Chapter XIV: Part 14

Holtspur was altogether unarmed. Resistance could only end in his being thrust through by their swords, or impaled upon their halberts; and once more the gallant cavalier, who could not have been vanquished by a single antagonist, was forced to yield to that fate which may befall the bravest. He had to succumb to the strength of superior numbers.

Marched afoot between a double file of his captors, he was conducted back along the road, towards the prison from which he had so recently escaped.

The mingled groans and laughter, still continued to wake up the echoes of Wapsey's Wood.

To Holtspur they were only intelligible, so far as that the laughing part in the duet was being performed by the ex-footpad--Gregory Garth. The soldiers, intent upon retaining their prisoner, gave no further heed to them, than to remark upon their strangeness. But for the merry peals at intervals interrupting the more lugubrious utterance, they might have supposed that a foul murder was being committed. But the laughter forbade this supposition; and Holtspur's guard passed out of hearing of the strange noises, under the impression that they came from a camp of gipsies, who, in their nocturnal orgies, were celebrating some ceremony of their vagrant ritual.

She who had been the instrument of Holtspur's delivery, had also played the chief part in his recapture. Following his captors under the shadow of the trees, unseen by him and them, she had continued a spectator to all that passed; for a time giving way to the joy of her jealous vengeance.

Soon, however, on seeing the rude treatment to which her victim was subjected--when she witnessed the jostling, and heard the jeers of his triumphant captors, her spirit recoiled from the act she had committed; and, when, at length, the courtyard gate was closed upon the betrayed patriot, the daughter of Dick Dancey fell prostrate upon the sward, and bedewed the grass with tears of bitter repentance!

Volume Three, Chapter VII.

About an hour after the recapture of Henry Holtspur, two men might have been seen descending the long slope of Red Hill, in the direction of Uxbridge.

They were both men of large stature--one of them almost gigantic. They were on horseback: the younger of the two bestriding a good steed, while his older and more colossal companion was mounted upon as sorry a jade as ever set hoof upon a road.

The first, booted and spurred, with a plumed hat upon his head, and gauntlets upon his wrists, in the obscure light might have been mistaken for a cavalier. When the moon made its appearance from behind the clouds--which happened at intervals--a certain _bizarrerie_ about his costume forbade the supposition; and the stalwart form and swarth visage of Gregory Garth were then too conspicuous to escape recognition, by any acquaintance he might have encountered upon the road.

The more rustic garb of his travelling companion--as well as the figure it enveloped--could with equal facility be identified as belonging to Dick Dancey, the deer-stealer.

The presence of these two worthies on horseback, and riding towards Uxbridge, was not without a purpose, presently to be explained.

The cuirassiers had been astray in conjecturing that the noises heard in Wapsey's Wood proceeded from a gang of gipsies. It was nothing of the kind. What they heard was simply Gregory Garth engaged in the performance of that promise he had made in the morning. Although he did not carry out his threat to the exact letter, he executed it in the spirit; taking his departure from the bedside of Will Walford, only after every bone in the woodman's body had been made to taste the quality of the cudgel expressly cut for the occasion.

It is possible that Will Walford's punishment might have been still more severe, but that his castigator was pressed for time--so much so, that he left the wretch without releasing him, with a set of suffering bones, and a skin that exhibited all the colours of the rainbow.

After thus settling accounts with the "_tree_-tur," as he called him, Garth had thrown away his holly stick, and hastened back to the road.

Under the supposition that Holtspur was by that time advanced some distance towards Beaconsfield, he hurried on to overtake him.

The moon was shining full upon the track; and in the dust, which the rain had recently converted into mud, the ex-footpad did not fail to perceive a number of footprints. In the exercise of his peculiar calling, he had been accustomed to note such signs, and had acquired a skill in their interpretation equal to that of a backwoods hunter.

Instantly he stopped, and commenced scrutinising the sign.

He was upon the spot where the capture had been accomplished. The footmarks of six or seven men--who had been springing violently from side to side--had left long slides and scratches in the damp dust. The tracks of the troopers were easily distinguished; and in their midst the more elegant imprint of a cavalier's boot.

Garth needed no further evidence of the misfortune that had befallen. Beyond doubt his master had been once more made prisoner; and, cursing himself for being the cause, he mechanically traced the backward tracks--his despondent air proclaiming that he had but little hope of being able to effect a rescue.

Returning upon the traces of the cuirassier guards, he re-entered the park, and advanced towards the mansion--which the darkness enabled him to do with safety. There he had discovered Bet Dancey--a sorrowing penitent--prostrate upon the ground--where, in her distraction, she had thrown herself.

From the girl he had obtained confirmation of the recapture--though not the true cause either of that, or her own grief.

Her statement was simple. The guards had followed Master Holtspur; they had overtaken, overpowered, and brought him back; he was once more locked up within the store-room.

The hope, of again delivering him out of the hands of his enemies, might have appeared too slender to be entertained by any one; and for a time it did so--even to the unflinching spirit of his old retainer.

But the ex-footpad, when contemplating the chances of getting out of a prison, was not the man to remain the slave of despair--at least for any great length of time; and no sooner had he satisfied himself, that his master was once more encaged, than he set his wits freshly to work, to contrive some new scheme for his deliverance.

From the store-room, in which Holtspur was again confined, it would be no longer possible to extricate him. The trick, already tried, could not succeed a second time. Withers was the only one of the guards who might have been tempted; but after his affright, it was not likely that either the promise of kisses, or the proffer of gold pieces, would again seduce the sentry from the strict line of his duty.

