CHAPTER IV.
"Ha, Francis!" exclaimed Lord Walton, grasping the cavalier's handwith warm eagerness, as soon as he had received the embrace of hissister, "are you here before me? You must have used the spur fromWorcester, if your letter left the good town before you."
"I have used the spur, Charles," replied his friend, "on purpose tooutrun you, and introduce myself to this fair lady without yourassistance. You know I was always the most impatient of mortals, andstrange, I fear, she thought me; for I could plainly see that she hadnever heard the name of Francis Clare before." He spoke the last wordswith a gay laugh and some emphasis.
"Perhaps not," answered Lord Walton, with a grave smile; "but she mustknow you now, Francis, as one of her brother's dearest and oldestfriends. However, I must send her away from us for a minute, for Ihave a task for her, sad, but pleasing to perform. I just now foundpoor Arrah Neil, dear Annie," he continued; "she was sitting by theBishop's Well, dark and sorrowful, as well she may be. The poor oldman Neil is dead. They dragged him as far as Devizes, where the lampthat has burned so faintly for the last two years went out, and thepoor girl has found her way back hither. Something must be done forher, Annie; and till we can settle what, she must stay here. I leftLangan with her to bring her up; so see to her comfort, sister, for byher dress I think they must have robbed her by the way."
"Poor child!" cried Annie Walton. "I was sure the old man would die.Can these really be Christians, Charles--for a few rash words, spokenin haste, to take a man of seventy from his sick bed?"
"His words meant more than they seemed, Annie," answered her brother;"at least, so I gather from their answer to my application for hisrelease; but see to her comfort, dear girl, and then come back to us,for the poor thing spoke of some evil hanging over me here, and,though at times so strange, I have often remarked she speaks notlightly."
"No indeed, Charles," replied his sister, with an anxious look. "Evilhanging over you? What can she mean?"
"I know not, Annie," replied Lord Walton. "Nothing has happened tocause you alarm, has there?"
"Nothing," she answered. "Dry, of Longsoaken, was here this morning,but he was all smoothness and civility."
"That looks ill," said Sir Francis Clare. "He must be a Roundhead byhis name; and whenever they speak smoothly, beware of the serpent inthe grass."
"And he is a serpent, if ever the earth produced one," answered LordWalton, thoughtfully. "Did he speak smoothly and civilly? So, so! Whatwas the object of his visit, Annie? or had he any apparent object?"
"Purely, it seemed," replied Miss Walton, "to ask after my healthduring what he called your long absence. I told him your absence hadnot been long--only a week; and that you had already concluded yourbusiness with the committee, and would return to-day. So then he leftthat paper with me, which he said must be marrow and fatness to allwell-disposed noblemen like yourself. But, indeed, he seemed wellaffected towards you, and said, I now recollect, something about thepeople of Bishop's Merton having encroached upon your land at Sarham,which he should be happy to set right for you, and which he could do,if you pleased, without your name appearing in the matter, so as notto affect your popularity with the God-fearing people of the place."
"Where did he learn I ever feared to have my name appear in any act Idid?" asked Charles Walton, proudly. "'Tis but such low and creepingthings as he is who do things they dare not own. He had some otherobject; this is all a pretence. But go, dear Annie; there is Langanwith the poor girl: perhaps she will tell you more than she would sayto me; but do not press her, Annie, if she be unwilling.--And now,Francis," he continued, as his sister left the room, "first, welcomeafter so long an absence; next, what is this serious business that youwould speak with me upon?"
"Faith, but a little matter as this world goes," replied his friend;"and yet one which would have been considered mighty some ten yearsago. Now men draw two straws for the longest, or toss up a crown-pieceto know, which party they will choose; whether they will fight fortheir rightful king or his rebel parliament----"
"Not quite so, Francis," replied Charles Walton, seriously; "With me,at least, the question would ever be a serious one, whether I shoulddraw my sword for the representatives of the people of England, whenfighting for the just liberties of the land, or for a sovereign whohas somewhat infringed them--even if the case stood exactly as theparliament puts it; but----"
"I am glad you have added those words, Charles," interrupted thecavalier; "for on them hangs all the rest. The king is willing to doample justice to all men. Granted that he has committed faults--andwho has greater cause to complain than I have?--granted that he hashad bad advisers--granted that he sacrificed Strafford----"
"A terrible fault indeed," replied Lord Walton.
