The Project Gutenberg eBook of Traitor or Patriot?, by Mary C. Rowsell (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74255 ***

[Transcriber's note: The source book had variant page headers.These have been changed to Sidenotes, positioned at the paragraph that seemed most pertinent.]

RUMSEY'S GUILT REVEALED TO THE KING—Page 272

A Tale of the Rye-House Plot

BY

MARY C. ROWSELL

Author of "Thorndyke Manor" "The Pedlar and his Dog"
"Fisherman Grim" &c.

ILLUSTRATED BY C, O. MURRAY
AND C. J. STANILAND

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY

PREFACE.

This story is for the most part a romantic renderingof a very obscure episode in the story of the reignof Charles the Second. It does not pretend to morehistorical accuracy than belongs to other romanceswhich are spun from a thread of fact on a spool offiction, but it may be mentioned that the scenes andthe actors are mostly real, and it should be rememberedthat the story of the Rye-house Plot (1683) astold in authentic records is strangely vague. Thatthere was a plot—that the King's house at Newmarketwas burnt, or at least that part of it containing theroyal apartments was on fire—and that Charlesescaped, are the certain points of the story. Thedetails are left very much to imagination, and asfancy is free, "one story is good till another is told."

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. "Queen Ruth"
II. How a Mysterious Coal Barge came to the "King's Arms"
III. Maudlin Sweetapple
IV. The Old Rye House
V. How Master Rumbold told Lawrence Lee what the very Air might not hear
VI. Something in the Water
VII. Mistress Sheppard does not care for her Guests
VIII. Moonrakers
IX. In the Malt-yard
X. The Meeting on the Foot-bridge
XI. "He Died for his King"
XII. Mother Goose's Tales
XIII. The Sliding Panel
XIV. In the Warder's Room
XV. The Plot Thickens
XVI. A Little Difference of Opinion
XVII. "Dead Men tell no Tales"
XVIII. "God Save the King!"
XIX. "Stars and Garters"
XX. "A Friend in Need,"
XXI. "A Friend Indeed"
XXII. Our Sovereign Lord the King
XXIII. "Did you not Know?" she said
XXIV. Lawrence Sleeps on it
XXV. Supper at the "Silver Leopard"
XXVI. "Fire! Fire!"
XXVII. "In the Night all Cats are Gray"
XXVIII. Father and Daughter
XXIX. A Welcome Home
XXX. A Traveller from Newmarket
XXXI. Rumsey meets his Match
XXXII. "So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know"

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Rumsey's Guilt revealed to the King ... Frontispiece

Ruth and Lawrence succour Sheriff Goodenough

Lawrence Lee encounters Mr. Flippet

Lawrence Lee saves the King

TRAITOR OR PATRIOT?

A TALE OF THE RYE-HOUSE PLOT.

CHAPTER I.

"QUEEN RUTH."

May-day! None of your raw, drizzling,windy, nineteenth-century May-days,when folks, chilled to their marrow-bones,draw their old cloaks and coatsabout them and beg for a cozy blaze in place ofthe smart new "ornament for the fire-stove."No; a right-down, unmistakable, fine old Englishfirst of May, with a fine old English sun,gradually assuming roseate hues, and setting theheavens in a glow as he slopes westward behindthe trees of Epping Forest, casting long shadowsathwart the smooth-shaven grass-plot whichcarpets the forecourt of a fine old many-gabledHertfordshire farm-house; while his dyingbrilliancy gilds the broken summits of the ruinedgate-house overshadowing it, and illumines thefresh tints of the cowslips, and earliest summerflower-garlands, festooned with many a gay ribbon-knotabout a May-pole towering to the cloudlesssky. Around this a group of young folks aremerrily footing it to the tune of "Phillida floutsme," which the fifers and fiddlers, mounted on atable beneath the big spreading yew-tree, arebraying out with a will.

Spring-tide.

And the Queen of the May? Well, there sheis; that—. But no; what differs more thantaste on these points? and you must decide foryourself concerning the value of her claims onbeauty. To you it may seem that many of thosebright eyes, and laughing lips, and all the rest ofit, rival the charms of Queen Ruth, YoungMistress Ruth Rumbold, the only child of MasterRichard Rumbold of the Rye House, whoseembattled gate-tower roof just shows yonder throughthe trees, with its gilded vane gleaming in thesetting sun-rays. But then you do not knowRuth as all these good people have known her forfifteen years turned last Martlemas-tide, when shewas left a motherless three months old babe tothe care of Nurse Maudlin—Maudlin Sweetapple.Therefore it is hardly possible for you to conceivehow entirely she has won the affection, even ofcreatures commonly reported to be destitute of it;such as Gammer Grip, the miserly old hunks wholives in the tumble-down hut over against thecrossways, and of Growler and Grab, the NetherHall watch-dogs and terrors of the neighbourhood.

The maltster's daughter.

So possibly it has come to pass, that love hasclothed little Mistress Ruth about with a beautystrangers might not be able to see. For you, thegray eyes so frankly meeting yours frombeneath their long dark lashes and the well-definedbrows might be too grave and thoughtful, thoughindeed, quite to decide, you should wait till shespeaks. The tip of that little nose, to please yourclassical notions, ought not possibly to assert itsright of way as it does, in just the slightest ofupward directions. Neither is her mouth of the"button-hole" or "two-cherries-on-one-stalk"order; though it is a handsome, sweet-temperedmouth enough, with its resolute yet mobile curveswhen the red lips part to speak or to smile.Then again, her hair is neither sunny nor raven-black,as it behoves heroines' hair to be; but thenshe did not look to be a heroine, this Hertfordshiremaltster's daughter. Nor was it of thetawny red the fine ladies of those Merry Monarchdays delighted to dye their locks; but just of anordinary middling shade of brown, with the faintripple of a natural curl on her white forehead, andsomething of the sort which defied the silkensnood, and saucily insisted on straying atpleasure about the nape of her slender neck. As toher hands, they were as well moulded and serviceablea little pair as you might wish to see; and ifthey were a trifle browner than modish maidensmight have considered altogether the thing, thesun, and the churn, and the delicious home-madebread, and such like things, were possibly responsible;but an ocean of milk of roses itself, couldnot have been so soft and sweet as their touch, ifyou needed help from them in any pain or troublebefalling you.

Doubtless as pretty a pair of feet as hers wereto be found in the shire; but if Cinderella's ownwere smaller—IF they were—they could nothave been prettier; and let her wear what shemight, those partial people who knew her, declaredthat Ruth Rumbold's clothes always became her.Be that as it may, very certain it is that thatkirtle of flowered chintz looped above thepink-and-white striped tiffany petticoat marvellouslybecomes her trim figure, and matches bravelywith the red and snow white hawthorn wreathcrowning her shapely head; and never, declareher loving lieges, was fairer Queen of May thanthis Queen Ruth.

The master of Nether Hall.

Her Majesty's partner in the dance now beingso spiritedly carried on, is the lord of thoseMay-day revels, Lawrence Lee, the young master ofthe Nether Hall farm. The natural order of thefestivities would assign him the distinction; butin this particular instance it is no empty one.Left to his choosing, he would in everyprobability have invited Ruth, queen or no queen, todance with him, for the two were fast friends;and such they had been since first Madam Lee,Lawrence's mother, had gone with her ownfive-year-old boy toddling beside her, across the fieldsto the Rye House; and there, taking the motherlessbaby Ruth in her kind arms, she had tenderlykissed the winsome face; and the little boy sawwith wondering awe how some tears were leftshining, bright as dewdrops on daisy flowers, uponthe placid sleeping eyelids as she laid the littlecreature down again in its cradle. "We mustlove her dearly, for she has no mother," murmuredMadam Lee; and so faithfully had Lawrencebacked up her proposition from that day forward,that his affection had gone on growing with hisown inches; and if he loved Ruth when hepaddled, a barefooted urchin, along with the ducksabout the reedy shallows of the moat, inveiglingher to the like unlawful courses, she was everywhit as dear to him now that he stood a goodfive feet eleven in his buff boots.

As handsome a young fellow as you were likelyto meet on a long summer day's journey, withhis lithe figure, dark eyes, and crisp locks, wasthis young master, now in fact and in right, ofthe Nether Hall farm and its broad acres, sincehe became turned of twenty-one last Shrovetide,as for quite two years before he had been to allintents and purposes; for his farming genius wasinborn, and he was never happier than when hewas busy among his barns and his hayfields.

A secret.

Possibly Lawrence Lee carries his liking forhard work so far, that holiday-making bores him.At all events, let him succeed as he may in cheatinghis guests generally into admiration of his highspirits, his efforts at gaiety are so exaggerated andfitful that Ruth is not for an instant to be imposedupon by them. And when at last the dance isdone, and the syllabub is being handed round,and the two stroll away into the hornbeam maze,which brings you, if you are acquainted with itsmysteries, to the field-path leading straight to theriver's brink, the good folks would stare tosee—or can it be the leafy shadows which so heavilydarken those two young faces? Nay; the shadowsare from within, as if black care were busy attheir hearts. Yet with a difference; for whileLawrence's brow is brooding and abstracted, Ruth'seyes are full of wistful anxiety; and with her littlehand tight in his clasp the two silently thread themaze, until suddenly the fiddles and fifes strike upafresh; and this time their tune is "Begone DullCare."

"Let us go back," said Lawrence, breakingfrom his moody silence into a laugh of forcedmerriment, "and enjoy ourselves while we can.Come, Ruth, one more dance," and he seized herby both hands.

"No," she answered. "I must go, Lawrence;and at once. It will be almost dark now before Iam home, and father will be angry."

On the River Lea.

Lee's brow fell again; but he only said, "Asyou will;" and they walked on till they reachedthe river's brink, where a small boat, newlypainted, and decked with ribbon-tied cowslip anddaisy posies, lay moored to a stout stake.

Lawrence's customary mode of transplantingRuth from dry land to his little craft, was to catchher light figure in his stalwart arms and seat herin the stern "before she knew where she was," asshe would say with terrific frowns. To-night,however, he soberly—did she fancy it was even atrifle absently?—assisted her in with his righthand. That this new order of things had notescaped her notice, some look in her face madehim uncomfortably conscious.

"Is your majesty well placed?" he asked,affecting to laugh as he took the sculls andpaddled out into mid-stream.

"We should be so," she replied with mockgravity, drawing up the rudder cords. "Thanksto your lordship's ceremony in seating us."

"That," returned he, breaking into a smile ofunfeigned amusem*nt at her lofty air, "is no morethan what is due to your majesty's supreme rankfrom your majesty's most loyal subject."

"We find that good hearing," said Queen Ruth,"since we are convinced that my Lord LawrenceLee always feels in his heart what his speechprofesses."

A troubled heart.

Her words were jestingly uttered; but theyoung man bit his lip hard; and his cheek grewwhite, as if some sharp sudden pain had stunghim.

"Lawrence!" cried Ruth, starting and bendingforward, "what is the matter? You are ill."

"Not I, dear heart," replied he, sweeping onehand hurriedly across his face.

"You are so pale," she insisted.

"Tired," laconically said he, vigorously plyinghis oars. "With that last measure, you know,"he added in explanatory tones, as she opened hereyes rather contemptuously.

"For my part," she said, "I am not so delicate,and could have danced on till daylight again.Though in that case, 'tis clear, I should have hadto be beholden to another partner," she added,with saucy composure.

"Not while I had a leg to stand on," brisklyreturned he. "But the fact is—well, I must begetting old, eh Ruth?"

"A whole quarter of a century. In four yearsmore," interrupted she, with a ringing laugh.

"And that is ever so far on towards the half ofa lifetime," he murmured thoughtfully to himself,"even supposing one is let live it through inpeace. Well," he added, in a louder key, "'tiscertain age brings a peck of cares, Ruth."

"Tell me some of yours," said she coaxingly,"so that I may share the burden of them. ShallI not?" she pleaded on in gentle earnest tones.

"Heaven forbid!" fervently ejacul*ted the youngman. "Heaven forbid you should ever do that,child! There must come never a cloud to darkenlittle Ruth's days."

Cross-purposes.

"And yet I think mine can scarce be all sunshineif yours are—mind! mind! There you go!Running right into the mudbank!"

"Then must my steerswoman be to blame,"laughed he. "Pull to the right, Ruth."

"I hate secrets," she pouted, doing as he directed.

"There are some things," rejoined the superiorcreature, "girls can't understand."

"Then, to be sure, I think they cannot be goodfor boys—we crave your lordship's pardon—MENwe should have said;" and Ruth hemmed alittle correcting cough—"to meddle with;And— There you are again. All in the osier tanglenow!"

"Confound it! and whose fault but yours?" hecried petulantly. "Didn't I bid you keep to theright?"

"And how am I to see what I'm doing, pray,if you will bob your head about in that fashion?"retorted she, irately knitting her brows. "Lawrence,dear, what's your mighty secret?" she added,in honey-sweet tones.

"Who said I had one?" flashed he. "Howstupid and disagreeable you are to-night, Ruth!What is it you want?"

"Only for you to be nice again. Dear, nice,happy, old Lawrence."

Stillness but not peace.

"Nice! happy! psha! bah! hang it! A fellow'snowhere with you girls if he isn't always up inthe seventh heaven!" grunted Lawrence, and thenhe rowed on in sulky silence between thelow-lying meadow banks, where the quiet oxenstood plunged knee-deep in the fresh youngbuttercup-studded grass, lazily sniffing in thefragrant evening air, all translucent with thegreenish golden tints of mingled young moon-beams,and the last rays of the setting sun. Savethe low chirp, chirp, twee of the birds settling totheir nests among the pollard willows, and theripple of the water about the boat's prow, not asound broke the stillness, till a somewhat sharpbend of the river brought them in sight of awooden bridge, overshadowed to its right by athicket of tall beeches and brushwood; whileleftwards, a narrow road threaded on across it toa second bridge, spanning another stream thatgleamed gray and still as glass between straighthigh-lying banks scarcely twenty yards beyond;and so winding on, over a waste of level commonland, till it was lost in distance.

Dimly discernible through the copse to theright of the first bridge were the walls of aquaintly-timbered, many-gabled, two-storiedhouse, whose latticed casem*nts and trellised porchgleamed in the night's soft radiance; whilst a hugesign, bearing the royal arms, swung in its carvedoaken framework, which projected from betweenthe windows of the upper storey, right across thenarrow road above the lofty wall of red brickwhich ran facing the inn for some distance.

Master Rumbold on the watch

Close down on a tiny landing-stage, by thenearer bridge's foot, a man stood watching theapproach of the boat with his one available eye.The other, blurred and blemished apparently pastall service, aggravated the naturally stern andsinister expression of features passable and evenhandsome, to which his puritanical pot-hat,leathern-belted, black, close-fitting doublet andplain white linen collar lent no relief. Neitherdid the knitting of his sombre brows relax, butrather gathered more heavily, as Lee made fastthe boat and Ruth sprang lightly to the bank.

CHAPTER II.

HOW A MYSTERIOUS COAL BARGE CAME TO THE "KING'S ARMS."

"You are late, girl," he said gloomily.

"Nay, father," answered Ruth, glancingfrom his face towards the stillbrilliant westward horizon. "'Tisnot yet seven o'clock."

"Tush!" he rejoined impatiently. "I'll haveno more of these gaddings. And hark you, youngmistress, no more of these vanities neither;" andhe looked as he spoke, in angry contempt at herdainty skirts. "In with you at once and laythem away. Or better still, cast them into thekitchen fire. And as for this," he went on, roughlyclutching at her hawthorn wreath, and draggingit from her head, he flung it into the water, "Letthat settle it."

A gloomy end to May-day.

Tears of grief and indignation sparkled intoRuth's eyes, as she watched the beautiful flowerswhirled by the eddying tide into deep water; butby a strong effort she restrained herself, and onlysaid in tones of gentle reproach, "'Twas mycrown, father. They made me Queen of May."

"Queen! crown! forsooth! did they so?" hesaid, with a bitter smile. "How is it the verystones do not cry out against this restoring inour unhappy country of these mummings andpagan holidays? Is it not enough to be havingqueens—ay, and kings—of flesh and bloodwantoning it at Whitehall, but we must be seeingmodest maidens aping their antics, and behavingin this fashion?"

"Nay, Master Rumbold," said Lee, "our peopledesired to do Ruth an honour; and I think youshould be proud."

"I should be prouder," returned Rumbold,turning irefully on the young man, "to see her inher winding-sheet, a pale white—Marry! and letme look at your face now, Mistress," he went on,snatching her roughly by the chin. "Ha! red asyour gaudy flowers there! So! I guessed asmuch. And there has been romping, has there?"

"Nay, father; just a little turn or two atHoodman Blind, and Hunt the Slipper."

"What next?" said Rumbold groaningly, andturning up his eye.

"And—and a measure," faltered the truthful Ruth.

"Dancing!" and now the stern eye glared.

"Only round—round the Maypole, father."

Rumbold's lips parted with a jerk, as if he wasabout to break into still sharper rebuke; but ashis eye caught the expression of Lawrence's facehe contented himself with reiterating his dismissal.

"Good night, father," said Ruth, lifting herface to his, but Rumbold did not, or affected notto see. He was standing absorbed in watching theapproach of a big black coal-laden barge whichnow hove lumbering in sight through the middlespan of the bridge.

The queen's crown goes down.

As the boat cleared into open stream again herhuge black bows came athwart the poor drowningMay garland, and swirled it deep down under water.

Whether the unfortunate wreath's destructionafforded Rumbold special pleasure, or that someother cause originated the grim smile slowlybreaking on his gloomy lips, who shall say? Thelook at all events roused Lee's ire, and he said intones of indignant reproach, which he seemed atsmall pains to conceal, "Your daughter bids yougood-night, Master Rumbold."

The maltster started from his abstraction, andimprinting a cold kiss on Ruth's upturned brow,waved her away with a gesture of impatience, andresumed his contemplation of the barge.

Now, in Ruth's eyes coal-laden barges werethings as ugly almost as they were common upand down their little silver Lea; and the raptinterest her father appeared to be taking in thisone and particular specimen of its class, attractedher wonder and curiosity.

To her the boat seemed only more than ausually hideous one, by reason of its crueldestruction of her May crown; and partly in searchof sympathy, partly in good-night, she stole aglance at Lawrence Lee. Alack! He had seeminglyforgotten her very existence, so absorbedwas he also in following the course of the barge."And this," thought Ruth, swallowing back arising lump in her throat, was "the end of thedelightfullest day she had ever spent!" Truly, asonce she had read somewhere in some dusty fustyold book, "a merry going out makes a mournfulcoming in," and she turned with lagging andsorrowful step up the grassy slope, pausing,however, within a few yards of the road, which wasfringed with a thick growth of bracken andbramble, to cast one more wistful glance atLawrence, and to see whether the odious barge hadtaken itself out of sight.

Nothing of the sort. There stood the youngman with folded arms, and brows gloomily knit,watching the boat, which was now turning frommidstream. A minute more, and it floated upto a standstill alongside of the water steps, nearthe bottom of the inn garden.

Mysterious visitors.

The willow boughs interlace and hang soheavily over the white wooden paling whichskirts the garden by the water's edge, and castsuch bewildering shadows in the now fast gatheringdarkness, that Ruth cannot be certain of theprecise number of figures all wearingbroad-brimmed slouch hats and long black cloaks,which rise, as she looks, from the depths of thebarge, and springing in hot haste to the bank, asquickly disappear in the direction of the innyard.

Two—three—five—seven, and Ruth, despiteher chagrins, was beginning to smile at thevision she has conjured up of Mistress Sheppard'sface when she should see this concourse ofbarge-men, coal-heavers, or whatever they might be,besieging her kitchen door. "A scurvy lot,quotha!" could not Ruth hear her grumblingover it all as plain as if she really spoke? "Ascurvy lot! Each of them, of course, lookingfor his cup of her home-brewed cider for theirinvaluable aid of landing a few coals."

Suddenly the lean, thread-paper body ofMistress Sheppard's husband showed among thegooseberry bushes, describing, as it neared thesteps, the acute angles which always marked hisfashion of welcoming distinguished guests to hishostelry.

Strange cargo.

"Here!" at the same moment said a voicefrom the barge in low tones, but of which everysyllable was audible to Ruth through the uttersilence around. "Lend a hand, can't you?" andthen rose up another figure, habited like the rest,but with the folds of his mantle flung far backover his shoulders, leaving his arms free toencompass a load covered with a large piece oftarry canvas. This man's burden, judging by hisswaying gait, must have been of no light weight,"They're not feathers," he growled, as he labouredwith it to the broad top of the barge's sides.

"All right!" eagerly said the voice of Rumboldas he advanced to the steps. "Come along in,quick, Colonel. We'll unload presently."

"That's as you please," returned the other."But by your leave we'll be having these undercover at once. They were tempered Venice way;and your own pretty daughter wouldn't get somuch harm from the night dews, as they would.By the by,—little Mistress Ruth, she is safeindoors and abed?"

"Ay," sullenly grunted Rumbold. "That's myaffair, I doubt, Colonel Rumsey."

"No offence," returned the other. "I justventured to ask the question, because I had anotion that I caught a glimpse of young FarmerLee's brown jerkin among the yew trunks yonderas we were clearing the bridge."

"And what if you did? Isn't he one of us?"said the maltster, casting a careless glance round.

A startling accident.

"True," answered Rumsey, in rather laggingtones. "He's a necessary evil, as you explained,for the use his premises may be to us; but I'd aslief he'd been out of the bargain if't had beenpossible. He's but a stripling; and old heads arethe only ones for our sort of work, depend upon't.There's what one may call a kind of touch-and-goslipperiness"— The rest of what the speakermight be having to say was lost in a deafeningclash of steel, while he himself disappearedtotally from Ruth's range of sight, in what seemeda flash of blue lightning.

"Lookye, Colonel!" said Rumbold, when, aftera brief interval, he had succeeded, with MasterSheppard's aid, in hauling Rumsey to his feetagain and landing him safe on the top of thesteps. "Half an inch more and you'd have beenunder water."

"'Twas those confounded nettles," growledthe discomfited Rumsey, rubbing himself all over,and glaring vindictively behind him at the dankweed tangle all crushed into greenish mud underhis heavy weight, while Rumbold and Sheppardbusied themselves in hastily collecting thescattered contents of the fallen load. "Have you gotthem all?"

