Chapter XI

It was the eighth hour of the morning before Bernard arrived at Lantwell. Though his horse was jaded, he did not draw up before his own house, but proceeded, at a pretty brisk canter, to the upper end of the village. There, a short distance from the church, he came to a small cottage, similar to his own, before which he reined up, and alighted.

“So ho, there!” he cried, knocking at the door. “Gaffer Peters! So ho!”

“Anon! anon!” cried a voice within.

Several minutes intervened, however, before the door was opened. A short, stout man, about the middle age, then made his appearance, and, discerning Bernard, hastily stepped out to the road.

“Give thee good morrow, fair master!” he cried. “What hath gone wrong?”

“Never thou heed what, Master Headborough!” replied Bernard; “but don thy cap, and mount thee up behind me.”

“But the law, Master Gray--the law of the matter?” inquired the constable. “Look you, an’ it be a simple matter of robbery, thou must needs have a warrant, as I take it, ere thou mayst take the thief.”

“Wilt thou come?” demanded Bernard.

“Prithee, be advised as to the law,” urged the constable. “We have adjudged in the instance of robbery. Now, look you, if it be a matter of battery by assault”--

“’Tis neither robbery nor assault,” cried Bernard. “’Tis an offence against the state; and if thou don not thy cap incontinently, I must even take thee without it.”

“Go to!” remonstrated the constable. “An’ it were but robbery and battery, the law, as thou sayest, were easy enough; but”--

He was still speaking, when, overcome with impatience, Bernard caught him up in his arms, and threw him, perforce, across the shoulders of his horse.

“Go to, thou!” he cried. “Settle thee afore the saddle, or, while thou pratest here, the offender will escape. Thou hadst better be hanged than that should be!”

The tone of his voice, and the dread which, in common with all his neighbours, he entertained of Bernard’s character, reduced the loquacious constable to immediate obedience, and, without further parley, he disposed himself in the manner directed. Bernard sprang up behind him, and then, seizing the bridle, clapped spurs to his horse, and set forward for Neville Grange.

By the carriage-road, which was circuitous, the distance was considerable, and occupied him nearly an hour. Ultimately, however, he got over it, and, spurring through the gateway, and up the adjoining avenue, reined up before the hall-door.

The tramp of the horse’s feet, which the hard, dry road carried some distance, quickly brought out several of the servants, and, among them, old Adam Green. That person, to the surprise of the others, recognised Bernard as an acquaintance, and hastened to salute him.

“Are they wedded yet, Master Adam?” asked Bernard, on his approach.

“’Tis now in course,” answered Adam.

Bernard alighted at a bound.

“Down with thee, thou loon!” he cried to the astonished constable, seizing him by the arm:--“down, I say!”

There was no use in resisting, and the constable, maugre the dignity and state of his office, was obliged to give way, and descend to the ground.

“Now, Master Adam, lead us to them!” said Bernard.

“For her sake, I will!” answered Adam. “Follow!”

He turned towards the hall-door; and Bernard, and the constable, grasped by Bernard’s hand, followed in his wake. Entering the hall, he passed up the contiguous stairs, and led the way to the chapel.

On arriving at the chapel-door, Bernard, who now came first, tried to open it, but found that it was secured within. He then inflicted on it that summons which, as was set forth in a preceding chapter, called Sir Edgar to a parley, and so opportunely interrupted the progressing marriage.

His demand to be admitted in the name of the Queen, couched in the terms already recorded, raised in the breasts of the several inmates the wildest and most conflicting feelings. Sir Edgar, however, being unconscious of having transgressed the law, would have opened the door without hesitation; but, as he placed his hand on the bolt, the priest called to him to forbear.

“Let me first don my cloak and peruke,” the priest said, drawing those articles of disguise from behind the altar. “My hour is not yet come.”

Though he appeared to be palsied with fear, he lost no time, after he had caught the cloak and wig up, in donning his disguise, and quickly set it in order.

“Now,” he said to Sir Edgar, as he quitted the suspicious vicinity of the altar, and sprang into the middle of the chapel, “thou mayst admit them.”

Sir Edgar withdrew the bolt, and, stepping back a pace, the door was pushed open. The next moment, Bernard, and Master Peters, the constable, with Adam Green, passed into the chapel.

Bernard’s eye swept round the chapel at a glance. But on the face of Evaline, who was standing right before him, a pace or two removed from the door, it came to a pause, and seemed to dive to her very heart. It needed little penetration, when thus viewing her features, to see how her heart was moved, and how completely it had given itself over to despair. Even shame could not shake that despair; and though, it is true, she could not endure to meet and answer his glance, and had turned her eyes on the floor, her complexion displayed no shade of confusion, but continued locked in impenetrable pallor.

Bernard’s bosom swelled as he gazed upon her, and his manly features, which had just before been flushed with rage, assumed a softer expression, and beamed with tenderness and sympathy.

“Which of ye hath done this?” he cried, pointing at Evaline.

Don Felix, who had hitherto been perfectly passive, here stepped forward a pace, and interposed.

“By what right, Sir, dost thou ask?” he demanded. “Nay, by what right art thou here at all?”

“Hold thee quiet, Sir Spaniard!” answered Bernard. “I could approve my right, an’ it so contented me, out of hand, and on no other person than thine own.”

Don Felix started.

“Whoever thou mayst be,” cried Sir Edgar, stepping in to his kinsman’s rescue, “it is but meet”--

“Give me leave a while,” interrupted Bernard. “’Tis with thee I would speak, Mistress de Neville. I ask thee here, afore God and man, is this marriage to proceed?”

He paused for a reply; but Evaline, whether she was sensible of what he said, or not, was silent as marble.

“Is the marriage to proceed, mistress?” repeated Bernard.