"Granted that his exactions were unjust--ship-money a breach of thebest and soundest laws--the star-chamber an iniquitous tyranny; stillthese errors were a part of his inheritance; and perhaps, if we lookedclosely, we should find that our fathers who suffered, and bysuffering encouraged such things--who fawned upon the hand thatpressed them to the ground--who bowed readily to tyranny whenever itstretched forth its rod--have as great a share of the responsibilityas he has who only used the powers transmitted to him by hispredecessors. But I came not to discuss such questions, CharlesWalton. The king has committed errors; he grieves for them; he isready to repair them; he has done all that man can do to remedy evilspast, and provide security against their recurrence. He calls uponevery loyal subject to aid him, not only in defending the throneitself, but the country, from those who would evidently shake itsconstitution to the ground, overthrow its best institutions, andestablish, if not the reign of anarchy, the rule of a many-headedmonster, which will, if tolerated, end in a despotism more terriblethan any we have yet seen within the land. And will Charles Walton,gallant and chivalrous as he is known to be--will he refuse to obeythat call? Or is he, who was wont to be so clear-sighted and so keen,one of those who believe that the pretences of the parliament aretrue; that they seek but to reduce the power of the crown within duelimits, to lop the prerogative of those branches that bore oppression,and secure the freedom of the people, yet leave the stability of thethrone? Or does he approve of hypocritical pretexts even to gain suchends? No, no! I know him better."
"Certainly," replied the young nobleman; "I neither approve thepractices nor believe the pretences of the parliament. But I havehitherto trusted, my dear friend, though they may be now intoxicatedwith authority, the exercise of which is new to them, and in theirpride may encroach upon both the prerogative of the crown and theliberty of the subject--for I can conceive a parliament to become amore terrible tyrant than even a monarch--yet I say, I have trustedthat the wiser and the better members of that body will recover fromthe drunkenness that some have felt, and the fears that have affectedothers; and that, at all events, if any dangerous and outrageousexercise of power should take place, those who have never favoured thearbitrary use of the royal prerogative, or the licentious exactions ofthe commons, may have sufficient weight to counterbalance thatauthority which is but delegated by the people, and which the peoplecan again resume."
"Fatal confidence," exclaimed the cavalier, with a dark and melancholylook, "which never has been, never will be justified! Yet it is onethat in all civil strifes many wise and many good men haveentertained, till they discovered, when too late, how cruelly they haddeceived themselves; till, hanging between two parties and supportingneither, they saw the one sink lower and lower, and the other, whichperhaps they most condemned, rise into power, and go on in evil; andthen, when they strove to arrest the course of wrong, found themselveseither carried away by the current and involved in wickedness theywould fain have opposed, or sunk beneath the torrent with those whoendeavoured to divert it while it was yet feeble, and whose effortsthey might have rendered successful, had they joined therein in time.Let me tell you, Charles, that in the history of all contentions suchas those that now shake the land, there is a time when the
balance ofsincerity and right is clearly on one side, and that it is then truelovers of their country should step in with their whole strength toturn the balance of power upon that side also. There is such a time,believe me; and now is the moment!"
"Perhaps it is," answered Lord Walton, thoughtfully. "I said, myfriend, that I had hitherto felt the impressions I described. I didnot deny that they are somewhat shaken, perhaps more than I believe."
"When that time has come," continued the cavalier, without appearingto mark his reply, "it is the duty of every man to ask himself, Onwhich side is now the right? on which side is now the danger? and,casting away the memory of old faults and old grievances, to chooseboldly and conscientiously between the two. If he chooses well, itwill be easy for him at any after-time to guard against a renewal oferrors on the part of those whom he supports; but if from any fear ofsuch a renewal he turns to the side which he knows to be acting amiss,he commits himself for ever to the errors he supports, and can neverhope to stop their course, or avert their consequences. What I ask youthen to do is, to choose! I say not, join the king: I say not, opposethe parliament: I merely say, lay your hand upon your heart,forgetting mistakes that are past, ask yourself, which is now right,and which is now wrong? and choose as your conscience shall direct."
