Arrah Neil; or, Times of Old

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  Leaving the fugitives in that period of their flight with which thelast chapter closes, I must, with the benevolent reader's good leave,return to personages whom I have left somewhat too long, and for whomI own a deep interest.

  Annie Walton--sweet Annie Walton--stood, as the reader may recollect,conversing with her worthy aunt, Lady Margaret Langley, and had justannounced that amongst the voices she heard below was one, the tonesof which recalled a person who ought to have been over the sea longbefore. Now, it may be supposed, and, considering all things, notunnaturally, that she alluded thus vaguely to the Earl of Beverley.Such, however, was not the case; for the voice of Lord Beverley wasrich and musical, while the sounds she heard were far from beingparticularly harmonious; and an oath or two, pronounced in a somewhatloud tone, and intermixed with laughter, were certainly not of thevocabulary which he was most accustomed to employ.

  At the same time, the stag-hound which followed them along thepassages pricked up his ears with a sharp growl, and took two or threequick steps in advance, as if to spring forward on the first occasion.Lady Margaret chid him back, however. "Who is it, child?" she asked."Who do you fancy it is? I expect no one."

  "I think the voice is that of a certain Captain Barecolt," repliedMiss Walton; "not a very pleasing personage, dear aunt, but one whoonce did us very good service--a brave man and a good soldier, mybrother says, but sadly given to gasconade."

  "If he be a brave man and a good soldier, a loyal subject, and havedone you and Charles good service, he shall be right welcome, Annie,"replied the old lady; "and he may gasconade to the moon if he pleases.Down, sir! down! Will you show your white teeth when I forbid you? Butwhat can they be about, Annie? Never did I hear such a bustle. Hark!there is Charles's voice as loud as the other. Come quickly! let ussee."

  "Quick! out with the horses!" tried the voice of Lord Walton below."See them out like lightning. Lie there, Francis, for a moment. Callmy aunt--call my sister! By heaven, they shall rue it! Which way didthey seem to take?"

  "They halted before the house," said a faint voice, which made MissWalton's cheek turn pale; "flushed with their success, they may dareto attack it. Captain, I owe you my life."

  "Nothing, nothing, my lord!" rejoined the voice of Barecolt. "But wemust be quick, Lord Walton, or their courage may fail, and they mayrun away, taking her with them. Can I get any better arms? for we hadnothing but our swords--'twas that which ruined us."

  "There are plenty in the hall," exclaimed Lady Margaret Langley, whowas now entering the room in which she had left her nephew. At thesame moment, one of Lord Walton's servants appeared at the other door,saying, "The horses are ready, my lord. The people seem going up thelane."

  The scene the room presented was very different from that which it haddisplayed when Annie Walton and Lady Margaret left it. Lying on somecushions which had been cast down upon the ground, was the gracefulform of the Earl of Beverley, evidently wounded, and somewhat faint.By his side stood Lord Walton, holding a light in his hand, and gazingdown upon his friend's countenance, while two stout countrymen, onewith a drawn sword in his hand, appeared a little behind, and the tallfigure of Captain Barecolt was seen through the open door in thevestibule beyond, reaching down some arms from the wall.

  "Dear Annie--dear aunt--look to the earl," cried Charles Walton. "Heis shot through the leg; I cannot stop to tell you more; I must pursuethem. Ha! see, he is bleeding terribly--'tis that which makes himfaint."

  "Go, Charles! go!" exclaimed the earl. "I shall do well enough. Thewound is nothing; 'tis but the loss of blood. Quick, quick! away, oryou will not catch them."

  Lord Walton gave one more look to his friend, and a sign to his sisterto attend to the earl immediately, and then quitted the room. Thesound of prancing hoofs and jingling arms was heard without, then thecreaking of the drawbridge as it was lowered, and then the fiercegalloping of horse along the lane. Lady Margaret and Miss Walton kneltby the wounded man's side and asked him regarding his wound; but thevoice of Annie was faint and low, and her hand trembled so that shecould hardly hold the light while her aunt endeavoured to staunch theblood. More effectual assistance, however, was rendered by the servantWilliam, who ran in the moment he had secured the bridge, and with hisaid the wound was soon discovered, pouring forth a torrent of bloodfrom some large vessel cut by the ball, which had passed quite throughthe leg a few inches below the knee. Lady Margaret, however, had someskill in leechcraft, and William was by no means an inexperiencedassistant. Bandages were speedily procured, and with little troubleand no loss of time the wound was bound up and the bleeding stopped.