But Garth did not contemplate any such repetition. An idea that promised a better chance of success had offered itself to his mind. To set free his master by _strategy_ was henceforth plainly impracticable. Perhaps it might be done by _strength_?

Not in Bulstrode mansion--where the prisoner was surrounded by fourscore cuirassiers? No--clearly not. There could be no possibility of accomplishing a rescue there; nor did Gregory Garth give it a moment's thought. His ideas became directed to the road that lay between the two prisons--the store-room and the Tower. He already knew that Holtspur was to be transferred from one to the other, and on the following day. During the transit, might there not be some chance of effecting a rescue?

Garth knew the London Road--every inch of it--and, in one way or other, was acquainted with most of the people who dwelt near it. Although upon an odd individual, here and there, he had practised his peculiar vocation, there were few with whom he was upon hostile terms. With many he held relations of friendship; and with a goodly number certain other relations, that should entitle him to an act of service at their hands.

With a plan--but still only half developed--he had once more hurried back along the Hedgerley Road, towards the rendezvous, where Dancey and the Indian had already arrived with the horses.

He found them waiting, and apprehensive;--almost expecting the sad tidings he had to communicate--the failure of their enterprise.

As Garth, during the backward tramp, had more definitely arranged his programme of action, there was no time wasted in consultation. Dancey readily consented to the proposal, to become his confederate in the scheme he had so promptly conceived.

Oriole having been directed to return to Stone Dean, the ex-footpad sprang upon his stolen steed; and, followed by the deer-stealer on his scraggy cob, at once started off along upon a bridle path, which winding around the southern boundary of Bulstrode Park, would bring them to the king's highway, where the latter crossed over the elevated plain of Jarret's Heath.

It is in pursuance of the scheme conceived by Garth, that he and his companion were descending Red Hill at that early hour of the morning.

Whithersoever bent, they were evidently in haste to reach their destination--more especially Garth, who was constantly urging his companion to keep up with him. The quadruped bestridden by the deer-stealer was the chief obstruction to their speed; and despite the frequent application of a stout stick, which his rider carried in hand, and the pricking of a rusty spur fastened upon his heel, the sorry hack could not be urged beyond a slow shuffling trot--discontinued the instant the stimulus of stick and spur were suspended.

"The devil burn your beest, Dancey!" cried the ex-footpad, losing all patience at the slow pace of the animal. "We'll not ha' nigh time enough to see them all. From what your daughter learnt yesterday, the sogers 'll bring their prisoner down the road, the first thing in the mornin'. They'll do that, so's to make the journey to Lonnon afore night. No doubt about their gettin' to Uxbridge by ten o' the clock; an' just see what we've got to do afore then. Stick the spur into him-- up to the shank, Dancey! The lazy brute! I'd make 'im go, if I war astride o' him."

"The poor creetur!" compassionately rejoined Dancey, by way of an apology for his nag, "he han't had a bite o' any thin' to eat for a week--'ceptin' what he ha' grubbed off o' the roadside. No wonder he bean't much for a fast journey."

"Lucky it isn't a longish one. If we had Lonnon afore us we'd niver get there! As it is--ha! now I think on't, I've got a idea as'll save time. There be no use for us to keep thegither. You go round Denham way, an' warn your friends there. You can cross the Colne higher up, an' scud on to the Harefield fellows. I'll take Uxbridge an' Hillindon, and along in the Drayton direction. That'll be our best plan. We can meet at the Rose and Crown, as soon as we've got through. I'll go there first, so as to gi'e old Brownie a hint 'bout gettin' his tap ready. Lucky I ha' been able to borrow some money upon a watch I chanced upon--a tydish bit--else we mightn't find these patriots so free to lend us a hand. I shall spend it all--every stiver o't--for the rescue o' Master Henry."

"I han't got nothin' to spend, or I'd do the same for him," returned the deer-stealer. "He be the best an' liberallest gentleman ever coom about these parts--that be he."

"You're not far wrong about that, Master Dancey. Too good a gentleman to have his head chopped off for speakin' no more than's the truth; an' we must do our best to help 'im keep it on his shoulders. There's your road to Denham. Stick the spur into your blessed beast, an' make him do his damnest. Be sure you meet me at the bridge--afore ten."

And with these injunctions the ex-footpad separated from the deer-stealer--the latter turning off upon the lane which led to the village of Denham; while the former continued along the direct road towards the town of Uxbridge.

Volume Three, Chapter VIII.

At that early hour all the world appeared to be asleep--silence and slumber having been seemingly restored to the lately disturbed inmates of Bulstrode mansion; though not all of these had been disturbed, by the occurrences we have described.

Happy in the thought of having humiliated his rival, and the hope of eventually crushing him altogether, Captain Scarthe had slept soundly throughout the whole night--little suspecting the series of incidents that were transpiring, some scarce a score of yards from his couch, and all within a mile's circuit of the mansion.

Even after awaking, he was not informed of the various love interviews, hairbreadth escapes, and captures, that, during the after-hours of that eventful night had been following each other in such quick succession. The whole affair had been managed so silently that, beyond the six men comprising the guard, with the corporal himself, not another cuirassier knew of what had happened. Withers had taken care that the tongues of his comrades should be tied--a purpose he might not have succeeded in effecting, but for those golden pieces which the lady had so profusely poured into his palm, and of which he was now compelled to make a generous, though somewhat reluctant disbursement.