Lord Walton paused for a few moments in deep thought; then giving hishand to his friend, he said, "I will! Ask me no more at present,Francis; nor inquire whether, when I say, _I will_, I might not say,_I have_. Resolutions such as these had better be spoken of as littleas possible till they can be executed. Stay till to-morrow morning:then back to the king; your further presence here might be dangerousto yourself and hurtful to your cause. And now to other things: howlong had you been here before I came?"
"Long enough to find it a dangerous abode, good friend," replied thecavalier. "In truth, Walton, if you have not got an angel here, youhave what is more like one than any thing my eyes have yet seen."
"Oh! I know your gallant speeches," answered Charles Walton, with alaugh, his face losing the grave cast which was habitual to it, andbrightening with cheerful light; "but Annie is well accustomed to hearsweet things, and I fear not the effect of any high-flown southerncompliments on her little heart, which, however gentle, is firm enoughto stand a longer siege than any you will have time to give it. But,"he added, while his brow grew sad again, "I will own to you, Francis,it is her future fate that in these troublous times half makes acoward of me; and, though knowing what is right, that will I do; yetthere is a hesitating fear within me, that in the course I am destinedto pursue, I may bring down sorrow and misfortune upon that bright,kind being, who has been ever my sunshine and my hope."
"I can feel that it must be so, Charles," replied his friend, gravely."Had I a sister such as that, it would be so with me. Therein I can dolittle to console, and perhaps less to counsel or to help you. Butyet, Charles Walton, you know I am something of the ancient knight: mysword and heart for my king and my fair lady; and without any rashpromising of love for one whom I have only known an hour, such asone-half of our gay courtiers would make, I promise you, that whateverbefalls you, so long as life and strength last, my next thought, aftermy duty to God and my sovereign, shall be to care for the protectionand safety of my friend's sister."
Lord Walton smiled, with a look in which pleasure and grief werestrangely blended, but he replied nothing, merely once more pressingClare's hand.
"Why do you smile, Charles?" asked the cavalier. "Is it that you thinkme too young, too light, too gay, to take such a task upon myself. Myhonour, my regard, you do not doubt, I know, and as for the rest,these are days when the old times of chivalry must revive, or the sunwill set in darkness indeed; and in these ancient periods men young asI am have, with a holy devotion, been the safeguards and protectors ofdames well nigh as fair and bright as this, if we may believe thetales we read."
"But those tales still ended in a marriage, Francis," said LordWalton.
"Well there let it!" cried the cavalier, gaily. "Here I dedicate myheart and sword to her. Those bright eyes shall be my loadstars on theroad to glory, her smile give double vigour to my arm, and freshsharpness to my lance. There, Walton, is not that the true Orlando?But seriously, what meant your somewhat rueful smile just now? Was itthat you thought the gay youth of former days but little fit to supplya brother's place in time of need; or, perhaps, still less, to take ahusband's duties on him, if fate and circumstances should draw yoursister's heart towards him? But let me tell you, Charles, these aretimes that make even the thoughtless think; and when I buckled me tothe cause I serve, I cast away and left in foreign lands all but thehigher purposes of the heart."
"No, no, Francis," replied Lord Walton, interrupting him; "it wasneither doubt, nor fear, nor mockery, that made me smile. You do notsuppose that, did I not know and see all that is noble and generous inyour nature, and bright and keen in your mind, I would have taken youto my heart as I have done. That there might be some weeds in thegarden I will not deny; but they were only such as an hour's labourwould pluck out with ease, or such as would wither away under thefirst hot sun, and leave the flowers and fruit behind uninjured. Ismiled but to think that some five years ago, when we were both inhappier days than these, I often thought that I would gladly give myAnnie to my early friend, but little dreamed that times might comewhen he himself would offer, ere he had seen her twice, to be herdefender and protector in case of her brother's death: and who shallsay, Francis, how soon such loss may call for such support. But hereshe comes again; let us say no more of this; but, thank you, thank youfrom my heart for all you promise. I know right well that promise willbe kept, if it cost your last drop of blood."
