkled his forehead at beholding the knight's +equipment. + +"How is this, Sir Crispin?" said he. "You are going a +journey?" + +"Too long already have I imposed myself upon the hospitality of +Castle Marleigh," Crispin answered politely as he came and +stood before the blazing logs. "To-night, Mr. Ashburn, I go +hence." + +A curious expression flitted across Joseph's face. The next +moment, his brows still knit as he sought to fathom his sudden +action, he was muttering the formal regrets that courtesy +dictated. But Crispin had remarked that singular expression on +Joseph's face - fleeting though it had been - and it flashed +across his mind that Joseph knew him. And as he moved away +towards Cynthia and her father, he thanked Heaven that he had +taken such measures as he had thought wise and prudent for the +carrying out of his resolve. + +Following him with a glance, Joseph asked himself whether +Crispin had discovered that he was recognized, and had +determined to withdraw, leaving his vengeance for another and +more propitious season. In answer - little knowing the measure +of the man he dealt with - he told himself it must be so, and +having arrived at that conclusion, he there and then determined +that Crispin should not depart free to return and plague them +when he listed. Since Galliard shrank from forcing matters to +an issue, he himself would do it that very night, and thereby +settle for all time his business. And so ere he sat down to +sup Joseph looked to it that his sword lay at hand behind his +chair at the table-head. + +The meal was a quiet one enough. Kenneth was sulking 'neath +the fresh ill-usage - as he deemed it - that he had suffered at +Cynthia's hands. Cynthia, in her turn, was grave and silent. +That story of Sir Crispin's sufferings gave her much to think +of, as did also his departure, and more than once did Galliard +find her eyes fixed upon him with a look half of pity, half of +some other feeling that he was at a loss to interpret. +Gregory's big voice was little heard. The sinister glitter in +his brother's eye made him apprehensive and ill at ease. For +him the hour was indeed in travail and like to bring forth +strange doings - but not half so much as it was for Crispin and +Joseph, each bent upon forcing matters to a head ere they +quitted that board. And yet but for these two the meal would +have passed off in dismal silence. Joseph was at pains to keep +suspicion from his guest, and with that intent he talked gaily +of this and that, told of slight matters that had befallen him +on his recent journey and of the doings that in London he had +witnessed, investing each trifling incident with a garb of wit +that rendered it entertaining. + +And Galliard - actuated by the same motives grew reminiscent +whenever Joseph paused and let his nimble tongue - even +nimblest at a table amuse those present, or seem to amuse them, +by a score of drolleries. + +He drank deeply too, and this Joseph observed with +satisfaction. But here again he misjudged his man. Kenneth, +who ate but little, seemed also to have developed an enormous +thirst, and Crispin grew at length alarmed at that ever empty +goblet so often filled. He would have need of Kenneth ere the +hour was out, and he rightly feared that did matters thus +continue, the lad's aid was not to be reckoned with. Had +Kenneth sat beside him he might have whispered a word of +restraint in his eat, but the lad was on the other side of the +board. + +At one moment Crispin fancied that a look of intelligence +passed from Joseph to Gregory, and when presently Gregory set +himself to ply both him and the boy with wine, his suspicions +became certainties, and he grew watchful and wary. + +Anon Cynthia rose. Upon the instant Galliard was also on his +feet. He escorted her to the foot of the staircase, and there: + +"Permit me, Mistress Cynthia," said he, "to take my leave of +you. In an hour or so I shall be riding away from Castle +Marleigh." + +Her eyes sought the ground, and had he been observant of her he +might have noticed that she paled slightly. + +"Fare you well, sir," said she in a low voice. "May happiness +attend you." + +"Madam, I thank you. Fare you well." + +He bowed low. She dropped him a slight curtsey, and ascended +the stairs. Once as she reached the gallery above she turned. +He had resumed his seat at table, and was in the act of filling +his glass. The servants had withdrawn, and for half an hour +thereafter they sat on, sipping their wine, and making +conversation - while Crispin drained bumper after bumper and +grew every instant more boisterous, until at length his +boisterousness passed into incoherence. His eyelids drooped +heavily, and his chin kept ever and anon sinking forward on to +his breast. + +Kenneth, flushed with wine, yet master of his wits, watched him +with contempt. This was the man Cynthia preferred to him! +Contempt was there also in Joseph Ashburn's eye, mingled with +satisfaction. He had not looked to find the task so easy. At +length he deemed the season ripe. + +"My brother tells me that you were once acquainted with Roland +Marleigh," said he. + +"Aye," he answered thickly. "I knew the dog - a merry, +reckless soul, d -n me. 'Twas his recklessness killed him, +poor devil - that and your hand, Mr. Ashburn, so the story +goes." + +"What story?" + +"What story?" echoed Crispin. "The story that I heard. Do you +say I lie?" And, swaying in his chair, he sought to assume an +air of defiance. + +Joseph laughed in a fashion that made Kenneth's blood run cold. + +"Why, no, I don't deny it. It was in fair fight he fell. +Moreover, he brought the duel upon himself." + +Crispin spoke no word in answer, but rose unsteadily to his +feet, so unsteadily that his chair was overset and fell with a +crash behind him. For a moment he surveyed it with a drunken +leer, then went lurching across the hall towards the door that +led to the servants' quarters. The three men sat on, watching +his antics in contempt, curiosity, and amusement. They saw him +gain the heavy oaken door and close it. They heard the bolts +rasp as he shot them home, and the lock click; and they saw him +withdraw the key and slip it into his pocket. + +The cold smile still played round Joseph's lips as Crispin +turned to face them again, and on Joseph's lips did that same +smile freeze as he saw him standing there, erect and firm, his +drunkenness all vanished, and his eyes keen and fierce; as he +heard the ring of his metallic voice: + +"You lie, Joseph Ashburn. It was no fair fight. It was no +duel. It was a foul, murderous stroke you dealt him in the +back, thinking to butcher him as you butchered his wife and his +babe. But there is a God, Master Ashburn" he went on in an +ever-swelling voice, "and I lived. Like a salamander I came +through the flames in which you sought to destroy all trace of +your vile deed. I lived, and I, Crispin Galliard, the +debauched Tavern Knight that was once Roland Marleigh, am here +to demand a reckoning." + +The very incarnation was he then of an avenger, as he stood +towering before them, his grim face livid with the passion into +which he had lashed himself as he spoke, his blazing eyes +watching them in that cunning, half-closed way that was his +when his mood was dangerous. And yet the only one that quailed +was Kenneth, his ally, upon whom comprehension burst with +stunning swiftness. + +Joseph recovered quickly from the surprise of Crispin's +suddenly reassumed sobriety. He understood the trick that +Galliard had played upon them so that he might cut off their +retreat in the only direction in which they might have sought +assistance, and he cursed himself for not having foreseen it. +Still, anxiety he felt none; his sword was to his hand, and +Gregory was armed; at the very worst they were two calm and +able men opposed to a half-intoxicated boy, and a man whom +fury, he thought, must strip of half his power. Probably, +indeed, the lad would side with them, despite his plighted +word. Again, he had but to raise his voice, and, though the +door that Crispin had fastened was a stout one,, he never +doubted but that his call would penetrate it and bring his +servants to his rescue. + +And so, a smile of cynical unconcern returned to his lips and +his answer was delivered in a cold, incisive voice. + +"The reckoning you have come to demand shall be paid you, sir. +Rakehelly Galliard is the hero of many a reckless deed, but my +judgment is much at fault if this prove not his crowning +recklessness and his last one. Gadswounds, sir, are you mad to +come hither single-handed to beard the lion in his den?" + +"Rather the cur in his kennel," sneered Crispin back. "Blood +and wounds, Master Joseph, think you to affright me with +words?" + +Still Joseph smiled, deeming himself master of the situation. + +"Were help needed, the raising of my voice would bring it me. +But it is not. We are three to one." + +"You reckon wrongly. Mr. Stewart belongs to me to-night - +bound by an oath that 'twould damn his soul to break, to help +me when and where I may call upon him; and I call upon him now. +Kenneth, draw your sword." + +Kenneth groaned as he stood by, clasping and unclasping his +hands. + +"God's curse on you," he burst out. "You have tricked me, you +have cheated me." + +"Bear your oath in mind," was the cold answer. "If you deem +yourself wronged by me, hereafter you shall have what +satisfaction you demand. But first fulfil me what you have +sworn. Out with your blade, man." + +Still Kenneth hesitated, and but for Gregory's rash action at +that critical juncture, it is possible that he would have +elected to break his plighted word. But Gregory fearing that +he might determine otherwise, resolved there and then to remove +the chance of it. Whipping out his sword, he made a vicious +pass at the lad's breast. Kenneth avoided it by leaping +backwards, but in an instant Gregory had sprung after him, and +seeing himself thus beset, Kenneth was forced to draw that he +might protect himself. + +They stood in the space between the table and that part of the +hall that abutted on to the terrace; opposite to them, by the +door which he had closed, stood Crispin. At the table-head +Joseph still sat cool, self-contained, even amused. + +He realized the rashness of Gregory's attack upon one that +might yet have been won over to their side; but he never +doubted that a few passes would dispose of the lad's +opposition, and he sought not to interfere. Then he saw +Crispin advancing towards him slowly, his rapier naked in his +hand, and he was forced to look to himself. He caught at the +sword that stood behind him, and leaping to his feet he sprang +forward to meet his grim antagonist. Galliard's eyes flashed +out a look of joy, he raised his rapier, and their blades met. + +To the clash of their meeting came an echoing clash from beyond +the table. + +"Hold, sir!" Kenneth had cried, as Gregory bore down upon him. +But Gregory's answer had been a lunge which the boy had been +forced to parry. Taking that crossing of blades for a sign of +opposition, Gregory thrust again more viciously. Kenneth +parried narrowly, his blade pointing straight at his aggressor. +He saw the opening, and both instinct and the desire to repel +Gregory's onslaught drew him into attempting a riposte, which +drove Gregory back until his shoulders touched the panels of +the wall. Simultaneously the boy's foot struck the back of the +chair which in rising Crispin had overset, and he stumbled. +How it happened he scarcely knew, but as he hurtled forward his +blade slid along his opponent's, and entering Gregory's right +shoulder pinned him to the wainscot. + +Joseph heard the tinkle of a falling blade, and assumed it to +be Kenneth's. For the rest he was just then too busy to dare +withdraw for a second his eyes from Crispin's. Until that hour +Joseph Ashburn had accounted himself something of a swordsman, +and more than a match for most masters of the weapon. But in +Crispin he found a fencer of a quality such as he had never yet +encountered. Every feint, every botte in his catalogue had he +paraded in quick succession, yet ever with the same result - +his point was foiled and put aside with ease. + +Desperately he fought now, darting that point of his hither and +thither in and out whenever the slightest opening offered; yet +ever did it meet the gentle averting pressure of Crispin's +blade. He fought on and marvelled as the seconds went by that +Gregory came not to his aid. Then the sickening thought that +perhaps Gregory was overcome occurred to him. In such a case +he must reckon upon himself alone. He cursed the +over-confidence that had led him into that ever-fatal error of +underestimating his adversary. He might have known that one +who had acquired Sir Crispin's fame was no ordinary man, but +one accustomed to face great odds and master them. He might +call for help. + +He marvelled as the thought occurred to him that the clatter of +their blades had not drawn his servants from their quarters. +Fencing still, he raised his voice: + +"Ho, there! John, Stephen!" + +"Spare your breath," growled the knight. "I dare swear you'll +have need of it. None will hear you, call as you will. I gave +your four henchmen a flagon of wine wherein to drink to my safe +journey hence. They have emptied it ere this, I make no doubt, +and a single glass of it would set the hardest toper asleep for +the round of the clock." + +An oath was Joseph's only answer - a curse it was upon his own +folly and assurance. A little while ago he had thought to have +drawn so tight a net about this ruler, and here was he now +taken in its very toils, well-nigh exhausted and in his enemy's +power. + +It occurred to him then that Crispin stayed his hand. That he +fenced only on the defensive, and he wondered what might his +motive be. He realized that he was mastered, and that at any +moment Galliard might send home his blade. He was bathed from +head to foot in a sweat that was at once of exertion and +despair. A frenzy seized him. Might he not yet turn to +advantage this hesitancy of Crispin's to strike the final blow? + +He braced himself for a supreme effort, and turning his wrist +from a simulated thrust in the first position, he doubled, and +stretching out, lunged vigorously in quarte. As he lengthened +his arm in the stroke there came a sudden twitch at his wrist; +the weapon was twisted from his grasp, and he stood disarmed at +Crispin's mercy. + +A gurgling cry broke despite him from his lips, and his eyes +grew wide in a sickly terror as they encountered the knight's +sinister glance. Not three paces behind him was the wall, and +on it, within the hand's easy reach, hung many a trophied +weapon that might have served him then. But the fascination of +fear was upon him, benumbing his wits and paralysing his limbs, +with the thought that the next pulsation of his tumultuous +heart would prove its last. The calm, unflinching courage that +had been Joseph's only virtue was shattered, and his iron will +that had unscrupulously held hitherto his very conscience in +bondage was turned to water now that he stood face to face with +death. + +Eons of time it seemed to him were sped since the sword was +wrenched from his hand, and still the stroke he awaited came +not; still Crispin stood, sinister and silent before him, +watching him with magnetic, fascinating eyes - as the snake +watches the bird - eyes from which Joseph could not withdraw +his own, and yet before which it seemed to him that he quaked +and shrivelled. + +The candles were burning low in their sconces, and the corners +of that ample, gloomy hall were filled with mysterious shadows +that formed a setting well attuned to the grim picture made by +those two figures - the one towering stern and vengeful, the +other crouching palsied and livid. + +Beyond the table, and with the wounded Gregory - lying +unconscious and bleeding - at his feet, stood Kenneth looking +on in silence, in wonder and in some horror too. + +To him also, as he watched, the seconds seemed minutes from the +time when Crispin had disarmed his opponent until with a laugh +- short and sudden as a stab - he dropped his sword and caught +his victim by the throat. + +However fierce the passion that had actuated Crispin, it had +been held hitherto in strong subjection. But now at last it +suddenly welled up and mastered him, causing him to cast all +restraint to the winds, to abandon reason, and to give way to +the lust of rage that rendered ungovernable his mood. + +Like a burst of flame from embers that have been smouldering +was the upleaping of his madness, transfiguring his face and +transforming his whole being. A new, unconquerable strength +possessed him; his pulses throbbed swiftly and madly with the +quickened coursing of his blood, and his soul was filled with +the cruel elation that attends a lust about to be indulged the +elation of the beast about to rend its prey. + +He was pervaded by the desire to wreak slowly and with his +hands the destruction of his broken enemy. To have passed his +sword through him would have been too swiftly done; the man +would have died, and Crispin would have known nothing of his +sufferings. But to take him thus by the throat; slowly to +choke the life's breath out of him; to feel his desperate, +writhing struggles; to be conscious of every agonized twitch of +his sinews, to watch the purpling face, the swelling veins, the +protruding eyes filled with the dumb horror of his agony; to +hold him thus - each second becoming a distinct, appreciable +division of time - and thus to take what payment he could for +all the blighted years that lay behind him - this he felt would +be something like revenge. + +Meanwhile the shock of surprise at the unlooked-for movement +had awakened again the man in Joseph. For a second even Hope +knocked at his heart. He was sinewy and active, and perchance +he might yet make Galliard repent that he had discarded his +rapier. The knight's reason for doing so he thought he had in +Crispin's contemptuous words: + +"Good steel were too great an honour for you, Mr. Ashburn." + +And as he spoke, his lean, nervous fingers tightened about +Joseph's throat in a grip that crushed the breath from him, and +with it the new-born hope of proving master in his fresh +combat. He had not reckoned with this galley-weaned strength +of Crispin's, a strength that was a revelation to Joseph as he +felt himself almost lifted from the ground, and swung this way +and that, like a babe in the hands of a grown man. Vain were +his struggles. His strength ebbed fast; the blood, held +overlong in his head, was already obscuring his vision, when at +last the grip relaxed, and his breathing was freed. As his +sight cleared again he found himself back in his chair at the +table-head, and beside him Sir Crispin, his left hand resting +upon the board, his right grasping once more the sword, and his +eyes bent mockingly and evilly upon his victim. + +Kenneth, looking on, could not repress a shudder. He had known +Crispin for a tempestuous man quickly moved to wrath, and he +had oftentimes seen anger make terrible his face and glance. +But never had he seen aught in him to rival this present +frenzy; it rendered satanical the baleful glance of his eyes +and the awful smile of hate and mockery with which be gazed at +last upon the helpless quarry that he had waited eighteen years +to bring to earth. "I would," said Crispin, in a harsh, +deliberate voice, "that you had a score of lives, Master +Joseph. As it is I have done what I could. Two agonies have +you undergone already, and I am inclined to mercy. The end is +at hand. If you have prayers to say, say them, Master Ashburn, +though I doubt me it will be wasted breath - you are over-ripe +for hell." + +"You mean to kill me," he gasped, growing yet a shade more +livid. + +"Does the suspicion of it but occur to you?" laughed Crispin, +"and yet twice already have I given you a foretaste of death. +Think you I but jested?" + +Joseph's teeth clicked together in a snap of determination. +That sneer of Crispin's acted upon him as a blow - but as a +blow that arouses the desire to retaliate rather than lays low. +He braced himself for fresh resistance; not of action, for that +he realized was futile, but of argument. + +"It is murder that you do," he cried. + +"No; it is justice. It has been long on the way, but it has +come at last." + +"Bethink you, Mr. Marleigh - " + +"Call me not by that name," cried the other harshly, fearfully. +"I have not borne it these eighteen years, and thanks to what +you have made me, it is not meet that I should bear it now." +There was a pause. Then Joseph spoke again with great calm and +earnestness. + +"Bethink you, Sir Crispin, of what you are about to do. It can +benefit you in naught." + +"Oddslife, think you it cannot? Think you it will benefit me +naught to see you earn at last your reward?" + +"You may have dearly to pay for what at best must prove a +fleeting satisfaction." + +"Not a fleeting one, Joseph," he laughed. "But one the memory +of which shall send me rejoicing through what years or days of +life be left me. A satisfaction that for eighteen years I have +been waiting to experience; though the moment after it be mine +find me stark and cold." + +"Sir Crispin, you are in enmity with the Parliament - an outlaw +almost. I have some influence much influence. By exerting it +- " + +"Have done, sir!" cried Crispin angrily. "You talk in vain. +What to me is life, or aught that life can give? If I have so +long endured the burden of it, it has been so that I might draw +from it this hour. Do you think there is any bribe you could +offer would turn me from my purpose?" + +A groan from Gregory, who was regaining consciousness, drew his +attention aside. + +"Truss him up,, Kenneth," he commanded, pointing to the +recumbent figure. "How? Do you hesitate? Now, as God lives, +I'll be obeyed; or you shall have an unpleasant reminder of the +oath you swore me!" + +With a look of loathing the lad dropped on his knees to do as +he was bidden. Then of a sudden: + +"I have not the means," he announced. + +"Fool, does he not wear a sword-belt and a sash? Come, attend +to it!" + +"Why do you force me to do this?" the lad still protested +passionately. "You have tricked and cheated me, yet I have +kept my oath and rendered you the assistance you required. +They are in your power now, can you not do the rest yourself?" + +"On my soul, Master Stewart, I am over-patient with you! Are +we to wrangle at every step before you'll take it? I will have +your assistance through this matter as you swore to give it. +Come, truss me that fellow, and have done with words." + +His fierceness overthrew the boy's outburst of resistance. +Kenneth had wit enough to see that his mood was not one to +brook much opposition, and so, with an oath and a groan, he +went to work to pinion Gregory. + +Then Joseph spoke again. "Weigh well this act of yours, Sir +Crispin," he cried. "You are still young; much of life lies +yet before you. Do not wantonly destroy it by an act that +cannot repair the past." + +"But it can avenge it, Joseph. As for my life, you destroyed +it years ago. The future has naught to offer me; the present +has this." And he drew back his sword to strike. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +JOSEPH DRIVES A BARGAIN + + +A new terror leapt into Joseph's eyes at that movement of +Crispin's, and for the third time that night did he taste the +agony that is Death's forerunner. Yet Galliard delayed the +stroke. He held his sword poised, the point aimed at Joseph's +breast, and holding, he watched him, marking each phase of the +terror reflected upon his livid countenance. He was loth to +strike, for to strike would mean to end this exquisite torture +of horror to which he was subjecting him. + +Broken Joseph had been before and passive; now of a sudden he +grew violent again, but in a different way. He flung himself +upon his knees before Sir Crispin, and passionately he pleaded +for the sparing of his miserable life. + +Crispin looked on with an eye both of scorn and of cold relish. +It was thus he wished to see him, broken and agonized, +suffering thus something of all that which he himself had +suffered through despair in the years that were sped. With +satisfaction then he watched his victim's agony; he watched it +too with scorn and some loathing - for a craven was in his eyes +an ugly sight, and Joseph in that moment was truly become as +vile a coward as ever man beheld. His parchment-like face was +grey and mottled, his brow bedewed with sweat; his lips were +blue and quivering, his eyes bloodshot and almost threatening +tears. + +In the silence of one who waits stood Crispin, listening, calm +and unmoved, as though he heard not, until Joseph's whining +prayers culminated in an offer to make reparation. Then +Crispin broke in at length with an impatient gesture. + +"What reparation can you make, you murderer? Can you restore +to me the wife and child you butchered eighteen years ago?" + +"I can restore your child at least," returned the other. "I +can and will restore him to you if you but stay your hand. +That and much more will I do to repair the past." + +Unconsciously Crispin lowered his sword-arm, and for a full +minute he stood and stared at Joseph. His jaw was fallen and +the grim firmness all gone from his face, and replaced by +amazement, then unbelief followed by inquiry; then unbelief +again. The pallor of his cheeks seemed to intensify. At last, +however, he broke into a hard laugh. + +"What lie is this you offer me? Zounds, man, are you not +afraid?" + +"It is no lie," Joseph cried, in accents so earnest that some +of the unbelief passed again from Galliard's face. "It is the +truth-God's truth. Your son lives." + +"Hell-hound, it is a lie! On that fell night, as I swooned +under your cowardly thrust, I heard you calling to your brother +to slit the squalling bastard's throat. Those were your very +words, Master Joseph." + +"I own I bade him do it, but I was not obeyed. He swore we +should give the babe a chance of life. It should never know +whose son it was, he said, and I agreed. We took the boy away. +He has lived and thrived." + +The knight sank on to a chair as though bereft of strength. He +sought to think, but thinking coherently he could not. At +last: + +"How shall I know that you are not lying? What proof can you +advance?" he demanded hoarsely. + +"I swear that what I have told you is true. I swear it by the +cross of our Redeemer!" he protested, with a solemnity that was +not without effect upon Crispin. Nevertheless, he sneered. + +"I ask for proofs, man, not oaths. What proofs can you afford +me?" + +"There are the man and the woman whom the lad was reared by." + +"And where shall I find them?" + +Joseph opened his lips to answer, then closed them again. In +his eagerness he had almost parted with the information which +he now proposed to make the price of his life. He regained +confidence at Crispin's tone and questions, gathering from both +that the knight was willing to believe if proof were set before +him. He rose to his feet, and when next he spoke his voice had +won back much of its habitual calm deliberateness. + +"That," said he, "I will tell you when you have promised to go +hence, leaving Gregory and me unharmed. I will supply you with +what money you may need, and I will give you a letter to those +people, so couched that what they tell you by virtue of it +shall be a corroboration of my words." + +His elbow resting upon the table, and his hand to his brow so +that it shaded his eyes, sat Crispin long in thought, swayed by +emotions and doubts, the like of which he had never yet known +in the whole of his chequered life. Was Joseph lying to him? + +That was the question that repeatedly arose, and oddly enough, +for all his mistrust of the man, he was inclined to account +true the ring of his words. Joseph watched him with much +anxiety and some hope. + +At length Crispin withdrew his hands from eyes that were grown +haggard, and rose. + +"Let us see the letter that you will write," said he. "There +you have pen, ink, and paper. Write." + +"You promise?" asked Joseph. + +"I will tell you when you have written." + +In a hand that shook somewhat, Joseph wrote a few lines, then +handed Crispin the sheet, whereon he read: + +The bearer of this is Sir Crispin Galliard, who is intimately +interested in the matter that lies betwixt us, and whom I pray +you answer fully and accurately the questions he may put you in +that connexion. + +"I understand," said Crispin slowly. "Yes, it will serve. Now +the superscription." And he returned the paper. + +Ashburn was himself again by now. He realized the advantage he +had gained, and he would not easily relinquish it. + +"I shall add the superscription," said he calmly, "when you +swear to depart without further molesting us." + +Crispin paused a moment, weighing the position well in his +mind. If Joseph lied to him now, he would find means to +return, he told himself, and so he took the oath demanded. + +Joseph dipped his pen, and paused meditatively to watch a drop +of ink, wherewith it was overladen, fall back into the horn. +The briefest of pauses was it, yet it was not the accident it +appeared to be. Hitherto Joseph had been as sincere as he had +been earnest, intent alone upon saving his life at all costs, +and forgetting in his fear of the present the dangers that the +future might hold for him were Crispin Galliard still at large. +But in that second of dipping his quill, assured that the peril +of the moment was overcome, and that Crispin would go forth as +he said, the devil whispered in his ear a cunning and vile +suggestion. As he watched the drop of ink roll from his +pen-point, he remembered that in London there dwelt at the sign +of the Anchor, in Thames Street, one Colonel Pride, whose son +this Galliard had slain, and who, did he once lay hands upon +him, was not like to let him go again. In a second was the +thought conceived and the determination taken, and as he folded +the letter and set upon it the superscription, Joseph felt that +he could have cried out in his exultation at the cunning manner +in which he was outwitting his enemy. + +Crispin took the package, and read thereon: + +This is to Mr. Henry Lane, at the sign of the Anchor, Thames +Street, London. + +The name was a fictitious one - one that Joseph had set down +upon the spur of the moment, his intention being to send a +messenger that should outstrip Sir Crispin, and warn Colonel +Pride of his coming. + +"It is well," was Crispin's only comment. He, too, was grown +calm again and fully master of himself. He placed the letter +carefully within the breast of his doublet. + +"If you have lied to me, if this is but a shift to win your +miserable life, rest assured, Master Ashburn, that you have but +put off the day for a very little while." + +It was on Joseph's lips to answer that none of us are immortal, +but he bethought him that the pleasantry might be ill-timed, +and bowed in silence. + +Galliard took his hat and cloak from the chair on which he had +placed them upon descending that evening. Then he turned again +to Joseph. + +"You spoke of money a moment ago," he said, in the tones of one +demanding what is his own the tones of a gentleman speaking to +his steward. "I will take two hundred Caroluses. More I +cannot carry in comfort." + +Joseph gasped at the amount. For a second it even entered his +mind to resist the demand. Then he remembered that there was a +brace of pistols in his study; if he could get those he would +settle matters there and then without the aid of Colonel Pride. + +"I will fetch the money," said he, betraying his purpose by his +alacrity. + +"By your leave, Master Ashburn, I will come with you." + +Joseph's eyes flashed him a quick look of baffled hate. + +"As you will," said he, with an ill grace. + +As they passed out, Crispin turned to Kenneth. + +"Remember, sir, you are still in my service. See that you keep +good watch." + +Kenneth bent his head without replying. But Master Gregory +required little watching. He lay a helpless, half-swooning +heap upon the floor, which he had smeared with the blood oozing +from his wounded shoulder. Even were he untrussed, there was +little to be feared from him. + +During the brief while they were alone together, Kenneth did +not so much as attempt to speak to him. He sat himself down +upon the nearest chair, and with his chin in his hands and his +elbows on his knees he pondered over the miserable predicament +into which Sir Crispin had got him, and more bitter than ever +it had been was his enmity at that moment towards the knight. +That Galliard should be upon the eve of finding his son, and a +sequel to the story he had heard from him that night in +Worcester, was to Kenneth a thing of no interest or moment. +Galliard had ruined him with these Ashburns. He could never +now hope to win the hand of Cynthia, to achieve which he had +been willing to turn both fool and knave - aye, had turned +both. There was naught left him but to return him to the +paltry Scottish estate of his fathers, there to meet the sneers +of those who no doubt had heard that he was gone South to marry +a great English heiress. + +That at such a season he could think of this but serves to +prove the shallow nature of his feelings. A love was his that +had gain and vanity for its foundation - in fact, it was no +love at all. For what he accounted love for Cynthia was but +the love of himself, which through Cynthia he sought to +indulge. + +He cursed the ill-luck that had brought Crispin into his life. +He cursed Crispin for the evil he had suffered from him, +forgetting that but for Crispin he would have been carrion a +month ago and more. + +Deep at his bitter musings was he when the door opened again to +admit Joseph, followed by Galliard. The knight came across the +hall and stooped to look at Gregory. + +"You may untruss him, Kenneth, when I am gone," said he. "And +in a quarter of an hour from now you are released from your +oath to me. Fare you well," he added with unusual gentleness, +and turning a glance that was almost regretful upon the lad. +"We are not like to meet again, but should we, I trust it may +be in happier times. If I have harmed you in this business, +remember that my need was great. Fare you well." And he held +out his hand. + +"Take yourself to hell, sir!" answered Kenneth, turning his +back upon him. The ghost of an evil smile played round Joseph +Ashburn's lips as he watched them. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +COUNTER-PLOT + + +So soon as Sir Crispin had taken his departure, and whilst yet +the beat of his horse's hoofs was to be distinguished above the +driving storm of rain and wind without, Joseph hastened across +the hall to the servants' quarters. There he found his four +grooms slumbering deeply, their faces white and clammy, and +their limbs twisted into odd, helpless attitudes. Vainly did +he rain down upon them kicks and curses; arouse them he could +not from the stupor in whose thrall they lay. + +And so, seizing a lanthorn, he passed out to the stables, +whence Crispin had lately taken his best nag, and with his own +hands he saddled a horse. His lips were screwed into a curious +smile - a smile that still lingered upon them when presently he +retraced his steps to the room where his brother sat with +Kenneth. + +In his absence the lad had dressed Gregory's wound; he had +induced him to take a little wine, and had set him upon a +chair, in which he now lay back, white and exhausted. + +"The quarter of an hour is passed, sir," said Joseph coldly, as +he entered. + +Kenneth made no sign that he heard. He sat on like a man in a +dream. His eyes that saw nothing were bent upon Gregory's +pale, flabby face. + +"The quarter of an hour is passed, sir," Joseph repeated in a +louder voice. + +Kenneth looked up, then rose and sighed, passing his hand +wearily across his forehead. + +"I understand, sir," he replied in a low voice. "You mean that +I must go?" + +Joseph waited a moment before replying. Then: + +"It is past midnight," he said slowly, "and the weather is +wild. You may lie here until morning, if you are so minded. +But go you must then," he added sternly. "I need scarce say, +sir, that you must have no speech with Mistress Cynthia, nor +that never again must you set foot within Castle Marleigh." + +"I understand, sir; I understand. But you deal hardly with +me." + +Joseph raised his eyebrows in questioning surprise. + +"I was the victim of my oath, given when I knew not against +whom my hand was to be lifted. Oh, sir, am I to suffer all my +life for a fault that was not my own? You, Master Gregory," he +cried, turning passionately to Cynthia's father, "you are +perchance more merciful? You understand my position - how I +was forced into it." + +Gregory opened his heavy eyes. + +"A plague on you, Master Stewart," he groaned. "I understand +that you have given me a wound that will take a month to heal." + +"It was an accident, sir. I swear it was an accident!" + +"To swear this and that appears to be your chief diversion in +life," growled Gregory for answer. "You had best go; we are +not likely to listen to excuses." + +"Did you rather suggest a remedy," Joseph put in quietly, "we +might hear you." + +Kenneth swung round and faced him, hope brightening his eyes. + +"What remedy is there? How can I undo what I have done? Show +me but the way, and I'll follow it, no matter where it leads!" + +Such protestations had Joseph looked to hear, and he was hard +put to it to dissemble his satisfaction. For a while he was +silent, making pretence to ponder. At length: + +"Kenneth," he said, "you may in some measure repair the evil +you have done, and if you are ready to undergo some slight +discomfort, I shall be willing on my side to forget this +night." + +"Tell me how, sir, and whatever the cost I will perform it!" + +He gave no thought to the fact that Crispin's grievance against +the Ashburns was well-founded; that they had wrecked his life +even as they had sought to destroy it; even as eighteen years +ago they had destroyed his wife's. His only thought was +Cynthia; his only wish was to possess her. Besides that, +justice and honour itself were of small account. + +"It is but a slight matter," answered Joseph. "A matter that I +might entrust to one of my grooms." + +That whilst his grooms lay drugged the matter was so pressing +that his messenger must set out that very night, Joseph did not +think of adding. + +"I would, sir," answered the boy, "that the task were great and +difficult." + +"Yes, yes," answered Joseph with biting sarcasm, "we are +acquainted with both your courage and your resource." He sat +silent and thoughtful for some moments, then with a sudden +sharp glance at the lad: + +"You shall have this chance of setting yourself right with us," +he said. Then abruptly he added. + +"Go make ready for a journey. You must set out within the hour +for London. Take what you may require and arm yourself; then +return to me here." + +Gregory, who, despite his sluggish wits, divined - partly, at +least - what was afoot, made shift to speak. But his brother +silenced him with a glance. + +"Go," Joseph said to the boy. And, without comment, Kenneth +rose and left them. + +"What would you do?" asked Gregory when the door had closed. + +"Make doubly sure of that ruffian," answered Joseph coldly. +"Colonel Pride might be absent when he arrives, and he might +learn that none of the name of Lane dwells at the Anchor in +Thames Street. It would be fatal to awaken his suspicions and +bring him back to us." + +"But surely Richard or Stephen might carry your errand?" + +"They might were they not so drugged that they cannot be +aroused. I might even go myself, but it is better so." He +laughed softly. "There is even comedy in it. Kenneth shall +outride our bloodthirsty knight to warn Pride of his coming, +and when he comes he will walk into the hands of the hangman. +It will be a surprise for him. For the rest I shall keep my +promise concerning his son. He shall have news of him from +Pride - but when too late to be of service." + +Gregory shuddered. + +"Fore God, Joseph, 'tis a foul thing you do," he cried. +"Sooner would I never set eyes on the lad again. Let him go +his ways as you intended." + +"I never did intend it. What trustier messenger could I find +now that I have lent him zest by fright? To win Cynthia, we +may rely upon him safely to do that in which another might +fail." + +"Joseph, you will roast in hell for it." + +Joseph laughed him to scorn. + +"To bed with you, you canting hypocrite; your wound makes you +light-headed." + +It was a half-hour ere Kenneth returned, booted, cloaked, and +ready for his journey. He found Joseph alone, busily writing, +and in obedience to a sign he sat him down to wait. + +A few minutes passed, then, with a final scratch and splutter +Joseph flung down his pen. With the sandbox tilted in the air, +like a dicer about to make his throw, he looked at the lad. + +"You will spare neither whip nor spur until you arrive in +London, Master Kenneth. You must ride night and day; the +matter is of the greatest urgency." + +Kenneth nodded that he understood, and Joseph sprinkled the +sand over the written page. + +"I know not when you should reach London so that you may be in +time, but," he continued, and as he spoke he creased the paper +and poured the superfluous sand back into the box, "I should +say that by midnight to-morrow your message should be +delivered. Aye," he continued, in answer to the lad's gasp of +surprise, "it is hard riding, I know, but if you would win +Cynthia you must do it. Spare neither money nor horseflesh, +and keep to the saddle until you are in Thames Street." + +He folded the letter, sealed it, and wrote the superscription: +"This to Colonel Pride, at the sign of the Anchor in Thames +Street." + +He rose and handed the package to Kenneth, to whom the +superscription meant nothing, since he had not seen that borne +by the letter which Crispin had received. + +"You will deliver this intact, and with your own hands, to +Colonel Pride in person - none other. Should he be absent from +Thames Street upon your arrival, seek him out instantly, +wherever he may be, and give him this. Upon your faithful +observance of these conditions remember that your future +depends. If you are in time, as indeed I trust and think you +will be, you may account yourself Cynthia's husband. Fail and +- well, you need not return here." + +"I shall not fail, sir," cried Kenneth. "What man can do to +accomplish the journey within twenty-four hours, I will do." + +He would have stopped to thank Joseph for the signal favour of +this chance of rehabilitation, but Joseph cut him short. + +"Take this purse," he cried impatiently. "You will find a +horse ready saddled in the stables. Ride it hard. It will +bear you to Norton at least. There get you a fresh one, and +when that is done, another. Now be off." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE INTERRUPTED JOURNEY + + +When the Tavern Knight left the gates of Marleigh Park behind +him on that wild October night, he drove deep the rowels of his +spurs, and set his horse at a perilous gallop along the road to +Norwich. The action was of instinct rather than of thought. +In the turbulent sea of his mind, one clear current there was, +and one only - the knowledge that he was bound for London for +news of this son of his whom Joseph told him lived. He paused +not even to speculate what manner of man his child was grown, +nor yet what walk of life he had been reared to tread. He +lived: he was somewhere in the world; that for the time +sufficed him. The Ashburns had not, it seemed, destroyed quite +everything that made his life worth enduring - the life that so +often and so wantonly he had exposed. + +His son lived, and in London he should have news of him. To +London then must he get himself with all dispatch, and he swore +to take no rest until he reached it. And with that firm +resolve to urge him, he ploughed his horse's flanks, and sped +on through the night. The rain beat in his face, yet he scarce +remarked it, as again more by instinct than by reason - he +buried his face to the eyes in the folds of his cloak. + +Later the rain ceased, and clearer grew the line of light +betwixt the hedgerows, by which his horse had steered its +desperate career. Fitfully a crescent moon peered out from +among the wind-driven clouds. The poor ruffler was fallen into +meditation, and noted not that his nag did no more than amble. +He roused himself of a sudden when half-way down a gentle slope +some five miles from Norwich, and out of temper at discovering +the sluggishness of the pace, he again gave the horse a taste +of the spurs. The action was fatal. The incline was become a +bed of sodden clay, and he had not noticed with what misgivings +his horse pursued the treacherous footing. The sting of the +spur made the animal bound forward, and the next instant a +raucous oath broke from Crispin as the nag floundered and +dropped on its knees. Like a stone from a catapult Galliard +flew over its head and rolled down the few remaining yards of +the slope into a very lake of slimy water at the bottom. + +Down this same hill, some twenty minutes later, came Kenneth +Stewart with infinite precaution. He was in haste - a haste +more desperate far than even Crispin's. But his character held +none of Galliard's recklessness, nor were his wits fogged by +such news as Crispin had heard that night. He realized that to +be swift he must be cautious in his night-riding. And so, +carefully he came, with a firm hand on the reins, yet leaving +it to his horse to find safe footing. + +He had reached the level ground in safety, and was about to put +his nag to a smarter pace, when of a sudden from the darkness +of the hedge he was hailed by a harsh, metallic voice, the +sound of which sent a tremor through him. + +"Sir, you are choicely met, whoever you may be. I have +suffered a mischance down that cursed hill, and my horse has +gone lame." + +Kenneth kept his cloak over his mouth, trusting that the +muffling would sufficiently disguise his accents as he made +answer. + +"I am in haste, my master. What is your will?" + +"Why, marry, so am I in haste. My will is your horse, sir. +Oh, I'm no robber. I'll pay you for it, and handsomely. But +have it I must. 