  But few words were spoken while this took place, for good LadyMargaret, feeling herself in a position of authority, imposed silenceupon all around her. She was too much occupied herself in her surgicaloperations to remark the pale countenance and anxious eyes of herniece, or the smile of confidence and encouragement with which theearl strove to quiet her apprehensions.

  Just as the old lady had finished her task, however, through the doorsof the vestibule and hall, which had been left open, was heard thesharp report of pistol-shots, and a confused murmur as of distanttumult. Lady Margaret started and looked round, murmuring, "Ay,strife, strife! This is the world thereof."

  Miss Walton pressed her hand upon her heart, but said nothing, and theearl, giving a glance to the servant William, exclaimed--

  "For God's sake, run out and see! Have the drawbridge ready, too. Ifwe could have got in at once, the worst part of the mischief wouldhave been spared."

  "I must go--indeed I must," said Annie Walton. "Oh, poor Charles!heaven protect him!" And running out of the room, she crossed thestone court, and bending over the low wall at the further angle, shegazed down the road in the direction from which the sounds appeared tocome. Night had now set in, but yet the darkness was not veryprofound, and Miss Walton fancied that she beheld several movingfigures at some distance up the long straight avenue. The next momentthere was a flash, followed by a sharp report--then another andanother; and on each occasion the sudden light showed her for aninstant a number of men and horses, all grouped together in wild andconfused strife. The instant after, a horseman came down the road atheadlong speed, and Annie Walton exclaimed, "Oh! the drawbridge!William, let down the drawbridge."

  "Wait a minute, my lady," replied the servant; "it is not every manthat gallops who is coming here."

  He calculated more accurately in his coolness than the lady had donein her apprehensions, for the fugitive passed without drawing a rein,and William turned round to give her comfort, saying, "That's a signmy young lord has won the day--or rather the night I should call it.Hark! there are some more coming. It is he this time, for their paceis more quiet."

  Annie Walton approached nearer to the bridge, murmuring a prayer toGod for her brother's safety, and straining her eyes upon theadvancing body of horsemen, who came on at an easy trot down the road.At their head was a figure which she felt sure was that of herbrother, but yet she could not be satisfied till she exclaimed--

  "Charles, is that you? Are you safe?"

  "Yes, yes; all safe," replied the voice of Lord Walton; "some of us alittle hurt, but not seriously, I hope. We have made them pay dearlyfor their daring. Run in, Annie; run in, and I will join you in aminute."

  While William and old Dixon unhooked the chains of the drawbridge fromthe posts and let it slowly down, Miss Walton returned to her room,where she had left her aunt and the Earl of Beverley, exclaiming witha heart relieved--

  "He is safe! he is safe!"

  Lord Beverley took her hand as she approached his side, gazingearnestly in her face, and saying, "Thank God!"

  Annie Walton felt his look and his words almost as a reproach forhaving forgotten him in her anxiety for her brother; though, in truth,such was far from the earl's meaning, his only thought at that momentbeing, what might have been the fate of that sweet girl, had she lostboth her brother and her lover in one night.
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br />   "And how are you, Francis?" said Annie Walton, wishing, with all thefrankness of her heart, to make up for her absence by giving him thename she knew he would love the best upon her lips. "Forgive me forleaving you; but, oh! I was terrified for Charles."

  Before the earl could reply, there was the sound of many persons' feetin the hall and the vestibule, and the voice of Lord Walton was heardgiving various orders, and making inquiries concerning the woundswhich his followers had received. It seemed that they were but slight,or at all events that the men made light of them, for they allprotested that there was no harm done, and the only one who seemed tocomplain was the gallant Captain Barecolt, who replied to the youngnobleman's inquiries--

  "It is the most unfortunate thing in the world, my lord. I had ratherthe fellow had run me through the body."

  "But it is not serious, surely, captain," said Lord Walton. "Let mesee."

  "Serious, my lord! it is ruin!" replied Barecolt. "It is right acrossmy nose. I am marked for life, so that I shall never be able toconceal myself or pass for Captain Jersval any more."

  Lord Walton laughed, replying--

  "You will do so better than ever, captain; for you are so well knownwithout the mark that no one will know you with it."

  "That is true, too," replied Captain Barecolt; and the next momentLord Walton, advancing through the vestibule, pushed open the door,which his sister had left ajar, and entered Lady Margaret'ssitting-room.

  He was not alone, however; for by the hand he led poor Arrah Neil,somewhat pale, and with her hair dishevelled, but perhaps only lookingthe more exquisitely beautiful, as the large chesnut curls fell wildlyround her fair brow, and over her soft rounded cheek.

  With a cry of joy and surprise, Annie Walton sprang forward and tookthe poor girl in her arms, exclaiming--

  "Ah, dear Arrah! this is a glad sight indeed!"

