by Tom Bevan
Chapter VI.
A SINISTER MEETING.
When Master Windybank left the quaint, riverside garden of CaptainDawe, he was feeling about as amiable as a wolf might feel who has justbeen scared from the side of a lamb by the timely arrival of a hugesheep-dog. He growled with anger, showed his teeth for an instant,then slunk away with his tail between his legs. He was a spiteful,malevolent creature, cunning, unprincipled, and tainted with cowardice.He had pluck of the wolfish sort, and could fight desperately ifcornered; but he shunned the open unless hard pressed, and preferredsnapping at an opponent's heels to flying in his face. He was adangerous foe, and pretty Dorothy had gone far towards making one ofhim.
In no pleasant frame of mind, Andrew Windybank strode up the highstreet of the town. Few of the townsfolk gave him a good-day; he wasnot a popular personage. For one thing, he was a Littledean man andnot of the river-side; his family was purse-proud and tyrannical; worstof all in the eyes of a Pope-hating people, the Windybank family stillclung to the old faith. Young Master Andrew was quite accustomed tocold looks, and, as a rule, they troubled him not at all. He was bynature reserved and uncommunicative, and he was sufficiently wellsatisfied with himself to care but little for the opinion of otherpeople. He turned aside from the town and breasted the steep hill thatled to Littledean.
Windybank had not walked through the town with his ears shut, althoughhe had studiously kept his eyes lowered. More than once he had heardthe name of his rival mentioned, and each time the speaker's tones hadexpressed admiration and affection. The angry young gentleman knewnothing of Morgan's exploit, but the local gossips had seen theforester pass through, and one had succeeded in getting an account ofthe morning's affray. Johnnie was more than ever a popular hero. Itwas unfortunate, perhaps, for Dorothy and her rival suitors thatMorgan's arm and Windybank's pride had both been wounded on the samemorning. The rejected lover had always envied and hated Morgan becauseof his popularity; the events of the morning were rapidly turning thathatred into a sort of malevolent frenzy. His heart burned with rageand jealousy as he went rapidly homewards.
Now, a man's heart will sometimes be attuned to goodness, and his wholenature, being aglow with conscious virtue, will yearn for some outletfor the kindliness that wells up within him. None is offered, and thevirtuous fountain trickles itself dry, and no one is a whit the wiseror better. Anon, the same heart breeds envy, hatred, malice, and alluncharitableness, and straightway comes the chance of working evil.The temptation is great, the opportunity is eagerly seized, andwickedness is done; it is so easy to step into the "broad way," sodifficult to find footing in the "strait and narrow path."
Andrew Windybank was not a good man, but apt opportunity led himfarther astray than, in the depths of his heart, he ever intended togo. His feet were treading the paths of his own domains. Hisancestral home, Dean Tower, raised its dark red walls before him. Someof the bitterness was gone from his thoughts. Visions of the wealth,wherein he was superior to his rival and the maiden who had flouted hisadvances, were easing the wounds in his pride.
A spare figure, garbed in black, stepped from behind a clump of bushes,and stood bareheaded in the pathway.
"God be with thee, Master Windybank, and St. James be thine aid!"exclaimed a harsh voice. Basil confronted him.
Windybank's first feeling was one of annoyance. Basil and his master,Father Jerome, had visited Dean Tower before, and although they hadcome and gone in secret and by night, yet some suspicion of theseSpanish visits had got abroad. The Dean men were proud of theirmagnificent sweep of forest-clad hills and dales, and prouder still ofthe oaks that gave their beloved England her impregnable "woodenwalls." They were wild with anger and indignation when the firstrumours of King Philip's plot came to their ears. Now they wereinclined to treat the daring project with quiet contempt, but Windybankknew that scant mercy would be shown a forest man who should be sounspeakably treacherous as to favour the scheme, even by so little asholding converse with one of the hated plotters.
These thoughts running through his mind, Master Andrew did not returnthe Spaniard's salutation, but waved him aside and endeavoured tocontinue his way. Basil barred the path, his black plumed hat still inhis hand, and his face wearing a caricature of a smile.
"One faithful son of the Church should not refuse greeting to abrother," he said.
"What dost thou want?" was the curt response.
"I am come upon business that hath the blessing of the Holy Father."
"I'll not listen!"
Windybank thrust out his arm to push his unwelcome companion aside.Basil took him by the shoulders and stared into his face with anintentness that made the young fellow fancy that the fierce, black orbsconfronting him were burning holes in his brain. For two minutes, thatseemed two full hours, the gaze was concentrated upon him. Windybankfelt his body shrinking into a smaller compass under the fascination.His breath came thickly, his knees trembled, and his heart laboured inits beating.
"The Holy Father hath sent a message to thee."
"I have heard it," was slowly gasped out.
"He hath sent another. Thou darest not refuse to listen." Theex-monk's hand was uplifted in warning. "Shall I be forced to cursethee as thou standest?" he whispered. "'Tis obey, and be blessed abovemeasure; or refuse, and--thou knowest the penalty; I will not speak ithere. Listen! Father Jerome and I will come to thee at midnight.Thou wilt meet us at thy gate and show us to a chamber where we mayconfer in secret. Remember!"
Windybank felt the iron hand lifted from his shoulder. Basil was gone.For a minute he stared blankly at the bush behind which he haddisappeared. A warning signal, "At midnight, remember!" came to hisears, and awoke him from his half-stupor. He shook himself, tried toanswer, uttered no word, then passed on. He entered his house with aface that matched his ruff in its sickly yellow colouring.