"Ay, ay," answered Rumbold. "Come along,Colonel. They're waiting for us."

"There were twelve," said Rumsey.

"Well, well, we can make another search presently,"impatiently returned Rumbold. "There'sno fear. The place hereabouts is haunted, thecredulous yokels will tell you; and they'd soonerdie than set foot in it after nightfall. So come.Have with you, Master Sheppard."

And followed by Sheppard the two walkedtowards the house.

Lawrence Lee hesitates.

And Lawrence? What has been his share inthis unexpected scene? Hardly that of anamazed spectator, Ruth thinks, while she watchesthe hurried, half-stealthy nod of recognitionbestowed on him by the new-comer, as the threemen pass within a few yards of the spot where heis standing. Gloomily the young man returnstheir greeting, but he remains motionless asany stone statue, making no attempt to jointhem; and when they have disappeared he castsa wistful glance at his own little craft, where shelies moored in a fall flood of moonlight, andsighing so heavily that Ruth can hear the sound of itever so distinctly in the silence, for not so muchas a leaf is stirring now Then he turns, and,taking the narrow footpath leading to the frontporch of the inn, is lost in its shadows.

The postern gate.

Ruth rose from her hiding-place, listeningintently. All quiet at last; and gathering thetiffany skirts close about her, she sped like alapwing through the brushwood towards a littlepostern-gate in the red wall, and tapped at itsoftly.

CHAPTER III.

MAUDLIN SWEETAPPLE.

"Marry! and so here you be at last,child!" said a half-glad, half-chiding,cracked, treble voice, as a brownwithered hand unfastened the doorfrom within. "Have you seen your father?"

"Let me come in, Maudlin, dear. Quick!"was all Ruth's response as she hurriedly slippedinside; and then, carefully closing the postern,she seized Maudlin by the elbow, and draggedher along the gravel path till they stood under agroined arch, in whose recesses two stoutnail-studded oaken doors faced each other.

Pushing open the one to the right, which stoodajar and yielded at once to her touch, Ruth lifteda curtain of tapestry hanging on its inner side,and entered a spacious oak-wainscoted chamber,whose handsome but old-fashioned and well-wornfurniture showed dimly in the light of the log-fireburning on the hearth.

"Yes," she said, at last answering the oldwoman's question. "He was down by the bridge."

"That's well," said Maudlin, heaving a sigh ofrelief, as she sank into a big comfortable armedchair beside the hearth, "for he seemed main putabout that you tarried so late. Tho', as I said tohim: 'Tis but once in our lives we're young,Master Rumbold,' I said. And have you had agood time of it, dear heart? Marry! you've beenas blithe as a cricket, I'll warrant; and Master Lee,did he row thee along home in his boat, lady-bird?"

"Of course he did," replied Ruth, stoopingdown over the hearth, and busying herself withmending the fire with the stray bits ofsmouldering log.

"Of course he did," mimicked Maudlin, herlittle bead-black eyes twinkling merrily. "Marry,come up! Hark at that now! And left MadamLee, poor lady, to entertain her company as shemight! That's what comes o being Queen o' May.Heigho! When douce King Jamie, as his ownScots folk used to call him, sat on his gold throne,"went on Maudlin, spreading her withered handsout in the brightening blaze and looking hardinto it, "they made May Queen o' me. Well,well, and Master Lawrence is gone home againnow—eh, child?"

"No," said Ruth, with a slight start. "Oh,yes—I mean no—I mean—that is, how should I know?"

"How should you know?" echoed Maudlin testily;"because you've got eyes and ears, Isuppose. Is the child gone silly?"

"It's you're silly," retorted Ruth crossly,"asking such stupid questions;" and then she, too, setto staring moodily into the fire.

"Fretty!" inwardly commented the old nurse,as she stole a cornerwise glance at Ruth's paleface. "Fretty as any teazle burr. And 'tisn't oncein a six month she's that, poor dear. Tired out;that's what 'tis. As tired out, I'll warrant, withher bit o' pleasurin' as ever our old Dobbin iswith his plough work, and as ready as he is forhis feed o'—What'll you like for supper, lady-bird?"

"Nothing."

"Eh, naught's a sorry supper indeed. Naught?when there's syllabub sweet as your own Colley'smilk can make it; and the hot-spiced cake"—

"Ah! how you do plague! I'm not a bit hungry.It's been eat, eat, eat, all day down at theHall," said Ruth, still half cross, and yet halfapologizing for her most unusual shortcoming.

"Madam Lee is main an' hospitable, to be sure,"said Maudlin, "and likes folks, rich and poor, tobe havin' their fill. God bless her!"

"Ay," nodded Ruth, and a faint smile of pleasureflitted across her grave face.

"And poor old Maudlin," slyly went on the oldnurse, "would a'most be finding it in her heart tobe jealous of her, if she wasn't quite sure—"

"Only she is," smiled Ruth, turning and twiningher arms round her friend's neck. Then shedrew down the old face, as brown and shrivelledas any russet apple, and kissed it. "She knowsthat I love her best in all the wide, wide world."

"Ay, ay, for sure. Does she now?" contentedlylaughed the old woman. "Well, well, Maudlin'lldo to count with maybe. But this junketing'sdone thee no good, Ruth," she went on, consideringthe upturned face with real anxiety. "You'repale as pale, child."

"Tired just a bit," answered Ruth, again strivingto evade Maudlin's gaze. "Maudlin, dear,Master Sheppard was taking in sea-coal."

"Ay. Yesterday forenoon. I know."

"Nay, to-night. Just now, as I came by."

"Just now! What nonsense is the child'stongue talking? Sea-coal again, quotha? whenMistress Sheppard was ratin' of him fast as anymill-clapper but this very morning only in myhearing, for having more sea-coal in than the'King's Arms' can use this side o' Yule-tide, if allthe king's horses, and all the king's men, andthe king himself into the bargain, should comean' put up. An' main and put about is MistressSheppard with his craze, as she calls it. 'Justlike men,' says she. 'An' no wonder,' says I, 'forsarteny there's no denyin' you may have toomuch o' the best o' God's gifts. And what withSheppard's sea-coal extravagance, and what withhis oysters—"

"Oysters!" exclaimed Ruth.

"Ay. Nasty slippy things. Two big boatloadso' them's landed within this se'nnight.'Travellers,' says Master Sheppard, ''ll swallow asmany as you please to set afore 'em.' 'Maybe.Worse taste theirs,' says Mistress Sheppard. 'Butthey won't eat the shells, I reckon; and threeparts on 'em's just empty shells, she was tellin' ofme; and as she says, says she, 'a groat a yearpaid for 'em quarterly 'd be a main sight more'nthey're worth.' No, no, ladybird, you must ha'mistook. Like as not 'twas only the barge comin'to a standstill by the gate. Got stuck in the mud.The water thereabouts doesn't lie as thick as a six-pence."

"Will father be in soon, did he say, Maudlin?"

"He bid us not wait up for him; and to lockall but the postern-gate hard an' fast. He mightbe late, he said, havin' business to settle across atthe 'King's Arms' with some dealers."

"In what?"

"Lord! how inquisitive the child is to-night.In grain, I reckon."

"From where?"

"Bless us! Ay, from Ware, for aught I know.Come, Ruth, an' you won't touch bit nor sup, let'sto bed," and Maudlin rose yawning from herchair, and crossed with the aid of her stoutsilver-headed staff to the foot of a broad oakenstaircase at the other end of the apartment. "Ho, you!Barnaby lad. A light here!" she cried in shrilltones, rapping the end of her stick vigorously onthe bare polished floor. "A light here, I say!Plague seize Sleepyhead!" she grumbled on, whenno response was forthcoming; "Snorin' away in hisowl's roost a'ready, I'll dare swear. Barnaby!Barnaby!"

"Nay," said Ruth, pointing up the staircase, towhere the moonbeams streaming in through thecriss-cross mullioned panes, flooded all the lengthof a long gallery to almost the clearness of day,"We want no light but that;" and followed at amore sober pace by Maudlin, she tripped up thestairs towards a door opening into a circular stonechamber, whose vaulted roof was supported in itscentre by a huge pillar of roughly-hewn stone,graced about its base with rusty iron rings, andremnants of chain, whilst a concourse ofplethoric-looking sacks lay stacked about the floor, whichwas of grayish flags seamed and worn as if bythe ceaseless tread of feet, especially round thepillar.

Icy chill the air struck in this place; and withno little shivering and shuddering old Maudlinhurried on through it as fast as her rheumatictwinges permitted. "'Tis a cruel shame!" shemuttered, and the observation was by no meansa novel one in her mouth, "that you can't getsnug between the sheets without first catchin' yourdeath o' cold; and havin' your wits all terrifiedout o' you with passin' through that gruesomeden." Not, however, till she was well clear of thevaulted chamber, and had gained the corridorbeyond, did Maudlin indulge in the latter part ofher running commentary. "Marry! I come goose-fleshfrom top to toe when I think of all the poorsouls those walls have seen die an' rot."

"Nay," said Ruth, "but that was only theDebtors' Prison, where the poor creatures werekept when they couldn't pay their rents and theirtithes to the great lords and barons who used tolive here. The state prison—"

"Lord forgive us!" shuddered Maudlin, "andstate that poor skeleton Master Lockit says theyfound there was in, you may depend. Everybone rheumatics and lumbago, I doubt Ugh!Yes, I know. It lies down below water-mark, andopens into the underway that runs to Nether Hall."

"Ah! nonsense, Maudlin," laughed Ruth. "That'san old wives' tale."

"And what if it be, quotha?" bridled Maudlin."What if it be? Aren't old wives' tales as good asyoung maids' tittle-tattle? I tell thee, child, assure as we stand here there's a clear way beneathus; though it may have as many twists andcrinkum cranku*ms, I grant ye, as a half-scotchedadder—all the mile and a half to Nether Hall.But him that's a mind for tryin' o't, 'll findhimself when he's done, in the cellar beneath theruined tower that's nearest the Hall, an' turnin',as one may call it, head to tail about, he'll be backagain by the moat dungeon-door, down just underour feet Unless he likes to stop short by thedeep black hole in the wall, which Master Lockithas it—and, as times go, he's a fair truthbider,though his tales are a'most as long as ourcat's—Master Lockit has it, opens up into your father'ssleeping chamber. But hark ye, Ruth, now don'tyou be telling young Lee about all that, mind; orhe'll be for tryin' of it There's not a venturesomerharebrain than he in all the shire, let him onceset his mind to a thing."

"I doubt," carelessly smiled Ruth, "he knowsthe fine tale well enough."

"Tale! Tale again! Well, well, and he'spleased to think it so 'tisn't Maudlin 'd have himtaught better. More by token that there's deathin it."

"Death!" echoed Ruth, her smiles fading.

"Choked," answered Maudlin, slowly noddingher head up and down, "with smoke-damp that'dstifle all the breath out of your body before youwere six yards in."

It was Ruth's turn to shudder. "Well, whatdoes it matter?" she said, when having closed andbolted the door of the little bedchamber they hadnow entered she put her arms round Maudlin'sneck and kissed her, "while there's our darlinglittle river and Lawrence's boat. By the way,Maudlin, he's christened her the 'Queen Ruth!'"

"Has he now?" delightedly smiled Maudlin."That's main pretty of him. Though I doubtMaster Rumbold'll be none so pleased. Red ragsat a bull's much the same as talk about kings an'queens to him. He's all for lord protectors andcattle o' that colour. But never you fear,sweetheart; there'll be none o' them ever set up whileLawrence Lee's above ground, and he'd send allthe lord protectors ever hatched flyin' before theyset foot within a hundred miles o' Hoddesdon.He's like his father before him, rest his soul; andall for King Charles."

"You think so?" said Ruth brightly.

"Ay; that's my own blithe ladybird at last,"cheerily cried the old woman. "Sunshine makespretty maids' eyes sweeter than 'clouds, let metell thee. And for the red roses instead o' whiteones—hark!" went on the housekeeper, as the gatetower-clock chimed eight. "There's a long spell o'beauty sleep to be got yet. So have with thee.Say thy prayers, and then shut fast thine eyes,and I'll answer for it we'll be having all the redroses back the morn."

And then returning Ruth's embrace, Maudlindismissed the young girl to her chamber, whichlay immediately beyond.

CHAPTER IV.

THE OLD RYE HOUSE.

When the Rye House was built, or at leastit* gate-tower wing of which we arenow speaking, and which was as oldas the time of King Henry the Sixth,probably no dwelling of any importance, with theexception of Nether Hall, a still more ancientbaronial structure, stood within miles of it.

Strong as rocks were its fortified outer walls;and in many parts its interior walls were threefeet thick. This was the case with the old"Debtors' Prison," lying at the older wing'sextreme end, and forming the angle connecting itwith the new wing, which dated only from the timeof Queen Elizabeth. In this debtors' prison MasterRumbold, as we have seen, now stored his malt.The wall separating Maudlin Sweetapple's littlesleeping chamber from the more spacious oneoccupied by Ruth, was of at least equal strengthand solidity with the walls of this storing room;but while in the one case the surface showed thebare hewn stone, polished only by the hand oftime, panellings carved in many a quaint device,and reaching half-way to the flat oak-timberedceiling, lined the "Lady's Bower," as time beyondall count, Ruth's room had been called.

Ruth's bower.

Here she held sway undisputed; spending in ithours of her lonely days when her father wasabsent from home, as of late she noted he sofrequently had been. So she sat strumming on thebroken and half-stringless virginal, or spelling outthe crabbed type of several worm-eaten books,chiefly poems—long winded, wordy things enough.Still she cared for them in a fashion; and onevolume, whose title-page set forth that its contentswere from the pen of one William Shakespeare, aplay-actor, took her mightily. Line after line shewould tell you of many of the long speechesand odd sayings it contained; though she kepther studies to herself, for Maudlin had not verymuch of a turn for book-learning, and MasterRumbold always said, if it had not been for theBible, and that godly person Mr. Foxe's Bookof Martyrs, child of his should not have beentaught to read at all. Then as to writing, he wasnear never speaking one word more to MadamLee after one fine day when he made the frightfuldiscovery that she had been teaching the littlegirl so successfully to make pot-hooks and hangers,that long before Lawrence was out of the alphabetRuth had been writing on her own responsibility,and in unmistakeable fair round hand: "FearGod. Honour the King." Wroth indeed wasMaster Rumbold over the "fine surprise" thusprepared for him by instructress and pupil. Theknowledge, however, could not be unlearned; andsuch a penwoman as Ruth remained till the dayof her death you might go a hundred miles andnot find.

And so with her wheel and her tapestry-framefor her father's company, and her graveraccomplishments for the solitude of the Lady's Bower,Ruth contrived to live as happily as any princess.Solitude is, however, no term to connect withthe spot where the birds sang their sweet musicthe livelong day amid the beechen branches whichswept the panes of the old painted oriel window,and the wind sighed gently in the long summerevenings through the ivy trails and creepers whichRuth trained about its carved stone-cornices, or inhis rougher moods snarled and blustered, like thetyrant he can be, round the ancient house. Butin Ruth's eyes the broad look-out from that windowalways wore a beauty, and with all her fifteenyears' experience she had not been able todetermine whether that expanse of lowly undulatingmeadow-land and winding waters looked loveliestin its spring and summer garb of green, tentedover with cloudless blue, or in autumn's grays andrussets, or clad in its pure white winter snowrobe; nor even whether golden sunlight, or themoon's silvery sheen, as to-night she stood gazingon it, pleased her best.

Rumbold's chamber.

Master Rumbold himself slept on the ground-storey,in a room immediately beneath his storedmalt-sacks. This chamber, tradition said,contained in its stone flooring a trap-door openingupon a ladder which conducted into the fearsomedungeons underground, where prisoners used tobe thrust, bidding hope and the blessed air anddaylight farewell for ever. The subject was, however,one rarely touched upon in the maltster's presenceby those who best knew his humours; for hewould either smile in bitter contempt, or—andindeed that more generally happened—frownangrily; and, let his mood be the one or theother, always turned the conversation at last withsome half-uttered remark that so might it, ormight it not be, and that he had simply occupiedthe room ever since he had been master of theplace, because it commanded a watch on bothwings of the house. The quaintly timbered wallsof the new wing contained the malting-house;while its gabled roof stretching up stiff as cat'sears, afforded sleeping accommodation for thedomestic servants and the few workpeople livingon the premises.

The malting house.

The handsome guest-chamber, or keeping-roomas it was called, was not reserved merely for highdays and holidays, for Richard Rumbold had noliking for such vain settings apart of time; butwas used as the general sitting-room, and extendedfrom end to end of the ground-storey. Its threewindows fronted the great square smooth-shavengrass-plot, which by tradition and courtesy wascalled "the pleasaunce." In the middle stood onesolemn big yew-tree, clipped, beehive-shape, andsurmounted by a leafy monstrosity which Maudlinsaid was meant for a peaco*ck. Never a flower,however, save the poor little buttercups and daisies,whose heads were chopped off in a twinkling, ifthey did venture to peer forth, ever starred thatdreary pleasaunce, for the maltster said he hadother uses for his money than to be wasting it ongaudy nonsenses like flowers.

But returning now to the old wing, let us peepin for a moment on old Adam Lockit, the gatehousekeeper, in his sanctum deep hidden in therecesses of the vaulted archway piercing thetower, and giving on its outer side upon thedrawbridge, which was still let down at dawn, anddrawn up at sunset, by the massive old ironchains working through the wall.

Barnaby Diggles.

Not a snugger corner in the whole establishmentthan this of Master Lockit's. Within thelast year or so, since he has not been so young ashe used to be, and the dragging at those heavychains has come to be a bit of a pull upon him,though he is a hale enough man for his threescoreand ten, he has condescended to accept the assistanceof a lad, employed originally as a Jack-of-alltrades in the malting-yard, but promoted to thedignity of domestic factotum by reason of sundryexcellent qualities. Foremost among these standunimpeachable honesty and placid temper. Acharacteristic less distinguishing Barnaby Diggles,for so the lad was named, was animal courage.He was, in other words, an arrant coward; in thematter at all events of hobgoblins and things ofthe sort. He was, however, but just turned ofsixteen; and time as yet had never tried his mettlewith any real and substantial danger. Meanwhile,nothing so much charmed him as having his imaginationtortured with ghost stories by the villagegossips; unless, indeed, it was to sit and incline hisears to the hundred and one yarns of all countriesand ages that Adam Lockit loved at least as muchto spin.

The gatehouse room.

When Barnaby is not to be found after hisday's work for love nor money, you are safe torun him to earth in the gatehouse room. A Sindbad'svalley it is to him, a Hassan's cave, with allits treasures of crossbows and battle-axes, andcatapult relics; its bits of chain-armour, itsbattered helmets, stags' antlers, and hunting-horns,for all and each of which Adam had his story totell, as vividly as if he had been honoured by thepersonal acquaintance of Joan of Arc and WilliamRufus, or gone a buck-hunting in Hainault Forestwith the merry monks of Waltham or bluff King Hal.

What gruesome tales too, Master Lockit, sittingof bitter winter nights in his warm ingle neuk.could tell you between the whiffs of his pipe,about yonder spiral staircase, "There, just behindyou," which goes winding up past the nail-studdediron clamped door, shutting in the old wing's upperstorey. Ever so high, aloft to the tower roof, withthe spiked vane atop of its tall twisted chimney."But he was speakin' mainly," he was, Adamwould say, "of where it went round an' round,an' down an' down to what was just wine andwood cellars now, but 'twas no such honest endas that they were scooped out for hunnerds andhunnerds, if so be 'twarn't thousands o' years agone.And Master Rumbold might say what he pleased,an' deny it you as he liked, 'twere just for all theworld a honeycomb o' cells an' passages, openin'right an' left into dungeons, till you come out bythe weir, over against the ruins o' Nether Hall."

"Go on! go on!" Barnaby would gasp, writhingin ecstasy at the recital. "Slidikins! I'm allgoose-flesh from top to toe! Master Lockit, go on!"

Master Lockit's word pictures.

"More idiot you," Adam would rejoin, puffingaway with immeasurable but secret content in theeffect produced by his word picture of their hiddensurroundings. "What is it to the likes of us?An't such things all done with now? I'm speakin',I am, of the good old times when royal kingsan' queens theirselves wasn't safe on their goldthrones, for blows in the dark."

"Happen it might come again," Barnaby wouldmurmur, staring with hopeful rounded eyes intothe blazing logs; but when the old belfry clockoverhead boomed its warning to bed, MasterDiggles stumbling half blind with terror to hissleeping-room in the gabled roof, was a sight noteasily to be forgotten.

That same iron-clamped door atop of the towerstaircase opened—if indeed one may so speak of adoor which so rarely was put to its use—into achamber called the Warder's Room. Not havingbeen inhabited for a generation or two, it was ofcourse reputed to be haunted by a "White Woman,"and that was no more than truth and fact;for many an hour Ruth spent in it, weavingromances out of her own brain, for the mail-cladknights and wimpled ladies whose pictured formsgleamed dimly from the rich oak wainscotedwalls, and the designs and quaint devices of theirpanellings which accorded with those on the wallsof Ruth's room, lying immediately beyond.

Ruth romancing.

Ruth had a theory that this suite of rooms onthe upper storey of the gatehouse wing had inolden times been occupied by the lord and ladyof the ancient mansion; and the notion wasprobably a correct one, since in no part of the placewere traces of such magnificence to be seen ashere. Fragments of painted glass glowed in themullioned windows, showing scraps of monstrousgriffin-like heads and scaly tails, and enscrolledletters, of which only one word in one of theupper lights of Ruth's window remainedentire—"Loyaulté."

Time and wear had so polished the wood of thischamber's richly-parqueted floor that its smoothsurface reflected, like some quiet pool, thetall-backed chairs of tawny and gilt Cordovan leather,ranged stiffly against the walls, and about the longnarrow oaken table covered with its faded velvetdrapery; and the massive proportions of the hugecarved oaken chest, capacious enough to shut inone of the mailed knights, or even portlybrown-frocked Abbot Benedict Ogard of Waltham Abbeyhimself, who smiled, come fair weather come foul,come day come night, so unctuously down on youfrom his recess beside the loftily-coped fireplace.

