Chapter XI: Part 11

He had not encountered that cavalier in the field of fight--and conquered him too--without leaving a _souvenir_ by which he could be recognised.

But it needed not the wounded arm--still carried in its sling--to enable Henry Holtspur to recognise Richard Scarthe, his adversary in the equestrian duel. Without such evidence both horse and rider might have been identified.

"I came not here to answer idle questions," replied Scarthe, with a laugh that rang ironically through the bars of his umbril. "Your first, I presume, needs no answer; and though I shall be over-courteous in replying to your second, you are welcome to the response you have challenged. My business, then, is to arrest a traitor!"

"A traitor! Who?"

"Henry Holtspur--a traitor to his king."

"Coward!" cried Holtspur, returning scorn for scorn; "this is the thanks I receive for sparing your paltry life. From your extensive _entourage_ of steel-clad hirelings, it is evident you fear a second chastisement at my hands. Why did you not bring a whole regiment with you? Ha! ha! ha!"

"You are pleased to be facetious," said Scarthe, whose triumphant position facilitated the restraining of his temper. "In the end, Master Holtspur, you may find it not such matter for mirth. Let them be merry who win. Laughter comes with but ill grace from the lips of those who are about to lose; _nay, have already lost_."

"Already lost!" interrupted Holtspur, driven to the interrogatory, by the tone of significant insinuation in which the other had spoken.

"Not your liberty: though that also you have already lost. Not your head: that you may lose by-and-bye; but something which, if you be a true cavalier, should be dear to you as either."

"What?" mechanically inquired Holtspur, moved to the interrogatory, less by the ambiguous speech than by the sight of an object which, at that moment, flashed before his angry eye. "What?"

"Your _mistress_!" was the taunting reply. "Don't fancy, my pretty picker-up of stray gloves, that you are the only one who receives such sweet favours. The fair lady of the golden hair, and white gauntlets, may have taken a fancy to dispose of a pair; and where two are thus delicately dispensed, the last given is the one most prized by me!"

As Scarthe said this, he raised his hand triumphantly towards the peak of his helmet; where a glove of white doeskin was seen conspicuously set--its tapering fingers turned forward, as if pointing in derision at him who possessed its fellow!

Scarthe's gesture was superfluous. The eye of his adversary had been already fixed upon the indicated object; and the frown, that suddenly overspread his face, betrayed a strange commingling of emotions-- surprise, incredulity, anger, with something more than its share of incipient jealousy.

Rushed into Holtspur's mind at that moment, the recollection of the _tete-a-tete_, he had witnessed after parting with Marion Wade--her promenade up the long avenue, side by side with Scarthe--that short but bitter moment, when she had appeared _complaisante_.

If he wronged her in thought, he did not do so in speech. His jealousy kept silence; his anger alone found utterance.

"False trickster!" he cried, "'tis an impudent deception. She never gave you that glove. Thou hast found it--stolen it, more likely; and, by Heaven! I shall take it from thee, and restore it to its slandered owner--even here, in spite of your myrmidons! Yield it up, Richard Scarthe! or on the point of my sword--"

The threat was left unfinished, or rather unheard: for, simultaneous with its utterance, came the action--Holtspur raising his naked blade, and rushing upon his adversary.

"Seize him!" cried the latter, reining his horse backward to escape the thrust. "Seize the rebel! Slay him, if he resist!"

At the command, half-a-dozen of the cuirassiers spurred their steeds forward to the spot. Some stretched forth their hands to lay hold upon Holtspur, while others aimed at striking him down with the butts of their carbines.

Garth and the Indian had sallied forth to defend their master; who, had it not been for this, would perhaps have made a more prolonged resistance. But the sight of his two faithful followers--thus unnecessarily risking their lives--caused him suddenly to change his mad design; and, without offering further resistance, he surrendered himself into the hands of the soldiers who had surrounded him.

"Fast bind the rebel!" cried Scarthe, endeavouring to conceal his chagrin, at having shown fear, by pouring forth a volley of loyal speeches.

"Relieve him of his worthless weapon! Tie him hand and foot--neck and crop! He is mad, and therefore dangerous. Ha! ha! ha! Tight, you knaves! Tight as a hangman's neck-tie!"

The order was obeyed quickly--if not to the letter; and in a few seconds Henry Holtspur stood bound, in the midst of his jeering enemies.

"Bring forth his horse!" cried Scarthe, in mocking tones. "The _black horseman_! ha! ha! ha! Let him have one last ride on his favourite charger. After that, he shall ride at the King's expense. Ha! ha! ha!"

The black steed, already saddled by Garth, was soon brought round, and led towards the captive. There was something significant in the neigh, to which Hubert gave utterance as he approached the spot--something mournful: as if he suspected, or knew, that his master was in a position of peril.

As he was conducted nearer, and at length placed side by side with the prisoner, he bent his neck round till his muzzle touched Holtspur's cheek; while his low, tremulous whimpering proved, as plainly as words could have expressed it, that he comprehended all.

The cuirassier captain had watched the odd and affecting incident. Instead of exciting his sympathy, it only intensified his chagrin. The presence of that steed reminded him, more forcibly than ever, of his own humiliating defeat--of which the animal had been more than a little the cause. Scarthe hated the horse almost as much as his master!

"Now, brave sir!" shouted he, endeavouring, in a derisive strain, to drown the unpleasant memories which the sight of Hubert had summoned up. "Such a distinguished individual must not ride bareheaded along the king's highway. Ho there! Bring out his beaver, and set it upon his crown jauntily--jauntily!"