The result was, that at the changing of the guard, the prisoner was handed over to the _relief_, bound as before; and no one in the troop was made acquainted with the facts, either of his escape or recapture. The new guard entered upon its _tour_, undo the full belief, that their charge had spent the whole of the night within the precincts of his prison.

Of the several individuals who had been privy to his escape, there was only one who by daybreak still remained ignorant that he had been retaken. Marion slumbered till the morning, unconscious of the re-arrest of her lover, as Scarthe of his temporary deliverance. On parting with him, she had gone to her couch, though not directly. The noises heard without had made her uneasy; and, standing by a window on the stairway she had listened. She had heard voices of men--a woman's as well--uttered in low tones; but soon after they had ceased. She knew it must be some of the guard, and the woman's voice she could guess at; but, as so little disturbance had been made, she did not suspect that it was an alarm, or that they had yet discovered the absence of the prisoner from his place of confinement.

She listened for a long time. She even returned to the verandah door, opened it, looked out, and listened again. But all was quiet, outside as within; and supposing that the soldiers had returned into the courtyard, she at length re-entered her chamber, and sought repose upon her couch.

Her prolonged vigil, and its happy termination, favoured sleep; and at that moment, when Henry Holtspur was struggling in the grasp of the cuirassier guards, Marion Wade was dreaming a delightful dream of his delivery--in which she fancied herself enjoying over and over again that ecstatic interview that had succeeded it!

Her slumber, with its concomitant dream, was protracted far into the hours of daylight. Long as they had continued, both were destined to a rude interruption.

She was awakened by sounds without, betokening the presence of men under the window of her chamber. Horses, too--as could be told by the stamping of hooves upon the gravelled esplanade. Several distinct voices reached her ear--one louder than the rest--which was occasionally raised in abrupt accents of command; and once or twice in a tone altogether different--in laughter! Whichever way uttered, it sounded harsh in the hearing of Marion Wade: she knew it was Scarthe's.

For what was the cuirassier captain abroad at so early an hour? Was it so early?

Her arm was extended from under the coverlet, white as the counterpane itself. Her jewelled watch was taken up from the tripod table on which it lay. Its dial was consulted: ten of the clock!

At the same instant, the hour was proclaimed in sonorous cadence from the tower o'ertopping the mansion.

It was not to assist her in conjecturing the purpose of that matutinal commotion that Marion had so eagerly glanced to the dial of her watch. After the events of the night, she could have had but one surmise: that Holtspur's escape had been discovered; and the noises outside were made by those preparing to go off in pursuit of him. She had looked at her watch, to ascertain the time that had elapsed since Holtspur's departure. She was gratified at perceiving the lateness of the hour.

But why did Scarthe appear to be so happy? Those peals of laughter were inappropriate to the occasion--proceeding from one who should have been suffering chagrin?

At the thought, Marion sprang from her couch, and glided towards the window. From that window, but the morning before, she had witnessed the most painful spectacle of her life. Very similar, and scarce less painful, was that which now greeted her glance: Henry Holtspur, bound upon the back of a horse, and encompassed by a troop of cuirassiers, who, in full armour, were keeping close guard upon him!

They were all mounted, with accoutrements and valises strapped to their saddles--as if ready for a journey. Scarthe himself a journey, pacing back and forth upon the gravelled walk; but in a costume that showed he had no intention to accompany the party, on whatever expedition it was bent. Cornet Stubbs was to be its leader. Mounted upon Holtspur's steed, he was at that moment placing himself at the head of the troop, preliminary to commencing the march.

Marion had scarce time to take in the details of this tableau--equally unexpected and sad--when a bugle brayed out the signal, "Forward." Its notes drowned the scream that escaped from her quivering lips, as the form of her beloved was ruthlessly borne away out of sight.

Nearly half an hour had elapsed before the confusion of ideas-- consequent on such a painful scene--permitted on the part of Marion Wade, a return to anything like calm reflection. Even then her mind was still wandering amidst a maze of unavailing thoughts, when voices, again heard below, recalled her to the window.

She looked out as before. The tableau was changed from that she had already contemplated.

Only two individuals composed it--Scarthe and a stranger.

The latter was a man in civilian costume; but of a certain guise that betokened him to be in the service of the king. He was on horseback-- his horse frothing, smoking, and panting, as if after a long gallop at top speed.

Scarthe was standing by the stirrup, listening to some communication which the rider appeared to impart--in a haste that proclaimed its importance.

Despite his earnestness, the stranger spoke in a low tone; but his voice ascending to the window of Marion's chamber, was sufficiently loud for her to catch the significant words--

"Prisoner--rescue--Uxbridge!"

On hearing them, Scarthe was seen to spring back from the side of the horseman, with as much alertness as if the latter had aimed a blow at him!

Next moment, and, without even staying to make reply to the communication which the messenger had made, he rushed on towards the gate of the courtyard, loudly vociferating, "To horse--every man to horse!"

With that promptitude to which he had trained his troop, the cuirassiers were almost instantly in their saddles; and before Marion Wade could recover from the shock of this new surprise--more gratifying than that which had preceded it--she beheld Scarthe himself--enveloped in his steel armour--ride forth at the head of his troop; and go off at a gallop along the avenue leading out towards Uxbridge.

"A rescue--Uxbridge!" were the words that continued to echo in her ears, long after the trampling of the troopers' horses had died away upon the distant road.