Ruth could very well recall the time when thelower portion of the walls of this room had beenhung with Flemish tapestry, embroidered withsubjects from the Old Testament and earlyGrecian lore. One winter, however, when KingFrost intruded so tyrannically in-doors that peopleshivered in their beds, Maudlin Sweetapple hadstripped down the greater part of this tapestry tomake curtains for Ruth's room. If in cuttingaway the tattered and hopelessly unmendableparts of it, she had patched the stuff togetheragain in such fashion as to leave Solomon in allhis glory turning a summersault on the extremetip of Jonah's whale's nose, and Goliath's goryhead frowned grimly from the neck of the Trojanhorse, did it not all serve every whit as well forkeeping the wind away?

The warder's room.

No doubt the situation of the Warder's Room,cut off as it was so completely from the rest ofthe house, had first obtained it its ghostly renown;one not likely to dwindle, by the knowledge thatit* outer door giving on the staircase was alwayskept locked. This, however, was no more thanan ordinary precaution; since the room stood literallyin the very portal of the whole house, thoughtime had brought its changes, and various smalldoors in the new wing now admitted by the wicketthe maltster's few visitors and his workpeople tothe malt-yard.

A grim greeting.

The master of the house himself did not set footinside the Warder's Room twice in a year; andwhen on that May morning, before starting forNether Hall, Ruth entered it, according to herdaily custom, to let a little fresh air and sunshineinto its grim silence, she had been startled atperceiving her father standing with folded arms andsombre brows near the hearth, gazing into its coldblackness as if lost in moody thought. Onbecoming conscious of her presence, however, hehad roused up from his abstraction, and witha hurried and absent "Good morrow, child," heturned and went out, locking the door behind him.

CHAPTER V.

HOW MASTER RUMBOLD TOLD LAWRENCE LEE
WHAT THE VERY AIR MIGHT NOT HEAR.

This recollection of the morning, troublesRuth strangely now, as she sits in thebroad window-seat of her own room,her eyes fixed indeed on the fair moon-litscene before her, but for once seeing nothingof its beauty. Vague fears and suspicions anddread of coming evil weigh down her heart, as oneby one she threads together the incidents of thisMay-day, which was to have been such a goldenone. It is all in vain that she laughingly tellsherself her father has every right to perambulatehis own premises. All in vain she argues thatLawrence Lee may be as sulky as a bear with asore head, if it gives him any pleasure; and noconcern of hers. Certainly not. All the same too,of course, it is to her if a legion of coal-bargescome their way, so long as it is not she who standsin Master Sheppard's shoes.

For her part, however, Ruth could not considerthe landlady of the "King's Arms" at all a badsort. On the contrary, she entertained a greatliking for her. Folks were fond of saying thatMistress Sheppard had a shrewish tongue; butRuth had never felt its edge. The good womanwas as foolish as everybody else in the matter ofspoiling the little mistress of the Rye House; andthough she would as soon tell a prince of theblood a piece of her mind, as she would thestable-boy of her own establishment, if she saw fit, shewould have vowed the old dun-cow to be whiteas milk, if it could have afforded Ruth anysatisfaction; or declared that Master Richard Rumboldwas the most urbane and delightful gentleman inall the country, though no love, to put it mildly,was lost between her and her opposite neighbour.

The hostess of the "King's Arms."

One reason for this among divers others, wastheir difference of opinion concerning the sign ofher hostelry. What easier, the maltster alwaysinsisted, than to change it from the "King'sArms" to the "Commonwealth Arms?" or somesuch reasonable name? There could be no offence,he argued, to anybody in that. But MistressSheppard maintained there was, and much offencetoo. She would stand by and see no such senselesschoppings and changings. There had neverbeen anything common about the place, sinceplace it was; and shouldn't be while she was aboveground. And what did the man want of suchnotions? And Master Sheppard, if he could haveanswered that question, as perhaps he might,maintained a discreet silence, as indeed is the onlysafe course when one finds one's self betwixt twostools, as his lot in life placed him; for he wasnever certain whether he stood more in awe of hiswife or of Master Rumbold. Once, it is true, heventured so far as to hint to her, that for the goodof the house, and the sake of peace, it might bewell to think over Master Rumbold's suggestion,and that he, Sheppard, was agreeable, if so be—buthaving got thus far he was pulled up by MistressSheppard, who said she "was not agreeable; thatthose who didn't like the sign might spare theircustom, and the good o' the house'd be none theworse for lack o' their company." And so the signremained true to its colours, and an eyesore and athorn in the flesh to roundhead Master Rumbold.

Smouldering fires.

Differences between neighbours were, however,unfortunately common enough in those troubledtimes; for troubled they were. It is true that theold quarrel between the king and the parliament,which had brought Charles the First to his saddeath at Whitehall, had been patched up veryneatly more than twenty years ago now, whenhis son, King Charles the Second, had been restoredto the throne; but the feelings of the peoplewere like smouldering fires, and ready as ever tobreak out in discontent. The country, moreover,was divided, not now, as then, into those whodid approve of its being governed by a king andthose who did not; but there were many loyalenough sober-minded folks, and holding quitevarying forms of religious belief, who were sorelydisappointed with the manner in which the king,whom they had helped to restore with so muchexpense of precious lives and of money, governed;or, more properly, neglected to govern. Yes, acareless "Merry Monarch"—all very well to callhim so—but your merry men and women are frequentlycruelly selfish ones, and contrive to bringtears into other people's eyes every time theyare pleased to laugh.

Then, too, there were many who dreaded theday when Charles's brother, the Duke of York,should succeed him on the throne. There seemedhardly any doubt that he had adopted the RomanCatholic form of belief; and a strong impressionprevailed that Charles was also greatly inclinedto do the same.

The Merry Monarch.

How far this was true can, perhaps, never befairly determined. The king's pleasures alwaysinterested him vastly more than religiousquestions of any kind, and the fears of those whodreaded to see England fall back under popish rulewere probably exaggerated. It is very certainthat these ideas were fed by dangerous men, whofor their own selfish ends spread alarms of popishplots and conspiracies which existed nowhere butin their own mischievous brains; and manyharmless peace-abiding Roman Catholics were huntedto prison and death, solely for the crime of beingfaithful to the creed they had been reared in.These did not, however, remain entirely unavenged,for the love of fair play and of justicetriumphed in the end; and the wretches who hadpersecuted their fellow-men under the pretence ofreligion were many of them severely punished,and few pitied them.

The father of Lawrence Lee had died, fightingfor King Charles the First on Worcester field;while Richard Rumbold had lost his eye in theselfsame struggle, serving the Parliamentary forces.

A dark desire.

Rumbold hated the Stuart race; and when heused to hear Madam Lee teaching her little Lawrenceto flourish his chubby hands and cry, "Godsave the king!" an ugly sneer would begin togather about his lips, though he would hold themfast shut, for the Nether Hall folks wereprosperous and well-to-do; and the maltster, if hecould avoid it, never quarrelled with money. Itwas, besides, no easy matter to pick a disputewith this young Lee, who troubled his head sovastly little about the affairs of the nation, andwhose whole mind was taken up in the managementof his farm.

As to his heart, it was divided between hismother and his old playmate and constant friendRuth; and though Ruth's play-days were fastebbing away, and the old games were now frownedupon by her as silly and rompish, Lawrence caredfor her every whit as much as ever; and Rumboldperceiving this, thought he saw in it a turn forthe serving of his own purposes. And when oneday, about the time of this story's opening, themaltster being in one of his gloomier moods, which,indeed, had grown so strangely frequent that hewas rarely out of them, chanced to launch forthinto one of his tirades against the king and hisgovernment, and said that "sooner than see daughterof his, wife of a man who loved a Stuart, bethat Stuart Charles or James, or Tom, Dick, orHal, he would see her in her coffin."

An angry altercation.

"Love!" replied Lee, turning a little pale asthe maltster spoke, "is a strong word, MasterRumbold."

"Your father loved the first Charles Stuart,"said Rumbold with knitted brows.

"Ay, to the death!" sighed the young man;"but I'll warrant 'tis little enough his presentmajesty remembers that."

Rumbold looked up quickly, and the dull glitterof his eye brightened into a glance of searchingscrutiny as he fixed it on Lawrence. "Anungrateful race always, these Stuarts," he said witha shrug.

"Nay, I say not that," rejoined Lee. "Yourpoor bedesman may know every scratch and markupon his little scraped-up hoard; but can yourrich trader tell you one from another of his cofferedguineas? And king's friends are so. Countlessas the grain I sow in my fields."

"To be as soon scattered to the winds, andtrod under foot," growled Rumbold. "Put notyour trust in princes."

"I'd as lief trust one," smiled Lawrence, whoknew his Bible too, "as any other child ofman."

"You speak idly, as a parrot chatters," saidRumbold in displeased tones; "and, in truth, Ihave long taken you for a—"

He paused with a jerk. The word on his lipswas scarcely one calculated to win over the youngman to his ideas, and he substituted the milderepithet of "featherbrain."

"I thank you for your compliment, MasterRumbold," said Lawrence swelling a little, andglancing silently, but proudly, round on his neatbarns and ricks, among which they chanced to bestanding. "I flattered myself my brains werenone so empty."

"Psha!" returned Rumbold; "a man may be aMr. Worldly Wise, and still a fool and a beggartouching the treasure that waxeth not old. Thinkyou that the storing of barns and the breeding offat oxen will bring a man peace at the last?"

"It may help to it, I doubt," answered theyoung proprietor, "if it so be that that manuses bounteously the wealth his barns and hiscattle bring him. Not hoarding it greedily, butsharing it with those who need it. Then heaven,I take it, is like to bless our store."

The maltster wagged his head impatiently.

Lawrence speaks out.

"Though in sooth," went on Lawrence, "Irequire not you to remind me, Master Rumbold,that though a man bestow all his goods to feedthe poor, and hath not real charity, he is soundingbrass indeed; and Heaven, that seeks pure goldonly, will have none of him. I know, of course,as well as you do, that a clear conscience—"

"And what," interrupted Rumbold, wincinginvoluntarily as Lee uttered these last words, andgazing gloomily into the muddy duck-pool at hisfeet, "what may be your notion of that?"

"Of a clear conscience?" lightly laughedLawrence. "Why, first and last, at all events, thatit* owner never do his neighbour any wrong."

A wrangle.

"And who is my neighbour?" muttered Rumbold,as if speaking to himself, and still keepinghis eye moodily fixed on the turgid water. "Answerme that, Lawrence Lee."

"Who is not?" replied Lee, repressing a yawn,but with a cheery smile. "I take it, we'reneighbours all. Everything that breathes; from oldShock here"—and he bestowed a friendly pull onthe grizzled ears of the sheep dog, who stoodpoking his cold nose into his master's hand—"upto the king himself. What's the matter, MasterRumbold?" for the maltster started and bit hisnether lip, as if in some sudden pain.

"Nothing, boy," he said. "What should be?"

"The king himself—God bless him!" continuedLee, waxing unusually eloquent, for ordinarilyhe was not a man of many words. "And that ifwe do—"

"Do, do!" cried Rumbold, wincing again."The old story. Always with your sort. Andfaith may go to the wall. Well, if we do whatforsooth?" he added, not without curiosity.

"Nay, if it please you better," answered Lawrencegood-humouredly, "for it is all one;—if wedon't do harm, and work no evil against anyman:"—

"Upon him who doeth evil, evil must be done,"said Rumbold in deep melancholy tones.

"That," returned Lawrence, recoiling a paceand gazing in perplexity at his companion, "thatwas not the teaching, Master Rumbold, of Himwho died for all men. I doubt 'tis the same as ifone should say, Evil must be done that good maycome."

"Ay," muttered Rumbold, folding his armsupon his breast and setting his lips firmly, "itmust."

"Why? Fie, now, fie!" laughed Lawrence,fixing his eyes with something of uneasy curiosityin their clear, dark depths, on Rumbold's face."That, they say, is the Jesuits' watchword. Whowould have thought to hear it from the lips ofgodly Master Rumbold?"

"You mock me," returned Rumbold; "I amthe worst of sinners."

"Nay, nay, but I trust not," said Lee, gettingreally uncomfortable.

"You mock me, I say," reiterated Rumbold.

"Heaven forbid!" ejacul*ted Lee. "It is ratherthat you mock me; for by my faith I do notunderstand you to-night, Master Rumbold."

The whisper of a conspirator.

"Listen," hoarsely said Rumbold, turningsuddenly on Lee, and gripping him by the elbow;"you shall understand. I will explain, but nothere," he went on, dropping his voice to awhisper, and casting a far-seeing, cautious glanceround. "Not here: there may be eavesdroppers.Hark! what's that?"

"Only the beasts munching their supper in thestables," said Lee. "They will tell no tales."

"The very air must not hear," said Rumbold.

"Why, if it is so particular as all that, then,"rejoined Lawrence, still half jestingly, but growingless and less light about his heart, "come thisway." And pushing open a wicket, he conductedhis companion along a rather miry slip of by-roadtowards the apple orchard, which stretched behindand around the ruined gatehouse, whose jaggedoutlines were beginning to stand out grim andgaunt in the sickly rays of the moon. Wadingthrough the long grass so thickly carpeting theground up to the tower, that its base wascompletely hidden, Lee conducted Rumbold to thetop of a small flight of broken stone steps, so lostin an overgrowth of ivy trails and brambles as tobe invisible to stranger eyes; but Lee, with athrust of his hand, parted the leafy screen, andsigned to Rumbold to follow him down the steps,which led to a low, iron-clamped and heavilypadlocked door deeply sunken in the wall of thetower's foundations.

A secret vault.

"'Tis a well-screened spot, is it not?" said Lee,answering Rumbold's inquiring glances.

"Well secured," said the cautious Rumbold,who had not much opinion of mere unaided twigsas safeguards, and seemed more disposed to admirethe huge iron padlock adorning its latch. "Whatdo you store here?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"The place—except for a few bones, which mayhave been man's or sheep's for aught I know,or ever gave a thought to—is full of emptiness."

"Yet you keep it as sealed as if it shut inuntold riches."

"As for the matter of that, it does, too, in aroundabout sort of way," said Lawrence smilingand colouring a little. "Or it may do so; for 'tissaid—though I will not answer for the truth of it,that if you follow your nose far enough, the wayit leads, you will find yourself in the vaults underyour own gatehouse. Our houses—yours andmine—Master Rumbold, were built in queertimes; when a man could not call his life his own.And when he dared not show his face aboveground, slipped away as he could under it."

In darkness.

"And a fig then for his pursuers," said Rumbold,as he stepped into the vault, whose darkness wasonly lightened by the moon-rays feebly strugglingin through the grating of a loophole high up inits walls. "A fig for them, hey?"

"As you say," said Lawrence, faintly echoingthe low laugh of his companion, which reverberatedfar away, in mocking unearthly discords, as thoughchallenging the pair to explore the place'slong-forgotten intricacies. "I doubt they must havebeen as successful as if they sought needles in abottle of hay."

"Shut the door!" said Rumbold.

Lawrence obeyed, and what further RichardRumbold had to say was heard by no eavesdropperssave the slug and reptile creatures who had longmade the place their own.

A change for the worse.

Some hours later the door opened again, andone of the two men reappeared. Peering firstcautiously right and left, he locked the doorbehind him and stole hurriedly up the steps. Thefigure of this man is assuredly that of LawrenceLee, but strangely unlike his light bright step isthat stumbling, swaying gait; and can that ashenwhite face, those eyes startled and staring, as ifthey had met some fearful thing, indeed be his?And where is Rumbold?

CHAPTER VI.

SOMETHING IN THE WATER.

One thing only was quite certain, thatthe maltster was to be seen nextmorning at the usual hour among his men.As for Lawrence Lee, whatever Rumboldhad confided to him remained a secret asfar as the nature of it was concerned. To hide,however, from Ruth that something was amisswith him was a more difficult task, and he hadfailed in it.

During these last weeks, moreover, the RyeHouse had grown into a very prison of dulness.Rumbold, always a sombre and taciturn man,had come to be like a stone statue moving aboutthe place, never speaking but when absolutelycompelled.

The recollection of all this, and of the eventsof the past day, crowd bewilderingly now uponRuth's mind, as she sits, with her chin restingupon her hand, gazing out into the night, fromwhich the young May moon is slowly fading.Only a few stars cheer the surrounding darkness,excepting yonder where the yellow lamp-lightstreams through the close-drawn curtains of theguest-parlour window of the King's Arms.

A cure for care.

Many a summer evening, when Mistress Sheppard'sguests tarried as late as this, Ruth couldremember catching the echoes of merry laughter andsnatches of songs from that window; but thoughthe night was warm as a July one, not a soundwas to be heard save the low hooting of the owlsand the gurgling of the water in the moat.

She stretched her head from the window, tolisten for the familiar sound of her father's heavyfootfall up the wicket-path.

How late he stayed!

And Lawrence? had he gone home yet in hisboat? Surely. And yet—ah! well. What wasit all to her? Why vex her head about it? Whynot go to sleep and forget her fancies? Fancy! werethose dark cloaked figures fancy forsooth?Like some evil dreams, indeed, they haunted hermind. And that flash of cruel steel blue light?No fancy that. But what concern could it beof Ruth's? Why, a turn of her wheel would dispelit all. There is no remedy like a little bit ofdiligent work for troublesome thoughts, or evensad ones. How provoking that the stupid thinghad not a shred of flax in it! There it stood inits corner, a beautiful wheel of ebony inlaid withivory, her father's gift last birthday, but like afair body without a soul, destitute of the flax.How she could have worked away by the lightof the stars which were so brilliant that lamp-lightwould be an utter superfluity—if only the flax hadbeen to hand!

Out in the moonlight.

Unluckily it all lay locked away, a splendidstore, in the big oak linen press, atop of thekeeping-room staircase; and just the least bit in theworld of extra courage was indispensable fortraversing those silent passages at this hour. Andyet after all, a very little bit, for Ruth was nocoward. The chief difficulty was to avoiddisturbing Maudlin. It would be such a shame to dothat. The old woman lay so comfortable—leaguesaway in the land of dreams. Ruth could seethat, as she peeped at her through the half-opendoor. So soundly sleeping that she gatheredcourage, and stepped tiptoe across the floor, outinto the corridors beyond, till she could see thesacks away at its furthermost end in the storeroom,all huddled together like hunchbacks underthe dim starlight, or—like those cloaked men whohad got out of the barge! and then Ruth shivered.But that was little to be wondered at, for theair of the store-room struck icy cold as shestole on—on into the corridor where the linenpress stood.

Close beside it a small lattice afforded a glimpseof the river just beyond the bridge. There laythe barge! Still moored up alongside the bank;a huge black blot upon the silvery water.

And the "Queen Ruth?" Nay—as if it waslikely to be there now. Why, her pretty littlecat Tab had as much to do with the big elephantwho lumbered by in the show yesterday, as themerry, graceful, little "Queen Ruth" could havewith yonder ugly boat? And yet, and yet—ah! whata consolation it is to make sure of anything!to crush out one's absurd fancies—dead, past allcoming to life again! And how temptingly easyin this case! Quite as easy anyhow, as to bestanding there, dreaming and talking about it.Only just to steal down by the stairs and throughthe keeping-room, where the still smoulderingfire cast a few dull gleams, and so out by thenarrow path to the wicket. Then but a step—butsoftly, creep low for thy life, Ruth—in thehigh wall's shadow, and drag the cloak, snatchedin haste from a peg, close and well about thyface and shoulders. And what if Rumbold shouldbe returning now? But there is never a soundsave the flapping of the bats' wings, that beat inher face, and bring her heart into her mouth.

Ruth goes exploring.

She was so near now to the gilded patch oflight upon the black road before the inn parlourwindow, that had the pane been open, she mustbeyond all question have caught the voices ofthose within. But though just for one instant shepaused, pressing her hand upon her beating heartto listen, not so much as an echo reached her; andshe hurried on, towards the parapet of the bridge,where it wound down lower and lower to thelittle landing-stage—and leaned over.

Still tied to the stake lay the "Queen Ruth." Theswift stream from the bridge gently swayingher bows, and her gay cowslip posies and ribbonknots fluttering in the breeze now fast springing up.

Ruth's heart sank. Past all doubt then, herewas Lawrence hanging about, when he shouldhave been back at Nether Hall an age ago. This,surely, was no night to be loitering with—witha parcel of coal-heavers; and Ruth shuddered.Pray Heaven their calling was such an honestone.

There she stood gazing with puzzled bent browsupon the barge, lying motionless and black asa funeral bier on the sluggish water, gleamingleaden gray in the sickly starlight.

footsteps on the bridge.

Slowly and sadly Ruth prepared to retrace hersteps. Doubts and uncertainty would, after all,she thought, have been preferable to this sight,which did but strengthen her suspicions of sheknew not what. Supposing—Hark! A shufflingof footsteps, and the sound of voices. It mustbe the inn party dispersing, and exchanging theirgood-nights. And Ruth turns to fly back to thewicket.

Too late. The tramp of feet was close upon her,heavy and measured, but it was approaching fromthe other side of the bridge; and Ruth droppedupon her knees, cowering down under cover ofher cloak beneath the sheltering wall of theparapet, till she looked all one with a heap of dryrubbish of leaves and old straw swept up closebeside her. In another instant these tramps willhave passed on. For tramps doubtless they are,bound for Newmarket. Respectable travellerswould of course, at this late hour, have put up forthe night at Hoddesdon. What even if they shouldbe footpads! and poor Ruth thinks longingly nowof her comfortable little bedchamber. Whatguineas, if she owned them, would she give tofind herself safe back in it! Hush! Hush!Already the span of the near bridge is resoundinghollowly with their tread! Suddenly the soundceases. The party has clearly come to a halt, andclose upon her hiding-place; for though theyspeak in subdued and almost stealthy tones, everysyllable is audible to her.

The conspirators.

"There it is," said one voice.

"Ay," muttered another. "Roight enough.Let's be gettin' for'ard."

"Wait!" peremptorily commanded a third voicein soldier-like tones. "Don't let us make any mistake."

"Oons!" impatiently grunted the second speaker;"I tell you, colonel, 'tis the spot, if I knows it,and I were born here. Yonder stands the RyeHouse 'telle'e, and yonder to to'ther side o' theroad—"

"Road!" interrupted the military voice rathercontemptuously, "you call it a road? Why 'tisscarce broad enough for a couple of broad-shoulderedloons like you to walk abreast. Roadforsooth!"

