St. George and St. Michael

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CHAPTER LI.

UNDER THE MOAT.

It was some time ere they discovered that Scudamore was missing from
the castle, but there was the hope that he had been taken prisoner;
and things were growing so bad within the walls, that there was
little leisure for lamentation over individual misfortunes. Unless
some change as entire as unexpected--for there seemed no chance of
any except the king should win over the Scots to take his part
--should occur, it was evident that the enemy must speedily make the
assault, nor could there be a doubt of their carrying the place--an
anticipation which, as the inevitable drew nearer, became nothing
less than terrible to both household and garrison. True, their
conquerors would be of their own people, but battle and bloodshed
and victory, and, worst of all, party-spirit, the marquis knew,
destroy not nationality merely, but humanity as well, rousing into
full possession the feline beast which has his lair in every man--in
many, it is true, dwindled to the household cat, but in many others
a full-sized, only sleepy tiger. To what was he about to expose his
men, not to speak of his ladies and their children!

On the other hand, ever since the balls had been flying about his
house, and the stones of it leaving their places to keep them
company, the loyalty of the marquis had been rising, and he had
thought of his prisoner-king ever with growing tenderness, of his
faults with more indulgence, and of the wrongs he had done his
family with more magnanimity and forgiveness, so that, for his own
part, he would have held out to the very last.

'And truly were it not better to be well buried under the ruins,' he
would say to himself, looking down with a sigh at his great bulk,
which added so much to the dismalness of the prospect of being, in
his seventieth year, a prisoner or a wanderer--the latter a worse
fate even than the former. To be no longer the master of his own
great house, of many willing servants, of all ready appliances for
liberty and comfort, while the weight of his clumsy person must
still hang about him, and his unfitness to carry the same go on
increasing with the bulk to be carried--such a prospect required
something more than loyalty to meet it with equanimity. To the young
and strong, adventure ought always to be more attractive than ease,
but none save those who are themselves within sight of old age can
truly imagine what an utter horror the breach of old habits and loss
of old comforts is to the aged.

But to the good marquis it was consolation enough to repeat to
himself the text from his precious Vulgate: Scimus enim; For we know
that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have
a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the
heavens.

For the ladies, so long as their father-chief was with them, they
were at least not too anxious. Whatever was done must be the right
thing, and in the midst of tumult and threat they were content. If
only their Edward had been with them too!

But surrender, even when the iron shot was driving his stately house
into showers of dirt, the marquis found it hard indeed to
contemplate. The eastern side of the stone court was now little
better than a heap of rubbish, and the hour of assault could not be
far off, although as yet there had been no second summons; but he
could not forget that, though the castle was his, it was not for
himself but for his king he held it garrisoned, and how could he
yield it without the approval of his sovereign? The governor shared
in the same chivalry with his father, and was equally anxious for a
word from the king. But that king was a prisoner in the hands of a
hostile nation, and how was he to receive message or return answer?
Nay, how were they to send message or receive answer, not even
knowing with certainty where his majesty was, and but presuming that
he was still at Newcastle? And not to mention difficulties at every
step of the way, their house itself was so beset that no one could
issue from its gates without risk of being stopped, searched,
detained until it should have fallen. For the besiegers knew well
enough that lord Glamorgan was still in Ireland, straining his
utmost on behalf of the king; and what more likely than that he
should, with the men he was still raising in Ireland, make some
desperate attempt to turn the scales of war, striking first, it
might well be, for the relief of his father's castle?

These things were all pretty freely spoken of in the family, and
Dorothy understood the position of affairs as well as any one. And
now at length it seemed to her that the hour had arrived for
attempting some return for Raglan's hospitality. No service she had
hitherto stumbled upon had any magnitude in her eyes, but now--to be
the bearer of dispatches to the king! It would suffice at least,
even if it turned out a failure, to prove her not ungrateful. But
she too had her confidant, and in the absence of lord Glamorgan
would consult with Caspar.

Meantime the marquis had made matters worse by sending a request to
Colonel Morgan that he would grant safe passage for a messenger to
the king, without whose command he was not at liberty to surrender
the place. The answer was to the effect that they acknowledged no
jurisdiction of the king in the business, and that the marquis might
keep his mind easy as far as his supposed duty to his majesty was
concerned, for they would so compel a surrender that there could be
no reflection upon him for making it.