Three or four of the cuirassiers, who had dismounted, were proceeding to obey this last order--and had already mounted the steps leading up to the entrance--when an ejaculation from their commander caused them to turn back.

"Never mind, my lads!" he cried, as if having changed his intention. "Back to your horses! Never mind the hat: I shall go for it myself."

The final words of this injunction were rather muttered, than spoken aloud. It was not intended they should be heard. They appeared to be the involuntary expression of some secret purpose, which had suddenly suggested itself to the mind of the speaker.

After giving utterance to them, the cuirassier captain leaped silently out of his saddle; and, mounting the stone steps, entered the door of the dwelling.

He traversed the entrance-hall with searching glances, and continued on along the corridor--until he stood opposite the door of an apartment. It was the library late occupied by the conspirators. He knew its situation; and surmised that he would there find what he was seeking for.

He was not mistaken. On entering he saw the desired object--the hat of Holtspur, hanging upon the antlers of a stag that were fixed in a conspicuous position against the wall.

He clutched at the hat, and jerked it down--with as much eagerness, as if he feared that something might intervene to prevent him.

It needed no close scrutiny to discover the white gauntlet, still in its place beside the _panache_ of ostrich feathers. On the next instant, the hat, though permitted to retain its plume, was despoiled of the doeskin.

With a bitter smile passing over his pale features, did Scarthe scan the two gloves once more brought together. Finger by finger, and stitch by stitch did he compare them--holding them side by side, and up to the window's light. His smile degenerated into a frown, as, on the completion of the analysis, he became convinced--beyond the possibility of a doubt--that the glove taken from the hat of Henry Holtspur, and that now figuring on his own helmet, were _fellows, and formed a pair_. Right and left were they--the latter being the true love-token!

He had entertained a hope, though but a very slight one, that he might still be mistaken. He could indulge it no longer. The gauntlet, worn in the hat of the black horseman, must have once graced the fair fingers of Marion Wade.

"_Has_ she given it to him? Need I ask the question? She must have done so, beyond a doubt. May the fiend fire my soul, if I do not find an opportunity to make her rue the gift!"

Such was the unamiable menace with which Scarthe completed the comparison of the gloves.

That, just taken from the hat of Holtspur, was now transferred to the breast of his doublet. Quick and secret was the transfer: as if he deemed it desirable that the act should not be observed.

"Go!" he commanded, addressing himself to one of the troopers who attended him, "go into the garden--if there be such a thing about this wretched place. If not, take to the fields; and procure me some flowers. Red ones--no matter what sort, so that they be of a bright red colour. Bring them hither, and be quick about it!"

The soldier--accustomed to obey orders without questioning--hurried out to execute the singular command.

"You," continued Scarthe, speaking to the other trooper, who had entered with him, "you set about collecting those papers. Secure that valise. It appears to need no further packing. See that it be taken to Bulstrode. Search every room in the house; and bring out any arms or papers you may light upon. You know your work. Do it briskly!"

With like alacrity the second attendant hastened to perform the part allotted to him; and Scarthe was for the moment left to himself.

"I should be more hungry," muttered he, "after these documents, I see scattered about, were I in need of them. No doubt there's many a traitor's name inscribed on their pages: and enough besides to compromise half the squires in the county. More than one, I warrant me, through this silent testimony, would become entitled to a cheap lodging in that grand tenement eastward of Cheap. It's a sort of thing I don't much relish; though now I'm into it, I may as well make a wholesale sweep of these conspiring churls. As for Holtspur and Sir Marmy, I need no written evidence of their guilt. My own oral testimony, conjoined with that of my worthy sub, will be sufficient to deprive one--or both, if need be--of their heads. So--to the devil with the documents!"

As he said this, he turned scornfully away from the table on which the papers were strewed.

"Stay!" he exclaimed--the instant after facing round again, with a look that betokened some sudden change in his views; "Not so fast, Richard Scarthe! Not so fast! Who knows that among this forest of treasonous scribbling, I may not find some flower of epistolary correspondence--a _billet-doux_. Ha! if there should be one from _her_! Strange, I did not think of it before. If--if--if--"

In the earnestness, with which he proceeded to toss over the litter of letters and other documents, his hypothetical thought, whatever it was, remained unspoken.

For several minutes he busied himself among the papers--opening scores of epistles--in the expectation of finding one in a feminine hand, and bearing the signature: "Marion Wade."

He was disappointed. No such name was to be found among the correspondents of Henry Holtspur. They were all of the masculine gender--all, or nearly all, politicians and conspirators!

Scarthe was about discontinuing his search--for he had opened everything in the shape of a letter--when a document of imposing aspect attracted his attention. It bore the royal signet upon its envelope.

"By the eyes of Argus!" cried he, as his own fell upon the well-known seal; "What see I? A letter from the King! What can his majesty have to communicate to this faithful subject, I wonder? Zounds! 'tis addressed to myself!"

"_For ye Captain Scarthe_,

"_Command: H.M. Royal Cuirassiers_,

"_Bulstrode Park_,

"_Shire of Buckingham_."

"The intercepted despatch! Here's a discovery! Henry Holtspur a footpad! In league with one, at all events--else how should he have become possessed of this? So--so! Not a traitor's, but a felon's death shall he die! The gibbet instead of the block! Ha! Mistress Marion Wade! you will repent the gift of your pretty glove, when you learn that you have bestowed it on a thief! By Saint Sulpiece! 'twill be a comical _eclaircissement_!"

"Ho, fellow! You've got the flowers?"

"I have, captain. They be the best I can find. There a'nt nothing but weeds about the old place, an' withered at that."