The faces of both gentlemen were grave when Annie Walton joined them,and on hers too there were traces of some tears. "Poor Arrah Neil!"she said; "hers indeed has been a hard fate. She has made me weep withthe tale of the old man's sufferings, so mildly and so sweetly did shetell it. But I could obtain no further information in regard to thedanger she apprehended might befall you, Charles; and I cannot butthink that her words were spoken in one of those strange dreamy moodsthat sometimes fall upon her."
"I think so too," answered Lord Walton; "at least it may be so. Wherehave you lodged her, Annie?"
"She is with good dame Rachel now," answered his sister; "but to-nightshe is to have the little room near the west tower, and to-morrow youmust tell me more of your plans for her, Charles."
"I will, I will," replied Lord Walton, "to-morrow; ay, to-morrow," andhe fell into thought, without concluding the sentence.
The evening passed more cheerfully than the conversation which hasbeen detailed seemed to promise. All were anxious to snatch a fewhours from the gloomy thoughts that hung over the times, and fewallusions were made to the circumstances of the day; but any othersubject which minds full of rich stores could produce was chosen, asif to exclude more sombre topics. From time to time, indeed, bothAnnie Walton and their new companion would for a moment or two lookgrave and sad, as some passing cloud of thought swept over them; butthe young lord, whose power over himself was great, kept the same eventenor, not gay, for such was not his disposition; not gloomy ormeditative, for he did not choose to be so, but calm and easy,conversing without apparent effort on a thousand varied things, andnever for an instant showing the least absence or forgetfulness. Yet,perhaps, all felt that there were dangers and disasters abroad onevery side, though they sat there as a cheerful party, with thewindows of the heart closed against the storm that raged without.
There was but one moment when a shadow seemed to fall upon all, andthat too was produced by a song. Charles Walton had asked his sisterto sing before they parted for the night; and after some thought,seeking in vain for a livelier strain, she chose--perhaps from theirrepressible anxieties of her own heart--a little ballad, which hadbeen a favourite of her mother's, to the following effect:--
THE SONG.
Hope sung a song of future years, Rep
lete with sunny hours, When present sorrow's dew-like tears Should all be hid in flowers.
But Memory backward turned her eyes, And taught the heart to fear More stormy clouds, more angry skies, With each succeeding year.
But still Hope sung, as by that voice Such warnings sad were given, In louder strains bade Youth rejoice, And Age look on to heaven.
Each kept silence for a minute or two after the song was done, andeach gave a sigh; but then the cavalier would fain have persuaded MissWalton to sing again, for her voice was one of those full of nativemusic, which the ear longs for when once heard, as the weary heart ofmanhood thirsts to taste again the fearless joys of infancy. But shedeclined, saying she was somewhat weary; and shortly after the littleparty separated for the night.
Charles Walton shook his friend's hand warmly as they parted, at a yetearly hour, and adding to the good-night, "We will speak more beforeyou go to-morrow," he himself retired to his chamber, to pass severalhours in meditation ere he lay down to rest.
As soon as he was alone, the young lord sent away a servant who waswaiting for him, and then leaned his head upon his hand for some tenminutes without moving. At length he raised his eyes to a heavy swordthat hung above the old carved mantel-piece, rose, took it down, drewit from the sheath, and gazed upon the blade. There were some dentsand notches in the edge; and saying in a low tone, "It has done goodservice--it may do more," he thrust it back again, and hung it up asbefore.
"I will go to my cabinet and write two lines to the king," he added,after a short pause; but then again he stopped and meditated,murmuring, "No, it were better not to write: such documents aredangerous. I will send a message. I see they suspect me already. Itwere as well to destroy the commission and those other papers, and, ifat all, at once. I will do it now. What is the matter?" he continued,as some one knocked at the door.
"Charles, Charles!" cried his sister, coming into the room; and as hesprang to meet her, he saw that her face was very pale.
"There is a terrible smoke," she exclaimed, "and a rushing sound likefire."
"Where? where?" asked her brother, eagerly hurrying towards the door.
"In the corridor, beyond my room," answered Annie, "towards the westwing. Oh, bid them ring the alarum-bell!"