Caspar, fearful of the dangers she would have to encounter, sought
to dissuade Dorothy from her meditated proposal--but feebly, for
every one who had anything noble in his nature, and Caspar had more
than his share, was influenced by the magnanimity that ruled the
place. Indeed he told her one thing which served to clench her
resolution--that there was a secret way out of the castle, provided
by his master Glamorgan for communication during siege: more he was
not at liberty to disclose. Dorothy went straight to the marquis and
laid her plan before him, which was that she should make her escape
to Wyfern, and thence, attended by an old servant, set out to seek
the king.

'There is no longer time, alas!' returned the marquis. 'I look for
the final summons every hour.'

'Could you not raise the report, my lord, that you have undermined
the castle, and laid a huge quantity of gunpowder, with the
determination of blowing it up the moment they enter? That would
make them fall back upon blockade, and leave us a little time. Our
provisions are not nearly exhausted, and when fodder fails, we can
eat the horses first.'

'Thou art a brave lady, cousin Dorothy,' said the marquis. 'But if
they caught and searched thee, and found papers upon thee, it would
go worse with us than before.'

'Please your lordship, my lord Glamorgan once showed me such a comb
as a lady might carry in her pocket, but so contrived that the head
thereof was hollow and could contain despatches. Methinks Caspar
could lay his hand on the comb. If I were but at Wyfern! and thither
my little horse would carry me in less than hour, giving all needful
time for caution too, my lord.'

'By George, thou speakest well, cousin!' said the marquis. 'But who
should attend thee?'

'Let me have Tom Fool, my lord, for now have I thought of a
betterment of my plan: he will guide me to his mother's house by
byways, and thence can I cross the fields to my own--as easily as
the great hall, my lord.'

'Tom Fool is a mighty coward,' objected the marquis.

'So much the better, my lord. He will not get me into trouble
through displaying his manhood before me. He hath besides a a face
long enough for three roundheads, and a tongue that can utter glibly
enough what soundeth very like their jargon. Tom is the right fool
to attend me, my lord.'

'He can't ride; he never backed a horse in his life, I believe. No,
no, Dorothy. Shafto is the man.'

'Shafto is much too ready, my lord. He would ride over my hounds. I
want Tom no farther than his mother's, and there will be no need for
him to ride.'

'Well, it is a brave offer, my child, and I will think thereupon,'
said his lordship.

All the rest of the day the marquis and lord Charles, with two or
three of the principal officers of house and garrison, were in
conference, and letters were written both to his majesty and lord
Glamorgan. Before they were finally written out in cipher, Kaltoff
was sent for, the comb found, its contents gauged, and the paper cut
to suit.

About an hour after midnight, Dorothy, lord Charles, and Caspar
stood together in the workshop, waiting for Tom Fool, who had gone
to fetch Dick from the stables. Dorothy had the comb in her pocket.
She looked pale, but her grey eyes shone with courage and
determination. She carried nothing but a whip. A keen little lamp
borne by Caspar was all their light.

Presently they heard the sound of Dick's hoofs on the bridge. A
moment more and Tom led him in, both man and horse looking somewhat
scared at the strangeness of the midnight proceeding. But Tom was,
notwithstanding, glad of the office, and ready to risk a good deal
in order to get out of the castle, where he expected nothing milder
at last than a general massacre.

Lord Charles himself lifted foot after foot of the little horse to
be satisfied that his shoes were sound, then made a sign to Caspar,
and gave his hand to Dorothy. Caspar took Dick by the bridle, and
led him up to the wall near the door. Lord Charles and Dorothy
followed. But Tom, observing that they placed themselves within a
chalk-drawn circle, hung back in terror; he fancied Caspar was going
to raise the devil. Yet he knew that within the circle was the only
safety; a word from Dorothy turned the scale, and he stood trembling
by her side. Nor was he greatly consoled to find that, as he now
thought, instead of the devil coming to them, they were going to
him, as, with the circle upon which they stood, they began to sink,
through a stone-faced shaft, slowly into the foundations of the
keep. Dick also was frightened, but happily his faith was stronger
than his imagination, and a word now and then from his mistress, and
an occasional pat from her well-known hand, sufficed to keep him
quiet.