"So much the better: I want them a trifle withered. These will do-- colour, shape--just the thing. Here I arrange them in a little bunch, and tie it to this hat. Fix them, as if the clasp confined them in their place. Be smart, my man; and make a neat thing of it!" The trooper plied his fingers with all the plastic ingenuity in his power; and, in a few seconds of time, a somewhat ragged bouquet was arranged, and adjusted on the beaver belonging to the black horseman--in the same place late occupied by the white gauntlet.

"Now!" said Scarthe, making a stride in the direction of the door, "Take out this hat. Place it on the head of the prisoner; and hark ye, corporal; you needn't let _him_ see the transformation that has been made, nor need you show it conspicuously to any one else. You understand me?"

The trooper having replied to these confidential commands with a nod and a knowing look, hurried off to execute them.

Stubbs, in charge of the guards outside, had already mounted Holtspur on horseback; where, with hands fast bound, and, for additional security, tied to the croup of the saddle,--his ankles also lashed to the stirrup leathers, and a steel-clad cuirassier, with drawn sword on each side of him--he looked like a captive left without the slightest chance of escape.

Even thus ignominiously pinioned, no air of the felon had he. His head, though bare, was not bowed; but carried proudly erect, without swagger, and with that air of tranquil indifference which distinguishes the true cavalier, even in captivity. His rough, and somewhat vagabond captors, could not help admiring that heroic courage--of which, but a few days before, they had witnessed such splendid proof.

"What a pity," whispered one, "what a pity he's not on our side! He'd make a noble officer of cavalry!"

"Help Master Holtspur to his hat!" tauntingly commanded Scarthe, as he clambered upon his own steed. "The wind must not be permitted to toss those waving locks too rudely. How becoming they will be upon the block! Ha! ha! ha!"

As commanded, his hat was placed upon the prisoner's head.

The "forward," brayed out by the bugle, drowned the satirical laugh of their leader, while the troopers, in files of two--with Scarthe at their head, Stubbs in the rear, and Holtspur near the centre--moved slowly across the lawn, leaving the mansion of Stone Dean without a master!

Volume Two, Chapter XIV.

On perceiving that his presence could no longer be of any service to his patron, and might be detrimental to himself, Gregory Garth had betaken his body to a place of concealment--one of the garrets of Stone Dean-- where, through a dormer window, he had been witness to all that transpired outside.

As the last of Scarthe's troopers passed out through the gateway of Stone Dean, the ex-footpad came down from his hiding-place, and reappeared in front of the house.

Guided by a similar instinct, the Indian had also made himself invisible; and now reappearing at the same time, the two stood face to face; but without the ability to exchange either word or idea.

Gregory could not understand the pantomimic language of the Indian; while the latter knew not a word of English--the cavalier always conversing with him in his native tongue.

It is true that neither had much to say to the other. Both had witnessed the capture of their common patron and master. Oriole only knew that he was in the hands of enemies; while Garth more clearly comprehended the character of these enemies, and their motive for making him a prisoner.

Now that he _was_ a prisoner, the first and simultaneous thought of both was--whether there was any chance of effecting his escape.

With the American this was an instinct; while perhaps with any other Englishman, than one of Garth's kidney, the idea would scarce have been entertained.

But the ex-footpad, in the course of his professional career, had found his way out of too many prisons, to regard the accomplishment of such a feat as either impossible or improbable, and he at once set about reflecting upon what steps should be taken for the rescue, and release of Henry Holtspur.

Garth was sadly in need of a second head to join counsel with his own. That of the Indian, however good it might be, was absolutely of no use to him: since there was no way of getting at the ideas it contained.

"The unfort'nate creetur!" exclaimed he, after several vain attempts at a mutual understanding of signs; "he an't no good to me--not half so much as my own old dummies: for they wur o' some sarvice. Well, I maun try an' manage 'ithout him."

Indeed Gregory, whether wishing it or not, was soon reduced to this alternative: for the Indian, convinced that he could not make himself intelligible, desisted from the attempt. Following out another of his natural instincts, he parted from the ex-footpad, and glided off upon the track of the troopers--perhaps with some vague idea of being more serviceable to his master if once by his side again.

"The dummy's faithful to him as a hound," muttered Gregory, seeing the Indian depart; "same as my ole clo' pals war to me. Sir Henry ha' did 'im a sarvice some time, I dar say--as he does everybody whenever he can. Now, what's to be done for _him_?"

The footpad stood for some minutes in a reflecting attitude.

"They've ta'en him up to Bulstrode, whar they're quartered. No doubt about that. They won't keep him there a longish time. They mean no common prison to hold _him_. Newgate, or the Tower--one o' the two are sure o' bein' his lodging afore the morrow night?

"What chance o' a rescue on the road? Ne'er a much, I fear. Dang seize it! my dummies wouldn't do for that sort o' thing. There'll go a whole troop o' these kewreseers along wi' him? No doubt o't.

"I wonder if they'll take him up the day? Maybe they woant; an' if they doant, theer mout be a chance i' the night. I wish I had some one to help me with a good think.

"Hanged if I kin believe ole Dancey to be a treetur. 'Tan't possible, after what he ha' sayed to me, no later than yesterday mornin'. No, 'tan't possible. He ha' know'd nothin' 'bout this bizness; and it be all the doin's o' that devil's get o' a Walford.

"I'll go see Dancey. I'll find out whether he had a hand in't or no. If no, then he'll do summat to help me; and maybe that daughter o' his'll do summat? Sartin _she will_. If my eyes don't cheat me, the girl's mad after Sir Henry--mad as a she hare in March time.

"I'll go to Dancey's this very minnit. I've another errand in that same direction; an' I kin kill two birds with the one stooan. Cuss the whey-faced loon Walford! If I doant larrup him, as long as I can find a hard spot inside his ugly skin. Augh!"