"King's highway, then," laughed the firstspeaker, whose accent was refined but disagreeablysarcastic.

A low chorus of laughter greeted this remark.

"That he'll be lying low enough upon," wenton the first speaker, "before Oak Apple Day.And is yonder gabled house the King's Arms,friend?"

"Ay it be, my Lord Howard."

Something in the water.

"Forward then. Come, Walcot, if you'vedone mooning. What ails you, man? Staringat the water as if you saw your own double in it!"

"Do you see that?" hurriedly returned thesoldier.

"See what?" and then ensued a sound of shufflingand scraping, as if the whole party wascrowding to the side of the bridge.

"Why yes, for sure we does," said the nativeof the place, and whom Ruth recognized by hisvoice to be a workman in the malt-yard namedBarber. "I doubt if each on us had but one eyeapiece, like the measter's, we could see the moona shoinin' on the stream."

Ruth breathed again.

"But there is no moon. 'Tis gone."

"Starlight, then."

"That is too faint to cast any such reflections,"objected Colonel Walcot. "And see how itflashes: there! close up against the steps, asbright and sharp as forked lightning."

"Or a silver serpent," put in another voice.

"Or an eel," laughed Lord Howard; "come,colonel, let's push on."

"Nay, nay, bide a minute," cried another voice,which Ruth knew to belong to the foreman ofthe malting-yard. "The colonel's grace is right.There is summat lyin' in the stream. And 'tisnayther fire nor fish, and if I might be speakin'out my moind afore your lordship's worship, Ishould say as 'tis for all the world like a swoord,or one o' they skewer sort o' murdrous wepn's—"

"A rapier do you mean?" said Howard.

"Noa, noa, my lord, not just that, but a newsort o' blood-spillin' invenshun that—"

"Save us!" shiveringly ejacul*ted the othermaltster. "What if so be that 'tis a shadder, orsome evil sperrit warnin' us of the wickedness ofour ways, afore it be too late."

"Coward! white-livered loon!" savagely hissedLord Howard. "What have we to do withshadows, who fear neither man nor—"

"Oh, oh! Hush, hush, my lord," interrupteda cringing unmelodious voice, "ye speakunadvisedly."

"So do you, Master Ferguson," wrathfully criedmy lord, "as you'll find when we string up yourlean crow's neck for you to Master Sheppard'ssign yonder, if you don't keep your cant till weask for it. Come, quick march."

Then with stealthy, but quick and measuredtramp, the whole party passed on.

Cramped in every joint, for she had scarcelydared to draw breath, much less to stir, Ruthventured now to raise one corner of her cloak,and peer after this strange company.

Strange guests for the "King's Arms."

One by one she saw their black figures disappearfrom the flood of yellow light upon the road,within the deep porch of the inn.

Dizzy and bewildered with what she had justwitnessed, she staggered to her feet, clinging forsupport as she did so to the parapet. Her eyes,as she passed her hand across them to clear themists that blinded them, caught a dim confusedgleam of the object which had attracted theattention of the party. Within barely a dozenpaces of where she stood, it lay; half way betweenthe barge and the landing stage, forking andzig-zagging just under the sluggish movement of thewater.

The flash of the missing weapon.

A sharp-pointed cruel-looking blade of somedescription; but though Ruth, thanks to MasterLockit's instructions, could tell you a dagger froma sword, and a rapier from either, a vast dealbetter than some folks could, she was not ableto give a name to this three-edged knife, with itsshort dagger-shaped hilt of wood that stuck upslantwise high and dry out of the water, amongthe white rush stamens. One like that she hadnever seen. No great marvel, however, if shehad not, for the pattern was of quite recentFrench devising, and hardly likely so soon to havefound its way into a peaceful little Hertfordshirehamlet, in the ordinary course of events; butRuth, as she bent over the water's edge with eyesfixed on the thing, felt sure that somethingextraordinary was going on about and around her.Something too fearful to guess at. Never adoubt that this sword or spear, or whatever mightbe its hateful name, was the thing which the manRumsey had let slip from his bundle on leavingthe barge. That like one viper of its poisonousbrood, the thing was but one of more of its kind,was equally clear. But come what might, thoughtRuth, its own special and individual chances offulfilling the fearful end it was fashioned for,should not be left it; and stealing down by theparapet, and along by the water's edge till shereached the spot, she knelt and stretched forwardher hand, grown cold as death, but steady andstraight to its purpose; and seizing the hilt ofthe weapon, dragged it, dripping with the diamondbright drops from the water, under her cloak.Ruth strangely armed.Then casting one keen glance round, and upwardstowards the inn, she sped along the bank, neverstopping till she reached the postern.

CHAPTER VII.

MISTRESS SHEPPARD DOES NOT CARE FOR HER GUESTS.

Mistress Sheppard was almost asperfect a specimen of a landlady, asher establishment was a model of aninn; for who has not heard of thatfamous King's Arms, within whose snug shelterMaster Isaak Walton loved to rest and sup, with afriendly gossip after his day's angling in the watersof the "Silver Lea," which almost washed theancient hostelry's walls?

The landlady of the inn.

Decidedly, even to her very little tempers,Mistress Sheppard was a model of her class.When the world wagged to her liking, her plumppeony cheeks so dimpled over with smilinggood-humour, and her voice, albeit always a trifleshrill, was so kindly, that you experienced somedifficulty in bringing yourself to believe, whatnevertheless was true, that the face could lookthunderously black, and the voice set your teethon edge with its vinegar sharpness.

In justice, however, it ought to be added thatsunshine prevailed in Mistress Sheppard's nature,and the storms threatened only when she hadwhat she called her "reasons" for them. IfSheppard called them "prejudices, unaccountableprejudices," he only did so when she was safe out ofearshot.

To his great vexation and discomfiture, theclouds hang very heavy on his wife's brow to-night.It is clear she does not like these guestswho have sought the inn's hospitality; and whenthe party arriving by road, passes through intothe parlour, she sits contemplating its door, whichis close shut by the one who last enters, in grimmeditative silence.

"I don't know whose looks I care for leastamong 'em," she muttered, as at last she slowlyturned to fill the tankards of ale they had ordered."Eyes on a more hang-dog crew I never set.With the brims o' their hats as hollow as cabbageleaves, as if they was ashamed o' their own uglyfaces; as well they may be, and downright afeardto be seein' what mine was like. Why, I giveyou my word, there wasn't one o' the lot lookedmy way, to give me so much as a civil good e'en,as they passed. That's manners for you!"

"Hush!" whispered Sheppard, imploringly, andcasting nervous glances towards the guest-parlour,as Mistress Sheppard's tones ran up the gamut, tillthey ended in a shrill treble. "Hush! There's adear woman. Walls have ears."

"And so much the better if they have; forthen they'll be knowin' a piece o' my mind."

"Ah, hush! hush! If the gentlemen shouldoverhear—"

"Gentlemen, quotha! gentlemen!—"

"Ay; there's a live lord among 'em."

"Live lord is there! Then, beshrew me, if it'sat court he learnt his manners. Our dame-schoolbrats know 'em better. Why his sacred majesty—"

"Ah, hush! hush!" agonizedly entreated Sheppard.

Lord Howard has his character.

"What should I hush for? His own sacredmajesty, I say, always bids me a 'God save you,Mistress Sheppard!' from his coach-door when hiscoach pulls up here to change horses; and once—wellI remember it—his own royal fingers chuckedme under the chin. No, I don't say you was byand saw him do't; but he did. Well, well, what'syour fine lord's name? Bless the man; can't youspeak out? mumblin' as if you hadn't got a toothin your head! Howard o' what?"

"Escrick. Lord Howard of Escrick."

"M'ph!" murmured Mistress Sheppard, cogitativelytapping her plump finger tips on the table."'Tis a good name, and a proud, is Howard. Butyour whitest flock's got its black sheep, they say.And now I think on't, 'twas but t'other day—thoughI don't at this minute recollect the howsand the wheres—somebody that was in here, wastellin' of me that there wasn't a daringprofligate among all the quality like this sameHoward of Escrick, an' not a shred o' principle orhonesty in him."

"An' what's all that to us?" said Sheppard,with a feeble attempt at bravado, as he marshalledthe tankards on his tray. "The best thing youcan do, is to give me the bottle o' Canary he'sordered; an' be quick about it. There's a goodwoman. Anyhow you've no call to complain ofhis honesty; for hasn't he paid his reckonin' a'ready?See if he hasn't." And Sheppard triumphantlythrew down a gold piece. "Now what do youtake him for?"

"A knave!" said Mistress Sheppard, pocketingthe gold, however, "or else a fool; for he lackscredit, or wit, or both one and t'other who settlesfor his goods afore he's got 'em. There—there;be off with thee. Take em' what they want, andtell 'em the sooner they're all off these premisesthe better I shall like 'em. Bless the man! What'scome to thee, now? Thy hands are shakin' likefroze syllabub. Spillin' the ale all over the tray.Here—give it me; I'll carry it in."

Master Sheppard in a hurry.

Sheppard, however, was too quick for her.Ordinarily the less he bestirred himself, and themore his bustling active-minded wife did for him,even to the length of waiting personally on theirguests, the better pleased he was; but now heabsolutely pounced upon the tray, and carried itoff at double quick trot, leaving Mistress Sheppardto stand looking after him in open-mouthedamazement, as he disappeared, closing the doorof the guest-parlour carefully behind him.

"Hark! what was that?" Her ears, she thought,must have deceived her, rarely as they were givento it. Or did the lock of the door click and thebolts scrape in their grooves as if stealthilymoved?

Mistress Sheppard stepped tiptoe across to thedoor, and noiselessly grasping its handle, sheturned it and pushed at it, but to no purpose."I like not that," she said to herself, when after asecond attempt she turned away, and resumingher post among her bottles and cups, sat withknitted brows and eyes keenly riveted on thesturdy old wainscoted walls opposite as if shewould fain have penetrated to the scene they hid."I like it not," and then she set her arms akimbo,and gave a prolonged inquiring sniff. "And nevera suspicion of tobacco neither," and deeper anddeeper gathered the frowns. "That bodes nogood neither; for men must be ill at ease withthemselves indeed, before they forget to makechimneys o' their mouths. And not a sound,"and she held her breath and listened intently."Not a sound!"

Not one, truly, that could reach her; for thatscore or so of men, seated about the large tableplaced across the room's upper end, all spoke inhalf-whispering undertones, and ceased abruptlyas Sheppard entered with his tray.

Locked and bolted.

"Bolt the door!" commanded the man seated atthe head of the table.

"I crave pardon, Master Rumbold," began Sheppard,looking with a sickly smile from the speakerto the door, and back again to the speaker; "butmy—my wife—"

"Exactly," interrupted Rumbold. "We don'tneed Mistress Sheppard's assistance in thisbusiness. It's bad enough already."

"Bolt the door! Dost hear, fellow?" said ahandsome and richly-attired, but dissipated-lookingman, with dark eyes and black-brown locks,who was seated next the maltster. "Bolt thedoor, and don't be all night about it."

One out of a baker's dozen.

"Ah, good lack! good lack!" feebly ejacul*tedSheppard, no longer hesitating, and putting upthe bolts as fast as his shaking fingers would lethim. "Something gone wrong? Did you saysomething was gone wrong?" and he gazed inabject terror round the circle of gloomy faces,looming amid the shadows cast by the one oil-lamphanging from the huge beam overhead, and whichwas all the light the room boasted. "What willbecome of us all now? I knew how 'twould be—Ialways said it would—"

"Thanks to you," said the dark-eyed man, witha malicious smile.

"Me!"

"Ay. My Lord Howard's right there," growleda stout thick-set man, somewhat far advanced inmiddle age, who sat near the fireplace, occupiedin rubbing his shins with a tender hand. "It's allyour infernal slippery banks we've to thank forit. Why the mischief can't you keep your gardenbanks in decent order?"

"Are you quite sure you don't mistake afterall?" inquired Rumbold's neighbour of the lastspeaker, glancing down as he spoke at the sheafof three-sided short blades spread out fan-wiseupon the table. "There are twelve here."

"Ay, but 'twas a baker's dozen, my lord," saidanother voice. "Thirteen, so he says—"

"And I suppose I'm not a liar, Master Goodenough,"cried the stout soldier, glowering sullenlyat the individual who had hazarded the lastobservation. "Nor a cowardly idiot neither, like somefolks here." Then he set to rubbing again at hisdamaged limb.

"Oh! the gracious powers forbid!" laughed LordHoward, lifting his white jewelled hand, "we'reall brave and honourable men here, surely. Andvastly too clever to split like a bundle of twigsabout nothing at all."

"Nothing!"

"Ay, less than nothing; for by my faith,Master Rumsey, I should be inclined to count thisloss a fine omen. Thirteen's an unlucky number,so old wives say. And twelve of the things isenough in all conscience."

"And too many to my thinking," approvinglynodded Goodenough.

Playing with edge tools.

"Even if forced to extremes," continued Howard,"why, one of these sharp little Frenchmen here,"and he began handling one of the blades as hespoke, and laid it lightly across his finger, "woulddo all the business in a twinkling. What say you,Master Rumbold?"

"That," answered Rumbold, breaking silence atlast, "is not the point."

"No, by my faith! 'Tis but the edge," criedLord Howard, with a grimace of sudden pain, andhastily throwing down the weapon, "the foulfiend's own grindstone must have sharpened theconfounded blade!" And dragging his gossamer-lacedhandkerchief from his pocket, he wound itround his hand.

"Has it drawn blood, my lord?" timorouslyasked Goodenough, turning pale, and craning hisneck forward.

A warning.

"Ay, has it, Master Sheriff," replied Howard,holding up his hand, and displaying its crimson-dyedcambric swathing, "and this helps but littleto staunch it. Thanks, Master Lee," he went on,as Lawrence Lee, approaching from an obscurecorner, took the wounded hand in his, and boundhis own stout white linen handkerchief deftlyabout it; "I had better not have been quite soquick to meddle with it. Have a care what youare doing," he added, as Lee turned to replace theblade beside the rest. "Take warning by my fate."

CHAPTER VIII.

MOONRAKERS.

"I say," doggedly began Rumbold, andtaking no more notice of Lord Howard'smishap than if it had not occurred,"that this must be found, andbefore morning, else it will betray us."

"Oh! we're betrayed! We're betrayed!" shriekedSheppard, at the top of his small voice.

"Silence, idiot!" said Rumbold, turning on himsternly; "and it is quite clear," he continued,"that it must be lying somewhere between thishouse and the river, since Colonel Rumsey iscertain that when he stepped out of the boat he hadit safe in the canvas bundle."

"I'll swear to that," said Rumsey.

"Now the garden has been thoroughly searched"—"Everyinch of it," chorused half-a-dozen voices.

"And that being the case," said the tall soldier,advancing from the hearth, where he had beenstanding gazing meditatively into the dyingembers, "perhaps you will find it worth your whileto heed now what I told you on the bridge. Youmay search in the garden till you're all blind. Itell you the thing fell into the water. Come,gentlemen," he went on, turning to those of theparty who had accompanied him, "I am not afterall, you see, such a moonraker as you would havemade me out, when I told you I saw somethingshining in the water as we came by."

"Truly you did say so, Colonel," humbly admittedthose he addressed.

"Verily we should not have contemned hisassurance," ejacul*ted the snuffling tones of MasterFerguson, as he clasped his clawlike fingers, andturned upwards the ferret eyes gleaming beneatha wig almost concealing his mean little forehead;"for of a surety the hand of Providence is withthose who put their faith—"

"In the water. Just beyond a little two-oaredboat moored to a landing-stage at the bridgefoot."

A searching party.

"Verily, I think we may place our confidence andcredence—" once more began the snuffling tones;but they were interrupted by Lawrence Lee."Never mind that now, Master Ferguson," hesaid. "The best thing to be done is to go to workand rescue this tell-tale knife before any pryingeyes have been beforehand with us."

"Ay, well said!" cried Lord Howard. "Havewith you, then, Master Lee. Come, friend," hewent on, addressing Sheppard, "down with yourbolts again."

But Sheppard hesitated, casting appealingglances round. "Why, what ails the fellownow?" demanded Howard; "first he hesitatesat putting them up, and now he won't take themdown!"

"Mistress Sheppard—my—my wife!" stammeredthe unfortunate man. "She—that is, soplease your lordship's worship's grace, she's sucha wide-awake—"

"What the mischief! Isn't she a-bed yet?"laughed Howard. "Come, come, landlord, I'mafraid you rule your house sadly amiss."

"I—I don't rule it, my lord. 'Tis Miss—MistressSheppard who—who—"

"He speaks true enough there, my lord," saidRumbold grimly.

"Yes, yes," gasped the poor man in tones ofrelief; "Master Rumbold—he'll answer for meI speak nothing but the truth. MistressSheppard—she's always the last in the place to go tobed. She likes—that's what she says, my lord—likesto see all safe first. And sure as a gun,she's posted outside there in the passage.And—and if the whole—whole gang of us goesswarming out by the door here, like bees out of ahive, she'll be following us to see what we'reafter—and—and—"

"Quite true," nodded Rumbold; "and by middaythe whole parish will be twittering thetale."

The wrong way out.

"Oh, these women!" groaned Howard; "theymust always be meddling. Well, what's to bedone, then? Shall we go hunting in couples, orone at a time?"

"'Tis not to be risked," said Sheppard, shakinghis head. "You see, my lord—saving your lordship'spresence and yours, gentlemen"—he added,blinking his small eyes uneasily round on thecircle of his guests, who had risen to their feet,impatient to begin the search, "Mistress Shepparddoesn't seem to have taken much of a fancy,so to speak, to a man-jack of the lot of you.Don't like the looks o' you, she says. And I'dsooner be a mouse within sight of our cat Tigerthan havin' Mistress Shep—Sheppard—"

"Smell a rat," rather ruefully laughed Howard."Well, what's the remedy?"

"This," said Lee, who, having left the groupcollected near the door, now stood beside a broadlattice, looking from a recess near the hearth intothe garden, and commanding a view of the bridge."It gives upon the bowling-green, and then downby the slope to the water. Out with you!" andunhasping the lattice pane as he spoke, he pushedit open. "Only, for your lives, step softly, softly!"and he placed his finger warningly on his lips.

What has become of it?

"This way," whispered Walcot, when, in lessthan three minutes' time, the whole party, includingthe limping Rumsey, stood out upon the velvetsmooth turf On they crept, in single file, tillthey stood upon the edge of the shelf of tallbracken, where, stooping down, they dispersedalong the bank close down by the water's brink."'Twas just hereabouts," said Walcot in a loudwhisper. "There! there! Stop a bit. No. NowI think on't, 'twas of course farther along—closeby the barge."

"Here! I have it!" cried one in a voice ofsmothered but gleeful triumph. "Alack! it wasbut the battered handle of an old tin pot;" andin dire vexation he dashed it down again.

For a good half-hour the search was continued,until, wet through with their wadings anddabblings, some showed signs of giving in. Othersswore they would not budge till they had foundthe missing thing.

"Then I take it we may as well part companyat once," yawned Lord Howard, "for it's washedaway into mid-stream long before now, depend onit. Come, Master Lee, what say you? I'll dareswear you know something of the water'ssoundings hereabouts."

"I think 'tis likely enough, my lord," answeredLawrence, catching Lord Howard's attack ofyawning.

"Then let it lie, and be hanged to it!" and thenobleman sauntered back up the slope.

One or two of the party now proposed to returnto the inn and proceed with the business which hadbrought them together; but Rumbold shook hishead. "It is too late," he said: "three nightshence we will meet again."

An inhospitable landlord.

"Oh! but not here," piteously entreatedSheppard. "Not here, Master Rumbold; don't sayit's to be here. I never should hear the last ofit; I shouldn't indeed!"

"Peace with thy craven tongue!" said themaltster with one of his grim smiles. "No,boys," he added, turning to the rest; "not here:yonder at my own house, where last we met, inthe Warder's Room."

And with a gesture of farewell he left them,while Lee betook himself home in his boat.

The rest, not without bestowing a good manymuttered left-hand compliments on the fumble-footedRumsey, separated in much the same orderas they had come,—some by the barge, whichsoon lost itself among the mists of the river, othersmaking their way on foot by the Rye to Hoddesdonand the neighbourhood.

It was, however, with difficulty that ColonelWalcot's companions could drag him from thebridge.

All dark.

"Come along, Colonel," urged one; "you seeyou were wrong after all. There's not a threadof a gleam anywhere. Eh! see, 'tis all as dark aspitch."

"Ay," sighed Walcot, slowly moving on at last,"dark, dark enough."

CHAPTER IX.

IN THE MALT-YARD.

The postern was still on the latch whenRuth reached it. Alas! she hadanticipated no less. That it was locked,was no longer one of her fears. Shewould have sooner her father had detected hermidnight flitting now, and come upon her face toface. Anything sooner than that he should havebeen one of that terribly strange company. All,however, was still around and within. Not eventhe watch-dog uttered a sound, for he knewher step, and fawned at her feet as she passed;and safe and unseen by other eye than his shereached the end of the corridor, casting a glanceas she stole across the floor at Maudlin, who toall appearance had not stirred.

Safe at last in the shelter of her own room,Ruth sank breathless and spent into a chair and,overcome by the fatigue and excitement of thelong day's pleasures and pains, she fell intowhat must have been a sort of long faintingunconsciousness, or else it was real honest sleepthat stole upon her unawares.

All she ever knew of it was, that when sheopened her eyes again the sunbeams were floodingher room, and the gatehouse clock chiming. Sixit must have been, since outside in the malting-yardshe could hear the stir and voices of themen getting to their work. Pressing her chilledfingers upon her aching eyelids, she gazed round,striving to collect her dazed senses; and theevents of the past night, as they came back toher mind, seemed like some bad dream. She satup and threw back the heavy cloak still coveringher shoulders with an impatient hand, as if shewould have thrust the ugly fancies away with it; buta sudden clash and clatter at her feet recalled herthoroughly to herself, and she started up in dismay.

Ruth's waking resolutions.

It was caused by the falling of the steel bladewhich her sudden movement had displaced fromthe folds of her cloak; there, glittering dazzlinglybright in the sunshine, it lay upon the floor.