"God grant it may be true!" was her murmured response to that echo.

The excited suppliant did not content herself with this simple formulary of speech. Nudely kneeling upon the floor, her white arms crossed over her bosom, she breathed forth a prayer--a fervent, passionate prayer-- invoking the protection of the God she loved, for the man she adored!

Volume Three, Chapter IX.

It was approaching the hour of ten, and Uxbridge was in the full tide of active life. More than the usual number of people appeared to be parading its streets; though no one seemed to know exactly why. It was not market-day; and the extra passengers sauntering along the footways, and standing by the corners, were not farmers. They appeared to be mostly common people--of the class of labourers, and artisans. They were not in holiday dresses; but in their ordinary every-day garb: as if they had been at work, and had abruptly "knocked off" to be present at some improvised spectacle--of which they had just received notice. The shoemaker was in his leathern apron, his hands sticky with wax; the blacksmith begrimed and sweating, as if fresh from the furnace; the miller's man under a thick coating of flour-dust; and the butcher with breeches still reeking, as if recently come out from the slaughter-house.

A crowd had collected in front of the Rose and Crown, with groups stretching across the adjacent causeway; and to this point all the odd stragglers from the upper part of the town appeared tending.

Those who had already arrived there were exhibiting themselves in a jolly humour. The tavern tap was flowing freely; and scores of people were drinking at somebody's expense; though at whose, nobody seemed either to know or care.

A tall, dark-complexioned man, oddly attired--assisted by the potmen of the establishment--was helping the crowd to huge tankards of strong ale, though he seemed more especially attentive to a score of stout fellows of various crafts and callings--several of whom appeared to be acquainted with him; and were familiarly accosting him by his name of "Greg'ry."

Another individual, still taller and more robust--as also older--was assisting "Greg'ry" in distributing the good cheer; while the host of the inn--equally interested in the quick circulation of the can--was bustling about with a smile of encouragement to all customers who came near him.

It might have been noticed that the eyes of the revellers were, from time to time, turned towards the bridge--by which the road leading westward was carried across the Colne. There was nothing particular about this structure--a great elevated arch, supporting a narrow causeway, flanked by stone walls, which extended from the water's edge some twenty or thirty yards along both sides of the road. The walls were still farther continued towards the town by a wooden paling, which separated the road from the adjoining meadows.

These, bordering both sides of the river, extended away towards the south-west, as far as the eye could reach.

Between the houses, and the nearer end of the bridge, intervened about a hundred yards of the highway, which lay directly under the eyes of the roistering crowd; but on the other side of the river, the road was not visible from the inn--being screened by the mason-work of the parapet, and the arched elevation of the causeway.

Neither on the road, nor the bridge, nor in the meadows below, did there appear aught that should have attracted the attention of the idlest loiterer; though it was evident from the glances occasionally cast westward over the water, that some object worth seeing was expected to show itself in that direction.

The expression upon the countenances of most was that of mere curiosity; but there were eyes among the crowd that betrayed a deeper interest-- amounting almost to anxiety.

The tall man in odd apparel, with the bushy black whiskers, though bandying rough jests with those around him, and affecting to look gay, could be seen at intervals casting an eager look towards the bridge, and then communicating in whispers with the individual in the faded velveteens--who was well-known to most of the bystanders as "Old Dick Dancey the deer-stealer."

"What be ye all gathered here about?" inquired a man freshly arrived in front of the inn. "Anything to be seen, masters?"

"That there be," answered one of those thus interrogated. "Wait a bit and maybe you'll see something worth seeing."

"What might it be?"

"Dragoniers--royal soldiers of his Majesty the King."

"Bah! what's there in that to get up such a row for? One sees them now every day."

"Ay, and once a day too often," added a third speaker, who did not appear to be amongst the most loyal of His Majesty's lieges.

"Ah! but you don't see them every day as you will this morning--taking a prisoner to the Tower--a grand gentleman at that!"

"A prisoner! Who?"

A name was pronounced, or rather _soubriquet_: for it was by a phrase that the question was answered.

"_The Black Horseman_," replied the man who had been questioned. "That's the prisoner you shall see, master."

The announcement might have caused a greater commotion among the spectators, but that most of those present had already learnt the object of the assemblage. The excitement that at that instant succeeded, sprang from a different cause. A man who had climbed up on the parapet of the bridge--and who had been standing with his face turned westward-- was seen making a signal, which appeared to be understood by most of those around the inn. At the same instant, a crowd of boys, who had been sharing his view from the top of the wall, commenced waving their caps, and crying out "The horse sogers--the King's Kewresseers!--they're comin' they're comin'!"

The shouting was succeeded by a profound silence--the silence of expectation.

Soon after, plumes waving over steel helmets, then the helmets themselves, then glancing gorgets and breastplates, proclaimed the approach of a troop of cuirassiers.

They came filing between the walls of grey mason-work--their helmets, as they rose up one after another over the arched parapet, blazing under the bright sun, and dazzling the eyes of the spectators.

In the troop there were exactly a dozen horsemen, riding in files of two each; but the cavalcade counted fourteen--its leader making the thirteenth, while a man, not clad in armour, though in line among the rest, completed the number.

This last individual, although robed in rich velvet, and with all the cast of a cavalier, was attached to the troop in a _peculiar_ manner. The attitude he held upon his horse--with hands bound behind his back, and ankles strapped to the girth of his saddle--told that he was of less authority than the humblest private in the rank. He was a prisoner.