  But the effect of this sudden apparition upon Lady Margaret Langleywas even greater than upon her niece. She gazed upon Arrah Neil with alook expressive of more than wonder; and then hurrying forward, shetook her by the hand, fixing her eyes upon her countenance, and askedin a tremulous voice--

  "Who is this?"

  "It is Arrah Neil, a much-valued friend of ours," replied AnnieWalton, unwilling to enter into any explanation of the poor girl'shistory and circumstances in her presence.

  "Arrah Neill," repeated Lady Margaret, in a thoughtful and evenmelancholy tone, and then, waving her head sadly to and fro, she letgo Arrah's hand, retreated to the other side of the room, and, castingherself into her usual chair, fell into a deep fit of thought. At thesame time Lord Walton led Arrah to a seat, and bending down spoke fewwords to her in a low voice, to tranquillize her and make her feel atease. But, while he was still speaking, the large stag-hound rose upfrom the side of Lady Margaret's chair, walked slowly across the room,and laid his huge muzzle on Arrah's knee. She showed no fear, andindeed took little heed, only gently patting the dog's head, as hefixed his keen, bright eyes on her face. The next moment, however, heraised himself a little and licked her hand, and Lady MargaretLangley, moved by emotions which she explained to no one, pressed herhandkerchief upon her eyes and burst into tears.

  Neither Lord Walton nor his sister judged it right to take any noticeof the good old lady's agitation; but, while Miss Walton stood besidepoor Arrah Neil and conversed with her quietly, making her own remarksmeanwhile upon the great change which had taken place in her mannersand appearance, the young nobleman crossed the room to the side of hiswounded friend, and inquired how he felt himself.

  "Oh! better, better!" replied the earl. "It was but loss of blood,Charles: the shot that passed through my leg and killed my chargermust have cut some large blood-vessel, and I, not knowing that, wenton fighting on foot by the side of that poor young lady, whosehorse----"

  "I know, I know!" said Lord Walton. "It fell with her. She told me;but what happened then?"

  "Why, after a time," replied the earl, "a sort of giddiness came overme, and I fell. The scoundrel Batten had just got his sword to mythroat, when that gallant fellow Barecolt, after having despatchedanother, sprang to the ground beside me and threw the Roundhead back.Two of them were then upon him at once; but, on my honour, we havedone him injustice in thinking all his strange stories mererhodomontade; for hand to hand with them he kept up the fight, givingthem blow for blow on either side, with a skill in the use of his armssuch as I have seldom seen, till at length I got upon my feet again,and, though staggering like a drunken man, contrived to call one ofthem off, while he put an end to Batten, sending his sword through andthrough him, cuirass and all. We then got the lady on horseback, forthe other man turned for a moment and ran, and catching Batten'shorse, I mounted, and we began our retreat hither. The fellows who hadbeen driven off, rallied however, and charged us just as we got to thegates, for the bridge was up and we could not pass; but Barecoltplunged through the stream, clambered over the wall, and unhooked thechains. We were all by this time in confusion and disarray--I so faintthat I could scarcely strike a blow, and the rest scattered about,fighting as they could. We made a stand at the bridge till I thoughtall had entered, and then raised it. When in the court, however, Ifound that the poor girl was left behind. That discovery, togetherwith the loss of blood, made me fall as I was dismounting, and theycarried me in hither, where I have lain, as you know, ever since. But,hark you, Charles! ask your good aunt if she have not some cordial, asthese good ladies sometimes have, which will bring back my strengthspeedily, for on my life I must go forward tomorrow morning early."

  "Impossible, Francis!" replied Lord Walton; "quite impossible. At thebest, you cannot travel for a week or more."

  "Good faith! but I must," replied the earl. "I have tidings of theutmost importance for the king."

  "Then you must trust them to me," replied Lord Walton; "for thejourney to York would cost you your life. If it be absolutelynecessary for you to see the king yourself; I will send a litter foryou and an escort from York; but, if the tidings be immediate, you hadbetter trust them to me."

  "It is but weakness--it is but weakness," said the earl. "To-morrow Ishall be better. Ask your aunt, Charles, if she have not some of thosestrength-giving balms that poets and doctors talk of. But what hasaffected her thus? She has been weeping."

  "Indeed, I know not," answered Lord Walton. "I will go and speak toher;" and, moving quietly across the room, he seated himself by theside of Lady Margaret, who by this time had taken the handkerchieffrom her eyes, and was gazing sadly and steadfastly upon the floor.

  "What is the matter, my dear aunt?" he said, in a low tone, "What hasaffected you thus?"