"On no account! on no account!" cried her brother, darting out. "Callall the servants, Annie! Run, Alice!" he continued, to one of hissister's maids, who had followed her, pale and trembling; "send Hughand Roger here, and then call the rest. Smoke, indeed! There is firesomewhere! Quick, girl! quick! Go back, my Annie, and dress yourselfagain. I will soon tell you more." And thus saying, he hurried onthrough the wide gallery, upon which the door of his bed-room opened,and then along the corridor beyond.
The smoke grew thicker at each step he took; the crackling and rushingsound of fire soon became audible, and then a fitful flash brokeacross the obscurity, like that of a signal-gun seen through a heavymist.
In a minute he was at a large door which closed the end of thecorridor, and, through the neighbouring window he could see theprojection of one of the flanking towers, with a small loopholeshowing a red glare within.
"Here is the fire," he cried, "in my own cabinet! How can this havehappened?" and he laid his hand upon the latch. The door was locked.He tried to turn the key, but it was embarrassed. "Bring me an axe!"he exclaimed, hearing several of the servants following him rapidly."Bring me an axe directly--quick--quick!--all the papers will beburned," and again he tried to turn the key.
"The charter chests were removed, my lord, to the next room," said thegood servant Langan. "I moved them myself by your own order, justbefore we went, that the floor might be repaired."
The young lord laid his hand upon his brow for an instant, and thensaid, "Let the rest perish then! It is no matter; and just as hespoke, the alarum-bell rang loud and long.
"What fool has done that?" exclaimed Charles Walton. "Ah, Francis! isthat you?" he continued, speaking to Sir Francis Clare, who was up andfollowing him fully dressed. "A word in your ear: mount your horsequickly and begone," he whispered. "We shall have all the country onus in half-an-hour. See, there are some twenty on the terrace already.Langan, here--go the round with this gentleman to the stables by theback way, then through the wood with him till he is beyond thegrounds. Francis, say I am determined!" he added again, lowering hisvoice. "You shall see me soon. Away, away, good friend! You know notthe people here."
By this time servants were hurrying up with buckets of water, and withaxes to break down the door; but before he suffered that to be done,Lord Walton turned to one of those behind, saying, "See to poor ArrahNeil; she is in the chamber just beneath us. Take her to your lady'sroom. Now, Roger, you and Dick move out the chests from the placewhere Langan says he put them. Take them down to the terrace; but setsome one to watch them. Hark! there is something fallen within."
"The great case of books, my lord, by the sound," said one of the men.
"Now give me an axe," cried the young nobleman, and with a few blowshe dashed the lock off the door, and pushed it open, bidding the menthrow in the water as he did so.
Out burst the flames and smoke, however, as soon as the obstructionwas removed, with such fury, that all were forced to run back; and asit somewhat cleared away, the frightful scene of destruction that theinterior of the tower displayed, too plainly showed that there was nopossibility left of saving that part of the building.
"Now, my good men," cried the young lord, "let as many as can findbuckets keep pouring on the water. The others help me to cut away thewoodwork between the tower and the rest. Some of you run up to thecorridor above, break down the panelling, and throw it back away fromthe flames. Fear not, but at all risks cut off the tower from the restof the house. Call some of those men up from below. Why do they standidle there?"
The scene of hurry and confusion that succeeded can be imagined bythose who have witnessed the consternation produced by a fire in arural district, where few of those means and appliances which in greattowns exist in plenty, but often are found ineffectual even there, areto be met with at all. To prevent the flames from extending to therest of that wing was found impossible, notwithstanding all theefforts of the noble master of the mansion, and the strenuousexertions of his servants, who speedily recovered from the firstconfusion of surprise, and recollected the old military habits whichthey had acquired in former days. The tenantry, too, who flocked up atthe sound of the alarum-bell, gave eager but not very efficient help,as well as a number of the townsfolk; but still the fire gainedground, extended from the tower to the rooms in the wing, ran alongthe cornices, caught the beams, and threatened the whole building withdestruction, when a tall, grave stranger in a black cloak and hatwalked calmly up to Lord Walton, who had come down to the terrace togive directions to the people below, and said in a low tone--
"A few pounds of gunpowder, my lord, and a linen bag laid above thatdoorway, and under the coping-stone, will separate the fire from thebuilding. The stone passage cuts it off below; there is but a narrowgallery above, and if you can but break up the corridor----"
"I see! I see!" cried Lord Walton. "Thanks, sir, thanks. Run, Hugh, tothe armoury; you will find some powder there."