Evaline, without lifting her eyes from the floor, sank on her knees before him, and raised her clasped hands in the air.

“I am a poor, lost maid!” she said, in a hollow voice.

“Enough!” exclaimed Bernard.

Without a word more, he pushed past her, and turned towards the priest. On coming up with him, he first glanced earnestly in his face; and then, as if assured that he was not mistaken, extended his hand, and slapped him lustily on his shoulder.

“John Paul,” he said, “I attach thee, as a seminary priest, of high treason! Master Headborough do thine office!”

A dead silence followed the utterance of these words, and the awful fate with which they threatened the priest, and which was no less than an ignominious death, seemed to strike each of the auditors with dejection and terror. But the silence was of brief duration. The priest then, as if all resolution had failed him, fell on his knees, and raised his hands in supplication.

“Oh, spare me!” he cried, with chattering teeth. “I did it from no harm, but for the love of God. The spirit which moved me thereto is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

“Thou shouldst have thought of that afore,” said Bernard. “Thou hast come hither, at thine own peril, to war against our anointed Queen, and thou must abide by the issue.”

As he thus delivered himself, a cry of agony, which made his heart thrill again, broke on his ear. Turning round, he perceived (what his fears had led him to anticipate) that it had proceeded from Evaline, who was now stretched senseless on the floor.

Sir Edgar and Don Felix, who were only a pace or two distant, quickly sprang to the assistance of the forlorn girl, as did Martha also. Lifting her up, they discovered that she had swooned.

“Let us bear her to her chamber,” said Sir Edgar. “If she recover here, the scene may shock her again.”

Accordingly, they caught her in their arms, and, without further speech, raised her up between them, and bore her from the chapel. Adam Green, who had assisted them to raise her, was about to follow them, when Bernard called him back.

“Master Adam,” said Bernard, with a significant look, “hast thou never a cup of liquor, in this noble mansion, for Master Headborough here. Prithee, an’ thou lovest me, take him to thy larder, and let him refresh awhile.”

“A right excellent instance,” remarked the constable. “The law stands, sirs”--

“Come thou with me,” interposed Adam.

The constable, seeing in the “instance” the promise of a cup of liquor, to which even law might be considered a secondary matter, readily agreed, and suffered Adam to lead him forth. When they had passed out, Bernard appeared to muse a moment, and then, arousing himself, glanced anxiously round the chapel.

His eye, after it had once swept round, rested on a large window, immediately behind the altar. As he regarded it closely, he discerned that, in the centre, on the main bar of the frame, there was a small asp, or brace, by withdrawing which the window could be opened. When he perceived this, he stepped up to the window, and surveyed it more accurately. The result, to his great satisfaction, confirmed his expectations; and on raising his hand to the asp, he was able to throw the window open, and look out. His _reconnoissance_, though it was brief, evidently afforded him considerable pleasure, and he turned away from the window with a bright smile.

Meantime, the priest, thinking that his fate was decided, lay trembling on the floor, quite speechless with despair. Bernard’s eye fell upon him as he turned round; but he had no opportunity, if he had been even inclined, to contemplate him long; for just as his glance dropped upon him, a slight knock called him to the chapel-door.

Hastily drawing the door open, he found, as he had expected, that the person without was Adam Green.

“I have bestowed away the constable,” whispered Adam. “What wouldst thou further?”

“Hast thou ever a horse for the priest here?” answered Bernard.

“His own is i’ the stable,” replied Adam.

“Saddle it quick, then,” said Bernard; “and leave it under the chapel-window.”

“Our Lady reward thee!” returned Adam. “I will do ’t.”

He entered on the task thereupon. In about a quarter of an hour, he returned, and informed Bernard, who had waited for him in the passage, that the horse was bestowed according to his directions.

“Then go thou now, and bring me word how it fares with thy mistress,” said Bernard. “Meantime, I will start the priest.”

Without a word more, he broke away, and passed into the chapel. The priest, though still prostrate, looked up as he entered, and Bernard beckoned him to rise.

“Come to the window a space,” he said, “and I will show thee somewhat.”

The priest, trembling with fear, raised himself up, and followed him to the window. It was still open, and, through the aperture, he descried, at a little distance, on a contiguous lawn, his own horse, saddled for service.

“Is that thy horse?” asked Bernard.

“It is,” faltered the priest.

“I’faith, thou couldst almost mount him from here,” said Bernard. “In a matter of life and death, a man could leap twenty feet, methinks, any day.”

“Would I might do it!” cried the priest.

He raised his eyes as he spoke, and glanced imploringly in Bernard’s face.

“Thou shouldst understand the Word,” said Bernard; “and ’tis now afore thee:--‘And Michal told David, saying, “If thou save not thy life to-night, to-morrow thou shalt be slain.” So Michal let David down through a window; and he went and fled and escaped.’”

A light flashed across the mind of the priest, and, as Bernard turned towards the door, his despair subsided.

Whatever might be Bernard’s meaning, he passed straight out, and closed the chapel-door behind him. He found Adam Green in the passage.

“How is it with Mistress Evaline?” he asked.

“She hath recovered,” answered Adam.

“Then, prithee, go tell her suitor, Don Felix, I would speak with him awhile,” said Bernard. “But, hold! here comes Master Headborough.”

The constable, having regaled himself to his heart’s content, was indeed in view, and shortly came up with them.

“Soh, Master Headborough!” Bernard then cried, “thou hast been refreshing with a witness! Is ’t thus thou requitest my care of thee? But no more words! Let us now look to our charge!”

Here he pushed back the door, and, followed by the constable and Adam, passed into the chapel.

“Soh! what’s here?” he cried.

The window was open, and the priest, whom they were about to remove to prison, had escaped.