'Twill be no great discomfort for you to walk +to Norwich. You may do it in an hour." + +"My horse, sir, is not for sale," was Kenneth's brief answer. +"Give you good night." + +"Hold, man! Blood and hell, stop! If you'll not sell the +worthless beast to serve a gentleman, I'll shoot it under you. +Make your choice." + +Kenneth caught the gleam of a pistol-barrel pointed at him from +the hedge, and he shivered. What was he to do? Every instant +was precious to him. As in a flash it came to him that +perchance Sir Crispin also rode to London, and that it was +expected of him to arrive there first if he were to be in time. +Swiftly he weighed the odds in his mind, and took the +determination to dash past Sir Crispin, risking his aim and +trusting to the dark to befriend him. + +But even as he determined thus, what moon there was became +unveiled, and the light of it fell upon his face, which was +turned towards Galliard. An exclamation of surprise escaped +Sir Crispin. + +"'Slife, Master Stewart, I knew not your voice. Whither do you +ride?" + +"What is it to you? Have you not wrought enough of evil for +me? Am I never to be rid of you? Castle Marleigh," he added, +with well-feigned anger, "has closed its doors upon me. What +does it signify to you whither I ride? Suffer me leastways to +pass unmolested, and to leave you." + +Kenneth's passionate reproaches cut Galliard keenly. He held +himself at that moment a very knave for having dragged this boy +into his work of vengeance, and thereby cast a blight upon his +life. He sought for words wherein to give expression to +something of what he felt, then realizing how futile and effete +all words must prove, he waved his hand in the direction of the +road. + +"Go, Master Stewart," he muttered. "Your way is clear." + +And Kenneth, waiting for no second invitation, rode on and left +him. He rode with gratitude in his heart to the Providence +that had caused him so easily to overcome an obstacle that at +first he had held impassable. Stronger grew in his mind the +conviction that to fulfil the mission Joseph required of him, +he must reach London before Sir Crispin. The knowledge that he +was ahead of him, and that he must derive an ample start from +Galliard's mishap, warmed him like wine. + +His mind thus relieved from its weight of anxiety, he little +recked fatigue, and such excellent use did he make of his horse +that he reached Newmarket on it an hour before the morrow's +moon. + +An hour he rested there, and broke his fast. Then on a fresh +horse - a powerful and willing animal he set out once more. + +By half-past two he was at Newport. But so hard had he ridden +that man and beast alike were in a lather of sweat, and whilst +he himself felt sick and tired, the horse was utterly unfit to +bear him farther. For half an hour he rested there, and made a +meal whose chief constituent was brandy. Then on a third horse +he started upon the last stage of his journey. + +The wind was damp and penetrating; the roads veritable morasses +of mud, and overhead gloomy banks of dark, grey clouds moved +sluggishly, the light that was filtered through them giving the +landscape a bleak and dreary aspect. In his jaded condition +Kenneth soon became a prey to the depression of it. His +lightness of heart of some dozen hours ago was now all gone, +and not even the knowledge that his mission was well-nigh +accomplished sufficed to cheer him. To add to his discomfort a +fine rain set in towards four o'clock, and when a couple of +hours later he clattered along the road cut through a wooded +slope in the direction of Waltham, he was become a very limp +and lifeless individual. + +He noticed not the horsemen moving cautiously among the +closely-set trees on either side of the road. It was growing +prematurely dark, and objects were none too distinct. And thus +it befell that when from the reverie of dejection into which he +had fallen he was suddenly aroused by the thud of hoofs, he +looked up to find two mounted men barring the road some ten +yards in front of him. Their attitude was unmistakable, and it +crossed poor Kenneth's mind that he was beset by robbers. But +a second glance showed him their red cloaks and military steel +caps, and he knew them for soldiers of the Commonwealth. + +Hearing the beat of hoofs behind him, he looked over his +shoulder to see four other troopers closing rapidly down upon +him. Clearly he was the object of their attention. He had +been a fool not to have perceived this earlier, and his heart +misgave him, for all that had he paused to think he must have +realized that he had naught to fear, and that in this some +mistake must lie. + +"Halt!" thundered the deep voice of the sergeant, who, with a +trooper, held the road in front. + +Kenneth drew up within a yard of them, conscious that the man's +dark eyes were scanning him sharply from beneath his morion. + +"Who are you, sir?" the bass voice demanded. + +Alas for the vanity of poor human mites! Even Kenneth, who +never yet had achieved aught for the cause he served, grew of a +sudden chill to think that perchance this sergeant might +recognize his name for one that he had heard before associated +with deeds performed on the King's behalf. + +For a second he hesitated; then: + +"Blount," he stammered, "Jasper Blount." + +He little thought how that fruit of his vanity was to prove his +undoing thereafter. + +"Verily," sneered the sergeant, "it almost seemed you had +forgotten it." And from that sneer Kenneth gathered with fresh +dread that the fellow mistrusted him. + +"Whence are you, Master Blount?" + +Again Kenneth hesitated. Then recalling Ashburn's high favour +with the Parliament, and seeing that it could but advance his +cause to state the true sum of his journey: + +"From Castle Marleigh," he replied. + +"Verily, sir, you seem yet in some doubt. Whither do you go?" + +"To London." + +"On what errand?" The sergeant's questions fell swift as +sword-strokes. + +"With letters for Colonel Pride." + +The reply, delivered more boldly than Kenneth had spoken +hitherto, was not without its effect. + +"From whom are these letters?" + +"From Mr. Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh." + +"Produce them." + +With trembling fingers Kenneth complied. This the sergeant +observed as he took the package. + +"What ails you, man?" quoth he. + +"Naught, sir 'tis the cold." + +The sergeant scanned the package and its seal. In a measure it +was a passport, and he was forced to the conclusion that this +man was indeed the messenger he represented himself. Certainly +he had not the air nor the bearing of him for whom they waited, +nor did the sergeant think that their quarry would have armed +himself with a dummy package against such a strait. And yet +the sergeant was not master after all, and did he let this +fellow pursue his journey, he might reap trouble for it +hereafter; whilst likewise if he detained him, Colonel Pride, +he knew, was not an over-patient man. He was still debating +what course to take, and had turned to his companion with the +muttered question: "What think you, Peter?" when by his +precipitancy Kenneth ruined his slender chance of being +permitted to depart. + +"I pray you, sir, now that you know my errand, suffer me to +pass on." + +There was an eager tremor in his voice that the sergeant +mistook for fear. He noted it, and remembering the boy's +hesitancy in answering his earlier questions, he decided upon +his course of action. + +"We shall not delay your journey, sir," he answered, eyeing +Kenneth sharply, "and as your way must lie through Waltham, I +will but ask you to suffer us to ride with you thus far, so +that there you may answer any questions our captain may have to +ask ere you proceed." + +"But, sir - " + +"No more, master courier," snarled the sergeant. Then, +beckoning a trooper to his side, he whispered an order in his +ear. + +As the man withdrew they wheeled their horses, and at a sharp +word of command Kenneth rode on towards Waltham between the +sergeant and a trooper. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE CONVERTED HOGAN + + +Night black and impenetrable had set in ere Kenneth and his +escort clattered over the greasy stones of Waltham's High +Street, and drew up in front of the Crusader Inn. + +The door stood wide and hospitable, and a warm shaft of light +fell from it and set a glitter upon the wet street. Avoiding +the common-room, the sergeant led Kenneth through the inn-yard, +and into the hostelry by a side entrance. He urged the youth +along a dimly-lighted passage. On a door at the end of this he +knocked, then, lifting the latch, he ushered Kenneth into a +roomy, oak-panelled chamber. + +At the far end a huge fire burnt cheerfully, and with his back +to it, his feet planted wide apart upon the hearth, stood a +powerfully built man of medium height, whose youthful face and +uprightness of carriage assorted ill with the grey of his hair, +pronouncing that greyness premature. He seemed all clad in +leather, for where his jerkin stopped his boots began. A +cuirass and feathered headpiece lay in a corner, whilst on the +table Kenneth espied a broad-brimmed hat, a huge sword, and a +brace of pistols. + +As the boy's eyes came back to the burly figure on the hearth, +he was puzzled by a familiar, intangible something in the +fellow's face. + +He was racking his mind to recall where last he had seen it, +when with slightly elevated eyebrows and a look of recognition +in his somewhat prominent blue eyes + +"Soul of my body," exclaimed the man in surprise, "Master +Stewart, as I live." + +"Stuart!" cried both sergeant and trooper in a gasp, starting +forward to scan their prisoner's face. + +At that the burly captain broke into a laugh. + +"Not the young man Charles Stuart," said he; "no, no. Your +captive is none so precious. It is only Master Kenneth +Stewart, of Bailienochy." + +"Then it is not even our man," grumbled the soldier. + +"But Stewart is not the name he gave," cried the sergeant. +"Jasper Blount he told me he was called. It seems that after +all we have captured a malignant, and that I was well advised +to bring him to you." + +The captain made a gesture of disdain. In that moment Kenneth +recognized him. He was Harry Hogan - the man whose life +Galliard had saved in Penrith. + +"Bah, a worthless capture, Beddoes," he said. + +"I know not that," retorted the sergeant. "He carries papers +which he states are from Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh, to +Colonel Pride. Colonel Pride's name is on the package, but may +not that be a subterfuge? Why else did he say he was called +Blount?" + +Hogan's brows were of a sudden knit. + +"Faith, Beddoes, you are right. Remove his sword and search +him." + +Calmly Kenneth suffered them to carry out this order. Inwardly +he boiled at the delay, and cursed himself for having so +needlessly given the name of Blount. But for that, it was +likely Hogan would have straightway dismissed him. He cheered +himself with the thought that after all they would not long +detain him. Their search made, and finding nothing upon him +but Ashburn's letter, surely they would release him. + +But their search was very thorough. They drew off his boots, +and well-nigh stripped him naked, submitting each article of +his apparel to a careful examination. At length it was over, +and Hogan held Ashburn's package, turning it over in his hands +with a thoughtful expression. + +"Surely, sir, you will now allow me to proceed," cried Kenneth. +"I assure you the matter is of the greatest urgency, and unless +I am in London by midnight I shall be too late." + +"Too late for what?" asked Hogan. + +"I - I don't know." + +"Oh?" The Irishman laughed unpleasantly. Colonel Pride and he +were on anything but the best of terms. The colonel knew him +for a godless soldier of fortune bound to the Parliament's +cause by no interest beyond that of gain; and, himself a +zealot, Colonel Pride had with distasteful frequency shown +Hogan the quality of his feelings towards him. That Hogan was +not afraid of him, was because it was not in Hogan's nature to +be afraid of anyone. But he realized at least that he had +cause to be, and at the present moment it occurred to him that +it would be passing sweet to find a flaw in the old Puritan's +armour. If the package were harmless his having opened it was +still a matter that the discharge of his duty would sanction. +Thus he reasoned; and he resolved to break the seal and make +himself master of the contents of that letter. + +Hogan's unpleasant laugh startled Kenneth. It suggested to him +that perhaps, after all, his delay was by no means at an end; +that Hogan suspected him of something - he could not think of +what. + +Then in a flash an idea came to him. + +"May I speak to you privately for a moment, Captain Hogan?" he +inquired in such a tone of importance - imperiousness, almost - +that the Irishman was impressed by it. He scented disclosure. + +"Faith, you may if you have aught to tell me," and he signed to +Beddoes and his companion to withdraw. + +"Now, Master Hogan," Kenneth began resolutely as soon as they +were alone, "I ask you to let me go my way unmolested. Too +long already has the stupidity of your followers detained me +here unjustly. That I reach London by midnight is to me a +matter of the gravest moment, and you shall let me." + +"Soul of my body, Mr. Stewart, what a spirit you have acquired +since last we met." + +"In your place I should leave our last meeting unmentioned, +master turncoat." + +The Irishman's eyebrows shot up. + +"By the Mass, young cockerel, I mislike your tone - " + +"You'll have cause to dislike it more if you detain me." He +was desperate now. "What would your saintly, crop-eared +friends say if they knew as much of your past history as I do?" + +"Tis a matter for conjecture," said Hogan, humouring him. + +"How think you would they welcome the story of the roystering +rake and debauchee who deserted the army of King Charles +because they were about to hang him for murder?" + +"Ah! how, indeed?" sighed Hogan. + +"What manner of reputation, think you, that for a captain of +the godly army of the Commonwealth?" + +"A vile one, truly," murmured Hogan with humility. + +"And now, Mr. Hogan," he wound up loftily, "you had best return +me that package, and be rid of me before I sow mischief enough +to bring you a crop of hemp." + +Hogan stared at the lad's flushed face with a look of whimsical +astonishment, and for a brief spell there was silence between +them. Slowly then, with his eyes still fixed upon Kenneth's, +the captain unsheathed a dagger. The boy drew back, with a +sudden cry of alarm. Hogan vented a horse-laugh, and ran the +blade under the seal of Ashburn's letter. + +"Be not afraid, my man of threats," he said pleasantly. "I +have no thought of hurting you - leastways, not yet." He +paused in the act of breaking the seal. "Lest you should +treasure uncomfortable delusions, dear Master Stewart, let me +remind you that I am an Irishman - not a fool. Do you conceive +my fame to be so narrow a thing that when I left the beggarly +army of King Charles for that of the Commonwealth, I did not +realize how at any moment I might come face to face with +someone who had heard of my old exploits, and would denounce +me? You do not find me masquerading under an assumed name. I +am here, sir, as Harry Hogan, a sometime dissolute follower of +the Egyptian Pharaoh, Charles Stuart; an erstwhile besotted, +blinded soldier in the army of the Amalekite, a whilom erring +malignant, but converted by a crowning mercy into a zealous, +faithful servant of Israel. There were vouchsafings and +upliftings, and the devil knows what else, when this stray lamb +was gathered to the fold." + +He uttered the words with a nasal intonation, and a whimsical +look at Kenneth. + +"Now, Mr. Stewart, tell them what you will, and they will tell +you yet more in return, to show you how signally the light of +grace hath been shed over me." + +He laughed again, and broke the seal. Kenneth, crestfallen and +abashed, watched him, without attempting further interference. +Of what avail? + +"You had been better advised, young sir, had you been less +hasty and anxious. It is a fatal fault of youth's, and one of +which nothing but time - if, indeed, you live - will cure you. +Your anxiety touching this package determines me to open it." + +Kenneth sneered at the man's conclusions, and, shrugging his +shoulders, turned slightly aside. + +"Perchance, master wiseacres, when you have read it, you will +appreciate how egotism may also lead men into fatal errors. +Haply, too, you will be able to afford Colonel Pride some +satisfactory reason for tampering with his correspondence." + +But Hogan heard him not. He had unfolded the letter, and at +the first words he beheld, a frown contracted his brows. As he +read on the frown deepened, and when he had done, an oath broke +from his lips. "God's life!" he cried, then again was silent, +and so stood a moment with bent head. At last he raised his +eyes, and let them rest long and searchingly upon Kenneth, who +now observed him in alarm. + +"What - what is it?" the lad asked, with hesitancy. + +But Hogan never answered. He strode past him to the door, and +flung it wide. + +"Beddoes!" he called. A step sounded in the passage, and the +sergeant appeared. "Have you a trooper there?" + +"There is Peter, who rode with me." + +"Let him look to this fellow. Tell him to set him under lock +and bolt here in the inn until I shall want him, and tell him +that he shall answer for him with his neck." + +Kenneth drew back in alarm. + +"Sir - Captain Hogan - will you explain " + +"Marry, you shall have explanations to spare before morning, +else I'm a fool. But have no fear, for we intend you no hurt," +he added more softly. "Take him away, Beddoes; then return to +me here." + +When Beddoes came back from consigning Kenneth into the hands +of his trooper, he found Hogan seated in the leathern +arm-chair, with Ashburn's letter spread before him on the +table. + +"I was right in my suspicions, eh?" ventured Beddoes +complacently. + +"You were more than right, Beddoes, you were Heaven-inspired. +It is no State matter that you have chanced upon, but one that +touches a man in whom I am interested very nearly." + +The sergeant's eyes were full of questions, but Hogan +enlightened him no further. + +"You will ride back to your post at once, Beddoes," he +commanded. "Should Lord Oriel fall into your hands, as we +hope, you will send him to me. But you will continue to patrol +the road, and demand the business of all comers. I wish one +Crispin Galliard, who should pass this way ere long, detained, +and brought to me. He is a tall, lank man - " + +"I know him, sir," Beddoes interrupted. "The Tavern Knight +they called him in the malignant army - a rakehelly, dissolute +brawler. I saw him in Worcester when he was taken after the +fight." + +Hogan frowned. The righteous Beddoes knew overmuch. "That is +the man," he answered calmly. "Go now, and see that he does +not ride past you. I have great and urgent need of him." + +Beddoes' eyes were opened in surprise. + +"He is possessed of valuable information," Hogan explained. +"Away with you, man." + +When alone, Harry Hogan turned his arm-chair sideways towards +the fire. Then, filling himself a pipe - for in his foreign +campaigning he had acquired the habit of tobacco-smoking - he +stretched his sinewy legs across a second chair, and composed +himself for meditation. An hour went by; the host looked in to +see if the captain required anything. Another hour sped on, +and the captain dozed. + +He awoke with a start. The fire had burned low, and the hands +of the huge clock in the corner pointed to midnight. From the +passage came to him the sound of steps and angry voices. + +Before Hogan could rise, the door was flung wide, and a tall, +gaunt man was hustled across the threshold by two soldiers. +His head was bare, and his hair wet and dishevelled. His +doublet was torn and his shoulder bleeding, whilst his empty +scabbard hung like a lambent tail behind him. + +"We have brought him, captain," one of the men announced. + +"Aye, you crop-eared, psalm-whining cuckolds, you've brought +me, d -n you," growled Sir Crispin, whose eyes rolled fiercely. + +As his angry glance lighted upon Hogan's impressive face, he +abruptly stemmed the flow of invective that rushed to his lips. + +The Irishman rose, and looked past him at the troopers. "Leave +us," he commanded shortly. + +He remained standing by the hearth until the footsteps of his +men had died away, then he crossed the chamber, passed Crispin +without a word, and quietly locked the door. That done, he +turned a friendly smile on his tanned face - and holding out +his hand: + +"At last, Cris, it is mine to thank you and to repay you in +some measure for the service you rendered me that night at +Penrith." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE + + +In bewilderment Crispin took the outstretched hand of his old +fellow-roysterer. + +"Oddslife," he growled, "if to have me waylaid, dragged from my +horse and wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be +your manner of expressing gratitude, I'd as lief you had let me +go unthanked." + +"And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another +hour is sped. Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle +of strong waters yonder - " + +Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the +black jack and poured half a glass of its contents, which he +handed Crispin. + +"Drink, man," he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath, +obeyed him. + +Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's +back, pushed a chair over to the table, and bade him sit. +Again, nothing loath, Crispin did as he was bidden. He was +stiff from long riding, and so with a sigh of satisfaction he +settled himself down and stretched out his long legs. + +Hogan slowly took the seat opposite to him, and coughed. He +was at a loss how to open the parlous subject, how to +communicate to Crispin the amazing news upon which he had +stumbled. + +"Slife' Hogan," laughed Crispin dreamily, "I little thought it +was to you those crop-ears carried me with such violence. I +little thought, indeed, ever to see you again. But you have +prospered, you knave, since that night you left Penrith." + +And he turned his head the better to survey the Irishman. + +"Aye, I have prospered," Hogan assented. "My life is a sort of +parable of the fatted son and the prodigal calf. They tell me +there is greater joy in heaven over the repentance of a sinner +than - than - Plague on it! How does it go?" + +"Than over the downfall of a saint?" suggested Crispin. + +"I'll swear that's not the text, but any of my troopers could +quote it you; every man of them is an incarnate Church +militant." He paused, and Crispin laughed softly. Then +abruptly: "And so you were riding to London?" said he. + +"How know you that?" + +"Faith, I know more - much more. I can even tell you to what +house you rode, and on what errand. You were for the sign of +the Anchor in Thames Street, for news of your son, whom Joseph +Ashburn hath told you lives." + +Crispin sat bolt upright, a look of mingled wonder and +suspicion on his face. + +"You are well informed, you gentlemen of the Parliament," he +said. + +"On the matter of your errand," the Irishman returned quietly, +"I am much better informed than are you. Shall I tell you who +lives at the sign of the Anchor - not whom you have been told +lives there, but who really does occupy the house?" Hogan +paused a second as though awaiting some reply; then softly he +answered his own question: "Colonel Pride." And he sat back to +await results. + +There were none. For the moment the name awoke no +recollections, conveyed no meaning to Crispin. + +"Who may Colonel Pride be?" he asked, after a pause. + +Hogan was visibly disappointed. + +"A certain powerful and vindictive member of the Rump, whose +son you killed at Worcester." + +This time the shaft went home. Galliard sprang out of the +chair, his brows darkening, and his cheeks pale beyond their +wont. + +"Zounds, Hogan, do you mean that Joseph Ashburn was betraying +me into this man's hands?" + +"You have said it." + +"But - " + +Crispin stopped short. The pallor of his face increased; it +became ashen, and his eyes glittered as though a fever consumed +him. He sank back into his chair, and setting both hands upon +the table before him, he looked straight at Hogan. + +"But my son, Hogan, my son?" he pleaded, and his voice was +broken as no man had heard it yet. "Oh, God in heaven!" he +cried in a sudden frenzy. "What hell's work is this?" + +Behind his blue lips his teeth were chattering now. His hands +shook as he held them, still clenched, before him. Then, in a +dull, concentrated voice: + +"Hogan," he vowed, "I'll kill him for it. Fool, blind, pitiful +fool that I am." + +Then - his face distorted by passion - he broke into a torrent +of imprecations that was at length stemmed by Hogan. + +"Wait, Cris," said he, laying his hand upon the other's arm. +"It is not all false. Joseph Ashburn sought, it is true, to +betray you into the hands of Colonel Pride, sending you to the +sign of the Anchor with the assurance that there you should +have news of your son. That was false; yet not all false. +Your son does live, and at the sign of the Anchor it is likely +you would have had the news of him you sought. But that news +would have come when too late to have been of value to you." + +Crispin tried to speak, but failed. Then, mastering himself by +an effort, and in a voice that was oddly shaken: + +"Hogan," he cried, "you are torturing me! What is the sum of +your knowledge?" + +At last the Irishman produced Ashburn's letter to Colonel +Pride. + +"My men," said he, "are patrolling the roads in wait for a +malignant that has incurred the Parliament's displeasure. We +have news that he is making for Harwich, where a vessel lies +waiting to carry him to France, and we expect that he will ride +this way. Three hours ago a young man unable clearly to +account for himself rode into our net, and was brought to me. +He was the bearer of a letter to Colonel Pride from Joseph +Ashburn. He had given my sergeant a wrong name, and betrayed +such anxiety to be gone that I deemed his errand a suspicious +one, and broke the seal of that letter. You may thank God, +Galliard, every night of your life that I did so." + +"Was this youth Kenneth Stewart?" asked Crispin. + +"You have guessed it." + +"D -n the lad," he began furiously. Then repressing himself, +he sighed, and in an altered tone, "No, no," said he. "I have +grievously wronged him! have wrecked his life - or at least he +thinks so now. I can hardly blame him for seeking to be quits +with me." + +"The lad," returned Hogan, "must be himself a dupe. He can +have had no suspicion of the message he carried. Let me read +it to you; it will make all clear." + +Hogan drew a taper nearer, and spreading the paper upon the +table, he smoothed it out, and read: + +HONOURED SIR, + +The bearer of the present should, if he rides well, outstrip +another messenger I have dispatched to you upon a fool's +errand, with a letter addressed to one Mr. Lane at the sign of +the Anchor. The bearer of that is none other than the +notorious malignant, Sir Crispin Galliard, by whose hand your +son was slain under your very eyes at Worcester, whose capture +I know that you warmly desire and with whom I doubt not you +will know how to deal. To us he has been a source of no little +molestation; his liberty, in fact, is a perpetual menace to our +lives. For some eighteen years this Galliard has believed dead +a son that my cousin bore him. News of this son, whom I have +just informed him lives - as indeed he does - is the bait +wherewith I have lured him to your address. Forewarned by the +present, I make no doubt you will prepare to receive him +fittingly. But ere that justice he escaped at Worcester be +meted out to him at Tyburn or on Tower Hill, I would have you +give him that news touching his son which I am sending him to +you to receive. Inform him, sir, that his son, Jocelyn +Marleigh ... + +Hogan paused, and shot a furtive glance at Galliard. The +knight was leaning forward now, his eyes strained, his forehead +beaded with perspiration, and his breathing heavy. + +"Read on," he begged hoarsely. + +His son, Jocelyn Marleigh, is the bearer of this letter, the +man whom he has injured and who detests him, the youth with +whom he has, by a curious chance, been in much close +association, and whom he has known as Kenneth Stewart. + +"God!" gasped Crispin. Then with sudden vigour, "Oh, 'tis a +lie," he cried, "a fresh invention of that lying brain to +torture me." + +Hogan held up his hand. + +"There is a little more," he said, and continued: + +Should he doubt this, bid him look closely into the lad's face, +and ask him, after he has scrutinized it, what image it evokes. +Should he still doubt thereafter, thinking the likeness to +which he has been singularly blind to be no more than +accidental, bid them strip the lad's right foot. It bears a +mark that I think should convince him. For the rest, honoured +sir, I beg you to keep all information touching his parentage +from the boy himself, wherein I have weighty ends to serve. +Within a few days of your receipt of this letter, I look to +have the honour of waiting upon you. In the meanwhile, +honoured sir, believe that while I am, I am your obedient +servant, + + JOSEPH ASHBURN + +Across the narrow table the two men's glances met - Hogan's +full of concern and pity, Crispin's charged with amazement and +horror. A little while they sat thus, then Crispin rose slowly +to his feet, and with steps uncertain as a drunkard's he +crossed to the window. He pushed it open, and let the icy wind +upon his face and head, unconscious of its sting. Moments +passed, during which the knight went over the last few months +of his turbulent life since his first meeting at Perth with +Kenneth Stewart. He recalled how strangely and unaccountably +he had been drawn to the boy when first he beheld him in the +castle yard, and how, owing to a feeling for which he could not +account, since the lad's character had little that might +commend him to such a man as Crispin, he had contrived that +Kenneth should serve in his company. + +He recalled how at first - aye, and often afterwards even - he +had sought to win the boy's affection, despite the fact that +there was naught in the boy that he truly admired, and much +that he despised. Was it possible that these his feelings were +dictated by Nature to his unconscious mind? It must indeed be +so, and the written words of Joseph Ashburn to Colonel Pride +were true. Kenneth was indeed his son; the conviction was upon +him. He conjured up the lad's face, and a cry of discovery +escaped him. How blind he had been not to have seen before the +likeness of Alice - his poor, butchered girl-wife of eighteen +years ago. How dull never before to have realized that that +likeness it was had drawn him to the boy. + +He was calm by now, and in his calm he sought to analyse his +thoughts, and he was shocked to find that they were not joyous. +He yearned - as he had yearned that night in Worcester - for +the lad's affection, and yet, for all his yearning, he realized +that with the conviction that Kenneth was his offspring came a +dull sense of disappointment. He was not such a son as the +rakehelly knight would have had him. Swiftly he put the +thought from him. The craven hands that had reared the lad had +warped his nature; he would guide it henceforth; he would +straighten it out into a nobler shape. + +Then he smiled bitterly to himself. What manner of man was he +to train a youth to loftiness and honour? - he, a debauched +ruler with a nickname for which, had he any sense of shame, he +would have blushed! Again he remembered the lad's disposition +towards himself; but these, he thought, he hoped, he knew that +he would now be able to overcome. + +He closed the window, and turned to face his companion. He was +himself again, and calm, for all that his face was haggard +beyond its wont. + +"Hogan, where is the boy?" + +"I have detained him in the inn. Will you see him now?" + +"At once, Hogan. I am convinced." + +The Irishman crossed the chamber, and opening the door he +called an order to the trooper waiting in the passage. + +Some minutes they waited, standing, with no word uttered +between them. At last steps sounded in the corridor, and a +moment later Kenneth was rudely thrust into the room. Hogan +signed to the trooper, who closed the door and withdrew. + +As Kenneth entered, Crispin advanced a step and paused, his +eyes devouring the lad and receiving in exchange a glance that +was full of malevolence. + +"I might have known, sir, that you were not far away," he +exclaimed bitterly, forgetting for the moment how he had left +Crispin behind him on the previous night. "I might have +guessed that my detention was your work." + +"Why so?" asked Crispin quietly, his eyes ever scanning the +lad's face with a pathetic look. + +"Because it is your way, I know not why, to work my ruin in all +things. Not satisfied with involving me in that business at +Castle Marleigh, you must needs cross my path again when I am +about to make amends, and so blight my last chance. My God, +sir, am I never to be rid of you? What harm have I done you?" + +A spasm of pain, like a ripple over water, crossed the knight's +swart face. + +"If you but consider, Kenneth," he said, speaking very quietly, +"you must see the injustice of your words. Since when has +Crispin Galliard served the Parliament, that Roundhead troopers +should do his bidding as you suggest? And touching that +business at Sheringham you are over-hard with me. It was a +compact you made, and but for which, you forget that you had +been carrion these three weeks." + +"Would to Heaven that I had been," the boy burst out, "sooner +than pay such a price for keeping my life!" + +"As for my presence here," Crispin continued, leaving the +outburst unheeded, "it has naught to do with your detention." + +"You lie!" + +Hogan caught his breath with a sharp hiss, and a dead silence +followed. That silence struck terror into Kenneth's heart. He +encountered Crispin's eye bent upon him with a look he could +not fathom, and much would he now have given to recall the two +words that had burst from him in the heat of his rage. He +bethought him of the unscrupulous, deadly character attributed +to the man to whom he had addressed them, and in his coward's +fancy he saw already payment demanded. Already he pictured +himself lying cold and stark in the streets of Waltham with a +sword-wound through his middle. His face went grey and his +lips trembled. + +Then Galliard spoke at last, and the mildness of his tone +filled Kenneth with a new dread. In his experience of +Crispin's ways he had come to look upon mildness as the man's +most dangerous phase: + +"You are mistaken," Crispin said. "I spoke the truth; it is a +habit of mine - haply the only gentlemanly habit left me. I +repeat, I have had naught to do with your detention. I arrived +here half an hour ago, as the captain will inform you, and I +was conducted hither by force, having been seized by his men, +even as you were seized. No," he added, with a sigh, "it was +not my hand that detained you; it was the hand of Fate." Then +suddenly changing his voice to a more vehement key, "Know you +on what errand you rode to London?" he demanded. "To betray +your father into the hands of his enemies; to deliver him up to +the hangman." + +Kenneth's eyes grew wide; his mouth fell open, and a frown of +perplexity drew his brows together. Dully, uncomprehendingly +he met Sir Crispin's sad gaze. + +"My father," he gasped at last. "'Sdeath, sir, what is it you +mean? My father has been dead these ten years. I scarce +remember him." + +Crispin's lips moved, but no word did he utter. Then with a +sudden gesture of despair he turned to Hogan, who stood apart, +a silent witness. + +"My God, Hogan," he cried. "How shall I tell him?" + +In answer to the appeal, the Irishman turned to Kenneth. + +"You have been in error, sir, touching your parentage," quoth +he bluntly. "Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, was not your +father." + +Kenneth looked from one to the other of them. + +"Sirs, is this a jest?" he cried, reddening. Then, remarking +at length the solemnity of their countenances, he stopped +short. Crispin came close up to him, and placed a hand upon +his shoulder. The boy shrank visibly beneath the touch, and +again an expression of pain crossed the poor ruffler's face. + +"Do you recall, Kenneth," he said slowly, almost sorrowfully, +"the story that I told you that night in Worcester, when we sat +waiting for dawn and the hangman?" + +The lad nodded vacantly. + +"Do you remember the details? Do you remember I told you how, +when I swooned beneath the stroke of Joseph Ashburn's sword, +the last words I heard were those in which he bade his brother +slit the throat of the babe in the cradle? You were, yourself, +present yesternight at Castle Marleigh when Joseph Ashburn told +me Gregory had been mercifully inclined; that my child had not +died; that if I gave him his life he would restore him to me. +You remember?" + +Again Kenneth nodded. A vague, numbing fear was creeping round +his heart, and his blood seemed chilled by it and stagnant. +With fascinated eyes he watched the knight's face - drawn and +haggard. + +"It was a trap that Joseph Ashburn set for me. Yet he did not +altogether lie. The child Gregory had indeed spared, and it +seems from what I have learned within the last half-hour that +he had entrusted his rearing to Alan Stewart, of Bailienochy, +seeking afterwards - I take it - to wed him to his daughter, so +that should the King come to his own again, they should have +the protection of a Marleigh who had served his King." + +"You mean," the lad almost whispered, and his accents were +unmistakably of horror, "you mean that I am your - Oh, God, +I'll not believe it!" he cried out, with such sudden loathing +and passion that Crispin recoiled as though he had been struck. +A dull flush crept into his cheeks to fade upon the instant and +give place to a pallor, if possible, intenser than before. + +"I'll not believe it! I'll not believe it!" the boy repeated, +as if seeking by that reiteration to shut out a conviction by +which he was beset. "I'll not believe it!" he cried again; and +now his voice had lost its passionate vehemence, and was sunk +almost to a moan. + +"I found it hard to believe myself," was Crispin's answer, and +his voice was not free from bitterness. "But I have a proof +here that seems incontestable, even had I not the proof of your +face to which I have been blind these months. Blind with the +eyes of my body, at least. The eyes of my soul saw and +recognized you when first they fell on you in Perth. The voice +of the blood ordered me then to your side, and though I heard +its call, I understood not what it meant. Read this letter, +boy - the letter that you were to have carried to Colonel +Pride." + +With his eyes still fixed in a gaze of stupefaction upon +Galliard's face, Kenneth took the paper. Then slowly, +involuntarily almost it seemed, he dropped his glance to it, +and read. He was long in reading, as though the writing +presented difficulties, and his two companions watched him the +while, and waited. At last he turned the paper over, and +examined seal and superscription as if suspicious that he held +a forgery. + +But in some subtle, mysterious way - that voice of the blood +perchance to which Crispin had alluded - he felt conviction +stealing down upon his soul. Mechanically he moved across to +the table, and sat down. Without a word, and still holding the +crumpled letter in his clenched hand, he set his elbows on the +table, and, pressing his temples to his palms, he sat there +dumb. Within him a very volcano raged, and its fires were fed +with loathing - loathing for this man whom he had ever hated, +yet never as he hated him now, knowing him to be his father. +It seemed as if to all the wrongs which Crispin had done him +during the months of their acquaintanceship he had now added a +fresh and culminating wrong by discovering this parentage. + +He sat and thought, and his soul grew sick. He probed for some +flaw, sought for some mistake that might have been made. And +yet the more he thought, the more he dwelt upon his youth in +Scotland, the more convinced was he that Crispin had told him +the truth. Pre-eminent argument of conviction to him was the +desire of the Ashburns that he should marry Cynthia. Oft he +had marvelled that they, wealthy, and even powerful, selfish +and ambitious, should have selected him, the scion of an +obscure and impoverished Scottish house, as a bridegroom for +their daughter. The news now before him made their motives +clear; indeed, no other motive could exist, no other +explanation could there be. He was the heir of Castle +Marleigh, and the usurpers sought to provide against the day +when another revolution might oust them and restore the +rightful owners. + +Some elation his shallow nature felt at realizing this, but +that elation was short-lived, and dashed by the thought that +this ruler, this debauchee, this drunken, swearing, roaring +tavern knight was his father; dashed by the knowledge that +meanwhile the Parliament was master, and that whilst matters +stood so, the Ashburns could defy - could even destroy him, did +they learn how much he knew; dashed by the memory that Cynthia, +whom in his selfish way - out of his love for himself - he +loved, vas lost to him for all time. + +And here, swinging in a circle, his thoughts reverted to the +cause of this - Crispin Galliard, the man who had betrayed him +into yesternight's foul business and destroyed his every chance +of happiness; the man whom he hated, and whom, had he possessed +the courage as he was possessed by the desire, he had risen up +and slain; the man that now announced himself his father. + +And thinking thus, he sat on in silent, resentful vexation. He +started to feel a hand upon his shoulder, and to hear the voice +of Galliard evidently addressing him, yet using a name that was +new to him. + +"Jocelyn, my boy," the voice trembled. "You have thought, and +you have realized - is it not so? I too thought, and thought +brought me conviction that what that paper tells is true." + +Vaguely then the boy remembered that Jocelyn was the name the +letter gave him. He rose abruptly, and brushed the caressing +hand from his shoulder. His voice was hard - possibly the +knowledge that he had gained told him that he had nothing to +fear from this man, and in that assurance his craven soul grew +brave and bold and arrogant. + +"I have realized naught beyond the fact that I owe you nothing +but unhappiness and ruin. By a trick, by a low fraud, you +enlisted me into a service that has proved my undoing. Once a +cheat always a cheat. What credit in the face of that can I +give this paper?" he cried, talking wildly. "To me it is +incredible, nor do I wish to credit it, for though it were +true, what then? What then?" he repeated, raising his voice +into accents of defiance. + +Grief and amazement were blended in Galliard's glance, and +also, maybe, some reproach. + +Hogan, standing squarely upon the hearth, was beset by the +desire to kick Master Kenneth, or Master Jocelyn, into the +street. His lip curled into a sneer of ineffable contempt, for +his shrewd eyes read to the bottom of the lad's mean soul and +saw there clearly writ the confidence that emboldened him to +voice that insult to the man he must know for his father. +Standing there, he compared the two, marvelling deeply how they +came to be father and son. A likeness he saw now between them, +yet a likeness that seemed but to mark the difference. The one +harsh, resolute, and manly, for all his reckless living and his +misfortunes; the other mild, effeminate, hypocritical and +shifty. He read it not on their countenances alone, but in +every line of their figures as they stood, and in his heart he +cursed himself for having been the instrument to disclose the +relationship in which they stood. + +The youth's insolent question was followed by a spell of +silence. Crispin could not believe that he had heard aright. +At last he stretched out his hands in a gesture of supplication +- he who throughout his thirty-eight years of life, and despite +the misfortunes that had been his, had never yet stooped to +plead from any man. + +"Jocelyn," he cried, and the pain in his voice must have melted +a heart of steel, "you are hard. Have you forgotten the story +of my miserable life, the story that I told you in Worcester? +Can you not understand how suffering may destroy all that is +lofty in a man; how the forgetfulness