Spell-bound, Ruth gazed at it, much in theway that people are forced, in spite of themselves,to stare at some poisonous brilliant-eyed reptilecrossing their path. Yet this was not altogetherRuth's case. If anyone could have looked into herface then they would have seen in it no vacant,helpless stare, but a dawning, deep thoughtfulness,whose perplexity yielded gradually to an expressionof strong determination, as though she hadcome to a decision on some knotty point she hadbeen discussing with herself.

Only the clock, however, striking seven rousedher from her abstraction. So late! andapproaching the window she opened its panes and let inthe pure morning air. Then she proceeded tomake a fresh toilette. With a little sigh yesterday'sgay tiffany was laid aside, poor, crumpled,bedraggled stuff that it all looked now, and sheput on a gown of gray camlet, from beneath whoseskirts, just reaching to her ankles, peeped fortha pair of little feet, in a pair of stout plainblack leathern tagged shoes; just the very thingsfor rough country roads and boggy lanes. Theneat-fitting bodice was finished by a kerchief ofspotless lawn gathered close about her neck, andthough fashionable ladies would no doubt havevowed it an odiously grand-mothery sort of thing,it was none so unbecoming. Indeed as Ruthproceeded to fasten that black silk caped hoodbeneath her little round chin, it was quite amatter of nice taste, whether Queen Ruth, rosy asher regal robes and crown, and bright as her gaydancing glances could make her, or this demure,pale little Ruth, clad in sober gray, and withgreat wistful eyes, somewhat heavily shadowed,indeed, with purple lines, were the prettier.

A morning visit.

Small doubt of Master Rumbold's opinion onthe matter did there seem to be, when readyequipped, even to a large basket upon her arm,she stood before him with the black jack of ale,that always made his breakfast. "Now thoulook'st thyself, Ruth," he said, his brooding browlightening as he gazed at her. "Why dost thousigh, child?" he went on, taking the jack andputting it to his lips.

"Did I sigh, father?" and all unconsciouslypoor Ruth sighed again, for never in her life hadit seemed to her that she had felt less herself.

"Ay, didst thou. Well, well. Thou'rt thyfather's own daughter now: kiss me then," hewent on, setting down the empty jack and wipinghis lips. "And where art thou bound for soearly?" he added.

"Nether Hall, father."

"Nether Hall! why, 'tis but a round o' theclock that thou wert there," he said, opening hisone eye more in surprise than displeasure.

"Madam Lee," began Ruth rather hesitatingly,and blushing, though she scarcely knew why, forit was but pure and simple truth she was speaking,"Madam Lee promised me a sitting of thewhite bantam hen's eggs yesterday, if—if," andshe glanced down at her basket, "I liked to goand fetch them."

"And are the white bantam's eggs as big asthe giant bird's in the fairy tale, that you mustbe taking a basket for them half as big as yourself?"

"Nay, father. But Madam Lee promised mealso some choice green goose—goose—"

The maltster in better humour.

"'Tis Madam Lee is the goose to be spoilingthee so," smiled Rumbold good-humouredly. "Shealways is promising thee some fine thing oranother. Well, well, go thy ways then, Ruth, forthe green gooseberries, and a pleasant walk, andif by hap thou shouldst chance across LawrenceLee,—and 'tis possible that, eh?"

"Yes, father."

A proposed message.

"Tell him to—but yet,—no. Tell him naught;'twill keep. I shall be seeing him shortly." Andthen Rumbold turned in at a door of the cornchambers.

CHAPTER X.

THE MEETING ON THE FOOT-BRIDGE.

Taking a short cut round by the moat,and crossing the stile above the King'sArms, Ruth soon gained the river towing-path.

As the sights and sounds of the new day greetedher, she felt a little cheered. One must havebeen wretched indeed not to have found an agreeabledistraction in the blithe bird chorus overhead,and the buzzing of the insects in the young grassstudded with the early summer flowers, whosebrilliant hues mirrored themselves in the clearwater rippling up into tiny bays to her very feet.

What a bright merry world it was! How hardto think that it had in it any such thing assorrow, or sin, or cruelty, or—and ere the shadow ofthe sad word could flit across her thoughts, abutterfly fell at her feet, and fluttering its poorbruised wings for a moment, lay motionless on theflinty path.

It was quite dead; and Ruth bent down, andgently placing it on a fresh young dock-leaf, laidit beneath a whitethorn bush, well hidden fromall tread of hob-nailed shoes and ruthlessplough-boy fingers; and leaving the soft west windsweeping low through the sedge, to sigh it a dirge,she pursued her way, till a turn of the pathbrought her within sound of rushing water, andin a few minutes she reached a rough foot-bridgecomposed of one plank with a hand-rail ofhazel-bough, which was thrown across a littlerivulet, thickly screened at its furthermost endby a copse of elder and hazel bushes. Into thiscool retreat a posse of old mother sheep hadpenetrated with their lambs, and lay in soft whiteheaps down to the water's very brink, not in theleast put about at the apparition of Ruth, as shecame to a standstill in the middle of the bridgeto watch the pranks of the lambs with a halfamused, half absent smile.

So absorbed was she, that the touch of a handlaid ever so gently on her shoulder caused her tostart with surprise.

"Lawrence!" she exclaimed, for he it was.

"Ay, Lawrence!" he answered; "and good-morrowto you, Ruth! Were you coming to the Hall?"

She nodded.

Lawrence Lee prevaricates.

"To be sure then," he went on, "some goodangel brought me by the copse, instead of goinground by the weir, for in that case I should havemissed you."

"And where were you going?" asked she.

"Waltham," he replied, after a momentary hesitation.

"But this is not the way to Waltham."

"Nay, is it not?" he said, with well-assumedcarelessness; "all the same, I am right glad Icame it, since I have met you upon it, Ruthdear."

"That is fine talking," pouted Ruth; "butyou're not telling me the truth, Lawrence. Youweren't going to Waltham."

Sharp words.

"Wasn't I?" returned the young man, flushinga little. "Well, look here, my dear, people whoask no questions, hear no lies. I doubt I may gowhere I list, without Mistress Ruth Rumbold'sleave," and then he made a pretence of being aboutto stalk on; but the attempt was a sorry failure,breaking down instantly as he saw the tears brimmingup into the eyes so persistently fixed on thesilly lambs. "Ruth," he whispered, as in amoment he was beside her again; and taking herchin in his hands, he turned her face up to his,"come, let's kiss and be friends. Eh, shall we?You know I'd not vex you for—for—a king'sransom. Indeed I did not mean to vex you, only—there,it was so plaguy inquisitive of you, don'tyou know, to—there, never mind; what have yougot in this basket?" concluded he, turning theconversation, like the wise diplomatist he thoughthimself.

"Now who's inquisitive, I wonder?" cried Ruth,folding her arms tight down upon the lid of thebasket, and breaking into a saucy smile, which,however, faded in an instant. "Lawrence, wherewere you going? Tell me, dear."

"If you'll tell me what you've got in thatbasket, perhaps I may," laughed he. "Come, is ita bargain, Mistress Pry?"

"Yes, Mr. Pry."

"To Hoddesdon, then. There, I hope you'rehappier for the information."

"Not happier; no, Lawrence," she answeredvery slowly. "Wait a bit now," she went on, ashe laid aggressive hands on the basket. "ToHoddesdon! What for?"

"Oh, come now, that's not in the bond. Why,nothing; nothing, little woman, that you knowanything about."

"But I want to know," insisted she, stillvaliantly protecting the basket's most vulnerablepoints; "that's just it, I want to know."

"Then want must be your master," he saidangrily. "Little girls must not know everything,"he added, mending his rude speech, and seizingbasket, and Ruth, and all in his arms.

"I'm not a little girl any longer," she cried,struggling to free herself, and digging her pinknails ever so hard into his bronzed wrists, till hedecided to loosen his hold.

"No, you're a little wild kitten, with the sharpestclaws in the world; that's what you are," hesaid; "but it won't do, I'm master."

A bitter secret.

"'Tis no good you're going to Hoddesdon for,"she said bluntly, looking up into his laughingeyes, "or you'd tell me when I ask you, withoutall this silly nonsense. You never kept a secretfrom me before, Lawrence."

"Perhaps I never had one to keep."

"But now?"

"Hang it! you'd try a saint's temper," growledhe, wrinkling his brows into a most unsanctifiedfrown, and letting her go with such a suddenabruptness that she stumbled a little, and in theeffort to maintain her footing on the narrow plankthe basket slipped from her arm, and would havefallen into the water had not Lee caught it, witha dexterous turn of his wrist.

"See now, Ruth," he said, as he restored it toher, his eye grown radiant again in his pride athis clever legerdemain, "if you're not at my mercyafter all. Might I not have been revenged foryour refusal, and helped myself to a peep into thismighty particular basket, if I wasn't honour brightfrom top to toe?"

The mysterious basket.

"But you are, Lawrence, aren't you?" challengedshe, with a strange earnestness, that sent his eyes,which were gazing into hers, back to the basket;"and evil be to him who evil thinks," she went on."And—"

"Oh, plague take it!" he interrupted impatiently;"what are you driving at? Now for the basket.Come."

"You really care to see inside it?"

"Not a straw, my dear child," he said loftily."'Tis full of emptiness, I daresay. That's justwhat delights you girls more than anything;teasing and tantalizing a fellow all about nothing."

"Ay, but there is something in it. SomethingI was bringing to the Hall on purpose to showyou, and—and to ask your opinion about. Andyet—and yet—" she went on wistfully, "I hopeyou won't be able to—to give me one."

"Why, my dear girl," rejoined he with a superiorsmile, "how mighty mysterious we are, to besure!"

"'Tis a fearful-looking thing, let me tell you,"she said, gingerly raising one corner of her basketlid.

"Some queer fish, is it?—out of the river?" heasked eagerly, for he was a mighty fisherman.

"Out of the river," nodded she.

"A pike of some sort perhaps."

"Yes, I should say, of some sort."

"You dear, splendid, diamond of a girl," ecstaticallycried Lawrence, "as I live 'tis a pike! can'tI see it gleaming?" and he clutched at theconcealing hay—"a big silver pike!"

"No, a steel one," she said, as the weapon layexposed in all its nakedness, and steadily she liftedher eyes to his face.

Found out.

It had grown ashen white, and he staggeredback for support against the bridge rail. "Ruth!"he gasped, as the handful of hay dropped fromhis powerless fingers and floated away on theswirl of the stream, "what is the meaning of this?"

"That you must tell me, Lawrence."

"Where did you find it?" he went on.

"In the river. The river Lea. Close by thewater steps in Mistress Sheppard's garden. Andwhen? Last night, while you were in the King'sArms, talking to those men. The men," she wenton in steady tones, though he was biting his lip,and his pale face flushed painfully, "who werethere; instead of going straight home, as youought to have done—"

"Ought!" angrily interrupted he; "and whomade you spy over me?"

"I wasn't spying. I was only—taking a peep,just a little peep at—at the boat."

"Boat?"

"The Queen Ruth," Lawrence dear.

"And since you set such store by honour brightand 'oughts,' and all that sort of thing all atonce, what business had you to be abroad all inthe dark when your father had bidden you goindoors?"

She coloured a little. "I did go in," sheanswered after a moment's silence. "Only—only—"

"Only you came out again, that's all," he saidwith a low mocking laugh. "Ruth, Ruth! whatpossessed you to do such a thing?"

Changed indeed.

"I was ill at ease, Lawrence," she said, colouringdeeper still. "I feared—nay, I do not knowwhat I feared. But I could not stay in the house.Its air stifled me. I could not breathe. I thought—Ifancied—nay, something has seemed so amisswith everything—with father and you, Lawrence,with you for these long, long weeks past. I havefancied—"

"Psha! Fancies indeed!" he cried with animpatient twitch of his lips, and turning fromher, he stood and gazed with lack-lustre eyes intothe water.

"And you're not a bit like the old Lawrence.And all day yesterday you—never mind. Lawrence,what do those dreadful men want here?"

The bayonet.

He turned his face and gazed broodingly intohers, following the direction of her eyes as theyfell again on the contents of the basket. "Bringingtheir horrid—what is the thing called?"

"A bayonet," he answered curtly.

"Their horrid bayonets here; and droppingthem all over the place?"

"Well," he said with a faint smile, "they didn'tdo that purposely, be sure. 'Twas an accident.A stupid, infernal—"

"Oh, Lawrence! Fie, now! For shame, sir!"and Ruth's little hand shut up his lips.

"An awkward little mistake, then," he went on,"of that clod-hopping—never mind names, Ruth."

"Rumsey," said Ruth; "I heard father callhim so—Colonel Rumsey."

CHAPTER XI.

"HE DIED FOR HIS KING."

"Hush!" whispered Lawrence, grippingher fast by the arm, and lookinghurriedly round. "And—well, whatmore did you hear? Tell me thetruth now."

"Lawrence," she said, timorously following hisglance, "I want to tell it you. But 'twas all sucha confusion. Just a word here and there; yet,oh, Lawrence! such fearful ones; of their own evilways, and of—of killing—of killing! Oh! shakeyour head if you like; but they did, I tell you.And then some one said something about—think,Lawrence—about the king."

"Ay?"

"And of laying him low upon his own highway.Think of it;" and Ruth shivered in thebright sunshine.

"They were full, it seems, of their merry jests,these roystering gentlemen," said Lee.

"Nay, I like not such jests; and I'd not haveyou joining in them, nor my father neither," shesaid.

"Oh! but he's their arch-jester," cynicallylaughed Lawrence. "We're a merry company,we boys, my dear."

But there was little enough of mirth in theyoung man's face, as he stood there gazing acrossthe level meadows, and up at the sailing clouds,and in fact everywhere excepting into the clear,earnest eyes of his companion as she came nearand laid her hand gently on his arm. "Lawrence,you bid me speak truth just now," she said, "andto my best I did; for I would scorn to tell a lie,and least of all to you. But it is not so you areserving me, sir, your old, old friend Ruth. Youare hiding something from me. Oh! but you are.Something that troubles you; and that is notkind of you."

Sad jesting.

"Least said, soonest mended," he said, but insoftened tones, and gently withdrawing his armfrom her grasp. "There are things done in thisworld not good for such as you are to be told about,Ruth dear. Tell me," he added, pointing to thebasket, "does your father know anything of allthis?"

"No; I lacked the courage to anger him whenhe looked so kindly on me this morning; andbesides, I—well, I thought first I would speakwith you about it, Lawrence."

"That is well," answered Lee; "and for thylife, Ruth, do not tell him. Do youunderstand—eh? It would be betraying such—suchterrible tales of these eavesdroppings of yours,letting such naughty cats out of bags. Eh?wouldn't it, now? Do not tell a single soul; doyou hear, child?" and he gripped her by the armtill his fingers left their marks on it. "Promise.'Tis of course but a mere trifle," he went on withill-feigned unconcern. "Not worth our wastingour breath upon. But still, if I were in yourplace I'd tell nobody. Not a soul, dear heart!Eh?"

"That is as it may be," demurely answered she.

"But I command!" he cried sternly. "I forbidyou to do it, do you hear? I'll have no conditions."

"Ay, but I will," she said, resolutely setting herlips.

"Ruth, child! Ruth!" he said in the agony ofhis desperation; "you don't know what you'resaying. 'Tis playing with fire—with edgedtools."

"Ay, indeed," she said, with another glance atthe bayonet.

"'Tis a matter of life and death."

"And yet this moment you called it a sillytrifle," she said, lifting her eyes reproachfully tohis flushed face.

Startling truths.

"Death! Do you want to drive me mad?"he cried through his clenching teeth. "I tell you,girl, if your foolish, gossiping tongue should letslip one syllable of what you saw and overheardlast night, it would be a hanging matter for yourfather and for me."

"Lawrence, Lawrence!" gasped the terrifiedgirl; "why? what for?"

"What for?" echoed he with heaving breast"Do you know what this disobedience of yourshas done?—undone, I mean. Shall I tell you?"

"Lawrence! what, what?"

"The good of a whole nation. That is whatthese gentlemen and your father—"

"And you, Lawrence?" interrupted she.

The shadow of a plot.

"Ay, I suppose so;" and his voice fell slightly."That is what we were plot—arranging."

"And to be hanged for doing so much good?Oh! no, no. His majesty would never allowthat," said Ruth with an incredulous shake of herhead. "He is so generous, so kind! Why do youshiver like that? and how dare you shake yourhead? I say the king is—"

"Hold your peace, child! You don't know whatyou're talking about. 'Tis just Charles who hasto be—to be got rid of."

"Got rid of?" gasped Ruth. "How—what—"

"Nay, we have not got so far yet as that.Maybe he'll have to be shipped across channel,or—yes, put in some safe place."

"Prison?"

"Nay, now, you're such a downright one!"winced Lawrence petulantly. "Well, prison,then, if you like. Words break no bones."

"But deeds cut off heads!" sobbingly burstforth Ruth. "That's how they served ourmartyred king."

"Psha! Martyred!" sneered Lawrence.

"First they put him in prison, and then theymurdered him."

"Well, make your mind easy, child," saidLawrence. "That's not the plan this time anyhow.'Tis quite a different sort of one."

"Then there is a pian?"

"Something of one; though hang me if I canmake head or tail of it!" he said wearily. "Theyjangle over it so. One's for this way, and one forthat."

"And you, Lawrence?"

"I serve but to count with, child. MasterRumbold would have me in it," he said with ashrug.

"And after some poor fashion he has you; butnot your heart, I doubt," said Ruth.

"Nay; perhaps I had not it to spare," he said,gazing down with rather a sad smile at her sweet,attent face, which was brightening a little; "and ifI consented to be one of their lot, it was but tokeep friends with him."

A little royalist.

"'Twould have been more friendly of you tohave been his enemy," sighed Ruth. "Had heasked such a thing of me, I would have defied him.Ay, but I would, Lawrence. Mayhap an 'I'llturn no such traitor, Master Rumbold!' from you,Lawrence, would have saved him from this fallingback into the old terrible ways. When I think,"shudderingly went on Ruth, "that my father—mykind, loving father, who calls me ladybird, andsuch sweet, merry names—was the same whostood guard by King Charles's block, and lookedon while his bleeding head fell, it makes me dreamsuch dreadful dreams that I start up screamingin my sleep. Lawrence, I would you had defiedhim."

"He would never have spoken to me again,Ruth, if I had," answered the young man; "andhe would have forbidden me ever to see you, orspeak to you again."

She was silent for a few moments. "Andbetter so," she said at last.

A traitor or patriot?

"You wouldn't mind, Ruth," he said bitterly."It wouldn't matter a scrap to you if you neversaw me again. I know that;" and he turnedaway.

"It would matter very much," she answered."I think my life—my outside life—would feellike this little stream here, when the wintercomes, and the flowers and the sunshine are allgone—"

"Dear child! Dear Ruth!"

"But," she went on, gently pushing away thehands he was stretching out to her—"but stillin my heart there would have been sunshine;because I could have thought of Lawrence Lee asan honourable man, and not as a traitor. Whatwould Madam Lee think of you, Lawrence, ifshe knew this that I know?"

"Hush!" he murmured, closing his eyes andknitting his brows.

"And your father," she went on; "he was of nosuch poor flimsy stuff. He died for his king;true to the death."

"He believed in him," said Lawrence. "Formy part—well, I speak as I hear, Ruth. Hisworst enemies never denied Charles the First hadhis good points; but the best friends of Charlesthe Second say 'tis difficult to find his; and as forhis faults, he's as full of them as—"

"As you are, or any other mortal man. Come,tell me, you silly boy, you, do you think that ifthese gentlemen—these fine 'friends' of yours,who want to be rid, as you call it, of HisMajesty—were ruling England in his place, the countrywould fare happier? For my part," went onRuth, when no response from Lawrence appearedto be forthcoming, "I doubt my father wouldmake a rare stern tyrant. And as for you,Lawrence—" but something in this notion suddenlyupset all Ruth's sober eloquence, and it rippledaway in a peal of merry laughter.

"I see nothing ludicrous in it," said Lawrencegrimly.

"No indeed," said Ruth, regaining her gravity,"'tis no laughing matter."

"Come, Ruth, if you have quite done yoursermonizing, let us part friends at least."

"That is at an end," she said, settling herdisarranged hood, and, drawing the handles of herbasket well up to her elbow, she turned her facehomewards.

"But you were going to the Hall?" he said.

Parting in sorrow.

"I was," she replied; "but I cannot faceMadam Lee and think what you have become. Fareyou well, Lawrence!"

"Ah, silly child! what should you know aboutpolitics? This comes, now, of meddling in thingsyou don't understand," he said fractiously

"'Tis not I who have meddled with them," shesaid; "and I would give my gold and garnet broochthey had not come within a hundred miles ofStanstead."

"Psha! Go your foolish, obstinate ways, then,Ruth. Stay, first give me the basket."

"Give it you? Well, well," she went on;"now I think of it, 'tis yours, I suppose. For oldDiggory, your gardener, brought it over last weekfull of early potatoes—a present for father fromMadam Lee. So take it, if you'll be troubledwith it;" and, first extracting its contents, shehanded it to Lee.

He dashed it furiously into the stream, sendingthe terrified sheep stampeding in all directions.

"This is too much," he said; "'twas the weaponI meant."

"That is not mine to give; and were it mine amillion times over, I would not give it you. Thedeadly hateful thing; unless—" and taking it byits short handle, she laid its point to her heart.

"Mad girl!" he cried in agonizing amazement;"what would you do? Give it me. Do you hear?"and he started forward to seize it.

Ruth's threat.

"Mind, Lawrence," she said, waving him back,"dare to lay a finger on it, and—"

"What—what—?"

"And I will tell all the world—that is to say,I will tell Mistress Sheppard, and that will servejust as well, of everything I heard and saw lastnight. Say, Lawrence," and she half held thebayonet towards him, "which way is to be?"

Lawrence Lee in check.

Without a word he turned from her, and strodewrathfully, and pale as a ghost, away through thecopse.

CHAPTER XII.

MOTHER GOOSE'S TALES.

Lovelier spring than this one nowpassing into early summer had not beenwithin living memory. Never had thetrees budded more green and fresh-looking,and the roses and larkspurs shown morehurry to break forth and mingle their fragrancewith the breath of the soft sweet air; and yetRuth Rumbold's heart felt as wintry as if someload of ice-bound earth weighed it down.