At the depth of about thirty feet they stopped, and found themselves
facing a ponderous door, studded and barred with iron. Caspar took
from his pocket a key about the size of a goose quill, felt about
for a moment, and then with a slight movement of finger and thumb
threw back a dozen ponderous bolts with a great echoing clang; the
door slowly opened, and they entered a narrow vaulted passage of
stone. Lord Charles took the lamp from Caspar, and led the way with
Dorothy; Tom Fool came next, and Caspar followed with Dick. The lamp
showed but a few feet of the walls and roof, and revealed nothing in
front until they had gone about a furlong, when it shone upon what
seemed the live rock ending their way. But again Caspar applied the
little key somewhere, and immediately a great mass of rock slowly
turned on a pivot, and permitted them to pass.

When they were all on the other side of it, lord Charles turned and
held up the light. Dorothy turned also and looked: there was nothing
to indicate whence they had come. Before her was the rough rock,
seemingly solid, certainly slimy and green, and over its face was
flowing a tiny rivulet.

'See there,' said lord Charles, pointing up; 'that little stream
comes the way thy dog Marquis and the roundhead Heywood came and
went. But I challenge anything larger than a rat to go now.'

Dorothy made no answer, and they went on again for some distance in
a passage like the former, but soon arrived at the open quarry,
whence Tom knew the way across the fields to the high road as well,
he said, as the line of life on his own palm. Lord Charles lifted
Dorothy to the saddle, said good-luck and good-bye, and stood with
Caspar watching as she rode up the steep ascent, until for an
instant her form stood out dark against the sky, then vanished, when
they turned and re-entered the castle.

CHAPTER LII.

THE UNTOOTHSOME PLUM.

It was a starry night, with a threatening of moonrise, and Dorothy
was anxious to reach the cottage before it grew lighter. But they
must not get into the high road at any nearer point than the last
practicable, for then they would be more likely to meet soldiers,
and Dick's feet to betray their approach. Over field after field,
therefore, they kept on, as fast as Tom, now and then stopping to
peer anxiously over the next fence or into a boundary ditch, could
lead the way. At last they reached the place by the side of a
bridge, where Marquis led Richard off the road, and there they
scrambled up.

'O Lord!' cried Tom, and waked a sentry dozing on the low parapet.

'Who goes there?' he cried, starting up, and catching at his
carbine, which leaned against the wall.

'Oh, master!' began Tom, in a voice of terrified appeal; but Dorothy
interrupted him.

'I am an honest woman of the neighbourhood,' she said. 'An' thou
wilt come home with me, I will afford thee a better bed than thou
hast there, and also a better breakfast, I warrant thee, than thou
had a supper.'

'That is, an' thou be one of the godly,' supplemented Tom.

'I thank thee, mistress,' returned the sentinel, 'but not for the
indulgence of carnal appetite will I forsake my post. Who is he
goeth with thee?'

'A fellow whose wit is greater than his courage, and yet he goeth
with many for a born fool. A parlous coward he is, else might he now
be fighting the Amalekites with the sword of the Lord and of Gideon.
Yet in good sooth he serveth me well for the nonce.'

The sentry glanced at Tom, but could see little of him except a long
white oval, and Tom was now collected enough to put in exercise his
best wisdom, which consisted in holding his tongue.

'Answer me then, mistress, how, being a godly woman, as I doubt not
from thy speech thou art, thee rides thus late with none but a fool
to keep thee company? Knowest thou not that the country is full of
soldiers, whereof some, though that they be all true-hearted and
right-minded men, would not mayhap carry themselves so civil to a
woman as corporal Bearbanner? And now, I bethink me, thou comest
from the direction of Raglan!'

Here he drew himself up, summoned a voice from his chest a storey or
two deeper, and asked in magisterial tone:

'Whence comest thou, woman? and on what business gaddest thou so
late?'

'I am come from visiting at a friend's house, and am now almost on
my own farm,' answered Dorothy.

The man turned to Tom, and Dorothy began to regret she had brought
him: he was trembling visibly, and his mouth was wide open with
terror.

'See,' she said, 'how thy gruff voice terrifieth the innocent! If
now he should fall in a fit thou wert to blame.'

As she spoke she put her hand in her pocket, and taking from it her
untoothsome plum, popped it into Tom's mouth. Instantly he began to
make such strange uncouth noises that the sentinel thought he had
indeed terrified him into a fit.