He was not unknown to the people composing that crowd, into the midst of which his escort was advancing. The _black horseman_ had ridden too often through the streets of Uxbridge, and held converse with its inhabitants, to pass them in such fashion, without eliciting glances of recognition and gestures of sympathy.

He was no longer astride his own noble steed, as well-known as himself; though the horse was there, with a rider upon his back who but ill became him.

This was the chief of the escort, Cornet Stubbs, who, an admirer of horse flesh, had that day committed an act of quiet confiscation.

Holtspur was between two of the troopers, about three or four files from the rear; while the cornet--somewhat conceited in the exercise of his conspicuous command--rode swaggeringly at the head. In this fashion, the glittering cavalcade crossed the causeway of the bridge, and advanced among the crowd--until its foremost files had penetrated to a point directly in front of the inn.

Stubbs had been scanning the countenance of the people as he rode in among them. He fancied he saw faces that frowned upon him; but these were few; and, on the whole, the assemblage seemed simply hilarious and cheerful.

It never occurred to him, that there could be any intention of interrupting his march. How could it? He presumed, that, as soon as his charger penetrated into the thick of the crowd, the individuals comprising it would spring quickly aside, and make way for him and his followers.

It was with some surprise, therefore, that on getting fairly in front of the inn, he found the passage blocked by human bodies--standing so densely across the street, that in order to avoid riding over them, he was compelled to bring his horse to a halt.

Just at that instant, a shout rose up around him--apparently intended as a cheer of congratulation to the soldiers; while a voice, louder than the rest, vociferated: "The King! the King! Down with disloyal knaves! Death to all traitors!"

There was a touch of irony in the tones; but it was too delicately drawn for the dull perception of Cornet Stubbs; and he interpreted the speeches, in their loyal and literal sense.

"My good friends!" he graciously replied, while a gratified expression stole over his stolid features, "Glad to find you in such good spirits. Am, by Ged!"

"Oh! we're in the right spirit," rejoined one. "You'll see bye-and-bye. Come, master officer! have a drink. Let's toast the king! You won't object to that, I'm sure?"

"By no means," replied Stubbs. "By no means. I should be most happy to drink with you; but you see, my friends, we're on duty; and must not be detained--mustn't, by Ged!"

"We won't detain ye a minnit," urged the first speaker--a stalwart blacksmith, as hard of face as his own hammer. "We won't, by Ged!" added he in a tone which, coupled with the peculiar form of expression, led Stubbs to conceive some doubts about the sincerity of his proffered friendship.

"Look alive there, lads!" continued the village Vulcan. "Bring out the stingo, landlord! Some of your best wine for the officer; and your strongest home-brew for his brave men. Ding it--the day's hot and dusty. You have a long ride atween this and Lunnun. You'll feel fresher, after sluicin' your throats with a can o' our Uxbridge ale. Won't ye, masters?"

The last appeal was made to the troopers; who, without making any verbal reply, signified by nods and other gestures, that they were nothing loath to accept the offer, without calling in question the _brusquerie_ of him who made it.

Almost as if by enchantment a number of men, with drinking-vessels in their hands, appeared on both flanks of the mounted escort--each holding a cup, or can, temptingly before the eyes of a trooper.

These ready waiters were not the regular tapsters of the establishment, but men of other and different crafts: the shoemakers already spoken of, in their wax-smeared aprons--the millers in their snow-white jackets-- the blacksmiths in the grimy garments--and the butchers redolent of suet.

Notwithstanding the _sans facon_ of the invitation, and the odd apparel of the attendants, the liquor frothing up before their eyes, and within scenting distance of their nostrils, was too much for the troopers to withstand. A five miles' ride along a hot and dusty road had brought them to that condition called "drouthy;" and, under such circumstances, it would not have been human nature to have denied themselves the indulgence of a drink, thus held, as it were, to their very lips.

It would not have been Scarthe's cuirassiers to have done so; and, without waiting the word--either of permission or command--each trooper took hold of the can nearest to his hand; and, raising it to his lips, cried out: "The King!"

The crowd echoed the loyal sentiment; while the improvised cup-bearers-- as if still further to testify their respect--took hold of the bridles of the horses, and kept them quiet, in order that their riders might quaff in comfort, and without spilling the precious liquor.

There were two of these attendants, however, who deviated slightly from the fashion of the rest. They were those who waited upon the two troopers that on each side flanked the prisoner. Instead of contenting themselves with holding the horses at rest, each of these attendants led the one whose bridle he had grasped a little out of the alignment of the rank. It was done silently, and as if without design; though the moment after, there was an apparent object--when a tall man, with black whiskers and swarth complexion, passed around the head of one of the horses, and holding up a flagon invited the prisoner to drink.

"You've no objection to _him_ having a wet, I suppose?" said this man, addressing himself in a side speech to the soldiers who guarded him. "Poor gentleman! He looks a bit thirstyish--doan't he?"

"You may give him a drink, or two of them, for aught I care," said the soldier more immediately interested in making answer. "But you'd better not let the officer see you."

The speaker nodded significantly towards Stubbs.

"I'll take care o' that," said Gregory Garth: for it was he who held up the flagon.