of the winecup may come +to be his only consolation; the hope of vengeance his only +motive for living on, withholding him from self-destruction? +Can you not picture such a life, and can you not pity and +forgive much of the wreck that it may make of a man once +virtuous and honourable?" + +Pleadingly he looked into the lad's face. It remained cold and +unmoved. + +"I understand," he continued brokenly, "that I am not such a +man as any lad might welcome for a father. But you who know +what my life has been, Jocelyn, you can surely find it in your +heart to pity. I had naught that was good or wholesome to live +for, Jocelyn; naught to curb the evil moods that sent me along +evil ways to seek forgetfulness and reparation. + +"But from to-night, Jocelyn, my life in you must find a new +interest, a new motive. I will abandon my old ways. For your +sake, Jocelyn, I will seek again to become what I was, and you +shall have no cause to blush for your father." + +Still the lad stood silent. + +"Jocelyn! My God, do I talk in vain?" cried the wretched man. +"Have you no heart, no pity, boy?" + +At last the youth spoke. He was not moved. The agony of this +strong man, the broken pleading of one whom he had ever known +arrogant and strong had no power to touch his mean, selfish +mind, consumed as it was by the contemplation of his undoing - +magnified a hundredfold - which this man had wrought. + +"You have ruined my life," was all he said. + +"I will rebuild it, Jocelyn," cried Galliard eagerly. "I have +friends in France - friends high in power who lack neither the +means nor the will to aid me. You are a soldier, Jocelyn." + +"As much a soldier as I'm a saint," sneered Hogan to himself. + +"Together we will find service in the armies of Louis," Crispin +pursued. "I promise it. Service wherein you shall gain honour +and renown. There we will abide until this England shakes +herself out of her rebellious nightmare. Then, when the King +shall come to his own, Castle Marleigh will be ours again. +Trust in me, Jocelyn." Again his arms went out appealingly: +"Jocelyn my son!" + +But the boy made no move to take the outstretched hands, gave +no sign of relenting. His mind nurtured its resentment - +cherished it indeed. + +"And Cynthia?" he asked coldly. + +Crispin's hands fell to his sides; they grew clenched, and his +eyes lighted of a sudden. + +"Forgive me, Jocelyn. I had forgotten! I understand you now. +Yes, I dealt sorely with you there, and you are right to be +resentful. What, after all, am I to you what can I be to you +compared with her whose image fills your soul? What is aught +in the world to a man, compared with the woman on whom his +heart is set? Do I not know it? Have I not suffered for it? + +"But mark me, Jocelyn" - and he straightened himself suddenly - +"even in this, that which I have done I will undo. As I have +robbed you of your mistress, so will I win her back for you. I +swear it. And when that is done, when thus every harm I have +caused you is repaired, then, Jocelyn, perhaps you will come to +look with less repugnance upon your father, and to feel less +resentment towards him." + +"You promise much, sir," quoth the boy, with an illrepressed +sneer. "How will you accomplish it?" + +Hogan grunted audibly. Crispin drew himself up, erect, lithe +and supple - a figure to inspire confidence in the most +despairing. He placed a hand, nervous, and strong as steel, +upon the boy's shoulder, and the clutch of his fingers made +Jocelyn wince. + +"Low though your father be fallen," said he sternly, "he has +never yet broken his word. I have pledged you mine, and +to-morrow I shall set out to perform what I have promised. I +shall see you ere I start. You will sleep here, will you not?" + +Jocelyn shrugged his shoulders. + +"It signifies little where I lie." + +Crispin smiled sadly, and sighed. + +"You have no faith in me yet. But I shall earn it, or" - and +his voice fell suddenly - "or rid you of a loathsome parent. +Hogan, can you find him quarters?" + +Hogan replied that there was the room he had already been +confined in, and that he could lie in it. And deeming that +there was nothing to be gained by waiting, he thereupon led the +youth from the room and down the passage. At the foot of the +stairs the Irishman paused in the act of descending, and raised +the taper aloft so that its light might fall full upon the face +of his companion. + +"Were I your father," said he grimly, "I would kick you from +one end of Waltham to the other by way of teaching you filial +piety! And were you not his son, I would this night read you a +lesson you'd never live to practise. I would set you to sleep +a last long sleep in the kennels of Waltham streets. But since +you are - marvellous though it seem - his offspring, and since +I love him and may not therefore hurt you, I must rest content +with telling you that you are the vilest thing that breathes. +You despise him for a roysterer, for a man of loose ways. Let +me, who have seen something of men, and who read you to-night +to the very dregs of your contemptible soul, tell you that +compared with you he is a very god. Come, you white-livered +cur!" he ended abruptly. "I will light you to your chamber." + +When presently Hogan returned to Crispin he found the Tavern +Knight - that man of iron in whom none had ever seen a trace of +fear or weakness seated with his arms before him on the table, +and his face buried in them, sobbing like a poor, weak woman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +SIR CRISPIN'S UNDERTAKING + + +Through the long October night Crispin and Hogan sat on, and +neither sought his bed. Crispin's quick wits his burst of +grief once over - had been swift to fasten on a plan to +accomplish that which he had undertaken. + +One difficulty confronted him, and until he had mentioned it to +Hogan seemed unsurmountable he had need of a ship. But in this +the Irishman could assist him. He knew of a vessel then at +Greenwich, whose master was in his debt, which should suit the +purpose. Money, however, would be needed. But when Crispin +announced that he was master of some two hundred Caroluses, +Hogan, with a wave of the hand, declared the matter settled. +Less than half that sum would hire the man he knew of. That +determined, Crispin unfolded his project to Hogan, who laughed +at the simplicity of it, for all that inwardly he cursed the +risk Sir Crispin must run for the sake of one so unworthy. + +"If the maid loves him, the thing is as good as done." + +"The maid does not love him; leastways, I fear not." + +Hogan was not surprised. + +"Why, then it will be difficult, well-nigh impossible." And +the Irishman became grave. + +But Crispin laughed unpleasantly. Years and misfortune had +made him cynical. + +"What is the love of a maid?" quoth he derisively. "A caprice, +a fancy, a thing that may be guided, overcome or compelled as +the occasion shall demand. Opportunity is love's parent, +Hogan, and given that, any maid may love any man. Cynthia +shall love my son." + +"But if she prove rebellious? If she say nay to your proposals +? There are such women." + +"How then? Am I not the stronger? In such a case it shall be +mine to compel her, and as I find her, so shall I carry her +away. It will be none so poor a vengeance on the Ashburns +after all." His brow grew clouded. "But not what I had +dreamed of; what I should have taken had he not cheated me. To +forgo it now - after all these years of waiting - is another +sacrifice I make to Jocelyn. To serve him in this matter I +must proceed cautiously. Cynthia may fret and fume and stamp, +but willy-nilly I shall carry her away. Once she is in France, +friendless, alone, I make no doubt that she will see the +convenience of loving Jocelyn - leastways of wedding him and +thus shall I have more than repaired the injuries I have done +him. + +The Irishman's broad face was very grave; his reckless merry +eye fixed Galliard with a look of sorrow, and this grey-haired, +sinning soldier of fortune, who had never known a conscience, +muttered softly: + +"It is not a nice thing you contemplate, Cris." + +Despite himself, Galliard winced, and his glance fell before +Hogan's. For a moment he saw the business in its true light, +and he wavered in his purpose. Then, with a short bark of +laughter: + +"Gadso, you are sentimental, Harry!" said he, to add, more +gravely: "There is my son, and in this lies the only way to his +heart.". + +Hogan stretched a hand across the table, and set it upon +Crispin's arm. + +"Is he worth such a stain upon your honour, Crispin?" + +There was a pause. + +"Is it not late in the day, Hogan, for you and me to prate of +honour?" asked Crispin bitterly, yet with averted gaze. "God +knows my honour is as like honour as a beggar's rags are like +unto a cloak of ermine. What signifies another splash, another +rent in that which is tattered beyond all semblance of its +original condition?" + +"I asked you," the Irishman persisted, "whether your son was +worth the sacrifice that the vile deed you contemplate +entails?" + +Crispin shook his arm from the other's grip, and rose abruptly. +He crossed to the window, and drew back the curtain. + +"Day is breaking," said he gruffly. Then turning, and facing +Hogan across the room, "I have pledged my word to Jocelyn," he +said. "The way I have chosen is the only one, and I shall +follow it. But if your conscience cries out against it, Hogan, +I give you back your promise of assistance, and I shall shift +alone. I have done so all my life." + +Hogan shrugged his massive shoulders, and reached out for the +bottle of strong waters. + +"If you are resolved, there is an end to it. My conscience +shall not trouble me, and upon what aid I have promised and +what more I can give, you may depend. I drink to the success +of your undertaking." + +Thereafter they discussed the matter of the vessel that Crispin +would require, and it was arranged between them that Hogan +should send a message to the skipper, bidding him come to +Harwich, and there await and place himself at the command of +Sir Crispin Galliard. For fifty pounds Hogan thought that he +would undertake to land Sir Crispin in France. The messenger +might be dispatched forthwith, and the Lady Jane should be at +Harwich, two days later. + +By the time they had determined upon this, the inmates of the +hostelry were astir, and from the innyard came to them the +noise of bustle and preparation for the day. + +Presently they left the chamber where they had sat so long, and +at the yard pump the Tavern Knight performed a rude morning +toilet. Thereafter, on a simple fare of herrings and brown +ale, they broke their fast; and ere that meal was done, +Kenneth, pale and worn, with dark circles round his eyes, +entered the common room, and sat moodily apart. But when later +Hogan went to see to the dispatching of his messenger, Crispin +rose and approached the youth. + +Kenneth watched him furtively, without pausing in his meal. He +had spent a very miserable night pondering over the future, +which looked gloomy enough, and debating whether - forgetting +and ignoring what had passed - he should return to the genteel +poverty of his Scottish home, or accept the proffered service +of this man who announced himself - and whom he now believed - +to be his father. He had thought, but he was far from having +chosen between Scotland and France, when Crispin now greeted +him, not without constraint. + +"Jocelyn," he said, speaking slowly, almost humbly. "In an +hour's time I shall set out to return to Marleigh to fulfil my +last night's promise to you. How I shall accomplish it I +scarce know as yet; but accomplish it I shall. I have arranged +to have a vessel awaiting me, and within three days - or four +at the most - I look to cross to France, bearing your bride +with me." + +He paused for some reply, but none came. The boy sat on with +an impassive face, his eyes glued to the table, but his mind +busy enough upon that which his father was pouring into his +ear. Presently Crispin continued: + +"You cannot refuse to do as I suggest, Jocelyn. I shall make +you the fullest amends for the harm that I have done you, if +you but obey my directions. You must quit this place as soon +as possible, and proceed on your way to London. There you must +find a boat to carry you to France, and you will await me at +the Auberge du Soleil at Calais. You are agreed, Jocelyn?" + +There was a slight pause, and Jocelyn took his resolution. Yet +there was still a sullen look in the eyes he lifted to his +father's face. + +"I have little choice, sir," he made answer, "and so I must +agree. If you accomplish what you promise, I own that you will +have made amends, and I shall crave your pardon for my +yesternight's want of faith. I shall await you at Calais." + +Crispin sighed, and for a second his face hardened. It was not +the answer to which he held himself entitled, and for a moment +it rose to the lips of this man of fierce and sudden moods to +draw back and let the son, whom at the moment he began to +detest, go his own way, which assuredly would lead him to +perdition. But a second's thought sufficed to quell that mood +of his. + +"I shall not fail you," he said coldly. "Have you money for +the journey?" + +The boy flushed as he remembered that little was left of what +Joseph Ashburn had given him. Crispin saw the flush, and +reading aright its meaning, he drew from his pocket a purse +that he had been fingering, and placed it quietly upon the +table. "There are fifty Caroluses in that bag. That should +suffice to carry you to France. Fare you well until we meet at +Calais." + +And without giving the boy time to utter thanks that might be +unwilling, he quickly left the room. + +Within the hour he was in the saddle, and his horse's head was +turned northwards once more. + +He rode through Newport some three hours later without drawing +rein. By the door of the Raven Inn stood a travelling +carriage, upon which he did not so much as bestow a look. + +By the merest thread hangs at times the whole of a man's future +life, the destinies even of men as yet unborn. So much may +depend indeed upon a glance, that had not Crispin kept his eyes +that morning upon the grey road before him, had he chanced to +look sideways as he passed the Raven Inn at Newport, and seen +the Ashburn arms displayed upon the panels of that coach, he +would of a certainty have paused. And had he done so, his +whole destiny would assuredly have shaped a different course +from that which he was unconsciously steering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +GREGORY'S ATTRITION + + +Joseph's journey to London was occasioned by his very natural +anxiety to assure himself that Crispin was caught in the toils +of the net he had so cunningly baited for him, and that at +Castle Marleigh he would trouble them no more. To this end he +quitted Sheringham on the day after Crispin's departure. + +Not a little perplexed was Cynthia at the topsy-turvydom in +which that morning she had found her father's house. Kenneth +was gone; he had left in the dead of night, and seemingly in +haste and suddenness, since on the previous evening there had +been no talk of his departing. Her father was abed with a +wound that made him feverish. Their grooms were all sick, and +wandered in a dazed and witless fashion about the castle, their +faces deadly pale and their eyes lustreless. In the hall she +had found a chaotic disorder upon descending, and one of the +panels of the wainscot she saw was freshly cracked. + +Slowly the idea forced itself upon her mind that there had been +brawling the night before, yet was she far from surmising the +motives that could have led to it. The conclusion she came to +in the end was that the men had drunk deep, that in their cups +they had waxed quarrelsome, and that swords had been drawn. + +Of Joseph then she sought enlightenment, and Joseph lied right +handsomely, like the ready-witted knave he was. A wondrously +plausible story had he for her ear; a story that played +cunningly upon her knowledge of the compact that existed +between Kenneth and Sir Crispin. + +"You may not know,' said he - full well aware that she did know +- "that when Galliard saved Kenneth's life at Worcester he +exacted from the lad the promise that in return Kenneth should +aid him in some vengeful business he had on hand." + +Cynthia nodded that she understood or that she knew, and glibly +Joseph pursued: + +"Last night, when on the point of departing, Crispin, who had +drunk over-freely, as is his custom, reminded Kenneth of his +plighted word, and demanded of the boy that he should upon the +instant go forth with him. Kenneth replied that the hour was +overlate to be setting out upon a journey, and he requested +Galliard to wait until to-day, when he would be ready to fulfil +what he had promised. But Crispin retorted that Kenneth was +bound by his oath to go with him when he should require it, and +again he bade the boy make ready at once. Words ensued between +them, the boy insisting upon waiting until to-day, and Crispin +insisting upon his getting his boots and cloak and coming with +him there and then. More heated grew the argument, till in the +end Galliard, being put out of temper, snatched at his sword, +and would assuredly have spitted the boy had not your father +interposed, thereby getting himself wounded. Thereafter, in +his drunken lust Sir Crispin went the length of wantonly +cracking that panel with his sword by way of showing Kenneth +what he had to expect unless he obeyed him. At that I +intervened, and using my influence, I prevailed upon Kenneth to +go with Galliard as he demanded. To this, for all his +reluctance, Kenneth ended by consenting, and so they are gone." + +By that most glib and specious explanation Cynthia was +convinced. True, she added a question touching the amazing +condition of the grooms, in reply to which Joseph afforded her +a part of the truth. + +"Sir Crispin sent them some wine, and they drank to his +departure so heartily that they are not rightly sober yet." + +Satisfied with this explanation Cynthia repaired to her father. + +Now Gregory had not agreed with Joseph what narrative they were +to offer Cynthia, for it had never crossed his dull mind that +the disorder of the hall and the absence of Kenneth might cause +her astonishment. And so when she touched upon the matter of +his wound, like the blundering fool he was, he must needs let +his tongue wag upon a tale which, if no less imaginative than +Joseph's, was vastly its inferior in plausibility and had yet +the quality of differing from it totally in substance. + +"Plague on that dog, your lover, Cynthia," he growled from the +mountain of pillows that propped him. "If he should come to +wed my daughter after pinning me to the wainscot of my own hall +may I be for ever damned." + +"How?" quoth she. "Do you say that Kenneth did it?" + +"Aye, did he. He ran at me ere I could draw, like the coward +he is, sink him, and had me through the shoulder in the +twinkling of an eye." + +Here was something beyond her understanding. What were they +concealing from her? She set her wits to the discovery and +plied her father with another question. + +"How came you to quarrel?" + +"How? 'Twas - 'twas concerning you, child," replied Gregory at +random, and unable to think of a likelier motive. + +"How, concerning me?" + +"Leave me, Cynthia," he groaned in despair. "Go, child. I am +grievously wounded. I have the fever, girl. Go; let me +sleep." + +"But tell me, father, what passed." + +"Unnatural child," whined Gregory feebly, "will you plague a +sick man with questions? Would you keep him from the sleep +that may mean recovery to him?" + +"Father, dear," she murmured softly, "if I thought it was as +you say, I would leave you. But you know that you are but +attempting to conceal something from me something that I should +know, that I must know. Bethink you that it is of my lover +that you have spoken." + +By a stupendous effort Gregory shaped a story that to him +seemed likely. + +"Well, then, since know you must," he answered, "this is what +befell: we had all drunk over-deep to our shame do I confess it +- and growing tenderhearted for you, and bethinking me of your +professed distaste to Kenneth's suit, I told him that for all +the results that were likely to attend his sojourn at Castle +Marleigh, he might as well bear Crispin company in his +departure. He flared up at that, and demanded of me that I +should read him my riddle. Faith, I did by telling him that we +were like to have snow on midsummer's day ere he 'became your +husband. That speech of mine so angered him, being as he was +all addled with wine and ripe for any madness, that he sprang +up and drew on me there and then. The others sought to get +between us, but he was over-quick, and before I could do more +than rise from the table his sword was through my shoulder and +into the wainscot at my back. After that it was clear he could +not remain here, and I demanded that he should leave upon the +instant. Himself he was nothing loath, for he realized his +folly, and he misliked the gleam of Joseph's eye - which can be +wondrous wicked upon occasion. Indeed, but for my intercession +Joseph had laid him stark." + +That both her uncle and her father had lied to her - the one +cunningly, the other stupidly - she had never a doubt, and +vaguely uneasy was Cynthia to learn the truth. Later that day +the castle was busy with the bustle of Joseph's departure, and +this again was a matter that puzzled her. + +"Whither do you journey, uncle?" she asked of him as he was in +the act of stepping out to enter the waiting carriage. + +"To London, sweet cousin," was his brisk reply. "I am, it +seems, becoming a very vagrant in my old age. Have you +commands for me?" + +"What is it you look to do in London?" + +"There, child, let that be for the present. I will tell you +perhaps when I return. The door, Stephen." + +She watched his departure with uneasy eyes and uneasy heart. A +fear pervaded her that in all that had befallen, in all that +was befalling still - what ever it might be - some evil was at +work, and an evil that had Crispin for its scope. She had +neither reason nor evidence from which to draw this inference. +It was no more than the instinct whose voice cries out to us at +times a presage of ill, and oftentimes compels our attention in +a degree far higher than any evidence could command. + +The fear that was in her urged her to seek what information she +could on every hand, but without success. From none could she +cull the merest scrap of evidence to assist her. + +But on the morrow she had information as prodigal as it was +unlooked-for, and from the unlikeliest of sources - her father +himself. Chafing at his inaction and lured into indiscretions +by the subsiding of the pain of his