And winding up his soliloquy with the aspirated exclamation, he re-entered the house--as if to prepare for his proposed visit to the cottage of Dancey.

Although he had promised himself to start on the instant, it was a good half hour before he took his departure from Stone Dean. The larder lay temptingly open--as also the wine-cellar; and although the captors of Henry Holtspur had foraged freely upon both, the short time allowed them for ransacking had prevented their making a clear sweep of the shelves. The ex-footpad, therefore, found sufficient food left to furnish him with a tolerable breakfast, and wine enough to wash it down.

In addition to the time spent in appeasing his appetite, there was another affair that occupied some twenty minutes longer. In his master's bedroom--and other apartments that had not been entered by the cuirassiers--there by a number of valuable articles of a portable kind. These, that might also be said to be now ownerless, were of course no longer safe--even within the house. Any thief might enter, and carry them away under his cloak.

The man, who made this reflection, was not one to leave such chattels unsecured; and procuring a large bag, he thrust into it, silver cups, and candlesticks, with several other costly articles of _luxe_, dress, and armour--one upon top of the other--until the sack was filled to the mouth. Hoisting it on his shoulders, he marched out of the house; and, after carrying the spoil to some distance among the shrubbery, he selected for it a place of concealment.

As this was an act in which the _ci-devant_ footpad was an adept, he bestowed the property in such a manner, that the sharpest eye might have passed within six feet without perceiving it.

It is not justice to Gregory to say that he was _stealing_ this treasure. He was merely secreting it, against the return of its owner. But it would be equally untrue to assert, that, while hiding the bag among the bushes, his mind did not give way to some vague speculation as to the chances of a _reversion_.

Perhaps it occurred to him that in the event of Holtspur never returning to Stone Dean,--or never being again seen by him, Garth--the contents of that sack would be some compensation for the loss of his beloved master.

Certainly some such thought flitted vaguely through his brain at the moment; though it could not have taken the shape of a wish: for in the very next instant he took his departure from Stone Dean--eagerly bent on an errand, which, if successful, would annihilate all hope of that vaguely contemplated reversion.

As may be surmised from his soliloquised speeches, his route lay direct to the dwelling of Dick Dancey; and in due time he arrived within sight of this humble abode.

Before coming out into the slight clearing that surrounded it, he observed some one staggering off upon the opposite side. He only caught a glimpse of this person--who in the next instant disappeared among the trees--but in that glimpse Garth identified the individual. It was the woodman Walford--who, from the way he was tracking it, appeared to be in a state of intoxication.

Garth comprehending the cause, came easily to this conclusion: and making no further pause--except to ascertain that the woodman was continuing his serpentine promenade--passed on towards the cottage.

He had made a correct guess as to Walford's condition: for at that moment the woodman was perhaps as drunk as he had ever been in is life. How he came to get into this state will be made clear, by giving in brief detail some incidents that had transpired since his departure from Stone Dean--in which he and his coadjutor Dancey had been the chief actors.

It was still only the earliest dawn of morning when the brace of worthies, returning home after their night's stable work, entered under the shadows of Wapsey's Wood; but there was light enough to show that the steps of neither were as steady as they should have been. Both kept repeatedly stumbling against the trees; and once Walford went head foremost into a pool of muddy water--from which he emerged with his foul complexion still fouler in appearance.

The rain, which had rendered the path slippery, might have accounted for this unsteadiness in the steps of the two foresters. But there was also observable in their speech an obliquity, which could not have been caused by the rain, but was clearly the consequence of exposure to a more potent fluid.

Dancey conversed glibly and gleefully--interlarding his speech with an occasional spell of chuckling laughter. He had come away perfectly satisfied with the proceedings of the night; the proceeds of which--a fistful of silver--he repeatedly pulled out of his pocket, and held up to the dim light--tossing it about to assure himself that it was the real coin of the realm that chinked between his fingers.

Walford's palm seemed not to have been so liberally "greased;" but for all that he was also in high spirits. Something besides his perquisites had put him in a good humour with himself; though he did not impart the secret of this something to his companion. It was not altogether the contents of the stone jar which he had abstracted from the cellars of Stone Dean; though it might have been this that was causing him to talk so thickly, and stumble so frequently upon the path.

There was a stimulant to his joy more exciting than the spirit he had imbibed out of the bottle. It was the prospect of proximate ruin to the man, whose bread he had been just eating, and whose beer he had been drinking.

It was by no means clear to him how this ruin would be brought about. His new patron had not given him so much as a hint of the use he intended making of that night's work. But, dull as was the brain of the brute Walford, he knew that something would follow likely to rid him of his rival; and this, too, without any further risk, or exertion, on his part. Both the danger and the trouble of avenging himself--for he felt vengeful towards Holtspur--were not only taken out of his hands, but he was also promised a handsome reward for his easy and willing service. This was the real cause of his secret glee: at the moment heightened by the repeated potations in which he had been indulging.

On arriving at the cottage of his companion, it was not to be expected that Walford, in this state of feeling, would pass without looking in. Nor was Dancey in the mind to let him pass: for it so chanced that the jar of _Hollands_, which the younger woodman had abstracted from the cellars of Stone Dean, was carried under the skirt of his doublet, and Dancey knew that it was not yet empty.

The challenge of the old deer-stealer, to enter his cottage and finish the gin, was readily responded to by his _confrere_; and both, staggering inside the hut, flung themselves into a couple of rush-bottomed chairs. Walford, uncorking the "grey beard," placed it upon the table; and, tin cups having been procured, the two woodmen continued the carouse, which their homeward scramble had interrupted.