'I must get him straightway home. Good-night, friend,' said
Dorothy, and giving Dick the rein, she was off like the wind,
heedless of the shouts of the sentinel or the feeble cries of
pursuing Tom, who, if he could not fight, could run. Following his
mistress at great speed, he was instantly lost in the darkness, and
the sentinel, who had picketed his horse in a neighbouring field,
sat down again on the parapet of the bridge, and began to examine
all that Dorothy had said with a wondrous inclination to discover
the strong points in it.

Having galloped a little way, Dorothy drew bridle and halted for
Tom. As soon as he came up, she released him, and telling him to lay
hold of Dick's mane and run alongside, kept him at a fast trot all
the way to his mother's house.

The moon had risen before they reached it, and Dorothy was therefore
glad, when she dismounted at the gate, to think she need ride no
further. But while Tom went in to rouse his mother, she let Dick
have a few bites of the grass before taking him into the
kitchen--lest the roundheads should find him. The next moment,
however, out came Tom in terror, saying there was a man in his
mother's closet, and he feared the roundheads were in possession.

'Then take care of thyself, Tom,' said Dorothy; and mounting
instantly, she made Dick scramble up into the fields that lay
between the cottage and her own house, and set off at full speed
across the grass in the moonlight--an ethereal pleasure which not
even an anxious secret could blast.

Through a gap in the hedge she had just popped into the second
field, when she heard the click of a flint-lock, and a voice she
thought she knew ordering her to stand: within a few yards of her
was again a roundhead soldier. If she rode away, he would fire at
her; that mode of escape therefore she would keep for a last chance.
The moon by this time was throwing an unclouded light from more than
half a disc upon the field.

Keeping a sharp eye upon the man's movements, she allowed him to
come within a pace or two, but the moment he would have taken Dick
by the bridle she was three or four yards away.

'Fright not my horse, friend,' she said.--'But how!' she added,
suddenly remembering him, 'is it possible? Master Upstill! Gently,
gently, little Dick! Master Upstill is an old friend. What! hast
thou too turned soldier? Left thy last and lapstone and turned
soldier, master Upstill?'

'I have left all and followed him, mistress,' answered Castdown.

'Art sure he called thee, master Upstill?'

'I heard him with my own ears.'

'Called thee to be a shedder of blood, master Upstill?'

'Called me to be a fisher of men, and thee I catch, mistress--thus,'
returned the man, stepping quickly forward and making another grasp
at Dick's bridle.

It was all Dorothy could do to keep herself from giving him a smart
blow across the face with her whip, and riding off. But she gave
Dick the cut instead, and sent him yards away.

'Poor Dick! poor Dick!' she said, patting his neck; 'be quiet;
master Upstill will do thee no wrong. Be quiet, little man.'

As she thus talked to her genet, Upstill again drew near, now more
surly than at first.

'Say what manner of woman art thou?' he demanded with pompous anger.
'Whence comes thou, and whither does thee go?'

'Home,' answered Dorothy.

'What place calls thee home?'

'Why! dost not know me, master Upstill? When I was a little one,
thou didst make my shoes for me.'

'I trust it will be forgiven me, mistress. Truly I had ne'er made
shoe for thee an' I had foreseen what thee would come to! For I make
no farther doubt thou art a consorter with malignants, harlots, and
papists.'

Again he clutched at her bridle, and this time, whether it was
Dorothy or Dick's fault, with success. Dorothy dropped the bridle,
put her hand in her pocket, struck Dick smartly with her whip, and
as he reared in consequence, drew it across Upstill's eyes, and so
found the chance of administering her bolus.

It was thoroughly effective. The fellow left his hold of the bridle,
and began a series of efforts to remove it, which rapidly grew
wilder and wilder, until at last his gestures were those of a
maniac.

'There!' she cried, as she bounded from him, 'take thy first lesson
in good manners. No one can rid thee of that mouthful, which is as
thy evil words returned to choke thee!--Thou hadst better keep me
in sight,' she added, as she gave Dick his head, 'for no one else
can free thee.'

Upstill ceased his futile efforts, caught up his carbine, and
fired--not without risk to Dorothy, for he was far too wrathful to
take the aim that would have ensured her safety. But she rode on
unhurt, meditating how to secure Upstill when she got him to Wyfern,
whither she doubted not he would follow her. Her difficulties were
not yet past, however, for just as she reached her own ground, she
was once again met by the order to stand.