Poor old Maudlin wondered sorely what ailedher pet, that she went about the place, doing herlittle household duties as carefully and deftlyindeed as she always did do them, but not to thetune of her own sweet young voice, as her wontwas. No, the child had grown silent as any stockand stone, and as grave—and that wasn't sayinga little neither—as the master himself; and thenMaudlin set about concocting a variety of messesand electuaries in the still-room with a view torestoring the roses to the pale cheeks, and charmingback the lost music. And then, after all hertrouble, to think that Ruth refused to swallowa mouthful of her medicaments, and vowed thatnothing ailed her—if only Maudlin would leaveher to herself!

For three whole days this sort of thing has beengoing on; and to-night, tired out with her ineffectualexpostulations, the old woman has gone off,not without dudgeon, to "get a mouthful of freshair," as she says. And truly the atmosphere isheavy—as if a storm were not so far off—and toindulge in a little interchange of ideas in thegate-house parlour; for there you are always safe topick up the latest news stirring, trifling andimportant, just as you would come upon it in theMall or the Covent Garden coffee-houses.

Ruth at her studies.

And so Ruth is left to her musings; for thoughat the first glance you might call them studies,since one book of the little heap piled up on thebroad ledge of the window where she is seated,lies open on her lap, you have but to look again,to see she is not reading it.

As, however, the sound of a heavy step descendingthe stairs falls upon her ear, she drops her eyesto the page, not even raising them again when themaltster enters, and crossing slowly to her side,stands gazing out absently into the rays of thesetting sun, which are luridly firing the yew-treepeaco*ck into a blaze of red and yellow.

Presently, however, he turned his eyes uponRuth. "Does not the book please you?" he asked,pointing to the volume before her. "I see," hewent on, when she looked up, but made no answer,"that you have not turned the page since youopened it haphazard when I bid you be reading ithalf an hour ago. Or is it that the picture of theblessed martyrdom of Mistress Anne Askew sofascinates you?"

"'Tis a fearful thing!" said Ruth, shuddering,as she looked, for the first time, if truth must beowned, at the pictured page. "Poor MistressAskew! She must have been a right brave lady."

"A bold Christian woman, rather," quicklycorrected the maltster, "who counted her life fornought beside the truth."

"Truth is indeed a pure noble thing to live for,"acquiesced Ruth.

"And to die for. Yes," said Rumbold; "thatblessed work of Master Fox's is indeed a mightytreasure-house of the scores who have shed theirblood for it."

"Ay," sighed Ruth, "'tis indeed a book of death,and ghastliness, and—"

A batch of books.

"And wholesome teaching, and fitter far for thyrecreation moments than all this farrago ofchap-book trash I found you head over ears upon.Where did you get it?"

"I bought it of the old packman who came tothe gatehouse yesterday morning; and a finecollection there was in his wallet," continued Ruth,her eyes waxing bright. "He had come straightby way of Bow and Waltham, and on here acrossthe Rye, from the 'Looking Glass,' the bigchap-bookseller's shop that stands on London Bridge,father, dear, and he'd got Reynard the Fox, thesly wicked creature. Father, what an odioushypocrite he was—eh? And Mother Bunch, and Jackand the Giants—

"'Fe! Fi! Fo! Fum!
I smell the blood of an English—mun!
Let him be alive, or let him be dead,
I'll grind his bones—'"

"Tut! tut! tut!" frowned the maltster.

The maltster hates romance.

"To make my bread!" went on Ruth, absorbedin the vision of the valiant little Cornishman'sattack on the three-headed monster. "Yes, andthen there was Tarlton's Jests," she hurried on,all unconscious of the deepening frowns ofRumbold, "and Guy of Warwick, and—let me see,what came next? Why, to be sure, 'twas theBlind Beggar's Daughter of Bethnal Green—'PrettyBessee,' you know, father; and the historyof the Two Children in the Wood, poor prettydears! with a picture running all along atop of the page,showing all the sad woes they suffered, andending up with the hanging of the cruel uncle. Andthen—well, I protest, there was such a heap, thatI cannot remember them half. But I know he hadJohn Barleycorn, because—well, father, it mademe think"—and a merry smile rippled on Ruth'smobile lips—"of somebody we know, eh? and howthey squeezed the poor old fellow to death. Andthen," chattered on Ruth, encouraged by the faintsmile that dawned on the maltster's stolid face,"then there was The World Turned UpsideDown. Well, I had half a mind for that; butjust then I came upon this, and it looked the verybest of all, and as I—" Ruth hesitated to explainthat her resources had not reached to the purchaseof all the chap-books she had coveted, and thethrilling woodcuts of the one she now held towardshim had carried the day with her. "Well, 'twilldivert you, I'm sure, father, dear."

It was The Seven Champions of Christendom!

"Seven dunderheads!" frowned Rumbold, turningthe book's pages with a contemptuous finger."Harkye, Ruth," he continued, in stern tones,"not a groat more of pocket-money will I wasteon you till you have learned to spend it somethingmore discreetly than on trash like this. I hadrather see my money at the bottom of the moatthan frittered so. Pah! dragons, forsooth, andfair captive ladies! and knights-errant, andsaints—beshrew them, all! Mighty saints, I'll warrantme they were. Pagans in motley! Saint Davidof Scotland. If he set foot there now thepresbytery would be for hanging him high as Holyroodtower. And Saint Patrick of Ireland, with hissuperstitious shamrock symbol, and Saint Georgeof England."

"Merry England, father," corrected Ruth.

A burning shame.

"Pah! pish! a seemly time this for England tobe merry! when she needs bow her head even tothe dust for the weight of her sins!" and he turnedand threw the book angrily into the fire. "Thatfor your chap-book saints!"

"Now," thought poor Ruth, "he would be ascruel to them, if they were real flesh and bloodmen, as ever Bishop Bonner and Queen Mary wereto the poor Protestant martyrs;" and silently, forshe dared not trust herself to speak, she began toturn the pages of the volume on her knee; butRumbold took it from her.

"Read no more," he said, "till your spirit isbetter attuned to such profitable instruction. Layit by till to-morrow," he went on, in less harshtones; "mayhap when you have slept on whatyou have read, and digested it—"

"I doubt I shall not do that," despairinglyanswered Ruth, "for the woodcuts alone would serveto give bolder hearts than mine a nightmare."

A soft place in his heart.

"And yet," went on Rumbold, softening stillmore at the notion that his favourite reading hadimpressed Ruth more strongly than he had at firstassumed, "I do not think yours is lacking incourage. Your father's daughter would dare muchin a righteous cause were she called upon to do it.Eh, Ruth?"

She did not answer; but sat gazing dreamilyat the fire as it reduced the poor chap-book to afew filmy shreds. "But now, little one," went onthe maltster, "to your room. Good-night!" andhe bent and kissed her forehead,

"Nay, father!" she rejoined, looking up in surprise;"not good-night yet awhile. 'Tis hours tooearly."

"I like not thy trick of exaggerating," rebukefullysaid he. "One hour, and barely, for the clockhas already struck seven—it may be sooner—"

"Yes, indeed," briskly interrupted she, "and Iam not for going to sleep at sunset, with the littlechits of sparrows—"

Cross-questioning.

"And magpies! You grow pert, mistress.Come!" sternly added Rumbold, "I'll have nomore of the May-day wantonness we wot of. Doas I bid you."

"But, father—"

"Do you hear me?" thundered the maltster. "Idesire to be alone. That is—I need not your company."

"'Twill be so lonesome for you," said Ruth; "Ithink it would have cheered you in this twilighttime if—"

"I need it not, I tell you," quickly interruptedRumbold. "I expect—visitors," and he coughedhuskily.

"Visitors!"

"Ay; that is to say," stammered Rumbold, "it—itis possible."

"Visitors! and nothing prepared for them toeat!" cried the little housemistress aghast.

"They are not of the sort who set store byrich meats and costly wine-bibbing. They come—toconfer with me, on—on important questions."

"Is it the price of grain, father? I heard ParsonAlsides saying to Master Lockit only this verymorning that it was at a most ruinous price—seventyshillings a quarter, he said; and that if thefarmers and the employers—such as you, father,dear, and Lawrence Lee, I suppose, would but puttheir heads together to devise how it could becheapened for the poor, 'twould be, he said, a rightblessed day's work, and a vast deal better thanthe hatching of all sorts of plots, and—"

"Eh! eh! eh! Parson Alsides is a chattering oldsycophant, who is always prating for the pensionshe gets out of the king's own privy purse. Though,mind you, child, I don't say I would not spare thematter consideration when more serious concernsallow me leisure."

"I hoped you had done with those for ever,father," said Ruth gravely; "'twas a seriousconcern, indeed, when poor King Charles was killed,and you—"

"I! how now?" cried Rumbold, turning sharplyupon her. "What had I to do with that?"

"What had you not, father?" said Ruth, in tonesof sturdy reproach. "Why, many's the timeMaudlin has told me how you stood by and sawit done."

A bitter-sweet story.

"And beshrew her chattering old tongue for herpains! I'd have had it cut out, had I caught herat her tales. 'Tis no fit one for your ears, Ruth,"he added, in sad slow tones.

"Indeed, father; I could always stop them withmy fingers when she begins about it; and yetstill I must listen. 'Tis such a bitter-sweetstory—poor king!"

"And yet," went on Rumbold, changing hismood, "after all, why should I be sorry to thinkthat you know your father can look his duty inthe face."

"Oh, father!" she began reproachfully.

"Let be, child," he interrupted, turning away,and thrusting his hands gloomily down into hispockets, "'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do,'saith the Scripture, 'do it with all thymight.' 'Tis enough."

"Indeed, indeed enough," said Ruth, stealingbeside him, "and you will meddle no more insuch things, eh, father?"

"And who told you I dreamed of doing so?"he demanded in unsteady and excited tones.

"You must rest and be comfortable," went onRuth, twining her arms about his neck, and strokinghis rugged face; "so snug here, isn't it, in ourbeautiful old Rye House? And you must becontent to rest now, and have your little Ruthtake care of you, and sing—for you say I have atuneful voice, eh, dear—of the Land 'where thewicked cease from troubling, and the weary areat rest,' and the gentle green pastures, and thegodly hymns you taught me when I was a smallthing you could dandle on your knee. Promiseme, dear heart," she went on coaxingly, whenRumbold's only answer was an attempt to shakeher off, "never to meddle more. Let the badcruel-hearted men make their plots, for 'tis alltheir wits can reach to, I doubt. But for one likeyou, who can make such malt as is not to befound besides in all Hertfordshire, oh, I'd stickto it."

Rumbold's changes of mood.

"And stick you to your churn and your wheel,Mistress Oracle," said the maltster, fondly strokingher soft brown hair, "and discourse not so gliblyof what you do not understand a whit more thanyour own frisky Tab there, who is tearing upyour fine chap-books with her claws. What shouldkings, and such kittle cattle's doings be to you?"

Words about majesty.

"Nay, little enough," said Ruth, turning torescue her precious books, and taking the destructiveTab in her arms, "though in truth sometimesI think I should like to see our King Charles,"she went on, dreamily twiddling the kitten's ears.

"Have you not seen him many a time, sillychild?" said Rumbold.

"In a fashion, ay, yes, as he has ridden by yonderin his coach, and his Grace of York too of course,but 'tis such a glimpse; just enough to set onecaring to look him face to face. Have you everdone that, father?"

"No—yes—I scarcely know," frowned Rumbold.

"'Tis a right kind merry face, isn't it?"

"I see no such things in it," growled Rumbold;"an ordinary swarthy one enough to my thinking."

"Yet Goodman Speedwell, when he went upto London last year to sell his pigs, said 'twas arare and gracious one, and a pure fine sight tosee him playing with his little dogs in SaintJames's Park, and feeding the ducks in the canalwith his own royal hands. Oh, he must be apleasant-humoured gentleman!"

"He's just a mortal man, I take it, very mortal,and when he's angered spares none, for all his fineforgetting and forgiving talk."

"There it is," said Ruth, "'tis scarce to beexpected that he who has been so wronged, shouldbe so forgiving as the Bible would have us. Nowadays,if a man sin against his brother, and kingsare our brothers, eh, father? in a fashion of speakingthey are our elder brothers, eh, father, dear?"

"Beshrew thee, child," impatiently frowned themaltster, "what has come to you?"

"I say 'tis a stretch if that man shall beforgiven twice, that is what I am thinking of; andthose who plotted the killing of Charles the First,and were pardoned, would scarce be let go asecond time, if—if—" she faltered, and coloureddeeply.

"If what, mistress?" sternly challenged Rumbold.

"If they should harbour ill thoughts againstCharles the Second."

It was the maltster's turn to look aside, as shelifted her appealing eyes to his face. "Come,come," he said, "a truce to this silly chatter.Good-night; and hark you, give me the key ofthe communicating door between your chamberand the Warder's Room. Have it you about you?"

The key of the warder's room.

"Yes, father; here," and she disengaged one ofthe keys from the bunch hanging at her girdle,and handed it to him, wonderingly.

"Very good," he said, taking it from her andpocketing it, "'tis your own fault, for yourcarelessness, Ruth," he went on; "this morning wasthe second time I found that door ajar. If I findit so ever again, I'll have it walled up. For thepresent I'll hold the key in my keeping."

"But, father," protested Ruth, "Adam Lockit—"

"Adam Lockit grows stupid and deaf, andDiggles is but one remove from an idiot, and thearrantest coward breathing."

"Only about ghosts, father; you should seehim lay about him with the cudgels on doublehis size in flesh and blood. And he's keen as anyhare for the slightest sound or stir."

An abrumpt "good-night."

"Humph!" said the maltster, "flibbertigibbets,all should be abed and snoring by nine o' theclock. So good-night, child, and pleasant dreams."And with another kiss, Rumbold dismissed hisdaughter.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE SLIDING PANEL.

The Warder's Room was an excellentexample of the famous rule that nostronghold is stronger than its weakestpart. Its three outer walls, the onenamely terminating the wing, the blind one givingupon the pleasaunce, and the one overlooking themoat, seemed stout enough to defy the teeth ofOld Time himself; but the partition wall dividingit from Ruth's chamber beyond, was by comparisona mere piece of pie-crust, though pie-crust ofperhaps rather a tough sort, inasmuch as itspanellings were composed of oak of no mean thickness.

Here and there, however, whether simply fromage, or whether the water-rats infesting the moatbelow were answerable for any share in themischief, it was certain the wood showed signs ofdecay; and one day when Ruth was dusting andpolishing the richly carved panels, as it was herpride to do, one large square of them fairly gaveway, and fell inwards behind the skirting board.

A hiding place.

Groping with both hands to recover it, Ruthfound to her astonishment, that, instead of coming,as she expected, into contact with the correspondingpanelling of the room beyond, they strayedoff into space, and on closer examination of theframework of the fallen panel, she found that itwas grooved. Surely it looked vastly as if shehad come upon one of the sliding panels old AdamLockit declared the house was full of! Very likeit indeed, Ruth thought as she kindled a lightwith her tinder-box, and stepping with it into thepitch-dark cavity, looked round.

Barely high enough for her to stand uprightin, it evidently extended on each side of theopening, to the stone and brickwork supports of thearched communicating door, of which as we havealready seen Richard Rumbold secured the keyinto his own keeping. Thus the opening formeda dark passage of nearly a couple of feet wide,and six or seven feet long.

While she was occupied in these investigationsa sudden hustling, shuffling sound in the roombeyond, ordinarily as still as the very vaults ofStanstead Church, nearly startled her out of hersenses. The next instant, however, her own merrylaugh at her own terrors broke the echoes, forwhat was the disturbance but the scratching ofthe rats, whom her tour of discovery had sentstampeding willy nilly, like bad Bishop Hatto'slong-tailed visitors:

"From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below."

Up by the chimney, down by the open windowsplump into the moat.

Ruth's secret.

"Now," smiled Ruth to herself, in the deadsilence that ensued, "now I have a secret! andnever a creature shall be told of it. Not evenMaudlin, nor Lawrence—Lawrence indeed! certainlynot! A rare fine place to hide in whennext Lettice Larkspur and Dorothy Dingle cometo spend the day. Why, if they'd search tillmidnight, they'd not find me. I should be shut insafe—," here a sneeze, caused by the cloud of dusther movements had raised, interrupted her, "safeas the 'mistleto bough' bride. Almost, that is tosay," she went on, brushing away the cobwebsfestooning her skirts, as she stepped back over theskirting-board, and kneeling down to replace thepanel, she discovered that by the merest touch ofher finger she could work it backwards andforwards in its grooves. Not so hard to open asthe old oak chest was, certainly; though in everyprobability it had been so once upon a time,before the dry-rot had shrivelled the wood in itssockets, and the fragments of iron bolts, somestrewing the floor, some still hanging, had rustedand given way. A pasteboard sort of protectionnow the place would have been, though it was nodoubt safe enough in those war times of the Roses,when it was built.

And carefully indeed Ruth had kept her secret,though there were times when it grew to berather a burden to her. When, for instance, shelay in her bed and thought what dismal straitsthose poor people must have been driven to, beforethey should have sought such a refuge.

The very existence of the place is, however,forgotten now in this other mystery that haunts hersleeping and waking.

She does not find it at all true, as she sits uncoilingher hair, and absently brushing out its brownwaves, that sharing her load of care makes itlighter, as people are so fond of telling you thatit does. The weight, on the contrary, seems tohave grown heavier, especially within these lasthours; and oblivious of everything beyond hertroubled reflections, she is only recalled to a senseof realities by Maudlin Sweetapple's voice querulouslyclamouring for the lamp to be extinguished."Beshrew the thing!" piped she; "how manymore times am I to shut my eyes, and open 'emagain, to see all these ghosts about the place?"

"Ghosts?" queried Ruth, escaping to Maudlin'sdoor, and peeping gingerly in.

Shadows on the wall.

"Ay, marry, ghosts; black-sheeted ghosts allover the walls," said Maudlin, pointing to therestless shadows cast by the quivering flame ofRuth's lamp. "Look at 'em bobbin' about, anda draught to cut a body's head off! Have yougot a pane open in there, child?"

Doubtless that explained the inconvenience;for Ruth had opened the pane in order to catchthe faintest sound that might disturb the silenceof the night.

"Then shut it," went on Maudlin, as Ruthowned to the fact, "shut it, if you don't wantyour poor old nurse to catch her death o' rheumatics.A mighty fine sort of a night to be havin'casem*nts open, this! What's gone, I wonder, ofall yesterday's sunshine? 'Tis as cold asCandlemas. Well they may say:—

"'Cast ne'er a clout
Till May be out.'

If—hark! what's that, child?"

"I heard nothing," answered Ruth, listeningwith all her ears, "nothing but the rain," sheadded, as a smart sleety shower rattled againstthe glass.

The creak of the drawbridge.

"So 'tis—at last. There wasn't a joint of allmy poor old bones that didn't tell me that wascomin'. But 'twasn't that I heard. 'Twas—hush*there 'tis again! The clank o' the draw-bridgechains! or I'll eat my head off."

"Don't make rash vows, you silly old dear!"rejoined Ruth, with an uneasy little laugh. "Wasn'tthe drawbridge let up at sunset, as it always is?What fancies you do take into your head, Maudlin!"

"Oh, ay; 'tis as full of 'em, I daresay, as anegg's full o' meat," grumbled on the old lady. "'Tisonly the young ones that are the wise onesnowadays. Good lack! good lack! and how they dolike too sittin' up disturbin' the rest o' them that'sno mind for moonin' and star-gazin'."

"There's neither moon nor star to be seen,"said Ruth, glancing towards the outside obscurity."'Tis a pitch-dark night."

"And ten, as I live, by the tower clock! Forshame on thee, Ruth," continued the old woman,as the strokes fell; "put out thy light this instant,and grope to bed as thou canst; or I'll warrantwe shall never be hearin' the last o't from themaster to-morrow. His one eye's sharper than adozen folk's two, and if it did catch sight of agleam—What do you say?"

"I did not speak."

"I fancied I heard you mumblin' somethin'.For the merciful powers' sake put out the light,I say."

"Good-night, Maudlin," said Ruth, obeyingthe injunction at last, but not without reluctance.

A smothered sound, which might have been areciprocal good-night, but still more resembled asnore, witnessed that the darkness had speedilyworked its slumberous effects on Maudlin. PoorRuth, however, deprived of her lamp's companionship,and too wakeful for bed, groped her wayback to her old seat, and sat, every nervesharpened, to catch the faintest echo.

A wild night.

Save the driving rain, however, and the sweepingof the wind in low sullen gusts round thewalls, and its jerking of the tall vane on thetower-top, till the thing complained direfully, nota sound was to be heard. A likely night, truly,for folks to choose to be abroad, especiallythereabouts, where there was scarce so much as a treeto shelter you. Anyhow it was plain theseexpected visitors of her father's had not been soeager to be getting themselves dripping to theskin; and the maltster had no doubt given themup ever so long ago, and gone to bed.

Sidenote: The striking of the hour.]

With cramped limbs, but a lightened heart,Ruth rose and once more approached to close thepane, which she had again unfastened, after firstnoiselessly closing Maudlin's door. Well, bed wasafter all no such uncomfortable place, she thought,as the dank air blew in on her face, "when theclock must be close on—hark! yes: ding-dang!ding-dang! ding-dang! Absolutely but wantingone hour—ding-dang—to midnight! Such anunearthly ding—terrible—dang."—

CHAPTER XIV.

IN THE WARDER'S ROOM.

Ding! Like some guilt-stricken creatureRuth stood with her hands upon thehalf-closed pane.

Lingeringly and drearily the sounddied in a low angry growl of wind, that camesweeping up muffled and sullen as some vexedhuman voice. Hark! hark! surely that is ahuman voice!—voices! And that? No steadydrip-drip of the rain from the mullions of thecasem*nt, but footsteps stealthily passing alongthe arched way below, and beginning to ascendthe stair winding to the Warder's Room!

Impossible! Sure she must be growing morefanciful than old Maudlin's self? No, no; 'tisbut the tiresome rats again, holding their witches'sabbath? What else can it be?

The sudden flash of a torch full across herwindow illumines the pitchy blackness below; andthen, as if hurled by some violent and angry hand,the torch falls into the water and is extinguished.

Ruth on the watch.

Not quickly enough, however, to conceal fromRuth the gigantic outlines of the drawbridge,gliding higher and closer, till it is lost in theshadow of the wall, and at the same time theclank of its chains, more felt than heard, withtheir dull familiar vibrating, ceases.