It had now got to be daylight; and the beautiful Betsey, who had been astir long before sunrise, was summoned to attend upon them.

Neither cared for eating. The larder of Stone Dean had spoiled the appetites of both; while its cellar had only sharpened their craving for drink.

At first Walford scarce regarded the chill reception extended to him by the daughter of his host. He was too much elated at the prospect--of being soon disembarrassed of his dreaded rival--to pay attention to the frowns of his mistress. At that moment he believed himself in a fair way of becoming master of the situation.

By little and little, however, his jealous misgivings began to rise into the ascendant--mastering even the potent spirit of the juniper.

A movement which Bet had made towards the door--where she stood looking wistfully out, as if expecting some one--forcibly arrested Walford's attention; and, notwithstanding the presumed restraint of her father's presence, he broke out in a strain of resentful recrimination.

"Da-ang thee!" he exclaimed, angrily blurting out the phrase, "Thee be a' stannin' in that door for no good. I wonder thee allows it, Dick Dancey?"

"Eh! lad--hic-hic-ough!--what is't, Wull? Say Bets'! what ha' ye-- hic-hic-ough--eh?"

"She be danged! An' thee be a old fool, Dick--to let her go on so wi' that fellow."

"Eh, Wull? Wha' fella--who ye meean, lad?--hic-cuff!"

"_She_ know who I mean--she know well enough, wi' all her innocent looks. Ha! He'll make a--of her, if he han't did it a'ready."

"Father! will you listen to this language?" cried Bet, turning in from the door, and appealing to her natural protector against the vile term which her drunken suitor had applied to her. "It isn't the first time he has called me by that name. Oh, father! don't let him say it again!"

"Your father 'll find out some day that it be only the truth," muttered Walford doggedly.

"Troos!" repeated Dancey, with a maudlin stare, "Troos--what is't, lad?--what is't, Betsey, gurl?"

"He called me a --," answered the girl, reluctantly repeating the opprobrious epithet.

"He did! called you a --, Betsey? If he called ye th'-th'-that, I'll sm-a-a-ash him into faggots!"

As the woodman uttered this characteristic threat, he attempted to raise himself into an upright attitude--apparently with the intention of carrying it into execution.

The attempt proved a failure; for, after half-regaining his legs, the intoxicated deer-stealer sank back into his chair--the "rungs" of which bent and cracked under his ponderous weight, as if about to part company with each other.

"Ee-s!" tauntingly continued the accuser, gaining confidence by the helplessness of Old Dick--otherwise dreaded by him. "Thee deserves to be called it! Thee be all I say--a--"

"You hear him, father? He has said it again!"

"Said what--what, Bets, gurl?"

"That I'm a--"

And Betsey once more repeated the offensive word, this time pronouncing it with fuller emphasis.

The second appeal called forth a more energetic response. This time Dancey's attempt to get upon his feet was more successful.

Balancing himself against the back of his great arm-chair, he cried out:--

"Wull Walford! Thee be a villain! How dar' thee call my daughter--a-- a--hic-cock? Goo out o' my house this minute; or if thee doant-- hic-coo--if thee doant, I'll split thy skull like a withy! Get thee goo-oo-oone!"

"I'll do jest that!" answered Walford, sulkily rising from his chair, and scowling resentfully both on father and daughter. "I ha' got a house o' my own to go to; an' dang me, if I doant take along wi' me what be my own!"

Saying this, he whipped the stone jar from the table, stuck the cork into it; and placing it once more under his skirt, strode out of the deer-stealer's dwelling.

"Da-ang thee, Dick Dancey!" he shouted back, after stepping over the threshold. "Thee be-est an old fool--that's what thee be! An' as for thee," he added, turning fiercely towards Bet, "maybe thee hast seen thy fine fancy--for the last time. Hoora! _I've did that this night, 'll put iron bars atween thee an' him_. Dang thee, thou--"

And once more repeating the insulting epithet, the vile brute broke through the flimsy fence, and went reeling away into the woods. It was at this moment that his receding figure came under the eyes of Gregory Garth, just then approaching the cottage from the opposite direction.

"What be that he say 'bout iron bars?" inquired Dancey, slightly sobered by the unpleasant incident. "Who be he threatening, gurl?"

"I can't say, father," replied Bet, telling a white lie. "I think he don't know himself what he says. He is the worse for drink."

"That he be, ha! ha!--E-es--hic-coo--he must be full o't--that hol-hol-lands he had up there at the old house--hic-coo! that ha' done 'im up. The lad han't got much o' a head for drink. He be easy, to get over-c-c-come. Ha! ha! ha! I b'lieve Betsy, gurl, I've been a drinkin' m'self? Never mind! Be all right after I ha' a wink i' the old arm-ch-ch-air. So here goo-go-es!"

With this wind-up, the deer-stealer let himself down into the great beechwood chair--as easily as his unmanageable limbs would allow him-- and, in less than ten seconds' time, his snoring proved that he was asleep.

Volume Two, Chapter XV.

The parting speech of her resentful lover had not fallen upon the ears of Bet Dancey without producing an effect.

It was not the opprobrious epithet concluding it that had caused the red to forsake her cheeks--leaving them, with her lips, blanched and bloodless. It was not the vilifying phrase, but the hint that preceded it, which caused her to start to her feet, and stand for some time gasping with suspended breath.

"_Maybe thee hast seen thy fine fancy for the last time. Ha! I've did that this night 'll put iron bars atween thee and him_."

Such were Walford's exact words.

Between her and whom? Holtspur? Who else? Who but Holtspur was in _her_ mind? And who but he could be in the mind of Walford?