  "A dream, Charles," replied the old lady; "a dream of the past. But itis gone. I will no more give way to such visions." And rising from herchair she advanced directly towards Arrah Neil, and again taking herhand, she kissed her tenderly, saying, "You are so like one that isgone and who was very dear, that I was overcome, sweet child. But Ishall love you well, and you must love me too."

  "Oh! that I will," replied Arrah Neil; "I always love those that aregood to me; and because they have been few I love them the better."

  "Right, right!" exclaimed Lady Margaret. "Love few, and love well.But, now to other things. Charles, this noble friend of yours must becarried to bed, there to lie till we are sure the wound will not burstforth again."

  "Why, my dear aunt," replied Lord Walton, "his rash lordship tells mehe would fain go on to York to-morrow."

  "Madness!" answered Lady Margaret; "but all his family were mad beforehim," she added, in a lower voice. "His father thought to win honourand gratitude by doing good; his mother died of grief. Madness, yousee, on both parts. He has told me who he is, so I wonder not at anyinsanity. Now, I will answer for it, he thinks it a duty to go on; butI will tell him it cannot be. My lord the earl, you are a prisonerhere till further orders. It is vain to think to move me. For yourdear mother's sake, I will be your jailer, let the business that callsyou hence be what it will. So now to bed, my lor
d: you shall have thatwhich will restore your strength as quickly as may safely be, but wemust have no fever if we can help it; and I will tell you plainly,that, were you to attempt to reach York tomorrow, you would go nofarther. I will have the people in to carry you to the room preparedfor Charles: it is close at hand. He must shift with another."

  "Nay, nay!" said the earl; "I can walk quite well, dear lady. I ambetter now; I am stronger. Charles will lend me his arm."

  "Take care, then," replied Lady Margaret, "and do not bend your knee,or we shall have it gushing forth again. Here, tall man, whoever youare," she continued, turning to Captain Barecolt, who entered the roomat the moment, "put your hand under the earl's arm, while my nephewaids him on the other side. There--that will do; now, gently. I willgo before. Call some of the people, Annie."

  Thus aided and escorted, the Earl of Beverley moved easily to the roomwhich had been prepared for Lord Walton on the same floor, while MissWalton followed anxiously, and paused for a moment while her auntexamined the bandages round his knee. Her lover marked the look ofpainful expectation with which she gazed; and perhaps no balm in allLady Margaret's stores could have tended so much to restore health andstrength as the deep interest that shone in her eyes.

  "Do not be alarmed," he said, holding out his hand to her; "this is amere nothing, and they are all making more of it than it deserves. Goand comfort your fair companion, for she needs it much; but I shallsee you tomorrow--shall I not, Annie?"

  The last word was uttered in a low tone, as if he almost feared tospeak it; but there are moments when a woman's heart grows bold, andthose moments are especially when it is necessary to cheer and toconsole.

  "Oh, certainly, Francis!" replied Miss Walton. "I will see you, beyonddoubt: my aunt and I will be your nurses. For the present, then,farewell. I will go and comfort poor Arrah, as you say."

  When Annie Walton returned to the room where she had left Arrah Neil,she found her still seated, but with the great stag-hound, now withone paw upon her knee, looking up in her face as if he would fain haveheld some conversation with her, had he but possessed the gift ofspeech. Arrah, too, was bending down and talking to him--smoothing hisrough head with her hand, and seeming as much delighted with hisnotice as he appeared to be with hers. As soon as Miss Walton entered,however, she turned from her shaggy companion to her friend, and,advancing towards her, threw herself into her arms. For a moment sheremained silent, with her eyes hid on the lady's shoulder, and whenshe raised them they were wet with bright drops; but Annie remarked,though without one spark of pride, that there was a great differencein the manner of Arrah Neil towards her. There was a somethinggone--something more than the mere look of deep, absent thought, whichused so frequently to shade her countenance. There had been a reserve,a timidity, in answering or addressing her, more than mere humility,which was no longer there. Often had she striven to reassure the poorgirl, and to teach her to look upon the family at Bishop's Mertonrather as friends than mere protectors; but, though Arrah Neil hadever been frank and true in her words, there seemed always a limitdrawn in her manner which she never passed, except perhaps at timeswhen she was peculiarly earnest towards the young lord himself: It hadseemed as if she felt even painfully that she was a dependant, andresisted everything that might make her forget it for a moment.