wound, Gregory quitted his +bed and came below that night to sup with his daughter. As his +wont had been for years, he drank freely. That done, alive to +the voice of his conscience, and seeking to drown its loud- +tongued cry, he drank more freely still, so that in the end his +henchman, Stephen, was forced to carry him to bed. + +This Stephen had grown grey in the service of the Ashburns, and +amongst much valuable knowledge that he had amassed, was a +skill in dealing with wounds and a wide understanding of the +ways to go about healing them. This knowledge made him realize +how unwise at such a season was Gregory's debauch, and +sorrowfully did he wag his head over his master's condition of +stupor. + +Stephen had grave fears concerning him, and these fears were +realized when upon the morrow Gregory awoke on fire with the +fever. They summoned a leech from Sheringham, and this cunning +knave, with a view to adding importance to the cure he was come +to effect, and which in reality presented no alarming +difficulty, shook his head with ominous gravity, and whilst +promising to do "all that his skill permitted, he spoke of a +clergyman to help Gregory make his peace with God. For the +leech had no cause to suspect that the whole of the Sacred +College might have found the task beyond its powers. + +A wild fear took Gregory in its grip. How could he die with +such a load as that which he now carried upon his soul? And +the leech, seeing how the matter preyed upon his patient's +mind, made shift - but too late - to tranquillize him with +assurances that he was not really like to die, and that he had +but mentioned a parson so that Gregory in any case should be +prepared. + +The storm once raised, however, was not so easily to be +allayed, and the conviction remained with Gregory that his +sands were well-nigh run, and that the end could be but a +matter of days in coming. + +Realizing as he did how richly he had earned damnation, a +frantic terror was upon him, and all that day he tossed and +turned, now blaspheming, now praying, now weeping. His life +had been indeed one protracted course of wrong-doing, and many +had suffered by Gregory's evil ways - many a man and many a +woman. But as the stars pale and fade when the sun mounts the +sky, so too were the lesser wrongs that marked his earthly +pilgrimage of sin rendered pale or blotted into insignificance +by the greater wrong he had done Ronald Marleigh - a wrong +which was not ended yet, but whose completion Joseph was even +then working to effect. If only he could save Crispin even now +in the eleventh hour; if by some means he could warn him not to +repair to the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street. His +disordered mind took no account of the fact that in the time +that was sped since Galliard's departure, the knight should +already have reached London. + +And so it came about that, consumed at once by the desire to +make confession to whomsoever it might be, and the wish to +attempt yet to avert the crowning evil of whose planning he was +partly guilty inasmuch as he had tacitly consented to Joseph's +schemes, Gregory called for his daughter. She came readily +enough, hoping for exactly that which was about to take place, +yet fearing sorely that her hopes would suffer frustration, and +that she would learn nothing from her father. + +"Cynthia," he cried, in mingled dread and sorrow, "Cynthia, my +child, I am about to die." + +She knew both from Stephen and from the leech that this was far +from being his condition. Nevertheless her filial piety was at +that moment a touching sight. She smoothed his pillows with a +gentle grace that was in itself a soothing caress, even as her +soft sympathetic voice was a caress. She took his hand, and +spoke to him endearingly, seeking to relieve the sombre mood +whose prey he was become, assuring him that the leech had told +her his danger was none so imminent, and that with quiet and a +little care he would be up and about again ere many days were +sped. But Gregory rejected hopelessly all efforts at +consolation. + +"I am on my death-bed, Cynthia," he insisted, "and when I am +gone I know not whom there may be to cheer and comfort your lot +in life. Your lover is away on an errand of Joseph's, and it +may well betide that he will never again cross the threshold of +Castle Marleigh. Unnatural though I may seem, sweetheart, my +dying wish is that this may be so." + +She looked up in some surprise. + +"Father, if that be all that grieves you, I can reassure you. +I do not love Kenneth." + +"You apprehend me amiss," said he tartly. "Do you recall the +story of Sir Crispin Galliard's life that you had from Kenneth +on the night of Joseph's return?" His voice shook as he put +the question. + +"Why, yes. I am not like to forget it, and nightly do I pray," +she went on, her tongue outrunning discretion and betraying her +feelings for Galliard, "that God may punish those murderers who +wrecked his existence." + +"Hush, girl," he whispered in a quavering voice. "You know not +what you say." + +"Indeed I do; and as there is a just God my prayer shall be +answered." + +"Cynthia," he wailed. His eyes were wild, and the hand that +rested in hers trembled violently. "Do you know that it is +against your father and your father's brother that you invoke +God's vengeance?" + +She had been kneeling at his bedside; but now, when he +pronounced those words, she rose slowly and stood silent for a +spell, her eyes seeking his with an awful look that he dared +not meet. At last: + +"Oh, you rave," she protested, "it is the fever." + +"Nay, child, my mind is clear, and what I have said is true." + +"True?" she echoed, no louder than a whisper, and her eyes grew +round with horror. "True that you and my uncle are the +butchers who slew their cousin, this man's wife, and sought to +murder him as well - leaving him for dead? True that you are +the thieves who claiming kinship by virtue of that very +marriage have usurped his estates and this his castle during +all these years, whilst he himself went an outcast, homeless +and destitute? Is that what you ask me to believe?" + +"Even so," he assented, with a feeble sob. + +Her face was pale - white to the very lips, and her blue eyes +smouldered behind the shelter of her drooping lids. She put +her hand to her breast, then to her brow, pushing back the +brown hair by a mechanical gesture that was pathetic in the +tale of pain it told. For support she was leaning now against +the wall by the head of his couch. In silence she stood so +while you might count to twenty; then with a sudden vehemence +revealing the passion of anger and grief that swayed her: + +"Why," she cried, "why in God's name do you tell me this?" + +"Why?" His utterance was thick, and his eyes, that were grown +dull as a snake's, stared straight before him, daring not to +meet his daughter's glance. "I tell it you," he said, "because +I am a dying man." And he hoped that the consideration of that +momentous fact might melt her, and might by pity win her back +to him - that she was lost to him he realized. + +"I tell you because I am a dying man," he repeated. "I tell it +you because in such an hour I fain would make confession and +repent, that God may have mercy upon my soul. I tell it you, +too, because the tragedy begun eighteen years ago is not yet +played out, and it may yet be mine to avert the end we had +prepared - Joseph and I. Thus perhaps a merciful God will +place it in my power to make some reparation. Listen, child. +It was against us, as you will have guessed, that Galliard +enlisted Kenneth's services, and here on the night of Joseph's +return he called upon the boy to fulfil him what he had sworn. +The lad had no choice but to obey; indeed, I forced him to it +by attacking him and compelling him to draw, which is how I +came by this wound. + +"Crispin had of a certainty killed Joseph but that your uncle +bethought him of telling him that his son lived." + +"He saved his life by a lie! That was worthy of him," said +Cynthia scornfully. + +"Nay, child, he spoke the truth, and when Joseph offered to +restore the boy to him, he had every intention of so doing. +But in the moment of writing the superscription to the letter +Crispin was to bear to those that had reared the child, Joseph +bethought him of a foul scheme for Galliard's final +destruction. And so he has sent him to London instead, to a +house in Thames Street, where dwells one Colonel Pride, who +bears Sir Crispin a heavy grudge, and into whose hands he will +be thus delivered. Can aught be done, Cynthia, to arrest this +- to save Sir Crispin from Joseph's snare?" + +"As well might you seek to restore the breath to a dead man," +she answered, and her voice was so oddly calm, so cold and bare +of expression, that Gregory shuddered to hear it. + +"Do not delude yourself," she added. "Sir Crispin will have +reached London long ere this, and by now Joseph will be well on +his way to see that there is no mistake made, and that the life +you ruined hopelessly years ago is plucked at last from this +unfortunate man. Merciful God! am I truly your daughter?" she +cried. "Is my name indeed Ashburn, and have I been reared upon +the estates that by crime you gained possession of? Estates +that by crime you hold - for they are his; every stone, every +stick that goes to make the place belongs to him, and now he +has gone to his death by your contriving." + +A moan escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. A +moment she stood rocking there - a fair, lissom plant swept by +a gale of ineffable emotion. Then the breath seemed to go all +out of her in one great sigh, and Gregory, who dared not look +her way, heard the swish of her gown, followed by a thud as she +collapsed and lay swooning on the ground. + +So disturbed at that was Gregory's spirit that, forgetting his +wound, his fever, and the death which he had believed +impending, he leapt from his couch, and throwing wide the door, +bellowed lustily for Stephen. In frightened haste came his +henchman to answer the petulant summons, and in obedience to +Gregory's commands he went off again as quickly in quest of +Catherine - Cynthia's woman. + +Between them they bore the unconscious girl to her chamber, +leaving Gregory to curse himself for having been lured into a +confession that it now seemed to him had been unnecessary, +since in his newly found vitality he realized that death was +none so near a thing as that scoundrelly fool of a leech had +led him to believe. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE WOOING OF CYNTHIA + + +Cynthia's swoon was after all but brief. Upon recovering +consciousness her first act was to dismiss her woman. She had +need to be alone - the need of the animal that is wounded to +creep into its lair and hide itself. And so alone with her +sorrow she sat through that long day. + +That her father's condition was grievous she knew to be untrue, +so that concerning him there was not even that pity that she +might have felt had she believed - as he would have had her +believe that he was dying. + +As she pondered the monstrous disclosure he had made, her heart +hardened against him, and even as she had asked him whether +indeed she was his daughter, so now she vowed to herself that +she would be his daughter no longer. She would leave Castle +Marleigh, never again to set eyes upon her father, and she +hoped that during the little time she must yet remain there - a +day, or two at most - she might be spared the ordeal of again +meeting a parent for whom respect was dead, and who inspired +her with just that feeling of horror she must have for any man +who confessed himself a murderer and a thief. + +She resolved to repair to London to a sister of her mother's, +where for her dead mother's sake she would find a haven +extended readily. + +At eventide she came at last from her chamber. + +She had need of air, need of the balm that nature alone can +offer in solitude to poor wounded human souls. + +It was a mild and sunny evening, worthy rather of August than +of October, and aimlessly Mistress Cynthia wandered towards the +cliffs overlooking Sheringham Hithe. There she sate herself in +sad dejection upon the grass, and gazed wistfully seaward, her +mind straying now from the sorry theme that had held dominion +in it, to the memories that very spot evoked. + +It was there, sitting as she sat now, her eyes upon the +shimmering waste of sea, and the gulls circling overhead, that +she had awakened to the knowledge of her love for Crispin. And +so to him strayed now her thoughts, and to the fate her father +had sent him to; and thus back again to her father and the evil +he had wrought. It is matter for conjecture whether her +loathing for Gregory would have been as intense as it was, had +another than Crispin Galliard been his victim. + +Her life seemed at an end as she sat that October evening on +the cliffs. No single interest linked her to existence; +nothing, it seemed, was left her to hope for till the end +should come - and no doubt it would be long in coming, for time +moves slowly when we wait. + +Wistful she sat and thought, and every thought begat a sigh, +and then of a sudden - surely her ears had tricked her, +enslaved by her imagination - a crisp, metallic voice rang out +close behind her. + +"Why are we pensive, Mistress Cynthia?" + +There was a catch in her breath as she turned her head. Her +cheeks took fire, and for a second were aflame. Then they went +deadly white, and it seemed that time and life and the very +world had paused in its relentless progress towards eternity. +For there stood the object of her thoughts and sighs, sudden +and unexpected, as though the earth had cast him up on to her +surface. + +His thin lips were parted in a smile that softened wondrously +the harshness of his face, and his eyes seemed then to her +alight with kindness. A moment's pause there was, during which +she sought her voice, and when she had found it, all that she +could falter was: + +"Sir, how came you here? They told me that you rode to +London." + +"Why, so I did. But on the road I chanced to halt, and having +halted I discovered reason why I should return." + +He had discovered a reason. She asked herself breathlessly +what might that reason be, and finding herself no answer to the +question, she put it next to him. + +He drew near to her before replying. "May I sit with you +awhile, Cynthia?" + +She moved aside to make room for him, as though the broad cliff +had been a narrow ledge, and with the sigh of a weary man +finding a resting-place at last, he sank down beside her. + +There was a tenderness in his voice that set her pulses +stirring wildly. Did she guess aright the reason that had +caused him to break his journey and return? That he had done +so - no matter what the reason - she thanked God from her +inmost heart, as for a miracle that had saved him from the doom +awaiting him in London town. + +"Am I presumptuous, child, to think that haply the meditation +in which I found you rapt was for one, unworthy though he be, +who went hence but some few days since?" + +The ambiguous question drove every thought from her mind, +filling it to overflowing with the supreme good of his +presence, and the frantic hope that she had read aright the +reason of it. + +"Have I conjectured rightly?" he asked, since she kept silence. + +"Mayhap you have," she whispered in return, and then, +marvelling at her boldness, blushed. He glanced sharply at her +from narrowing eyes. It was not the answer he had looked to +hear. + +As a father might have done he took the slender hand that +rested upon the grass beside him, and she, poor child, +mistaking the promptings of that action, suffered it to lie in +his strong grasp. With averted head she gazed upon the sea +below, until a mist of tears rose up to blot it out. The +breeze seemed full of melody and gladness. God was very good +to her, and sent her in her hour of need this great consolation +- a consolation indeed that must have served to efface whatever +sorrow could have beset her. + +"Why then, sweet lady, is my task that I had feared to find all +fraught with difficulty, grown easy indeed." + +And hearing him pause: + +"What task is that, Sir Crispin?" she asked, intent on helping +him. + +He did not reply at once. He found it difficult to devise an +answer. To tell her brutally that he was come to bear her +away, willing or unwilling, on behalf of another, was not easy. +Indeed, it was impossible, and he was glad that inclinations in +her which he had little dreamt of, put the necessity aside. + +"My task, Mistress Cynthia, is to bear you hence. To ask you +to resign this peaceful life, this quiet home in a little +corner of the world, and to go forth to bear life's hardships +with one who, whatever be his shortcomings, has the +all-redeeming virtue of loving you beyond aught else in life." + +He gazed intently at her as he spoke, and her eyes fell before +his glance. He noted the warm, red blood suffusing her cheeks, +her brow, her very neck; and he could have laughed aloud for +joy at finding so simple that which he had feared would prove +so hard. Some pity, too, crept unaccountably into his stern +heart, fathered by the little faith which in his inmost soul he +reposed in Jocelyn. And where, had she resisted him, he would +have grown harsh and violent, her acquiescence struck the +weapons from his hands, and he caught himself well-nigh warning +her against accompanying him. + +"It is much to ask," he said. "But love is selfish, and love +asks much." + +"No, no," she protested softly, "it is not much to ask. Rather +is it much to offer." + +At that he was aghast. Yet he continued: + +"Bethink you, Mistress Cynthia, I have ridden back to +Sheringham to ask you to come with me into France, where my son +awaits us?" + +He forgot for the moment that she was in ignorance of his +relationship to him he looked upon as her lover, whilst she +gave this mention of his son, of whose existence she had +already heard from her; father, little thought at that moment. +The hour was too full of other things that touched her more +nearly. + +"I ask you to abandon the ease and peace of Sheringham for a +life as a soldier's bride that may be rough and precarious for +a while, though, truth to tell, I have some influence at the +Luxembourg, and friends upon whose assistance I can safely +count, to find your husband honourable employment, and set him +on the road to more. And how, guided by so sweet a saint, can +he but mount to fame and honour?" + +She spoke no word, but the hand resting in his entwined his +fingers in an answering pressure. + +"Dare I then ask so much?" cried he. And as if the ambiguity +which had marked his speech were not enough, he must needs, as +he put this question, bend in his eagerness towards her until +her brown tresses touched his swart cheek. Was it then strange +that the eagerness wherewith he urged another's suit should +have been by her interpreted as her heart would have had it? + +She set her hands upon his shoulders, and meeting his eager +gaze with the frank glance of the maid who, out of trust, is +fearless in her surrender: + +"Throughout my life I shall thank God that you have dared it," +she made answer softly. + +A strange reply he deemed it, yet, pondering, he took her +meaning to be that since Jocelyn had lacked the courage to woo +boldly, she was glad that he had sent an ambassador less timid. + +A pause followed, and for a spell they sat silent, he thinking +of how to frame his next words; she happy and content to sit +beside him without speech. + +She marvelled somewhat at the strangeness of his wooing, which +was like unto no wooing her romancer's tales had told her of, +but then she reflected how unlike he was to other men, and +therein she saw the explanation. + +"I wish," he mused, "that matters were easier; that it might be +mine to boldly sue your hand from your father, but it may not +be. Even had events not fallen out as they have done, it had +been difficult; as it is, it is impossible." + +Again his meaning was obscure, and when he spoke of suing for +her hand from her father, he did not think of adding that he +would have sued it for his son. + +"I have no father," she replied. "This very day have I +disowned him." And observing the inquiry with which his eyes +were of a sudden charged: "Would you have me own a thief, a +murderer, my father?" she demanded, with a fierceness of +defiant shame. + +"You know, then?" he ejaculated. + +"Yes," she answered sorrowfully, "I know all there is to be +known. I learnt it all this morning. All day have I pondered +it in my shame to end in the resolve to leave Sheringham. I +had intended going to London to my mother's sister. You are +very opportunely come." She smiled up at him through the tears +that were glistening in her eyes. "You come even as I was +despairing - nay, when already I had despaired." + +Sir Crispin was no longer puzzled by the readiness of her +acquiescence. Here was the explanation of it. Forced by the +honesty of her pure soul to abandon the house of a father she +knew at last for what he was, the refuge Crispin now offered +her was very welcome. She had determined before he came to +quit Castle Marleigh, and timely indeed was his offer of the +means of escape from a life that was grown impossible. A great +pity filled his heart. She was selling herself, he thought; +accepting the proposal which, on his son's behalf, he made, and +from which at any other season, he feared, she would have +shrunk in detestation. + +That pity was reflected on his countenance now, and noting its +solemnity, and misconstruing it, she laughed outright, despite +herself. He did not ask her why she laughed, he did not notice +it; his thoughts were busy already upon another matter. + +When next he spoke, it was to describe to her the hollow of the +road where on the night of his departure from the castle he had +been flung from his horse. She knew the spot, she told him, +and there at dusk upon the following day she would come to him. +Her woman must accompany her, and for all that he feared such +an addition to the party might retard their flight, yet he +could not gainsay her resolution. Her uncle, he learnt from +her, was absent from Sheringham; he had set out four days ago +for London. For her father she would leave a letter, and in +this matter Crispin urged her to observe circumspection, giving +no indication of the direction of her journey. + +In all he said, now that matters were arranged he was calm, +practical, and unloverlike, and for all that she would he had +been less self-possessed, her faith in him caused her, upon +reflection, even to admire this which she conceived to be +restraint. Yet, when at parting he did no more than +courteously bend before her, and kiss her hand as any simpering +gallant might have done, she was all but vexed, and not to be +outdone in coldness, she grew frigid. But it was lost upon +him. He had not a lover's discernment, quickened by anxious +eyes that watch for each flitting change upon his mistress's +face. + +They parted thus, and into the heart of Mistress Cynthia there +crept that night a doubt that banished sleep. Was she wise in +entrusting herself so utterly to a man of whom she knew but +little, and that learnt from rumours which had not been good? +But scarcely was it because of that that doubts assailed her. +Rather was it because of his cool deliberateness which argued +not the great love wherewith she fain would fancy him inspired. + +For consolation she recalled a line that had it great fires +were soon burnt out, and she sought to reassure herself that +the flame of his love, if not all-consuming, would at least +burn bright and steadfastly until the end of life. And so she +fell asleep, betwixt hope and fear, yet no longer with any +hesitancy touching the morrow's course. + +In the morning she took her woman into her confidence, and +scared her with it out of what little sense the creature owned. +Yet to such purpose did she talk, that when that evening, as +Crispin waited by the coach he had taken, in the hollow of the +road, he saw approaching him a portly, middle-aged dame with a +valise. This was Cynthia's woman, and Cynthia herself was not +long in following, muffled in a long, black cloak. + +He greeted her warmly - affectionately almost yet with none of +the rapture to which she held herself entitled as some little +recompense for all that on his behalf she left behind. + +Urbanely he handed her into the coach, and, after her, her +woman. Then seeing that he made shift to close the door: + +"How is this?" she cried. "Do you not ride with us?" + +He pointed to a saddled horse standing by the roadside, and +which she had not noticed. + +"It will be better so. You will be at more comfort in the +carriage without me. Moreover, it will travel the lighter and +the swifter, and speed will prove our best friend." + +He closed the door, and stepped back with a word of command to +the driver. The whip cracked, and Cynthia flung herself back +almost in a pet. What manner of lover, she asked herself, was +thin and what manner of woman she, to let herself be borne away +by one who made so little use of the arts and wiles of sweet +persuasion? To carry her off, and yet not so much as sit +beside her, was worthy only of a man who described such a +journey as tedious. She marvelled greatly at it, yet more she +marvelled at herself that she did not abandon this mad +undertaking. + +The coach moved on and the flight from Sheringham was begun. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +CYNTHIA'S FLIGHT + + +Throughout the night they went rumbling on their way at a pace +whose sluggishness elicited many an oath from Crispin as he +rode a few yards in the rear, ever watchful of the possibility +of pursuit. But there was none, nor none need he have feared, +since whilst he rode through the cold night, Gregory Ashburn +slept as peacefully as a man may with the fever and an evil +conscience, and imagined his dutiful daughter safely abed. + +With the first streaks of steely light came a thin rain to +heighten Crispin's discomfort, for of late he had been overmuch +in the saddle, and strong though he was, he was yet flesh and +blood, and subject to its ills. Towards ten o'clock they +passed through Denham. When they were clear of it Cynthia put +her head from the window. She had slept well, and her mood was +lighter and happier. As Crispin rode a yard or so behind, he +caught sight of her fresh, smiling face, and it affected him +curiously. The tenderness that two days ago had been his as he +talked to her upon the cliffs was again upon him, and the +thought that anon she would be linked to him by the ties of +relationship, was pleasurable. She gave him good morrow +prettily, and he, spurring his horse to the carriage door, was +solicitous to know of her comfort. Nor did he again fall +behind until Stafford was reached at noon. Here, at the sign +of the Suffolk Arms, he called a halt, and they broke their +fast on the best the house could give them. + +Cynthia was gay, and so indeed was Crispin, yet she noted in +him that coolness which she accounted restraint, and gradually +her spirits sank again before it. + +To Crispin's chagrin there were no horses to be had. Someone +in great haste had ridden through before them, and taken what +relays the hostelry could give, leaving four jaded beasts in +the stable. It seemed, indeed, that they must remain there +until the morrow, and in coming to that conclusion, Sir +Crispin's temper suffered sorely. + +"Why need it put you so about," cried Cynthia, in arch +reproach, "since I am with you?" + +"Blood and fire, madam," roared Galliard, "it is precisely for +that reason that I am exercised. What if your father came upon +us here?" + +"My father, sir, is abed with a sword-wound and a fever," she +replied, and he remembered then how Kenneth had spitted Gregory +through the shoulder. + +"Still," he returned, "he will have discovered your flight, and +I dare swear we shall have his myrmidons upon our heels. +Should they come up with us we shall hardly find them more +gentle than he would be." + +She paled at that, and for a second there was silence. Then +her hand stole forth upon his arm, and she looked at him with +tightened lips and a defiant air. + +"What, indeed, if they do? Are you not with me?" A king had +praised his daring, and for his valour had dubbed him knight +upon a field of stricken battle; yet the honour of it had not +brought him the elation those words - expressive of her utter +faith in him and his prowess - begat in his heart. Upon the +instant the delay ceased to fret him. + +"Madam," he laughed, "since you put it so, I care not who +comes. The Lord Protector himself shall not drag you from me." + +It was the nearest he had gone to a passionate speech since +they had left Sheringham, and it pleased her; yet in uttering +it he had stood a full two yards away, and in that she had +taken no pleasure. + +Bidding her remain and get what rest she might, he left her, +and she, following his straight, lank figure - so eloquent of +strength - and the familiar poise of his left hand upon the +pummel of his sword, felt proud indeed that he belonged to her, +and secure in his protection. She sat herself at the window +when he was gone, and whilst she awaited his return, she hummed +a gay measure softly to herself. Her eyes were bright, and +there was a flush upon her cheeks. Not even in the wet, greasy +street could she find any unsightliness that afternoon. But as +she waited, and the minutes grew to hours, that flush faded, +and the sparkle died gradually from her eyes. The measure that +she had hummed was silenced, and her shapely mouth took on a +pout of impatience, which anon grew into a tighter mould, as he +continued absent. + +A frown drew her brows together, and Mistress Cynthia's +thoughts were much as they had been the night before she left +Castle Marleigh. Where was he? Why came he not? She took up +a book of plays that lay upon the table, and sought to while +away the time by reading. The afternoon faded into dusk, and +still he did not come. Her woman appeared, to ask whether she +should call for lights and at that Cynthia became almost +violent + +"Where is Sir Crispin?" she demanded. And to the dame's +quavering answer that she knew not, she angrily bade her go +ascertain. + +In a pet, Cynthia paced the chamber whilst Catherine was gone +upon that errand. Did this man account her a toy to while away +the hours for which he could find no more profitable diversion, +and to leave her to die of ennui when aught else offered? Was +it a small thing that he had asked of her, to go with him into +a strange land, that he should show himself so little sensible +of the honour done him? + +With such questions did she plague herself, and finding them +either unanswerable, or answerable only by affirmatives, she +had well-nigh resolved upon leaving the inn, and making her way +back to London to seek out her aunt, when the door opened and +her woman reappeared. + +"Well?" cried Cynthia, seeing her alone. "Where is Sir +Crispin?" + +"Below, madam." + +"Below?" echoed she. "And what, pray, doth he below?" + +"He is at dice with a gentleman from London." + +In the dim light of the October twilight the woman saw not the +sudden pallor of her mistress's cheeks, but she heard the gasp +of pain that was almost a cry. In her mortification, Cynthia +could have wept had she given way to her feelings. The man who +had induced her to elope with him sat at dice with a gentleman +from London! Oh, it was monstrous! At the thought of it she +broke into a laugh that appalled her tiring-woman; then +mastering her hysteria, she took a sudden determination. + +"Call me the host," she cried, and the frightened Catherine +obeyed her at a run. + +When the landlord came, bearing lights, and bending his aged +back obsequiously: + +"Have you a pillion?" she asked abruptly. "Well, fool, why do +you stare? Have you a pillion?" + +"I have, madam." + +"And a knave to ride with me, and a couple more as escort?" + +"I might procure them, but - " + +"How soon?" + +"Within half an hour, but - " + +"Then go see to it," she broke in, her foot beating the ground +impatiently. + +"But, madam - " + +"Go, go, go!" she cried, her voice rising at each utterance of +that imperative. + +"But, madam," the host persisted despairingly, and speaking +quickly so that he might get the words out, "I have no horses +fit to travel ten miles." + +"I need to go but five," she retorted quickly, her only thought +being to get the beasts, no matter what their condition. "Now, +go, and come not back until all is ready. Use dispatch and I +will pay you well, and above all, not a word to the gentleman +who came hither with me." + +The sorely-puzzled host withdrew to do her bidding, won to it +by her promise of good payment. + +Alone she sat for half an hour, vainly fostering the hope that +ere the landlord returned to announce the conclusion of his +preparations, Crispin might have remembered her and come. But +he did not appear, and in her solitude this poor little maid +was very miserable, and shed some tears that had still more of +anger than sorrow in their source. At length the landlord +came. She summoned her woman, and bade her follow by post on +the morrow. The landlord she rewarded with a ring worth twenty +times the value of the service, and was led by him through a +side door into the innyard. + +Here she found three horses, one equipped with the pillion on +which she was to ride behind a burly stableboy. The other two +were mounted by a couple of stalwart and well-armed men, one of +whom carried a funnel-mouthed musketoon with a swagger that +promised prodigies of valour. + +Wrapped in her cloak, she mounted behind the stable-boy, and +bade him set out and take the road to Denham. Her dream was at +an end. + +Master Quinn, the landlord, watched her departure with eyes +that were charged with doubt and concern. As he made fast the +door of the stableyard after she had passed out, he ominously +shook his hoary head and muttered to himself humble, +hostelry-flavoured philosophies touching the strange ways of +men with women, and the stranger ways of women with men. Then, +taking up his lanthorn, he slowly retraced his steps to the +buttery where his wife was awaiting him. + +With sleeves rolled high above her pink and deeply-dimpled +elbows stood Mistress Quinn at work upon the fashioning of a +pastry, when her husband entered and set down his lanthorn with +a sigh. + +"To be so plagued," he growled. "To be browbeaten by a slip of +a wench - a fine gentleman's baggage with the airs and vapours +of a lady of quality. Am I not a fool to have endured it?" + +"Certainly you are a fool," his wife agreed, kneading +diligently, "whatever you may have endured. What now?" + +His fat face was puckered into a thousand wrinkles. His little +eyes gazed at her with long-suffering malice. + +"You are my wife," he answered pregnantly, as who would say: +Thus is my folly clearly proven! and seeing that the assertion +was not one that admitted of dispute, Mistress Quinn was +silent. + +"Oh, 'tis ill done!" he broke out a moment later. "Shame on me +for it; it is ill done!" + +"If you have done it 'tis sure to be ill done, and shame on you +in good sooth - but for what?" put in his wife. + +"For sending those poor jaded beasts upon the road." + +"What beasts?" + +"What beasts? Do I keep turtles? My horses, woman." + +"And whither have you sent them?" + +"To Denham with the baggage that came hither this morning in +the company of that very fierce gentleman who was in such a pet +because we had no horses." + +"Where is he?" inquired the hostess. + +"At dice with those other gallants from town." + +"At dice quotha? And she's gone, you say?" asked Mrs. Quinn, +pausing in her labours squarely to face her husband. + +"Aye," said he. + +"Stupid!" rejoined his docile spouse, vexed by his laconic +assent. "Do you mean she has run away?" + +"Tis what anyone might take from what I have told you," he +answered sweetly. + +"And you have lent her horses and helped her to get away, and +you leave her husband at play in there?" + +"You have seen her marriage lines, I make no doubt," he sneered +irrelevantly. + +"You dolt! If the gentleman horsewhips you, you will have +richly earned it." + +"Eh? What?" gasped he, and his rubicund cheeks lost something +of their high colour, for here was a possibility that had not +entered into his calculations. But Mistress Quinn stayed not +to answer him. Already she was making for the door, wiping the +dough from her hands on to her apron as she went. A suspicion +of her purpose flashed through her husband's mind. + +"What would you do?" he inquired nervously. + +"Tell the gentleman what has taken place." + +"Nay," he cried, resolutely barring her way. "Nay. That you +shall not. Would you - would you ruin me?" + +She gave him a look of contempt, and dodging his grasp she +gained the door and was half-way down the passage towards the +common room before he had overtaken her and caught her round +the middle. + +"Are you mad, woman?" he shouted. "Will you undo me?" + +"Do you undo me," she bade him, snatching at his hands. But he +clutched with the tightness of despair. + +"You shall not go," he swore. "Come back and leave the +gentleman to make the discovery for himself. I dare swear it +will not afflict him overmuch. He has abandoned her sorely +since they came; not a doubt of it but that he is weary of her. +At least he need not know I lent her horses. Let him think she +fled a-foot, when he discovers her departure." + +"I will go," she answered stubbornly, dragging him with her a +yard or two nearer the door. "The gentleman shall be warned. +Is a woman to run away from her husband in my house, and the +husband never be warned of it?" + +"I promised her," he began. + +"What care I for your promises?" she asked. "I will tell him, +so that he may yet go after her and bring her back." + +"You shall not," he insisted, gripping her more closely. But +at that moment a delicately mocking voice greeted their ears. + +"Marry, 'tis vastly diverting to hear you," it said. They +looked round, to find one of the party of town sparks that had +halted at the inn standing arms akimbo in the narrow passage, +clearly waiting for them to make room. "A touching sight, +sir," said he sardonically to the landlord. "A wondrous +touching sight to behold a man of your years playing the +turtle-dove to his good wife like the merest fledgeling. It +grieves me to intrude myself so harshly upon your cooing, +though if you'll but let me pass you may resume your chaste +embrace without uneasiness, for I give you my word I'll never +look behind me." + +Abashed, the landlord and his dame fell apart. Then, ere the +gentleman could pass her, Mistress Quinn, like a true +opportunist, sped swiftly down the passage and into the common +room before her husband could again detain her. + +Now, within the common room of the Suffolk Arms Sir Crispin sat +face to face with a very pretty fellow, all musk and ribbons, +and surrounded by some half-dozen gentlemen on their way to +London who had halted to rest at Stafford. + +The pretty gentleman swore lustily, affected a monstrous wicked +look, assured that he was impressing all who stood about with +some conceit of the rakehelly ways he pursued in town. + +A game started with crowns to while away the tedium of the +enforced sojourn at the inn had grown to monstrous proportions. +Fortune had favoured the youth at first, but as the stakes grew +her favours to him diminished, and at the moment that Cynthia +rode out of the inn-yard, Mr. Harry Foster flung his last gold +piece with an oath upon the table. + +"Rat me," he groaned, "there's the end of a hundred." + +He toyed sorrowfully with the red ribbon in his black hair, and +Crispin, seeing that no fresh stake was forthcoming, made shift +to rise. But the coxcomb detained him. + +"Tarry, sir," he cried, "I've not yet done. 'Slife, we'll make +a night of it." + +He drew a ring from his finger, and with a superb gesture of +disdain pushed it across the board. + +"What'll ye stake?" And, in the same breath, "Boy, another +stoup," he cried. + +Crispin eyed the gem carelessly. + +"Twenty Caroluses," he muttered. + +"Rat me, sir, that nose of yours proclaims you a jew, without +more. Say twenty-five, and I'll cast." + +With a tolerant smile, and the shrug of a man to whom +twenty-five or a hundred are of like account, Crispin +consented. They threw; Crispin passed and won. + +"What'll ye stake?" cried Mr. Foster, and a second ring +followed the first. + +Before Crispin could reply, the door leading to the interior of +the inn was flung open, and Mrs. Quinn, breathless with +exertion and excitement, came scurrying across the room. In +the doorway stood the host in hesitancy and fear. Bending to +Crispin's ear, Mrs. Quinn delivered her message in a whisper +that was heard by most of those who were about. + +"Gone!" cried Crispin in consternation. + +The woman pointed to her husband, and Crispin, understanding +from this that she referred him to the host, called to him. + +"What know you, landlord?" he shouted. "Come hither, and tell +me whither is she gone!" + +"I know not," replied the quaking host, adding the particulars +of Cynthia's departure, and the information that the lady +seemed in great anger. + +"Saddle me a horse," cried Crispin, leaping to his feet, and +pitching Mr. Foster's trinket upon the table as though it were +a thing of no value. "Towards Denham you say they rode? +Quick, man!" And as the host departed he swept the gold and +the ring he had won into his pockets preparing to depart. + +"Hoity toity!" cried Mr. Foster. "What sudden haste is this?" + +"I am sorry, sir, that Fortune has been unkind to you, but I +must go. Circumstances have arisen which - " + +"D -n your circumstances!" roared Foster, get ting on his feet. +"You'll not leave me thus!" + +"With your permission, sir, I will." + +"But you shall not have my permission!" + +"Then I shall be so unfortunate as to go without it. But I +shall return." + +"Sir, 'tis an old legend, that!" + +Crispin turned about in despair. To be embroiled now might +ruin everything, and by a miracle he kept his temper. He had a +moment to spare while his horse was being saddled. + +"Sir," he said, "if you have upon your pretty person trinkets +to half the value of what I have won from you, I'll stake the +whole against them on one throw, after which, no matter what +the result, I take my departure. Are you agreed?" + +There was a murmur of admiration from those present at the +recklessness and the generosity of the proposal, and Foster was +forced to accept it. Two more rings he drew forth, a diamond +from the ruffles at his throat, and a pearl that he wore in his +ear. The lot he set upon the board, and Crispin threw the +winning cast as the host entered to say that his horse was +ready. + +He gathered the trinkets up, and with a polite word of regret +he was gone, leaving Mr. Harry Foster to meditate upon the +pledging of one of his horses to the landlord in discharge of +his lodging. + +And so it fell out that before Cynthia had gone six miles along +the road to Denham, one of her attendants caught a rapid beat +of hoofs behind them, and drew her attention to it, suggesting +that they were being followed. Faster Cynthia bade them +travel, but the pursuer gained upon them at every stride. +Again the man drew her attention to it, and proposed that they +should halt and face him who followed. The possession of the +musketoon gave him confidence touching the issue. But Cynthia +shuddered at the thought, and again, with promises of rich +reward, urged them to go faster. Another mile they went, but +every moment brought the pursuing hoof-beats nearer and nearer, +until at last a hoarse challenge rang out behind them, and they +knew that to go farther would be vain; within the next +half-mile, ride as they might, their pursuer would be upon +them. + +The night was moonless, yet sufficiently clear for objects to +be perceived against the sky, and presently the black shadow of +him who rode behind loomed up upon the road, not a hundred +paces off. + +Despite Cynthia's orders not to fire, he of the musketoon +raised his weapon under cover of the darkness and blazed at the +approaching shadow. + +Cynthia cried out - a shriek of dismay it was; the horses +plunged, and Sir Crispin laughed aloud as he bore down upon +them. He of the musketoon heard the swish of a sword being +drawn, and saw the glitter of the blade in the dark. A second +later there was a shock as Crispin's horse dashed into his, and +a crushing blow across the forehead, which Galliard delivered +with the hilt of his rapier, sent him hurtling from the saddle. +His comrade clapped spurs to his horse at that and was running +a race with the night wind in the direction of Denham. + +Before Cynthia quite knew what had happened the seat on the +pillion in front of her was empty, and she was riding back to +Stafford with Crispin beside her, his hand upon the bridle of +her horse. + +"You little fool!" he said half-angrily, half-gibingly; and +thereafter they rode in silence - she too mortified with shame +and anger to venture upon words. + +That journey back to Stafford was a speedy one, and soon they +stood again in the inn-yard out of which she had ridden but an +hour ago. Avoiding the common room, Crispin ushered her +through the side door by which she had quitted the house. The +landlord met them in the passage, and looking at Crispin's face +the pallor and fierceness of