"Here, master," he continued, gliding close up to the prisoner. "Take a drop o' this beer. 'Tan't a quality liquor, I know--such as I suppose ye've been used to; but it be tidyish stuff for all that, an' 'll do ye good. Bend downish a bit, an' I'll bold it to yer lips. Don't be afeard o' fallin' out o' yer saddle. I'll put my hand ahind to steady ye. So--now--that's the way!"

Gregory's fingers, as he continued to talk, had found their way around the croup of the saddle, and rested upon the wrists of the prisoner-- where they were tied together.

The troopers behind, too much occupied by their potations, and the _facetiae_ of the attendants who administered them, saw not that little bit of shining steel, that, in the habile hands of the ex-footpad, was fast severing the cords that confined Henry Holtspur to his place.

"A goodish sort o' stuff--ain't it, master?" asked Gregory aloud, as he held the drinking-vessel to the prisoner's lips. Then adding, in a quick muttered tone, "Now, Master Henry! yer hands are free. Lay hold o' the reins; an' wheel round to the right. Stick this knife into the brute; and gallop back over the bridge, as if the devil war after ye."

"It's no use, Gregory," hurriedly answered the cavalier. "The horse is but a poor hack. They'd overtake me before I could make a mile. Ha!" exclaimed he, as if a real hope had suddenly sprung up. "Hubert! I did not think of him. There _is_ a chance. I'll try it."

During all their experience in the Flanders campaign, the cuirassiers of Captain Scarthe had never been more taken by surprise, than when their prisoner was seen suddenly clutching the reins of the steed he bestrode--with a quick wrench drawing the animal out of the rank--and, as if a spur had been applied to every square inch of his skin, they saw the old troop horse spring past them, apparently transformed into a fleet courser!

Their surprise was so great, that the drinking cups instantly dropped from their grasp; though for a good while, not one of them was able to recover his reins--which the lubberly attendants had in the most stupid manner hauled over the heads of their horses!

It did not diminish their astonishment to see the escaping prisoner pull up as he approached the bridge; raise his fingers to his lips; and give utterance to a shrill whistle, that came pealing back upon the ears of the crowd.

It did not diminish their astonishment, to hear a horse neighing--as if in reply to that strange signal. On the contrary, it increased it.

Their surprise reached its climax when they saw that, of all their number. Cornet Stubbs was the only one who had the presence of mind-- the courage and command of himself and his horse--to start immediately in pursuit!

That he had done so there could be no mistake. The black charger went sweeping past them like a bolt fired from a culverin--close following upon the heels of the fugitive, with Cornet Stubbs seated in the saddle, apparently urging the pursuit.

Alas! for Cornet Stubbs! He was not long allowed to enjoy an honour, as unexpected as unsought; no longer than while his fiery steed was galloping over the ground towards the spot where the troop horse had been hauled up.

As the two steeds came into contiguity, Stubbs became sensible of a strong hand clutching him by the gorget, and jerking him out of his stirrups. The next moment he felt a shock, as if he had been hurled heavily to the earth. He did, by Ged!

Although all this passed confusedly before his mind, the spectators saw every movement with perfect distinctness. They saw the cornet lifted out of his saddle, and pitched into the middle of the road. They saw the cavalier, who had accomplished this feat, change horses with him whom he had unhorsed--without setting foot to the ground; and, amidst the wild huzzas that greeted the achievement, they saw the blade horseman once more firmly seated astride his own steed, and galloping triumphantly away.

The cheer was an utterance of the most enthusiastic joy--in which every individual in the crowd appeared to have had a voice--the discomfited cuirassiers excepted. It was the true English "hurrah," springing from the heart of a people--ever ready to applaud an exploit of bold and dangerous daring.

Why was it not protracted: for it was not? It subsided almost on the instant that it had arisen--ere its echoes had ceased reverberating from the walls of the adjacent houses!

It was succeeded by a silence solemn and profound; and then, by a murmuring indicative of some surprise--sudden as that which had called forth the shout, but of a less pleasant nature.

No one asked the cause of that silence; though all were inquiring _the cause of what had caused it_.

The astonishment of the spectators had sprung from the behaviour of the black horseman--which at the crisis appeared singular. Having reached the central point of the bridge, instead of continuing his course, he was seen suddenly to rein up--and with such violence, as to bring his horse back upon his haunches, till his sweeping tail lay scattered over the causeway! The movement was instantly followed by another. The horse, having regained an erect attitude, was seen to head, first in one direction, then into another--as if his rider was still undecided which course he should take.

The spectators at first thought it was some fault of the animal; that he had baulked at some obstacle, and become restive.

In a few seconds they were undeceived; and the true cause of this interruption to the flight of the fugitive became apparent to all--in the waving plumes and glittering helmets that appeared beyond, rising above the cope-stones of the parapet.

Another troop of cuirassiers--larger than the first--was coming along the road in the direction of the bridge. It was Scarthe, and his squadron!

Already had the foremost files readied the termination of the parapet walls; and were advancing at a trot towards the centre of the arch. In that direction Holtspur's retreat was cut off--as completely as if he had entered within a _cul de sac_.

He saw it, and had turned to ride back; but by this time the troopers who accompanied Stubbs, stirred to energetic action by the trick played upon them, had recovered their reins, and were making all haste to pursue the prisoner. The corporal who commanded them--for the cornet still lay senseless upon the road--had succeeded in getting them into some sort of a forward movement; and they were now advancing in all haste towards the bridge.