  Now, however, that restraint was gone: she gazed upon Annie Waltonwith a look of deep love; she kissed her as she would have kissed asister; she poured forth her joy at seeing her again, in words full offeeling--ay, and of poetry; and the lady was glad that she did so. Shewould not for the world have said one syllable to check suchfamiliarity, for the character and fate of Arrah Neil had been to hera matter of deep thought and deep interest. She felt, indeed, also,that after all that had passed--after the scenes they had shared in,and the anxieties and fears they had felt for each other--Arrah Neilcould never be to her what she had formerly been; that there wassomething more in her bosom than pity and tenderness towards the poorgirl; that there were affection, tenderness, companionship--not themere companionship of hours and of dwelling-places, but thecompanionship of thoughts and interests, which is perhaps thestrongest and most enduring of all human ties. There was even morethan all this. The change in Arrah Neil went beyond mere manner; thetone of her mind and of her language had undergone the same: it seemedelevated, brightened, enlarged. She had always been graceful, thoughwild and strange. There had been flashes of a glowing fancy, breakingforth, though oppressed and checked, like the flickering bursts offlame that rise fitfully up from a half-smothered fire; but now themind shone out clear and unclouded, giving dignity and ease to everyexpression and every act, however plain the words or ordinary themovements; and Annie Walton felt that from that hour poor Arrah Neilmust be to her as a friend.

  "Come, dear Arrah," she said, "sit down beside me, and let us talkcalmly. You are now amongst friends again--friends from whom you mustnever part more; and yet we will not speak now over anything that canagitate you. Lord Beverley tells me you have had much to suffer; and Iam sure all the scenes you have gone through this day, and thefatigues you have endured, must have well-nigh worn you out andoverpowered you."

  "I am weary," she replied, wiping away some drops that still trembledon her eyelids; "but I have not suffered as you would do, were you topass through the same. It is my fate to encounter terrible things--topass through scenes of danger and difficulty. Such has been my coursefrom childhood; such, perhaps, it may be to the end of life. I amprepared and ready: nay, more--accustomed to it; and when any newdisaster falls upon me, I shall henceforth only look up to heaven, andsay, 'Oh God! thy will be done! I am not a garden-plant, as you are,Annie. I am a shrub of the wilderness, and prepared to bear the windand storm."

  "Heaven forbid you should meet with many more, Arrah!" answered MissWalton. "There are turns in every one's fate, and I trust that for youthere are bright days coming."

  "Still with an even mind will I try to bear them, be they fair orfoul," said Arrah Neil--"more calmly now than before; for much hashappened to me that I will tell you soon; and I have found that thosethings which gave me most anguish have brought me happiness that Inever dreamt of finding, and that there is a smile for every tear,Annie--a reward for every endurance."

  "You have learned the best philosophy since we parted, dear girl,"replied Miss Walton; "and in truth you are much changed."

  "No, no!" said Arrah Neil, eagerly: "I am not changed; I am the sameas ever--just the same. Have you not seen a little brown bud upon atree in the spring-time, looking as if there were nothing in its heartbut dry leaves? and then the sun shines upon it for an hour, and outit bursts all green and fresh. But still it is the same bud you lookedat in the morning. As for my philosophy, if such be the name you giveit, I have learned that in the course of this day. As I rode along,now hither, now thither, in our flight from Hull, I thought of allthat has passed within the last two or three months: I thought of howI had grieved, and how I had wept when they dragged me away from youand your kind brother; and at the same time I remembered what all thatpain had purchased for me, and I asked myself if it might not bealways so here, even on the earth. Ay, and more, Annie; if the griefand anguish of this world might not have its compensation hereafter.So, when I found myself surrounded by the troopers without, and sawthat good lord borne in here wounded, and the bridge raised behindhim, I said, 'Now is the trial; O God! thy will be done.'"

  Annie Walton gazed upon her with surprise, increasing every moment;but she would not suffer the effect produced upon her mind to be seen,lest she should alarm and check the fair being beside her: fearing,too, that at any moment one of those fits of deep, sad abstraction ofmind should come upon her, which she could not believe to have whollypassed away.

  She merely replied, then, "You say, dear Arrah, that the pain you feltin parting with us has purchased you some great happiness. May I askyou what it is?--from no idle curiosity, believe me, but merelybecause, as I have often shared and felt for your sorrows, Arrah, Iwould fain share
and sympathize with your joy."

  "I will tell you; I will tell you all," replied Arrah Neil, laying herhand upon Miss Walton's; "I must tell you, indeed very soon; for Icould not keep it in my own bosom, lest my heart should break with it.But I would fain tell him first--I mean your brother, who has been sokind and noble, so good and generous towards a poor girl like me, whomhe knew not."

  But, before she could conclude the sentence, Captain Barecolt returnedfrom the chamber of the Earl of Beverley, and a conversationinteresting to both was brought for the time to an abrupt conclusion.