She knew that Walford was fiercely jealous of the black horseman. Glad would she have been for the latter to have given him cause. Alas! she alone had exhibited the signs that had conducted Walford to this jealousy.

Iron bars--a prison--for him--the man who in her own wild way she almost adored!

What did it mean? Was it in prospect, this threatened prison for Holtspur? Or might it mean that he was already incarcerated?

The latter could scarce be--else something relating to it would have escaped from the lips either of her father or his guest, during their babble over the bottle of Hollands?

They had been at Stone Dean throughout the whole night. The girl knew it, and knew how they had been employed; knew also something of the character of the company convened there--enough to convince her that it was some sort of a secret assemblage, dangerous to be held under the light of day.

The unlettered, but intelligent maiden, knew, moreover, that the cavalier was a man of peculiar inclinings--that is, one who was suspected of not being loyal to the king. She had heard all this in whispers, and from the lips of her father--who was accustomed to make no secret of his own disloyalty.

Bet regarded not the republican leanings of the man she admired. Perhaps on this account she admired him all the more? Not because they were in consonance with the professions of her own father; but from the courage required to avow such sentiments in such times; and courage was just the virtue to challenge the admiration of this bold-hearted beauty.

If there was aught to interfere with her approval of Holtspur's political proclivities, it was a vague sense of his being in danger from holding them. This, from time to time, had rendered her uneasy on his account.

The words of Walford had changed this uneasiness into a positive anxiety.

True, he appeared to have uttered them in spite; but not the less likely was his conditional threat to have a foundation in some fact about transpiring, or that had already transpired.

"There _is_ danger," muttered the maiden, as Walford went off. "Master Holtspur must be warned of it--if I have to go myself. I _shall_ go," she added, as she saw her father sink helplessly into his chair, "and this very instant."

She whipped her hooded cloak from its peg, flung it loosely over her shoulders; and, casting another glance towards the sleeper in the chair, was about to set forth on her half-spoken errand; when, just at that moment, the lurcher gave out his note of alarm.

The intoxicated deer-stealer heard the bark; stirred slightly on his seat; muttered some incoherent syllables; and wandered off into a fresh maze of drunken dreaming.

"If it should be Will coming back?" said Bet, moving on tiptoe towards the door; "I wouldn't be a bit surprised."

"Thank the stars, it's not! Some one from the direction of Stone Dean! Oh! if it should be--"

An exclamation of disappointment interrupted the speech, as a tall, motley-clad figure, a dark-skinned face, and black bushy whiskers presented themselves a short distance off, under the branches of the trees.

"It's that new friend of father's--_his_ friend, too," muttered the girl. "I heard them say he was at the Dean last night. Perhaps _he_ can tell? Maybe he comes--"

"Morrow, my gurl!" saluted Gregory Garth, interrupting Bet's speculations as to the object of his visit. "Niceish weather. Old bird back to his roost yet?"

"My father, you mean?" rejoined Bet, not showing any displeasure at the bizarre style, either of the salute, or the interrogatory.

"Why, sartin, I means him. Theer an't no other old bird as belongs to this nest, be there? At home, eh?"

"He is. He's asleep in his chair. You see him there?"

"Well, he do appear to be somethin' o' that sort, sureish enough. Asleep, eh? He snorts like a good un! An't he a leetlish bit more than sleepin'?" continued the interrogator, seeing that Bet hesitated to make reply to this last interrogatory. "Eh, gurl?"

"Well! I won't ask ye to answer the question--seein' he be thy father. But theer sartinly be a strongish smell here. Ah! it be coomin' from these cups, I suppose."

Garth, as he said this, lifted one of the drinking vessels from the table; and held it up to his nose.

"That's been Hollands in that 'ere. Same in t'other," he added, smelling the second cup. "Got the exact _bokay_--as the French say 'bout their wines--o' some o' them spirits over at the Dean. But surely the old un don't need both cups to drink out o'. There's been another un at it? It wan't thyself?"

"No!" replied Bet, pronouncing the denial with a slightly indignant emphasis.

"Doant be 'fended, gurl! I war only a jokin' thee. But who war the other jovial?"

"A friend of father's. You know him, master? Will Walford it was."

"A friend o' your father's, eh? A great friend o' yer father's, aint he?"

"Father thinks a deal of him--more than he ought to, may be."

"Then it's not true, Mistress Betsey, that you be so sweet upon this Wull Walford?"

"Sweet upon _him_! Who said I was?"

"Well, nobody as I knows on; but everybody say he be that way about you."

"I can't help that; nor people's tongues, neither. If people would only mind their own business--"

"Ah! if they would, what a happy, comfortable world we'd have o't! But they woan't--they woant--dang seize 'em! they woant!"

After giving utterance to this somewhat old-fashioned reflection, Gregory remained for a time in a state of moody silence--as if labouring under some regret which the thought had called up.

"You have some business with father?" said Bet, interrogatively.

"Well--that," replied Garth, appearing to hesitate about what he was going to say--"that depends. Sartin the old un don't look much like doin' business just now--do he?"

"I fear not," was Bet's simple reply.

"May be, Mistress Betsey," continued Garth, giving a glance of scrutiny into the face of the girl. "May be _you_ might do for the business I have on hand--better, maybe, than thy father? I want--"

"What is it you want?" inquired Betsey, too impatient to wait for the words, that were spoken by Garth with some deliberation.

"A friend. Not for myself; but for one that be in danger."

"Who--who's in danger?" asked the girl, with an eagerness of manner, that did not escape the quick eye of him to whom the interrogatory was addressed.