For a moment the black horseman appeared undecided how to act. To gallop in either direction was to rush upon certain death, or certain capture. On each side was a troop of cuirassiers with drawn sabres, and carbines ready to be discharged; while the space between the two squadrons was shut in--partly by the parapet walls of the bridge, and partly by the palings that continued them.

For a man unarmed, however well mounted, to run _the gauntlet_, in either direction, was plainly an impossibility; and would only have been attempted by one reckless of life, and determined to throw it away.

I have said, that for a moment Holtspur appeared irresolute. The spectators beheld his irresolution with hearts throbbing apprehensively.

It was but for a moment; and then, the black steed was seen suddenly to turn head towards the town, and came trotting back over the bridge!

Some believed that his rider had repented of his rashness, and was about to deliver himself up to the guard, from whom he had escaped. Others were under the impression, that he intended to run the gauntlet, and was choosing the weaker party through which to make the attempt.

Neither conjecture was the correct one: as was proved the instant after--when Holtspur suddenly setting his horse transverse to the direction of the causeway, and giving the noble animal a simultaneous signal by voice, hand, and heel, sprang him over the palings into the meadow below!

The taunting cry shouted back, as he galloped off over the green sward-- a cry that more than once had tortured the ears of pursuing Indians--was heard above the vociferous huzza that greeted his escape from Scarthe and his discomfited followers.

The shots fired after him had no effect. In those days a marksman was a character almost unknown; and the bullet of a carbine was scarce more dreaded, than the shaft of the clumsy cross-bow.

The pursuit continued by the cuirassiers along the verdant banks of the Colne, was more for the purpose of saving appearances, than from any hope of overtaking the fugitive. Before his pursuers could clear the obstacle that separated them from the mead, and place themselves upon his track, the "black horseman" appeared like a dark speck--rapidly diminishing in size, as he glided onward towards the wild heaths of Iver.

Volume Three, Chapter X.

In the days of Charles (the Martyr!) a state prisoner was not such a _rara avis_ as at present. Laud had his list, and Strafford also--that noble but truculent tool of a tyrant--who ended his life by becoming himself a state prisoner--the most distinguished of all.

A gentleman denounced, and taken to the Tower, was anything but a rare event; and created scarce more sensation than would at the present day the capture of a swell-mobsman.

The arrest of Henry Holtspur passed over as a common occurrence. His rescue and escape were of a less common character; though even these served only for a nine days' wonder in the mind of the general public. There were few who understood exactly how the rescue had been brought about; or how that crowd of "disloyal knaves"--as they were termed by the king's partisans--had come to be so opportunely assembled in front of the "Rose and Crown."

No one seemed to know whither the fugitive had betaken himself--not even rumour. It was only conjectured that he had sought concealment--and found it--in that grand hiding place, safe as the desert itself: London. For those attainted with "treasonable proclivities" towards the tyrant king, the great city was, at that time, a safer asylum than any other part of his kingdom.

The cuirassier captain had done all in his power, to hinder the event from obtaining general publicity. He had not reported at head quarters, either the arrest or what followed; and he had been equally remiss of duty, in permitting the circumstances of Holtspur's rescue to pass without investigation.

He still clung to the hope of being able to effect his recapture; and to that end he employed--though in a clandestine manner--all the influence he could bring to his aid. He despatched secret agents into different parts of the country; and no communication--not even a letter--could enter the mansion of Sir Marmaduke Wade, without Captain Scarthe knowing the nature of its contents.

During this period, his position in the quarters he occupied, may be regarded as somewhat anomalous. A certain intimacy had become established between him and the family of his host. How far it was friendly, on either side, was a question.

A stranger, or superficial observer, might have fancied it so--on the part of Scarthe even cordial.

Ever since the first day of his residence under the roof of Sir Marmaduke, he had held his troopers in strict subordination: so strict as to have given these worthies no slight offence. But Captain Scarthe was a commander not to be trifled with; and his followers knew it.

For every little incident of trouble or annoyance, occurring to the inmates of the mansion, ample apologies were rendered; and it might have been imagined, that the king's cuirassiers had been sent to Bulstrode as a guard of honour to attend upon its owner, rather than a "billet" to live at his expense!

These delicate attentions to Sir Marmaduke, sprang not from any motive of chivalry or kindness; they were simply designed for the securing of his daughter. Scarthe wanted her heart, as well as her hand. The former, because he loved her, with all the fierce passion of a soul highly gifted, though ill-guided; the latter, because he coveted her fortune: for Marion Wade, in addition to her transcendant charms, was heiress to a noble domain. She was endowed second to none in the shire; for a separate property was hers, independent of the estate of Bulstrode. Scarthe knew it; and for this reason desired to have her hand, along with her heart.

Failing to win the latter, he might still hope to obtain the former; which, with the fortune that accompanied it, would go far towards consoling his disappointed vanity.

Whether loving him or not, he was determined Marion Wade should be his wife; and, if fair means should not serve for the execution of his project, he would not scruple to make use of the contrary. He was ready to avail himself of that terrible secret--of which he had become surreptitiously possessed.

The life of Sir Marmaduke Wade lay upon his lips. The knight was, at that moment, as much in his power, as if standing in the presence of the Star Chamber, with a score of witnesses to swear to his treason.

It needed but a word from Scarthe to place him in that dread presence; and the latter knew it. A sign to his followers, and his host might have been transformed into his prisoner!