Who can have been tampering with them?Surely not Adam Lockit. Rather than be unfaithfulto his trust, and let down his bridge aftersunset, he would dispute every ounce of it withhis life's blood. But what about Barnaby?Barnaby! and even at that moment Ruth cannotforbear a smile at the bare notion of Master Diggles'Dutch courage displaying its mettle within sixhours of either side of midnight. Even supposinghe could have performed the miracle of stealing amarch on Lockit, and getting possession of thegatehouse keys.

No. One alone, beside Adam Lockit, has themeans of working those chains—the master ofthe Rye House himself.

Spell-bound and breathless, Ruth standslistening to the stealthy but heavy tramp tramp ofthose feet mounting the stone stair which leadsfrom the arched door in the wall of the gatewayto the Warder's Room.

Soon the sounds cease; to be quickly brokenagain by hurried whispers and the low hum ofvoices. Muffled and indistinctly as they reachher ear, the tones seem familiar to Ruth, and herheart stands still. What—what if Lawrence—?

Hardly has his name escaped her pale partedlips before with swift noiseless tread she hasstolen to the wall, and falling on her knees beforethe sliding panel, slips it back, and stepping intothe darkness beyond, crouches down.

Not an instant too soon, if movements socautious and catlike as hers could have betrayedher; and that was possible, judging by thedistinctness with which she on her part can catchevery syllable that is being uttered in the Warder'sRoom by the party of men gathering, as she canplainly see through a long crack in the wood,about the long table.

A cold welcome.

"All right, Master Hannibal," says a voice shedoes not know. "We wait your pleasure."

"Nay," objected another, which Ruth at oncerecognized for one of those she had heard uponthe bridge, "your commands, Master Rumbold."

"By my faith! there you speak by the book,colonel, like the good soldier you are," shiveringlysaid a voice, whose delicate tones were also notstrange to Ruth. "Pleasure's a fish that I for oneshould be for angling after in other preserves thanthe slush and bog of the Rye. Hu! hu!" shudderedthe speaker. "And not so much as a stickof a blaze on your sepulchre of a hearth here,Master Hannibal! A merry welcome truly to bidyour boys! and all of us as wringing wet as anyof the rat vermin in your styx of a moat belowthere. I'm drenched to my skin."

"Had I imagined it to be so thin," drylyreturned the deep tones of the maltster, "I wouldnever have invited your lordship to join our company."

"And the place smells as mouldy as a vault,"fretfully continued the nobleman. "I can tell you,had I known it was such a stretch from my houseI'd in any case have spared you my company to-night."

A wrangle.

"We could have dispensed with such fine-weatherfriends," began a gruff surly voice, "if—"

"Hold thy peace," interrupted Rumbold, "andsave your wit, Master West, till my Lord ofEscrick here can find his own to measure with it."

"Of a truth, I confess my brains seem all washedout," said Howard more good-temperedly, "bythat last slush hole I floundered into, when I setoff in pursuit of the jack-o'-lanthorn, some idiotamong you said was a light in the Rye House."

"My Lord of Escrick makes a rare pother abouta sprinkle of rain," said the voice which wasstrange to Ruth; "if he'd been jolted all the wayfrom Fleet Street, as I have been, atop of the rawbones of a pack-horse like a sack of husks—"

"Hush! by your leave, Master West," for theremembrance of his sufferings warmed the speaker'seloquence. "Not so loud. Some one sleeps in theadjoining chamber."

"Marry! 'twould have been as well then,"rejoined West, in sour, but considerably loweredtones, "if you had thought fit to entertain us insome other part of your ramshackle house here,less conveniently adapted for eavesdropping—"

"And for getting off if we should be surprised,"said Rumbold quietly. "Have I not explainedoften enough, that this chamber is in directcommunication with the subterranean way to NetherHall? You shall judge it for yourself presently,as I promised you."

"And besides," put in Walcot, "we are safe,Master Rumbold said, from being overlooked onthis side."

"The place seems Scylla or Charybdis," saidHoward laughing, "and a veritable vermin trap toboot—if one may judge by the snuffling in there,"and he pointed to the wainscot, "eh, MasterHannibal?"

"The four-legged pests do somewhat overaboundhere, my lord," answered Rumbold; "but my ownfriends are safe enough, I pledge you my word.I did but entreat Master West to be a bit careful.His voice is scarce so still and small as cautionbehoves."

"Liken it rather unto that of a trumpet," pipedthe shrill tones of Ferguson, "which shall blare tothe uttermost walls—"

Walls have ears.

"All in its good time, Master Ferguson," interruptedWalcot; "meanwhile remember walls haveears."

"And so have listeners," growled West, stillsorely put about with himself for his ownforgetfulness, "long as asses' ones."

"Nay," said Rumbold, "they'd have to belonger and sharper too, to pierce these walls.More than three feet and a half thick I knowthem to be."

"And all of pure stone?" inquired a voice.

"No, of oak, Master Sheriff, which is at leastas trustworthy."

"It is a strange omen," said Walcot ruminatively,

"A what?" derisively chorused half a dozenvoices.

"'Tis not the first time oak has served Charlesa good turn in his evil hour."

"What's the man maundering about?" said West.

"I know not," growled Rumsey. "Unless it beof that accursed Boscobel oak-tree. Well, well,I'll warrant root and branch shall be lopped thistime close enough, eh, Master Rumbold? and we'llbring its fine acorns into the mud. Come, tobusiness. Are we all here?"

"I do not see my friend of the other night,"said Howard looking round. "The young gentlemanwho so deftly rendered my hand thatsurgeon's service."

"Lawrence Lee, you mean, my lord?"

"Ay, that was his name. A likely young fellowhe seemed. A neighbour of yours, I think yousaid, Master Hannibal?"

"He should have been here," said the maltster;"but 'tis no matter, we can do without him.He is—"

Noisy rats.

"To be trusted, let us hope," growled West."I swear, Master Rumbold," and he gloweredtowards the wainscot, "your rats are the noisiestI ever heard."

Poor Ruth shivered with terror. She had butstirred to avert the worse crash of a slip she hadnearly made in that cramped space.

"The vane atop of this roof, creaking in thewind," said Rumbold carelessly.

"If we should find these Rye House rats of thespy genus, we'll spit them on it," said West.

"And you along with them, Master Rumbold,"said a voice which had not yet spoken.

A chest of tools.

"Your insinuations waste precious time, SirThomas Armstrong," said Rumbold, a frown ofoffended dignity puckering his brows as he turnedand, crossing to the great oaken chest standingbetween the windows, raised its ponderous lid withboth hands. "I would not be held a boaster; butthose who have known Richard Rumbold longerthan you have, will tell you that he is not the manto put his hand to the plough and draw it back.See," he went on, addressing the rest, who greetedhis last words with a low murmur of applause,"here lie our tools," and he pointed into the openchest, "all in order; not forgetting the lastcargo—muskets, bayonets, blunderbusses, and all."

CHAPTER XV.

THE PLOT THICKENS.

"Blunderbusses!" shrieked a voice,which seemed to retreat, as it spoke,into the room's remotest corners; "thegracious powers above! Mind, formercy's sake, be careful. Not loaded?" piteouslywent on the speaker. "Say they're not loaded,Master Rumbold."

"Not yet, Master Sheriff," grimly smiled Rumbold.

"But whatever can we be wanting of suchfearful things?" insisted Goodenough.

"That remains to be seen," laughed West,approaching the chest; and selecting a weapon fromits gleaming contents, he placed it in Rumbold'shands. "Here, Master Hannibal, is the one Ipromised you for your special use. A jewel of athing. Be careful of it."

"Ay, yes, yes, do," entreated Goodenough; "hearwhat Master West says about it himself."

"A sacred trust indeed," murmured Rumbold,thoughtfully handling the weapon, "and wieldinga mighty power, for good or for ill. Come, ParsonFerguson," he went on, suddenly changing hismood, and turning to the tall, lean, sable-cladindividual standing on his right "What sayyou? Will you consecrate it?"

Foul play.

"Of a surety it has my blessing," answeredFerguson, displaying his ugly yellow fangs ofteeth in a broad grin.

"Well, well, to business then," continued themaltster, carefully restoring the blunderbuss to itsplace and closing the chest. "Come, have we ourparts by heart? You, and you," he went on,singling out three of the company, "and you."

"Oy, oy! sartain sure enough we be o' ourn,"said the foremost of the trio, slouching to the front,and elbowing his two comrades forward alongwith him, so that Ruth could plainly discern theirfeatures, and recognized them for the foreman ofthe malting-yard, one of his subordinates, and aman who worked in the corn-chambers. "Roightenough we be, an't us?" he went on, appealing tothe sheepish, hangdog looking couple beside him."'Tes for we to be trampin' out Stanstead way,an' hidin' us among the hedges and ditches till uscatches soight o' the king's coach an six; an' then'tes for we to be turnin' tail in a twinklin', andrun as quick—as quick as—"

"Twice as quick anyhow, friend, as the twenty-fourlegs of his majesty's Flanders mares," saidHoward with a slight yawn.

"Back agin to the Rye House here," continuedthe spokesman, "an' be tellin' the rest o' yer whichcoach the king's a-ridin' in—"

"And how many—"

"I'm a comin' to that, an't I? an' how many'sa follerin' after 'em in coaches too, an' how manyguards a 'orseback—"

"Six at the outside," said Rumbold. "'Tis nevermore. You, colonel," he went on, addressingWalcot, "undertake to attack them."

"As a soldier, I claim that privilege," answeredWalcot.

"If report speaks truth, you're not wanting inbravery," said Rumsey, measuring the stately andgraceful figure of Walcot with rather jealous eyes;"but six is a biggish handful for one man totackle; and if," he went on with a sneer, "yourgift of second sight should chance to be makingtwelve of it—"

"Or if in fact there should happen to be somany," quietly interrupted Walcot, "I trust I maynot be found wanting—nor tripping neither."

"As to the beasts," said Rumbold quickly, "weshall have little trouble with them. They'll allbe spent and weak as water with the long stage."

"They change at Hoddesdon, do they not?"said Howard.

Preparations for treason.

"If they were foreordained to reach there, theywould, my lord," rebukefully replied Rumbold."And now, what about the disguises?" hecontinued, addressing his foreman.

The son of the soil scratched his carroty poll,and gazed round with lack-lustre eyes. "Thewhat, maaster?" he said at last.

"The labourers' clothes, man, that you promisedto furnish my Lord Howard here with, and theother gentlemen."

The disguises.

"Oy, oy," and a gleam of intelligence brokeover the stolid face. "Now you speak English,Maaster Rumbold. Yes, they be all roight enough;leastways they will be. But 'tes jest a bit of ajob loike, doant'e see, Master Rumbold. Standsto reason as 'tes, doant it? Gettin' tagether o'poor folks' togs. The quality's got any quantityo' coats an' britches, silk and satin', an' velvetan' double broadcloth into the bargain; but 'taintevery day an' ollis, as yer poor man's gotten hisone decent smock. But, never ya fret, my lord.Me an' these here," and he jerked his thumb athis two comrades, "a doin' our main best; an' theblame woan't be to our door, if us doant makesuch clod poles and scares o' ya, an' these hereother dandy gen'lemen, as the very crows sha'antbe able to make up their minds whether to flyaway from ya for freight, or peck yer eyes outas ya walk along."

"That is satisfactory," said Rumbold. "Thenext question," he went on, letting his gaze reston the elegant proportions of Howard, who hadthrown himself in a careless lounging attitudeinto a tall-backed Cordovan leather chair, "thenext question is"—

"So it be," interrupted the foreman of the malt-yard;"so it be, maaster, an' 'twas no more thanus was a sayin' of as we coomed along here.Warn't us?" and again he appealed to his mates,who nodded stolidly. "'Tes sartin as our cat's gota tail, there's not one o' the lot o' ya as looks tobe trusted loike."

"Fellow!" fiercely demanded Howard, springingto his feet, "what do you mean?"

How to stop the King's coach.

"The wagon is a main heavy one," continued theman, unheeding the angry frowns of Howard andthe rest, "and'll need a power of elbergreaseafore't can be turned over; an' we can't be lendin'you fine gen'lemen that, along with our britchesan' smocks. You'd best have the cart overturnedby we first," and he pointed to his companions,"afore we start away, doant ya know?"

"Certainly not," said Howard haughtily; "Ihope we're not such idiots that we can't do carter'swork."

"Carter's work! Why! 'tes carter's work to bekeepin' of his wheels from gettin' bottomuppermost. Noa, noa, ye'll never be but gimcracksoarts o' carters, take ya at ya best, an' if ye'refor doing of the upset yerselves, there should besix o' ye to the work, my lord, or ye'll make amess o't, be shure."

"Then," said Howard, "it remains for you tosupply us with the six needful pairs of breeches,and hobnailed shoes."

"I'll swear for the britches, an' the shoes ye'llhave to make stretch as far as they'll go."

"And you," said Rumbold, turning to West anda group near.

"Ay, we engage for the coachman, the postilion,and the horses," nodded West. "We're quite content,Master Hannibal, to leave you to bring downthe Blackbird and the Chaffinch. You're a fineshot, and ought to do it at one priming, withsuch tools as you've got for it; tho' 'tis true you'llbe two to one, and your birds have got some bloodin them."

"Ay, but their claws will be blunt," laughedRumsey. "'Tis scarce probable, I mean, that they'llcarry so much as a sword between them. Theynever do."

"Still assistance should be at hand, and closetoo," said Sir Thomas Armstrong.

Lawrence Lee in the toils.

"Among the whole twoscore names writtenhere," said Rumbold, drawing a large roll of parchmentfrom his pocket, and unrolling it, he glancedover its contents, "there is not a steadier hand,nor a stouter heart, than my young neighbour's hereof Nether Hall, Lawrence Lee."

"Lawrence Lee!" echoed Walcot, casting aninvoluntary glance behind him ere the words hadwell left his lips. Could he be such a prey tostrange fancies, or had he in very deed and truthheard a low gasping breath break from the wall?"You're certain he's to be trusted?"

"I flatter myself," replied the maltster, a faintsmile curling his lips, "that Master Lawrence Leewould think twice before he refused to complywith the slightest wish of Richard Rumbold."

"Wasn't his father a Royalist?" said Howard.

"And what if he were, my lord?" rejoinedRumbold. "Lee is a lad of spirit, and exerciseshis right of private judgment."

"Exactly," said Howard, with a dubious shrug."He takes leave to call his soul his own. Andthat, of course, is all in this business. But howabout his heart? You have a daughter, have younot, Master Hannibal?"

"And what if I have, my lord?" said themaltster coldly.

"Oh, no offence," carelessly returned Howard;"but she is a comely lass, they say. Quite arustic beauty."

"Beauty is skindeep, my lord. She is a goodchild."

"And minds her doll," broke out Rumsey in ahoarse laugh.

"Nay," said Rumbold in displeased tones, "myRuth's doll-days are about over. But she mindsher wheel; and meddles not in such matters aswe are discussing—or should be discussing," headded, as the clock over their heads struckmidnight. "Moments are precious."

"And for my part," said Howard, this time withan unmistakable yawn, "I think we are misusingthem odiously. There is a fortnight still beforethe king comes back from Newmarket; and betweenthis and then all sorts of things may occur tochange his plans."

"What is to be, will be," said Rumbold solemnly.

A deep snore.

"Oh! that I grant you," said Lord Howardwith a portentous yawn, glancing at the sametime towards one of the window embrasures,whence issued a prolonged deep sound, not unlikethe smothered growl of a wild beast, but whichin fact emanated from the nose of SheriffGoodenough, who lay back, lost in the enjoyment ofa snatched forty winks. "That I grant you,and so seemingly does our good sheriff here; forhe has yielded to the inevitable, and is snoringlike a trooper. Shake him up, colonel," he addedto Walcot, who stood close by, leaning against thepanes, and gazing thoughtfully out into the night."If you're not asleep yourself, that is."

"Very far from it, my lord," answered Walcot,rousing up and approaching the table; "I wasthinking that all being said and done, it is timeto consider the measures for our safety. Wedon't want to be run down inside these four wallslike a pack of weasels."

The subterranean way.

"By no means," said West; "we're going toburrow underground before we part to-night, fora good mile and a half through Master Hannibal'ssubterranean way. Aren't we captain? So asto make sure we don't blunder our heads into anywrong holes, when the time comes."

"An excellent notion," said Howard with animation."And a better night than this abominableNoah's deluge of a one could not be. 'Twill spareus wading like a flock of geese to—. By the way,where did you say it brings us out, captain?"

"Into a large vault that lies under the right-handtower of the ruined gatehouse of NetherHall."

"And near the river?"

"Within a hundred yards of it."

"And then 'Sauve qui peut,' I suppose."

Rumbold inclined his head gravely.

"And Nether Hall," continued Howard, "belongsto our young friend Farmer Lee. I perceive now.You're a clever man, Captain Hannibal. Youdid well indeed to win the fellow to our cause,since his premises appear to be indispensable toour precious lives. But how is it we do not seehim here to bid us welcome to his dungeons?"

"We may find him below. But if not, 'tis nomatter; and if he should have stolen a leaf fromMaster Goodenough's book there, and gone to bed,I have the duplicate keys. He has made themover to me;" and the maltster, kindling hisextinguished torch, signed to his companions todo the same. "'Tis pretty well pitch dark," headded warningly, "even in broad daylight, everystep of the way. Ho there, Sheriff! Wake up!And a murrain on you for a sleepy-head. Givehim a pinch, colonel," he added to Rumsey, whochanced to be seated nearest the sleeper.

Two left behind.

"I couldn't be so barbarous," replied Rumsey,with a peculiar sneering smile. "Hark!" he wenton, as a thunderous snort was all the comment onRumbold's adjuration. "Let him be."

"Oy, oy. Let 'm bide, cap'n," said the foreman."They narrer cellars an't for the loikes of ahogshead like he. He'd be stickin' fast in the middleo' them like a dodnum in a duck's weasand. Let'un sleep his sleep out."

"Nonsense, man!" said Walcot. "We can't leavehim here all alone."

"He won't be alone if I'm with him, I suppose,"said Rumsey with a snarl; "and I shall remainhere. You won't catch me coming down to breakmy shins in your pitch-dark vaults at this timeof night; as if I wasn't lamed enough alreadywith that confounded stumble I made on Mondaynight. Time enough when I've got to run for it."

"Do as you please," said Rumbold; "I shall beback in a couple of hours or so."

"Ay, ay. Don't hurry. 'Twill be right enoughif you leave us here."

"Like doves in a cage. Ha! ha! Or a coupleof fighting co*cks," said Howard, with a laugh thatwas echoed a little dubiously by all present, for itwas no secret among them that Rumsey andGoodenough did not love each other. "Well,well; slumber, my darling! eh colonel? ha, ha,ha! and peace be with you."

The conspirators' stair.

And Howard, lighting his torch as he spoke,followed the rest, who, preceded by Rumbold,were beginning to file down the winding stairthrough the door by which they had entered.

CHAPTER XVI.

A LITTLE DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.

When the shuffling of the footsteps of theconspirators had died away far downbelow, not a sound was to be heard, savethe rain, now fallen to a gentle patter,and ever and anon the wind spending itself in lowfitful moans round the old mansion. From timeto time, however, this monotony was varied bythe obbligato which Sheriff Goodenough's nosecontinued to trumpet forth.

One more than ordinarily prolonged and loudsnort afforded Ruth an opportunity of changingher cramped position, and at the same time ofobtaining a clearer view of the scene before her.

Almost immediately facing her, at the cornerof the table, sat Rumsey, staring with such a fixedsteady gaze straight before him, through thelamp's thin flickering flame, that she trembledand sank crouching to the floor. Could he havecaught sight of her?

Never a fear of that. For even if he hadchanced to notice the long straggling crack in thewainscot, and that tiny hole caused by thedisplacement of a little knot in the wood, you hadbut to look at his moody face a second time, tobe sure that his thoughts were blinding hisoutward senses to all around him; save when fromtime to time he turned his head on his sleepingcompanion with an ugly look of mingled mistrustand contempt.

Rumsey draws cold steel.

"Clod! idiot!" he growled at last through hisclenched teeth, at the same time drawing a shortpoignard from a sheath in his buff leathern belt,and throwing it on the table with such a clatterthat it woke the sheriff, who sat up with a start ofterror.

"Ha; thieves!" he shouted. "Murder! Callthe watch!"

"Come, come, sheriff; what's the matter?"laughed Rumsey. "Are you dreaming still? don'tyou know where you are? Hey! look about you,man."

Goodenough obeyed mechanically; and hisdazed eyes, as fate would have it, fell first uponthe naked dagger, glittering in the lamplight—"What'sthat? what's that?" he shrieked again,startled into all his senses at the sight of thething. "Take it away! For mercy's sake, takeit away," he entreated piteously. "It—it's justwhat I've been dreaming about! Put it up,Master Rumsey; dear Master Rumsey, put itaway in its proper place."

"When I am quite sure where that is, I will,"coolly answered Rumsey. "In the meantimeyou and I, sheriff, will just have a little bit ofgossip together. There couldn't be a niceropportunity for it, while we've got the place all snugto ourselves; 'under four eyes,' as they used tocall it when I served in Italy."

The sheriff and his enemy,

"But where are they all?" said Goodenough,staring round into the darkness visible, with eyesnow thoroughly wide-awake. "And how theplague came I to fall asleep?"

"I suppose only Sheriff Goodenough can solvethat problem," answered Rumsey with a shrug.

"But where are they all?" persisted Goodenough.

"Ah!" impatiently said Rumsey, "down below."

"Down below!" gasped Goodenough. "Oughtn'twe to be there along with them, colonel? They'dno business to go leaving us all alone;" and thesheriff shivered—"Eh, ought they now? Let'sbe going too, shall we?" and Goodenough roseto his feet, and began stumbling in his haste toreach the door, over the disorder of chairs andfootstools. "I'd rather, I would indeed."

"Too late," said Rumsey. "They're ever sofar by now. Serves you right, sheriff. Whoever heard of being caught napping when there'swork of this sort on hand? Come, now—steadythere—come. It's of no earthly use your rattlingthe bolts about like that. The captain's lockedus in."

"No, no, he hasn't," said Goodenough frantically,wrenching at the ponderous door till hedragged it half open. "See!"