it drove him back without a word. + +Together they ascended to the chamber where in solitude she had +spent the day. Her feelings were those of a child caught in an +act of disobedience, and she was angry with herself and her +weakness that it should be so. Yet within the room she stood +with bent head, never glancing at her companion, in whose eyes +there was a look of blended anger and amazement as he observed +her. At length in calm, level tones: + +"Why did you run away?" he asked. + +The question was to her anger as a gust of wind to a +smouldering fire. She threw back her head defiantly, and fixed +him with a glance as fierce as his own. + +"I will tell you," she cried, and suddenly stopped short. The +fire died from her eyes, and they grew wide in wonder - in +fascinated wonder - to see a deep stain overspreading one side +of his grey doublet, from the left shoulder downwards. Her +wonder turned to horror as she realized the nature of that +stain and remembered that one of her men had fired upon him. + +"You are wounded?" she faltered. + +A sickly smile came into his face, and seemed to accentuate its +pallor. He made a deprecatory gesture. Then, as if in that +gesture he had expended his last grain of strength, he swayed +suddenly as he stood. He made as if to reach a chair, but at +the second step he stumbled, and without further warning he +fell prone at her feet, his left hand upon his heart, his right +outstretched straight from the shoulder. The loss of blood he +had sustained, following upon the fatigue and sleeplessness +that had been his of late, had demanded its due from him, man +of iron though he was. + +Upon the instant her anger vanished. A great fear that he was +dead descended upon her, and to heighten the horror of it came +the thought that he had received his death-wound through her +agency. With a moan of anguish she went down upon her knees +beside him. She raised his head and pillowed it in her lap, +calling to him by name, as though her voice alone must suffice +to bring him back to life and consciousness. Instinctively she +unfastened his doublet at the neck, and sought to draw it away +that she might see the nature of his hurt and staunch the wound +if possible, but her strength ebbed away from her, and she +abandoned her task, unable to do more than murmur his name. + +"Crispin, Crispin, Crispin!" + +She stooped and kissed the white, clammy forehead, then his +lips, and as she did so a tremor ran through her, and he opened +his eyes. A moment they looked dull and lifeless, then they +waxed questioning. + +A second ago these two had stood in anger with the width of the +room betwixt them; now, in a flash, he found his head on her +lap, her lips on his. How came he there? What meant it? + +"Crispin, Crispin," she cried, "thank God you did but swoon!" + +Then the awakening of his soul came swift upon the awakening of +his body. He lay there, oblivious of his wound, oblivious of +his mission, oblivious of his son. He lay with senses still +half dormant and comprehension dulled, but with a soul alert he +lay, and was supremely happy with a happiness such as he had +never known in all his ill-starred life. + +In a feeble voice he asked: + +"Why did you run away?" + +"Let us forget it," she answered softly. + +"Nay - tell me first." + +"I thought - I thought - " she stammered; then, gathering +courage, "I thought you did not really care, that you made a +toy of me," said she. "When they told me that you sat at dice +with a gentleman from London I was angry at your neglect. If +you loved me, I told myself, you would not have used me so, and +left me to mope alone." + +For a moment Crispin let his grey eyes devour her blushing +face. Then he closed them and pondered what she had said, +realization breaking upon him now like a great flood. The +light came to him in one blinding yet all-illuming flash. A +hundred things that had puzzled him in the last two days grew +of a sudden clear, and filled him with a joy unspeakable. He +dared scarce believe that he was awake, and Cynthia by him - +that he had indeed heard aright what she had said. How blind +he had been, how nescient of himself! + +Then, as his thoughts travelled on to the source of the +misapprehension he remembered his son, and the memory was like +an icy hand upon his temples that chilled him through and +through. Lying there with eyes still closed he groaned. +Happiness was within his grasp at last. Love might be his +again did he but ask it, and the love of as pure and sweet a +creature as ever God sent to chasten a man's life. A great +tenderness possessed him. A burning temptation to cast to the +winds his plighted word, to make a mock of faith, to deride +honour, and to seize this woman for his own. She loved him he +knew it now; he loved her - the knowledge had come as suddenly +upon him. Compared with this what could his faith, his word, +his honour give him? What to him, in the face of this, was +that paltry fellow, his son, who had spurned him! + +The hardest fight he ever fought, he fought it there, lying +supine upon the ground, his head in her lap. + +Had he fought it out with closed eyes, perchance honour and his +plighted word had won the day; but he opened them, and they met +Cynthia's. + +A while they stayed thus; the hungry glance of his grey eyes +peering into the clear blue depths of hers; and in those depths +his soul was drowned, his honour stifled. + +"Cynthia,' he cried, "God pity me, I love you!" And he swooned +again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +TO FRANCE + + +That cry, which she but half understood, was still ringing in +her ears, when the door was of a sudden flung open, and across +the threshold a very daintily arrayed young gentleman stepped +briskly, the expostulating landlord following close upon his +heels. + +"I tell thee, lying dog," he cried, "I saw him ride into the +yard, and, "fore George, he shall give me the chance of mending +my losses. Be off to your father, you Devil's natural." + +Cynthia looked up in alarm, whereupon that merry blood catching +sight of her, halted in some confusion at what he saw. + +"Rat me, madam," he cried, "I did not know - I had not looked +to - " He stopped, and remembering at last his manners he made +her a low bow. + +"Your servant, madam," said he, "your servant Harry Foster." + +She gazed at him, her eyes full of inquiry, but said nothing, +whereat the pretty gentleman plucked awkwardly at his ruffles +and wished himself elsewhere. + +"I did not know, madam, that your husband was hurt." + +"He is not my husband, sir," she answered, scarce knowing what +she said. + +"Gadso!" he ejaculated. "Yet you ran away from him?" + +Her cheeks grew crimson. + +"The door, sir, is behind you." + +"So, madam, is that thief the landlord," he made answer, no +whit abashed. "Come hither, you bladder of fat, the gentleman +is hurt." + +Thus courteously summoned, the landlord shuffled forward, and +Mr. Foster begged Cynthia to allow him with the fellow's aid to +see to the gentleman's wound. Between them they laid Crispin +on a couch, and the town spark went to work with a dexterity +little to have been expected from his flippant exterior. He +dressed the wound, which was in the shoulder and not in itself +of a dangerous character, the loss of blood it being that had +brought some gravity to the knight's condition. They propped +his head upon a pillow, and presently he sighed and, opening +his eyes, complained of thirst, and was manifestly surprised at +seeing the coxcomb turned leech. + +"I came in search of you to pursue our game," Foster explained +when they had ministered to him, "and, 'fore George, I am +vastly grieved to find you in this condition." + +"Pish, sir, my condition is none so grievous - a scratch, no +more, and were my heart itself pierced the knowledge that I +have gained - " He stopped short. "But there, sir," he added +presently, "I am grateful beyond words for your timely +ministration, and if to my debt you will add that of leaving me +awhile to rest, I shall appreciate it." + +His glance met Cynthia's and he smiled. The host coughed +significantly, and shuffled towards the door. But Master +Foster made no shift to move; but stood instead beside +Galliard, though in apparent hesitation. + +"I should like a word with you ere I go," he said at length. +Then turning and perceiving the landlord standing by the door +in an attitude of eloquent waiting: "Take yourself off," he +cried to him. "Crush me, may not one gentleman say a word to +another without being forced to speak into your inquisitive +ears as well? You will forgive my heat, madam, but, God +a"mercy, that greasy rascal tries me sorely." + +"Now, sir," he resumed, when the host was gone. "I stand thus: +I have lost to you to-day a sum of money which, though some +might account considerable, is in itself no more than a trifle. + +"I am, however, greatly exercised at the loss of certain +trinkets which have to me a peculiar value, and which, to be +frank, I staked in a moment of desperation. I had hoped, sir, +to retrieve my losses o'er a friendly main this evening, for I +have still to stake a coach and four horses - as noble a set of +beasts as you'll find in England, aye rat me. Your wound, sir, +renders it impossible for me to ask you to give yourself the +fatigue of obliging me. I come, then, to propose that you +return me those trinkets against my note of hand for the amount +that was staked on them. I am well known in town, sir," he +added hurriedly, "and you need have no anxiety." + +Crispin stopped him with a wave of the hand. + +"I have none, sir, in that connexion, and I am willing to do as +you suggest." He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew +forth the rings, the brooch and the ear-ring he had won. +"Here, sir, are your trinkets." + +"Sir," cried Mr. Foster, thrown into some confusion by +Galliard's unquestioning generosity, "I am indebted to you. +Rat me, sir, I am indeed. You shall have my note of hand on +the instant. How much shall we say?" + +"One moment, Mr. Foster," said Crispin, an idea suddenly +occurring to him. "You mentioned horses. Are they fresh?" + +"As June roses." + +"And you are returning to London, are you not?" + +"I am." + +"When do you wish to proceed?" + +"To-morrow." + +"Why, then, sir, I have a proposal to make which will remove +the need of your note of hand. Lend me your horses, sir, to +reach Harwich. I wish to set out at once " + +"But your wound?" cried Cynthia. "You are still faint." + +"Faint! Not I. I am awake and strong. My wound is no wound, +for a scratch may not be given that name. So there, +sweetheart." He laughed, and drawing down her head, he +whispered the words: "Your father." Then turning again to +Foster. "Now, sir," he continued, "there are four tolerable +posthorses of mine below, on which you can follow tomorrow to +Harwich, there exchanging them again for your own, which you +shall find awaiting you, stabled at the Garter Inn. For this +service, to me of immeasurable value, I will willingly cede +those gewgaws to you." + +"But, rat me, sir," cried Foster in bewilderment, "tis too +generous - 'pon honour it is. I can't consent to it. No, rat +me, I can't." + +"I have told you how great a boon you will confer. Believe me, +sir, to me it is worth twice, a hundred times the value of +those trinkets." + +"You shall have my horses, sir, and my note of hand as well," +said Foster firmly. + +"Your note of hand is of no value to me, sir. I look to leave +England to-morrow, and I know not when I may return." + +Thus in the end it came about that the bargain was concluded. +Cynthia's maid was awakened and bidden to rise. The horses +were harnessed to Crispin's coach, and Crispin, leaning upon +Harry Foster's arm, descended and took his place within the +carriage. + +Leaving the London blood at the door of the Suffolk Arms, +crushing, burning, damning and ratting himself at Crispin's +magnificence, they rolled away through the night in the +direction of Ipswich. + +Ten o"clock in the morning beheld them at the door of the +Garter Inn at Harwich. But the jolting of the coach had so +hardly used Crispin that he had to be carried into the +hostelry. He was much exercised touching the Lady Jane and his +inability to go down to the quay in quest of her, when he was +accosted by a burly, red-faced individual who bluntly asked him +was he called Sir Crispin Galliard. Ere he could frame an +answer the man had added that he was Thomas Jackson, master of +the Lady Jane - at which piece of good news Crispin felt like +to shout for joy. + +But his reflection upon his present position, when at last he +lay in the schooner's cabin, brought him the bitter reverse of +pleasure. He had set out to bring Cynthia to his son; he had +pledged his honour to accomplish it. How was he fulfilling his +trust? In his despondency, during a moment when alone, he +cursed the knave that had wounded him for his clumsiness in not +having taken a lower aim when he fired, and thus solved him +this ugly riddle of life for all time. + +Vainly did he strive to console himself and endeavour to +palliate the wrong he had done with the consideration that he +was the man Cynthia loved, and not his son; that his son was +nothing to her, and that she would never have accompanied him +had she dreamt that he wooed her for another. + +No. The deed was foul, and rendered fouler still by virtue of +those other wrongs in whose extenuation it had been undertaken. +For a moment he grew almost a coward. He was on the point of +bidding Master Jackson avoid Calais and make some other port +along the coast. But in a moment he had scorned the craven +argument of flight, and determined that come what might he +would face his son, and lay the truth before him, leaving him +to judge how strong fate had been. As he lay feverish and +fretful in the vessel's cabin, he came well-nigh to hating +Kenneth; he remembered him only as a poor, mean creature, now a +bigot, now a fop, now a psalm-monger, now a roysterer, but ever +a hypocrite, ever a coward, and never such a man as he could +have taken pride in presenting as his offspring. + +They had a fair wind, and towards evening Cynthia, who had been +absent from his side a little while, came to tell him that the +coast of France grew nigh. + +His answer was a sigh, and when she chid him for it, he essayed +a smile that was yet more melancholy. For a second he was +tempted to confide in her; to tell her of the position in which +he found himself and to lighten his load by sharing it with +her. But this he dared not do. Cynthia must never know. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE AUBERGE DU SOLEIL + + +In a room of the first floor of the Auberge du Soleil, at +Calais, the host inquired of Crispin if he were milord +Galliard. At that question Crispin caught his breath in +apprehension, and felt himself turn pale. What it portended, +he guessed; and it stifled the hope that had been rising in him +since his arrival, and because he had not found his son +awaiting him either on the jetty or at the inn. He dared ask +no questions, fearing that the reply would quench that hope, +which rose despite himself, and begotten of a desire of which +he was hardly conscious. + +He sighed before replying, and passing his brown, nervous hand +across his brow, he found it moist. + +"My name, M. l"hote, is Crispin Galliard. What news have you +for me?" + +"A gentleman - a countryman of milord's - has been here these +three days awaiting him." + +For a little while Crispin sat quite still, stripped of his +last rag of hope. Then suddenly bracing himself, he sprang up, +despite his weakness. + +"Bring him to me. I will see him at once." + +"Tout-a-l"heure, monsieur," replied the landlord. "At the +moment he is absent. He went out to take the air a couple of +hours ago, and is not yet returned." + +"Heaven send he has walked into the sea!" Crispin broke out +passionately. Then as passionately he checked himself. "No, +no, my God - not that! I meant not that." + +"Monsieur will sup?" + +"At once, and let me have lights." The host withdrew, to +return a moment later with a couple of lighted tapers, which he +set upon the table. + +As he was retiring, a heavy step sounded on the stair, +accompanied by the clank of a scabbard against the baluster. + +"Here comes milord's countryman," the landlord announced. + +And Crispin, looking up in apprehension, saw framed in the +doorway the burly form of Harry Hogan. + +He sat bolt upright, staring as though he beheld an apparition. +With a sad smile, Hogan advanced, and set his hand +affectionately upon Galliard's shoulder. + +"Welcome to France, Crispin," said he. "If not him whom you +looked to find, you have at least a loyal friend to greet you." + +"Hogan!" gasped the knight. "What make you here? How came you +here? Where is Jocelyn?" + +The Irishman looked at him gravely for a moment, then sighed +and sank down upon a chair. "You have brought the lady?" he +asked. + +"She is here. She will be with us presently." + +Hogan groaned and shook his grey head sorrowfully. + +"But where is Jocelyn?" cried Galliard again, and his haggard +face looked very wan and white as he turned it inquiringly upon +his companion. "Why is he not here?" + +"I have bad news." + +"Bad news?" muttered Crispin, as though he understood not the +meaning of the words. "Bad news?" he repeated musingly. Then +bracing himself, "What is this news?" + +"And you have brought the lady too!" Hogan complained. "Faith, +I had hoped that you had failed in that at least." + +"Sdeath, Harry," Crispin exclaimed. "Will you tell me the +news?" + +Hogan pondered a moment. Then: + +"I will relate the story from the very beginning," said he. +"Some four hours after your departure from Waltham) my men +brought in the malignant we were hunting. I dispatched my +sergeant and the troop forthwith to London with the prisoner, +keeping just two troopers with me. An hour or so later a coach +clattered into the yard, and out of it stepped a short, lean +man in black, with a very evil face and a crooked eye, who +bawled out that he was Joseph Ashburn of Castle Marleigh, a +friend of the Lord General's, and that he must have horses on +the instant to proceed upon his journey to London. I was in +the yard at the time, and hearing the full announcement I +guessed what his business in London was. He entered the inn to +refresh himself and I followed him. In the common room the +first man his eyes lighted on was your son. He gasped at sight +of him, and when he had recovered his breath he let fly as +round a volley of blasphemy as ever I heard from the lips of a +Puritan. When that was over, "Fool," he yells, "what make you +here?" The lad stammered and grew confused. At last - "I was +detained here," says he. "Detained!" thunders the other, "and +by whom?" "By my father, you murdering villain!" was the hot +answer. + +"At that Master Ashburn grows very white and very evil-looking. +"So," he says, in a playful voice, "you have learnt that, have +you? Well, by God! the lesson shall profit neither you nor +that rascal your father. But I'll begin with you, you cur." +And with that he seizes a jug of ale that stood on the table, +and empties it over the boy's face. Soul of my body! The lad +showed such spirit then as I had never looked to find in him. +"Outside," yells he, tugging at his sword with one hand, and +pointing to the door with the other. "Outside, you hound, +where I can kill you!" Ashburn laughed and cursed him, and +together they flung past me into the yard. The place was empty +at the moment, and there, before the clash of their blades had +drawn interference, the thing was over - and Ashburn had sent +his sword through Jocelyn's heart." + +Hogan paused, and Crispin sat very still and white, his soul in +torment. + +"And Ashburn?" he asked presently, in a voice that was +singularly hoarse and low. "What became of him? Was he not +arrested?" + +"No," said Hogan grimly, "he was not arrested. He was buried. +Before he had wiped his blade I had stepped up to him and +accused him of murdering a beardless boy. I remembered the +reckoning he owed you, I remembered that he had sought to send +you to your death; I saw the boy's body still warm and bleeding +upon the ground, and I struck him with my knuckles on the +mouth. Like the cowardly ruffian he was, he made a pass at me +with his sword before I had got mine out. I avoided it +narrowly, and we set to work. + +"People rushed in and would have stopped us, but I cursed them +so whilst I fenced, swearing to kill any man that came between +us, that they held off and waited. I didn't keep them +overlong. I was no raw youngster fresh from the hills of +Scotland. I put the point of my sword through Joseph Ashburn's +throat within a minute of our engaging. + +"It was then as I stood in that shambles and looked down upon +my handiwork that I recalled in what favour Master Ashburn was +held by the Parliament, and I grew sick to think of what the +consequences might be. To avoid them I got me there and then +to horse, and rode in a straight line for Greenwich, hoping to +find the Lady Jane still there. But my messenger had already +sent her to Harwich for you. I was well ahead of possible +pursuit, and so I pushed on to Dover, and thence I crossed, +arriving here three days ago." + +Crispin rose and stepped up to Hogan. "The last time you came +to me after killing a man, Harry, I was of some service to you. +You shall find me no less useful now. You will come to Paris +with me?" + +"But the lady?" gasped Hogan, amazed at Crispin's lack of +thought for her. + +"I hear her step upon the stairs. Leave me now, Harry, but as +you go, desire the landlord to send for a priest. The lady +remains." + +One look of utter bewilderment did Hogan bestow upon Sir +Crispin, and for once his glib, Irish tongue could shape no +other words than: + +"Soul of my body!" + +He wrung Crispin's hand, and in a state of ineffable perplexity +he hurried from the room to do what was required of him. + +For a moment Crispin stood by the window, and looking out into +the night he thanked God from his heart for his solution of the +monstrous riddle that had been set him. + +Then the rustle of a gown drew his attention, and he swung +round to find Cynthia smiling upon him from the threshold. + +He advanced to meet her, and setting his hands upon her +shoulders, he held her at arm's length, looking down into her +eyes. + +"Cynthia, my Cynthia!" he cried. And she, breaking past the +barrier of his grasp, nestled up to him with a sigh of sweet +and unalloyed content. + + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Tavern Knight +by Rafael Sabatini + diff --git a/old/tavrn10.zip b/old/tavrn10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cce6e81 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tavrn10.zip |