"I beg, sir, that I may be permitted to make the _saucisson_," cried atall man in flaunting apparel. "At the celebrated siege of Rochelle Iconstructed the famous petard wherewith we blew in the----"
"I thank you, sir," replied the master of the mansion, looking at theperson who addressed him from head to foot with a quick but markinggaze; "I will make it myself;" and without further notice he proceededto give the necessary orders, and to take precautions both to ensurethe safety of all persons near, and to guard the building as much aspossible from damage by the explosion.
When all was ready, he went into the house to bring his sister forth,lest by any chance the rooms in which she had hitherto remained shouldbe shaken more than he expected;
and then, after having placed her ata distance, he himself fired the train, which, being unconfined,except at one part, carried the flame in an instant to the bag ofpowder, causing it to explode with a tremendous roar. A quantity ofbrickwork was thrown into the air; the gallery above fell in themoment after; and then, after a short pause, a tall neighbouring towerbetween the place where the powder had taken effect, and that wherethe fire was raging, bulged out about half-way up, and then crasheddown, strewing the terrace with a mass of broken ruins.
In the anxiety and excitement of the moment, Lord Walton had observedlittle but what was passing immediately before him; but as he markedthe effect and was turning round to look for his sister, in order totell her that the rest of the mansion was saved, the stranger in blackwho had spoken to him before, once more addressed him in a low voice,saying--
"You had better look to those chests, my lord; Colonel Thistleton iseyeing them somewhat curiously. As for me, I will wish you good-night;I love not the neighbourhood of parliamentary commissioners; but ifyou want good help at need, which perhaps may be the case soon, youhave only to send a trusty servant to inquire for Martin Randal atWaterbourne, ten miles hence, and you will have fifty troopers withyou in two hours."
"I understand, I understand, major!" replied Lord Walton. "God speedyou with my best thanks Colonel Thistleton! What came he here for?"
"No good," replied Randal, walking away and beckoning to his tallcompanion, who followed him with a pompous stride, while Lord Waltonturned towards the spot to which he had directed his attention. Hethere perceived for the first time, three men on horseback, and onewho had dismounted and was speaking with a servant who had been placedto watch the two large chests of papers which had been removed fromthe wing of the building.
As Lord Walton gazed at him, he stooped down once more to look at thechests with a curious and inquiring eye; and striding up to him atonce, the young nobleman demanded, in a stern tone--
"Who are you, sir? and what do you want with those cases?"
"My name, my lord, is Thistleton," replied the other; "a poor colonel,by the permission of Providence, in the service of the parliament ofEngland; and when matters are a little more composed I will informyour lordship, as my errand is with you, what excited my curiosity inregard to these cumbrous packages."
"Oh, Colonel Thistleton! That is a different affair," answered LordWalton. "As soon as I have ascertained that all further danger of thefire spreading is past, I will have the honour of entertaining you asfar as my poor house, half destroyed as it is, will admit."
The parliamentary colonel bowed gravely, and the young nobleman thenproceeded to give further directions to his people, mingling withcommands respecting the fire and the security of the rest of themansion, sundry orders spoken in a low tone to those servants on whomhe could most rely, and to some of his principal tenants.
When he had assured himself that all was safe, and had set a watch, hereturned to his sister's side, and led her back to the house,whispering as he went--
"Keep two of your maids with you in your chamber tonight, Annie. Seeto poor Arrah Neil; and at dawn tomorrow, dear girl, make preparationsfor a journey. Ask no questions, sweet sister, but pack up all thatyou most value--all trinkets, jewels, gold and silver, for we may,perhaps, have to go far."
Annie Walton gazed at him with a look of sorrowful, half-bewilderedinquiry; but he added, "I cannot explain now, dear one; I will tellyou more to-morrow;" and she followed him silently into the house,where he left her, and at once went back to show as much courtesy toColonel Thistleton and his companions as the feelings of his heartwould permit.
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