He had not much fear, that he would ever be called upon to carry matters to such an ill-starred extreme. He had too grand a reliance upon his own irresistibility with the sex. The man, whom he had originally believed to be his rival, now out of Marion's sight, appeared to be also out of her mind; and, during his absence, Scarthe had been every day becoming more convinced--his wish being father to the thought--that the relationship between Marion and Holtspur had not been of an amatory character.

The bestowal of the glove might have been a mere complimentary favour, for some service rendered? Such gifts were not uncommon; and tokens worn in hats or helmets were not always emblematic of the tender passion. The short acquaintanceship that had existed between them--for Scarthe had taken pains to inform himself on this head--gave some colour to his conjecture; at least, it was pleasant for him to think so.

Women, in those days, were the most potent politicians. It was a woman who had brought on the war with Spain--another who had caused the interference in Flanders--a woman who had led to our artificial alliance with France--a woman who, then as now, ruled England!

Marion Wade was a woman--just such an one as might be supposed to wield the destinies of a nation. Her political sentiments were no secret to the royalist officer. His own creed, and its partisans, were often the victims of her satirical sallies; and he could not doubt of her republican inclinings.

It might be only that sort of sympathy thus existed between her and Holtspur?

Had he been an eye-witness to her behaviour--throughout that eventful day on which the conspirator had made his escape--he might have found it more difficult to reconcile himself to this pleasant belief. Her sad countenance, as, looking from the lattice, she once more beheld her lover in the power of his enemies--once more in vile bonds--might have proved, to the most uninterested observer, the existence of a care which love alone could create. Could he have seen her during the interval which transpired--between the time when the prisoner was borne off towards his perilous prison, and the return of the mounted messenger who told of his escape--he might have been convinced of an anxiety, which love alone can feel.

With what unspeakable joy had Marion listened to this last announcement! Perhaps it repaid her for the moments of misery, she had been silently enduring.

Deep as had been the chagrin, consequent on that event, Scarthe had found some consolation in the thought, that, henceforth, he should have the field to himself. He would take care that his rival should not again cross the threshold of Sir Marmaduke's mansion, nor in any way obtain access to his daughter's presence till he had settled the question of his own acceptance, or rejection.

During all this while, Sir Marmaduke and his people in their behaviour towards their uninvited guests, appeared civil enough.

Though one closely acquainted with the relationship--or narrowly scrutinising the intercourse between them--could not have failed to perceive that this civility was less free, than forced.

That it was so--or rather that a friendship existed even in appearance-- needs but little explanation.

Sir Marmaduke's conduct was ruled by something more than a vague apprehension of danger. The arrest of his fellow-conspirator was significant; and it was not difficult to draw from that circumstance a host of uncomfortable conclusions.

The course he was pursuing towards Scarthe, was not only opposed to his inclinations, but exceedingly irksome to him. There were times when he was almost tempted to throw off the mask; and brave the worst that might come of it. But prudence suggested endurance--backed by the belief that, ere long, things might take a more favourable turn.

The king had been compelled to issue a writ--not for the election of a new parliament, but for the re-assembling of the old one. In that centred the hopes and expectations of the party, of which Sir Marmaduke was now a declared member.

Marion's politeness to Scarthe was equally dashed with distrust. It had no other foundation than her affection for her father. She loved the latter, with even more than filial fondness: for she was old enough, and possessed of sufficient intelligence, to understand the intrinsic nobility of his character. She was not without apprehension, that some danger overshadowed him; though she knew not exactly what. Sir Marmaduke had not made known to her the secret, that would have explained it. He had forborne doing so, under the fear of causing her unnecessary anxiety; and had simply requested her, to treat the unwelcome intruders with a fair show of respect.

The hint had been enough; and Marion, subduing her haughty spirit, yielded faithful obedience to it.

Scarthe had no reason to complain of any slights received from the daughter of his host. On the contrary, her behaviour towards him appeared so friendly, that there were times when he drew deductions from it, sufficiently flattering to himself.

Thus tranquilly did affairs progress during the first few weeks of Scarthe's sojourn at Bulstrode--when an event was announced, that was destined to cause an exciting change in the situation. It was a _Fete champetre_, to be given by Sir Frederick Dayrell, lord of the manor of Fulmere--at which a grand flight of falcons was to form part of the entertainment. The elite of the county was to be present, including Sir Marmaduke Wade and his family, and along with them his military guests-- Captain Scarthe and Cornet Stubbs.

Volume Three, Chapter XI.

The beautiful park of Bulstrode was radiant with the earliest rays of the sun. The dew still glittered upon the grass; and the massive chestnuts threw elongated shadows far down the sloping declivities. The stag, that had been slumbering undisturbed during the night, springing from his soft couch of moss, strode forth to make his morning meal upon the tempting sward. The birds had already chaunted their orison to the opening day; and, forsaking their several perches, were fluttering merrily from tree to tree. All nature was awake.

Though the hour was an early one, the inmates of the mansion seemed not to be asleep. Half-a-dozen saddled horses, under the conduct of as many grooms, had been led forth from the courtyard; and were standing in front of the house, held in hand, as if awaiting their riders.

Two were caparisoned differently from the rest. By the peculiar configuration of their saddles, it was evident, they were intended to be mounted by ladies.

In addition to the grooms in charge of the horses there were other attendants standing or moving about. There were falconers, with blinded hawks borne upon their wrists and shoulders; and finders, with dogs held in leash--each clad in the costume of his craft.

In the boudoir of Marion Wade were two beautiful women. Marion herself was one; Lora Lovelace the other.