"A gentleman--a real gentleman. _You_ ought to know who I mean?"

"I ought to know! How sir?"

"You han't heerd, then, what hae' happened at Stone Dean, this mornin'?"

Bet made no answer. Her look, while proclaiming a negative, told the presentiment with which the question had inspired her.

"You han't heerd as how Master Holtspur ha' been tuk a prisoner, and carried away by the kewreseers o' Captain Scarthe? You han't heerd that, eh?"

"Oh!" cried Bet, adding a somewhat more emphatic form of ejaculation. "That then is what he meant. I might have known it. O God--it was that!"

"Who meant? What?"

"Walford, Will Walford, oh!--the villain!"

"Thee callest him a villain. Do thy father think him one?"

"When he hears this, he will. Oh! Master Holtspur a prisoner! and to that man who is his deadly enemy! 'Tis Will Walford's doings--I am sure it is."

"What makes thee think that, gurl?"

"He said he had done something--this very hour--something to bring it about."

"Did he say so to thy father?"

"No; only out of spite to me--just as he was going off. My father heard him, but he was too--too sleepy to understand him. If he had--"

"He would ha' been angry wi' him--as thou art?"

"I'm sure he would."

"All right. I thought as much."

"A prisoner! Oh, sir! where have they taken him to? What will they do to him? Tell me--tell me!"

"I'll tell thee, when I know myself; and that, gurl, be just the errand ha' brought me over here. I see it be no use wakin' up the old 'un just now. Them Hollands'll keep _him_ a prisoner, till well-nigh sundown. I' the meanwhile, somethin' must be done 'ithout him. Maybe you can sarve my purpose, as well, or better'n him--if thee be that way disposed."

"What purpose? If it be anything I can do for--for--Master Holtspur! Oh, I shall be only too glad."

"That be just what I want. Thee must know I'm a friend o' Master Holtspur--an old retainer o' his family; and I'll lay down my life, or a'most that, to get him out o' the clutches o' these kewreseers. I know theer captain'll try to get him beheaded. Ah! an' he'll get it done too; if we can't find some way o' escape for him. It's to find that, I wants thy help, Mistress Betsey."

"Tell me how I can help thee--I am ready for anything?" responded the girl.

As she said this, both her air and attitude betokened the truthfulness of her words.

"There be no time to lose, then; else I mout ha' waited for yer father to go snacks wi' us. No matter. We can take the first steps without him. It will be for you to go up to Bulstrode--that's where they've taken Master Henry just now; an' get inside the house. You be known there, beant ye?"

"Oh, yes; I can go in or out when I like. They won't suspect anything in that."

"It be more than I could do, wi' that an' a good many other houses," said Garth, smiling significantly, "else I mout ha' gone myself. But you'll do better than me--better than anybody, mayhap. Find out, if ye can, first--whether the prisoner be goin' to be taken up to London; then, what time they're goin' to take him; then, what part o' the house they've put him in: for he's sure to be shut up somewhere. Find out that; an' as much more as you can; and fetch the whole story back here to me. Maybe by the time you gets back, the old un'll be awake, an' ha' his noddle clear enough to help us think o' something."

"I shall go at once," said Bet, moving in the direction of the door.

"Ay, start right off. The minutes be preecious for Master Henry. Stay! I'll go with thee a bit. I've got another errand out this direction, that'll just about take up my time, till ye get back. We may as well go thegither--so far as our roads agree. Good-bye, Dick Dancey! Snore on, old un; an' sleep it off as quick's ye can: we may want ye badly bye-an'-bye."

And with this jocular leave-taking, the retired footpad stepped out of the house, and followed the girl--who, eager upon the errand that had summoned her forth, had already advanced some distance along the path.

Their routes did not correspond for any great length. At a distance of two or three hundred yards from the cottage, the path parted into two; one, the plainer one, running towards the rearward of Bulstrode Park; the other--which appeared as if used by only a few individuals--trending in the direction of Will Walford's domicile.

The daughter of Dick Dancey faced into the former; and, stepping out nimbly, soon disappeared behind the hanging boughs of the beeches.

The ex-footpad, lingering a little to look after her, as soon as she was out of sight, turned into the other path; which would conduct him to the hut of the woodman.

Before going far in this new direction, he once more came to a stop, alongside a big bush of holly, that grew near the path. Drawing a clasp knife from his pocket, he proceeded to cut off one of its largest branches.

Having severed the sapling from its parent stem, he continued to ply his blade upon it, until it had assumed the shape and dimensions of a stout cudgel. The purpose for which this weapon was designed may already have been guessed at. If not, the mutterings which escaped from the lips of Gregory Garth will make clear his intent.

"I don't want," said he, paring off some of the more prominent knots with his knife. "I don't want to kill the brute outright--though he desarve that much, an' more too. I'll gie 'im a dose, howsomever, as 'll keep 'im in-doors, an' out o' further mischief--as long as I'm likely to stay in this sogerin' neighbourhood. He han't got much o' a picter to spoil no how; or I'd make his ugly mug that his own mother if he ha' one, wouldn't like to swear to it. Next time he goo to play spy, or help others to do't eyther, he'll be apt to remember Gregory Garth. Won't he?

"A tydish bit o' stick," he continued, holding up the piece of trimmed holly, and surveying it with an air of satisfaction, "and if I'd let them knots stay on, I shouldn't like to ha' answered for the skull case o' Mister Wull Walford, thick as that be. I dare say it'll do now, and I maun keep on to his house. Ha! theers his paltry stye, I suppose? I hope the pig's in o' it."

Saying this, he advanced stealthily a few paces, and then stopped to listen.