This time it came in a voice which, notwithstanding the anxiety it
brought with it, was almost as welcome as well known, and yet made
her tremble for the first time that night: it was the voice of
Richard Heywood. Dick also seemed to know it, for he stood without a
hint from his mistress, while, through the last hedge that parted
her from the little yet remaining of the property of her fathers,
came the man she loved--an enemy between her and her own.

The marquis's request to be allowed to communicate with the king had
been an unfortunate one. It increased suspicion of all kinds,
rendered the various reports of the landing of the Irish army under
lord Glamorgan more credible, roused the resolution to render all
communication impossible, and led to the drawing of a cordon around
the place that not a soul should pass unquestioned. The measure
would indeed have been unavailing had the garrison been as able as
formerly to make sallies; but ever since colonel Morgan received his
reinforcement, the issuing troopers had been invariably met at but a
few yards from home, and immediately driven in again by largely
superior numbers. Still the cordon required a good many more men
than the besieging party could well spare without too much weakening
their positions, and they had therefore sought the aid of all the
gentlemen of puritian politics in the vicinity, and of course that
of Mr. Heywood. With the men his father sent, Richard himself
offered his services, in the hope that, at the coming fall of the
stronghold, he might have a chance of being useful to Dorothy. They
had given the cordon a wide extension, in order that an issuing
messenger might not perceive his danger until he was too far from
the castle to regain it, and then by capturing him might acquire
information. Hence it came that posts could be assigned to Richard
and his men within such a distance of Redware as admitted of their
being with their own people when off duty.

CHAPTER LIII.

FAITHFUL FOES.

Hearing Upstill's shot, and then Dick's hoofs on the sward, Richard
fortunately judged well and took the right direction. What was his
astonishment and delight when, passing hurriedly through the hedge
in the expectation of encountering a cavalier, he saw Dorothy
mounted on Dick! What form but hers had been filling soul and brain
when he was startled by the shot! And there she was before him! He
felt like one who knows the moon is weaving a dream in his brain.

'Dorothy,' he murmured tremblingly, and his voice sounded to him
like that of some one speaking far away. He drew nearer, as one
might approach a beloved ghost, anxious not to scare her. He laid
his hand on Dick's neck, half fearful of finding him but a shadow.

'Richard!' said Dorothy, looking down on him benignant as Diana upon
Endymion.

Then suddenly, at her voice and the assurance of her bodily
presence, a great wave from the ocean of duty broke thunderous on
the shore of his consciousness.

'Dorothy, I am bound to question thee,' he said: 'whence comest
thou? and whither art thou bound?'

'If I should refuse to answer thee, Richard?' returned Dorothy with
a smile.

'Then must I take thee to headquarters. And bethink thee, Dorothy,
how that would cut me to the heart.'

The moon shone full upon his face, and Dorothy saw the end of a
great scar that came from under his hat down on to his forehead.

'Then will I answer thee, Richard,' she said, with a strange
trembling in her voice. '--I come from Raglan.'

'And whither art going, Dorothy?'

'To Wyfern.'

'On what business?'

'Were it then so wonderful, Richard, if I should desire to be at
home, seeing Wyfern is now safer than Raglan? It was for safety I
went thither, thou knowest.'

'It might not be wonderful in another, Dorothy, but in thee it were
truly wonderful; for now are they of Raglan thy friends, and thou
art a brave woman, and lovest thy friends. I would not believe it of
thee even from the mouth of thy mother. Confess--thou bearest about
thee that thou wouldst not willingly show me.'

Dorothy, as if in embarrassment, drew from her pocket her
handkerchief, and with it a comb, which fell on the ground.

'Prithee, Richard, pick me up my comb,' she said; then, answering
his question, continued, '--No, I have nothing about me I would not
show thee, Richard: wilt thou take my word for it?'

When she had spoken, she held out her hand, and receiving from him
the comb, replaced it in her pocket. But a keen pang of remorse went
through her heart.

'I am a man under authority,' said Richard, 'and my orders will not
allow me. Besides thou knowest, Dorothy, although it involves such
questions in casuistry as I cannot meet, men say thou art not bound
to tell the truth to thine enemy.'

'An' thou be mine enemy, Richard, then must thou satisfy thyself,'
said Dorothy, trying to speak in a tone of offence. But while she
sat there looking at him, it seemed as if her heart were floating on
the top of a great wave out somewhere in the moonlight. Yet the
conscience-dog was awake in his kennel.

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