"Good!" he exclaimed, "the brute _be_ inside: I hear his gruntin'. Dang seize it, it's a snore! They be all a-sleepin' this Wapsey's Wood! Well, I'll wake _him_ out o' that, wi' a heigh an' a ho; and here goo to begin it!"

On giving utterance to this threat, he started forward at a quick pace. He was soon inside the hut, and standing over the prostrate form of the slumbering woodchopper.

The latter was lying upon a low bed--the true truckle of the peasant's cottage--a stout structure of beechen timber, with short legs raising it about a foot from the floor.

The occupant of this coarse couch was upon his back, with arms and legs extended to their full length--as if he had been spread out on purpose to dry. But the liquid that had placed him in that attitude was not water. It was a fluid that had been administered internally: as could be told by the stone jar of hollands that stood upon the floor, within reach of his hand; and which his uninvited visitor upon examination found to be empty.

"He's stolen it from the cellar o' Stone Dean," remarked the latter, after smelling the jar, and otherwise scrutinising it. "I know by the sniff o' the liquor it's that same; an' I could sweer to them Dutch bottles afore a full quorum o' justices. Poor Master Henry! He's not only been betrayed, but robbed by this ugly rascal. Well, here goo to gie him his reward!"

As Garth uttered the words, he seized his fresh-cut cudgel; and was about to come down with it upon the carcase of the slumbering woodman, when some thought suddenly stayed his hand.

"No!" he exclaimed; "I'll wake him first, and gie him a bit o' my mind. If he ha' the feeling o' a human creeture, I'll first punish him i' the _moral way_--as the Vicar o' Giles's Chaffont 'ud call it."

"Hee up!" he shouted aloud, poking the sleeper with the point of his stick. "Roust thee, thou sluggart, and see what's time o' day! Twelve by the sun, if it's an hour. Hee up, I say!"

Another poke of the stick, administered still more sharply than before, like its predecessor, produced no effect--or only the slightest. The inebriate rustic continued to snore; and only a low grunt declared his consciousness of having been disturbed; though it seemed more the mechanical action of the cudgel, that had been pushed rather forcibly into the pit of his stomach.

"Hee up!" cried Garth, once more giving him a taste of the holly stick. "Rouse thyself, I say! If ye don't, I'll wallop ye in your sleep. Roust! roust!"

At each summons the poke was repeated; but with no better success than before. The deeper gave forth a series of spasmodic grunts; but still continued to snore on.

"But for his snorin', I'd think he wur gone dead," said Garth, desisting from his attempts to awake him. "If not dead, however, he be dead drunk. That's clear enough!"

"It be no use trying to bring him to his senses?" continued he, after appearing to reflect. "And what's worse, 'twill be no use beatin' him in that state. The unfeelin' brute as I may well call him wouldn't _feel_ it no how. I mout as well strike my stick against that theer bundle o' faggots. It's danged disappointin'! What be the best thing to do wi' him?"

The puzzled footpad stood for a while reflecting; then continued:--

"'Twoan't do to ha' tuk the trouble o' comin' here for nothin'--beside the cuttin' o' this cudgel. If I lay it into him now, he woan't feel it, till after he gets sober. That an't the satisfaction I want. _I want to see him feel it_."

Again the speaker paused to consider.

After a moment or two his eyes began to wander around the walls--as if some design had suggested itself, and he was searching for the means to carry it into execution.

Presently an object came under his gaze that appeared to fix it.

It was a coil of rope, or thick cord--that had been thrown over one of the couplings of the roof, and was hanging within reach of his hand.

"That be the best way, I take it," said he, resuming his soliloquy, "an' I dar say this'll do. It appear a stoutish piece, o' string," he continued, dragging the cord from off the coupling, and trying its strength between hand and heel. "Yes; it be strong enough to hold a bull on his back--let alone a pig like him; and just long enough to make four ties o't. It's the very identical."

Once more taking out his knife, he cut the cord into four nearly equal pieces. He then proceeded to carry out the design that had shaped itself in his mind; and which, judging by his satisfied air as he set about it, appeared as if it promised to extricate him from his dilemma.

This was simply to strap the drunken man to his truckle; and leave him there--until his restoration to a state of sobriety should render him sensible of the chastisement which he, Garth, intended to return and administer!

As the woodchopper lay with arms and limbs stretched out to their full length, his inviting attitude appeared to have suggested to Garth this mode of dealing with him.

Chuckling over his work, with the quickness of an expert in the handling of ropes, the footpad now proceeded to the accomplishment of his task.

In a few minutes' time, he had fastened the wrists and ankles of the sleeper to the trestles of his couch. This done, he stepped back to take a survey; and as he stood over the unconscious captive, with arms-a-kimbo, he broke forth into a fit of uproarious laughter.

"An't he a beauty, as he lays theer?" said he, as if interrogating some unseen individual. "A reglar babe o' the woods! Only wants the Robin-redbreasts to kiver him wi' a scattering o' beech leaves! Now," added he, apostrophising the fast-bound sleeper, "you stay theer till I coom back! I don't say it 'll be inside the twenty-four hours; but if 'tan't, don't be impatient, an' fret yourself 'bout my absence. I've promised I'll coom; an' you may be sure o't. For the present, Master Wull Walford, I'll bid you a good mornin'!"

Saying this, and placing his cudgel in a corner--where he might readily lay hands upon it again--Garth stepped forth from the hut; carefully closed the door behind him; and took the back track towards the cottage in which he had left the other inebriate Dancey. Him he now hoped to find in a more fit state, for acting as his co-partner in a scheme, he had partially conceived for the rescue of his imprisoned patron.

Volume Two, Chapter XVI.