"The mischief seize you!" savagely returnedRumsey, snatching off Goodenough's hands, andbanging to the door again with a kick "Notthat one. The door, I mean, down at the stairfoot.'Tis locked, I tell you. Double, triple locked; andyou can't get out if you tore your arms off trying."

"But never mind," he went on, as Goodenoughfell back despairingly against the wall,"don't look so down in the mouth, man; ain'tI here?" and with a low chuckle of amusem*ntat the poor man's discomfiture, he flunghimself into a chair, and thrusting his handsdeep into his pockets, sat watching throughhis half-closed eyelids every movement of hiscompanion, who retreated slowly to a chairstanding farthermost from Rumsey, and sat downon its edge, looking the very picture of wretchednessand despondency. "'Tis too bad," he saidshiveringly, "I wish I hadn't come. I wishI'd never—" Then he stopped short.

"Well?" sharply interrogated Rumsey, fixingthe unfortunate man's wandering glances withthe steady, piercing, snakelike glitter of his own."Say on, sheriff, out with it; you wish you'dnever—joined this conspir—this society; is that it?"

A faltering tongue.

"I said nothing of the sort, Master Rumsey,"faltered Goodenough. "But I—I—I do say—h'm.No matter;" and as his eyes followedRumsey's, which were fixed on the dagger uponthe table, he relapsed into silence.

"On the contrary," said Rumsey in calm hardtones, "'tis very great matter. Our nobleassociation brooks no sticklers, nor cowards neither.What were you going to say?"

"That I hope there's not going to be any—anyblood-spilling," said Goodenough in a steadiervoice.

"Whose blood?" laughed Rumsey. "Charles's,do you mean?"

"Ah, heaven forbid!" fervently ejacul*tedGoodenough, "and forgive us the bare thought.Of the guards, I meant, or of any with him."

"That they must take their risk of, prettydears," sneered Rumsey, "so long only as wesecure our Blackbird, and our Chaffinch."

Murderous plans.

"Ay, ay," sighed Goodenough. "Well, 'tmustbe chanced, I suppose, as you say, colonel; andperhaps if it comes to't, the sacrifice of a man'slife will be forgiven by Providence, so only as wecan succeed in bringing his majesty to our wayof thinking, and make our Protestant religionsafe from these popish scoundrels; and bind himto appoint a real true Church of England kingto come after him."

"Instead of the Chaffinch."

"The Duke of York must certainly be setaside, if it be true indeed that he is a Papistat heart."

"If!" cried Rumsey in tones that might havebeen crook-backed Richard's own.

"But I never dreamed," continued Goodenough,"that 'twould come to blood-spilling, I protest,even of so much as a poor horse's."

"Bluer blood than a wretched Flanders mare's,or a handful of red coats', will be staining yonderroad before this moon's out, I take it," mutteredRumsey. "You're a fool, Master Goodenough," headded in a louder key, and turning contemptuouslyon Goodenough; "a cowardly fool."

"No," said Goodenough, and he rose to his feet,a sudden light of indignation in his eyes; "butyou are a traitor, Richard Rumsey! and 'tis notnow for the first time I read your murderousthoughts." A low laugh was all Rumsey'scomment. "Master Rumbold," hurried on Goodenough,"and Colonel Walcot—"

"Bah! Walcot!" interrupted Rumsey, snappinghis fingers.

A dangerous threat.

"And my Lord of Escrick and the rest knowwell enough how I have bidden them beware of you."

"Absolutely!" said Rumsey, elevating his brows,and the corners of his mouth quivering about histeeth like some hungry hyena's. "We're as mightyfine as the pot was, when it talked a homily tothe kettle. Do you imagine that Charles, once safein their clutches, our good captain, or my Lord ofEscrick, or any man-jack of our forty boys, wouldlet him off alive?"

Goodenough was silent for a moment. "Idoubt they would not one of them stain theirhands with cold blood," he said then. "And fora certainty I can speak to Walcot—"

"Psha! speak no more of him, the white-livered loon."

"I can speak to Walcot," stoutly persistedGoodenough, "for many times I have heard himsay that a fair front-to-front tussle with theguards was what his soul itched for. But forattacking the king he would not do it; for that itwas a base thing to kill a naked man."

"Naked!" sneeringly echoed Rumsey as he rosefrom his chair and sauntered towards the table,on whose edge he seated himself, and begancarelessly toying with the handle of the poignardhe had thrown there. "Let his purple and finelinen shield him."

The coward speaks up.

"They would stand him in less stead against abullet or a blade-thrust, than even my goodNorwich drugget here would shield me, if any manbore me a grudge," answered Goodenough witha faint smile. "But 'tis no matter; why shouldit be spoken of? 'Tis quite certain that none ofus are for killing the king, nor anybody else."

Rumsey's lips twitched with the old balefulsmile. "There I think you are out, Master Sheriff,"he said, as he took the poignard into his hand, andbegan examining its hilt with a half absentattention. "The puling scruples of a mere handfulout of all our forty boys would not go for much;"and he fixed his eyes in a covert glare onGoodenough, who stood thoughtfully gazing into thelamp; "and these must be got rid of, for a 'housedivided against itself cannot stand.'"

"'Tis the assassins who must be got rid of,"sturdily retorted Goodenough. "For they foullyblot our cause."

"Ha!" cried Rumsey starting up, with thepoignard clutched fast in his hand. "Do youforget who—what I am?"

An assassin.

"Nay. But I think you do," answered Goodenoughcalmly. "You should be a soldier, but itlooks much as if you would have me take you fora scoundrel, and a craven-hearted assassin!"

The last word was lost in a sudden sharpshriek of agony; and swaying round, Goodenoughclutched convulsively at the poignardwhich lay plunged to the hilt in his breast, andfell heavily to the floor.

CHAPTER XVII.

"DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES."

"So, Master Sheriff," muttered Rumsey,as he stood coolly watching the thinstream of blood trickling slowly fromthe prostrate body of his victim,"that is one of you ticked off, at all events. Itwas such a pity you should be calling names fornothing, wasn't it? and wasps like you are mightilytroublesome, not to say dangerous; for who's toguess where you mightn't go buzzing our plans?Not dead yet, aren't you?" he went on scowlingly,as a low groan broke from Goodenough's lips."Why, you yelled out loud enough for a dozenmen. I swear I could almost have fancied 'twas awoman's screech, 'twas so shrill;" and he lookedround as he spoke. "But then one might fancyanything in this charnel hole of a place;" andagain he cast covert glances at the shadows thrownupon the wainscotting by the flicker of the expiringlamp; and crossing to one of the windows, helooked out through the murky darkness, towardsa light gleaming steadily in the far distance."Cold as charity it is too. I'd give a gold pieceto be out of this, and drying before the kitchenfire over at the Thatched House at Hoddesdonyonder, with a cup of mulled sack and a tendercut.—The mischief seize you!" he growled on, asa deep groan from the wounded man arrested hisspeculations, and turning sharply on him he sawGoodenough feebly move his right hand towardshis breast. "Not still yet? Hang it! RichardRumsey never pinned a jerkin so clumsily before.Want it pulled out, do you?" he continued, with abrutal laugh, as he came close up beside hisvictim, and stooping over him, plucked the poignardfrom his breast. "Have your way, then. Butdon't be saying it's my fault, if your last gaspcomes with it." Then with savage indifferencehe saw the ebbing thread of life-blood swell intoa stream let loose by the removal of the weapon,and the limbs relax, while the face grows gray andfixed. "So, I thought as much. Well, go yourways friend, to your journey's end, and keepyourself ready when you get there, to welcome theBlackbird and the Chaffinch when they knock.And now I think I'll be going my road;" andRumsey glanced meditatively towards the window."Another time will serve to explain to CaptainHannibal how you got yourself into this coil.Stay," and he slowly lifted the blood-stainedpoignard still dangling in his fingers. "A mightyexcellent notion!"

The assassin.

Kneeling down by the wounded man's side, hewrenched open the clenched fingers of his righthand, and thrust the hilt of the dagger betweenthem. "Yes," he muttered; "that will tell itsown tale. And now for the Thatched House."

Returning to the window, and craning out hisneck, Rumsey spent several minutes, first inconsideration of the projecting corbels and cornices,and the stout web work of ivy covering the walls;then drawing his head back again, he fell toscowling contemplation of his lamed foot. Onceon terra firma, nothing, he knew, was easier thanto find the postern; and if by ill luck it shouldbe locked, the trees bordering the walls on theirinner side would assist him to scale them, and soaway across the Rye by the bridges.

Only the first step was the hard one; but theguilty man knew there was no choice for him butto grapple with it; and after one or two clumsyfailures, he succeeded in at last obtaining a firmfooting on the window ledge.

An unexpected appearance.

Scarcely had he accomplished this feat, than aflash of light broke across his eyes, with suchstartling suddenness that it caused him to swayforward, and he would have dropped headlonginto the moat, had he not stretched out bothhands, clinging for dear life to the stout old ivytrails; and by a wrench and a twist that for somehours afterward he did not forget, held on by thejutting stone-work of the window, staringhelplessly into the room at the figure of a man, whostood lantern in hand, in the arch of the doorfacing him. "Hullo!" he cried.

"The same to you, colonel," laughingly returnedthe voice of Lawrence Lee. "What in thename of Fortune are you about there? Marry!'Tis an odd time of night to be practising gymnastics!"

"Lend me a hand for mercy's sake!" gaspedRumsey, "or I shall fall and break my neck."

"And it would be such a pity that, eh, colonel?"laughed Lee, as he ran forward. "Have withyou then."

"Great heaven!" he cried, stumbling in hishaste head foremost across the body ofGoodenough; "what have we here? Sheriff Goodenough!"he continued in horrified amazement, ashe turned his lantern light on the pale still face,and perceived the pool of blood it lay welteringin. "Dead? Murdered?"

Rumsey shrugged his shoulders with an air ofcool indifference.

"Man!" shouted Lee, turning on Rumsey."What is the meaning of this?"

"Pooh! nonsense!" replied Rumsey, as well ashis almost spent breath permitted him. "Dead!Well, like enough; but murdered—Here, hi! lenda hand, can't you?"

Saved for the gallows.

Lawrence complied; but the hand he placedat Rumsey's disposal was no very gentle one, andhe hauled him to the floor like a sack of bones."Speak, man!" he cried.

"Well, give me breathing time," answeredRumsey, shaking himself; and then, glancingaskance at the dark mass upon the floor, he growledsulkily, "What is it? What do you want toknow? Murdered? Well, killing's no murder, Itake it, when a man is driven to it in self-defence."

"Self-defence!"

"Ay. There's no telling where I mightn't benow, if this quarrelsome fellow here, had got thebest of me. Don't you see the dagger there inhis hand?"

"Where are you hurt?" asked Lawrence, lookingfrom the dagger to Rumsey.

"I?—I?—Oh!" stammered Rumsey confusedly;"well, well, 'tis nothing to speak of. A scratch;hardly a mere scratch."

"Who's dagger is this?" demanded Lee, stoopingdown, and closely inspecting the weapon inGoodenough's grasp.

"Whose should it be?" rejoined Rumsey, lettinghis eyes fall shiftily beneath the penetrating glanceof Lee, as it fell on him.

"Faith! well, only I never knew him to carry somuch as a bare bodkin about him," said Lawrence.

The traitor's tale.

"Then that shows how little you do know him,"retorted Rumsey. "A more bloodthirsty,cantankerous fellow than he is, isn't to be foundamong the lot of us. Why, he's for loppingeverybody who doesn't say 'snap' to his 'snip.'"

"'Tis very strange," said Lee thoughtfully.

"A nice thing," grumbled on Rumsey, lettinghis eyes rest on Lee's left hand, which hungstraight down beside him. "A nice thing toattack a man in this fashion, as if he was aviper in a rut. And it's preciously fortunateI'm always prepared for any surprise. You'd findit a hard matter to catch Richard Rumsey on thehip;" and he smiled a smile of infiniteself-complacency. "What's that dangling in your fingersthere?"

The key.

"Only the key of the tower door," absentlyreplied Lee. "But," he went on, again keenly glancingover Rumsey's figure: "it takes two to a fairfight—and a pair of weapons. Where is yours?"

"Hadn't I my choice of twoscore at least out ofthe toys there?" said Rumsey after an instant'ssilence, and pointing to the oaken chest. "If youdoubt it look for yourself. A real embarrassmentof riches, eh?" he went on, watching Lee's face,as he lifted the lid of the chest and stood gazingat its gleaming contents. "Enough to do for ascore of lives if one had 'em. But the best of ushas but one in this bad world," he continued,piously turning up his eyes; "and Providence hasspared me, as you see, from the sword of theungodly. I'd have given my best firelock, though,it had not happened;" and for once Rumseyspoke pure and simple truth. "The fellow hadhis faults, but I had a great respect for him."

"And is that what sent you clearing off in sucha hurry?" asked Lawrence, turning contemptuouslyfrom Rumsey, and kneeling down besideGoodenough's motionless body he set his lanternon the floor, and the key beside it, and raised thewounded man's head; "and leaving him in thisstate?"

"Well, you see—" but here a violent fit ofcoughing interfered with Colonel Rumsey's powersof articulation. "Hang that open window!" hesaid, when speech at last returned; "'tis enough togive a man his death," he went on, as he closed thepane with such violence that the draught from itextinguished the dying flame of the lamp. "Itwas—h'm—h'm—it was awkward, don't you see, beingfound here, with—with no one to tell the tale butmyself, as it were; for dead men tell none," headded with a low chuckle.

"He's not dead," said Lawrence, placing hishand on Goodenough's heart.

"Bah! dead as a door-nail. I'm mightilysorry for it, to be sure; but the fellow brought iton himself. What could I do? Necessity knowsno law."

In the dark.

And Rumsey, stooping down over Lee as ifto scrutinize the countenance lying pillowed onthe young man's arm, contrived to let his handdrop well over the key upon the floor. Thenclutching the ring of the lantern, he paused andrepeated his observation. "Take my word for it.He's dead as a door-nail. Good-night, MasterLee. I'll leave you to explain matters, if it's allthe same to you."

Lee looked up. Absorbed in his efforts tostaunch the flow of blood from Goodenough'swound, he had hardly heard Rumsey's last words.As, however, he raised his head the door fell softlyto, and he found himself in total darkness.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"GOD SAVE THE KING!"

"Come back!" he shouted.

He might more effectually havesummoned back the wind, as it sweptpast with a low snarling hiss, as if inmockery of his indignation; and before he hadtime to repeat the words, the last echo of Rumsey'sfootsteps had died on the lowermost stair, andLawrence Lee heard the scraping of the key inthe lock of the tower door.

"Coward!" he cried aloud, "will you have mefetch you back?" and gently replacing the woundedman upon the ground, he rose to his feet, andwith a couple of strides reached the door; butscarcely had he done, so than a deep groan fromGoodenough brought him to a halt, and he turned,dizzy with perplexity. "To allow this fellow toget clear off was not to be thought of; and yet,to give chase to him and leave the unfortunateGoodenough?—"

"Lawrence! Lawrence!" imploringly cried avoice which seemed to him to proceed from thewainscot to his right. He started and lookedtowards the spot.

"Lawrence!"

Ruth to the rescue.

"Ruth!" cried the young man in amazement,"is that you?"

"Yes, yes. For the pitying heaven's sakestay! See here, I am getting a light."

He waited, stock-still, listening to the scratchingsound of the tinder-box, perfectly audible throughthe panel's rotten wood; and then, as the thinyellow streak of light broke through the crack, heflew to the spot. "Out of the way, Ruth!" hecried; and as he spoke he raised his clenched fistand struck the panel such a sledge-hammer blowas sent it splintering in all directions, revealingthe figure of Ruth by the light of the candle sheheld in her hand, enframed by the woodwork, likesome cunningly painted picture.

The illusion, was however, instantly dispelled, asshe stepped eager and breathless to the floor; andhastening to Goodenough, and falling on herknees beside him, she carefully opened his coat.Then tearing her linen kerchief from her neck,she bound it gently but firmly over the woundin such a manner as to staunch it and stay therushing blood, which, had it continued but a fewmoments more, must have drained his life away.

RUTH AND LAWRENCE SUCCOUR SHERIFF GOODENOUGH

Then having bathed the unfortunate man's facewith some water from a small pitcher which shemotioned to Lawrence to bring her from thetable, she gave a deep and long pent-up sigh, asshe perceived a faint flicker of returninganimation overspread the ashen features. "So," shemurmured.

"Ruth, my poor Ruth," said Lawrence. "Thisis a cruel sight for you." She shuddered, andgazed momentarily from Goodenough's face to his.

A terrible sight.

"I'd have given all that's mine, child," he wenton, "to have spared you the sight of it."

"Ay," murmured Ruth. "'Twas terrible, veryvery terrible."

"Still, my dear," went on Lee philosophically,"don't take it to heart too much. One of thetwo must always get the worst of it in a fairstand-up fight. Eh, mustn't one?

"But 'twas no such thing," flashed Ruth. "Thecoward lied, Lawrence—lied to you. I saw itall," she went on shudderingly, "from the hole inthe panel there. And he—that man Rumsey—struckhim unawares. Think of it, Lawrence; anunarmed man!"

"Nay, hardly that," said Lee, extricating thepoignard from Goodenough's fingers, andexamining it by the light of Ruth's lamp. "Forhe must have struck Rumsey. See, there is bloodupon this. It is stained to the very hilt."

"And did not Rumsey himself tell you thathe had been barely so much as scratched?" shesaid. "Lawrence, that witnesses against him.These very words, that he intended to screen hisguilt, would tell the truth against him, even ifthere were no tongue to tell what eye has seen."

"No, Ruth," said Lee, slowly shaking his head,and gazing distressfully into the fiery brilliancyof her eyes and on her pale face, flushed on eithercheek with two spots of burning red. "Youdid not see it. You must have been dreaming,child. It was some hideous nightmare. Such adouble-dyed treacherous villain as that, no mancould be. No, Ruth, no. Say he did not do it,"he added imploringly.

Bad company.

But she shook her head silently.

"It is not possible," he went on. "He—Ruth—thatman and I have touched hands, in—well,in token of good fellowship."

"And God forgive you then, Lawrence," shereplied. "As indeed I think he will. Becauseyou do not know all. I am sure you do notknow— But hush!" she went on, interruptingherself; "hush, we must not be found here. Myfather will be back—"

"Ay, but not yet awhile. I left them all deepin—in their conversation, in the octagon vault."

"And did not their conversation interest you,Lawrence?" demanded she, gazing keenly into hisface.

"Why, to confess the truth, not so very much,"he replied, evading her look. "And your father—"

"Ay," she said eagerly, as he hesitated.

"He said I should mayhap do better to becoming on, and joining company with ColonelRumsey and Master Goodenough here. I doubt,"he continued ruminatively, "he suspected theymight be falling to loggerheads; for I never knewthem meet, but what they did always set tosparring like a pair of Kilkenny cats."

"That may be so," answered Ruth; "but this Iam positive of, that those dreadful men wantedto be rid of you, for they would not have youknow of the shameful deeds they are plotting.They make but a tool and a cat's-paw of you,Lawrence. Ay, but they do," she insisted, in noway daunted by the wave of offended dignityLee's hand made. "For they know well enoughthat your heart is too honourable to stoop tobaseness like theirs."

"Tut! tut!—"

"They think you but a fool, and right proud Iam they do; for they are knaves and murderers.Their whole talk to-night was of the best way ofkilling the king."

"Killing the king?!!"

"And the Duke of York When they shouldcome back next week from Newmarket."

"But—but your father?!" gasped Lee. "He—"

A child's grief.

"Oh do not—do not speak of him," imploredshe, clasping her hands in agony. "My good, dearfather, Lawrence. How can we save him?" shewent on in calmer tones.

"Save your father?" said Lawrence, gazing inhelpless dejection into the misery of her face.

"The king; the king; for to save him, is tosave my father from—from—sure, Lawrence, hemust be mad; he must be saved from himself.And I—you must do it. Do you hear? Do youunderstand?"

Understanding, Lawrence felt, might come intime. For the present, only his ears fully masteredwhat Ruth had said, and, helplessly shrugging hisshoulders, he continued to stand gazing vacantlyat the prostrate form of Rumsey's victim.

"Yes, yes," she said, her eyes following his,"you are quite right. He must not be foundhere."

The secret kept.

"But," began Lawrence, "how can we hide him?"and he glanced towards the door communicatingwith hers. She shook her head. "'Tis locked;my father has the key. He took it this morning.There is but one way;" and she pointed to thebroken panel—"this."

Half an hour later, had any of the conspiratorsreturned to the Warder's Room, they would havefound no trace of what had occurred there sincetheir departure.

First, as gently as he was able, Lawrence, withRuth's assistance, carried the wounded man to thesecret passage, and laid him on the bed whichshe hastily prepared for him from the pillows andcoverings of her own bed. That done, he steppedback into the Warder's Room, and having, withthe aid of the pitcher of water, succeeded ineffacing the worst of the ugly tell-tale stain upon thefloor, he set the chairs overturned in the frayupon their legs again, and then busied himself incollecting the scattered pieces and splinters of thebroken panel. Finally, after no small labour,not lessened by having to reach across the spaceoccupied by the body of the unconscious Goodenough,he pieced the panel together, so that itlooked, as he said, keenly surveying it when hehad done, "as if catapults could have made noimpression on it."

"I doubt," said Ruth with a faint smile, "onemust not, however, breathe on it too roughly lestit fall to pieces."

"Hark! what's that?" whispered Lawrence inalarm, as a low curious burring, purring sound inthe room beyond made itself audible.

Placing her finger warningly on her lip, Ruthcrossed the floor, and, lifting a piece of tapestryhalf-covering one of the walls, she disappeared;returning, however, almost immediately with abottle of cordial in her hand, and a look of reliefon her face.

"Maudlin is sleeping as fast as a dormouse,"she said, pouring a few drops of the bottle'scontents into a cup, and moistening the woundedman's lips.

"But if she should waken?" said Lawrence.

"We will take difficulties only as they come,"answered Ruth. "'Tis scarce likely to happenbefore daybreak. And long before then, Lawrence,you must be upon the road."

"Upon the road! To where?" demanded Lawrence aghast.

"Newmarket."

The warning to the King.

"The king," she went on, as he continued tostare at her in speechless astonishment, "must bewarned of this danger that threatens him. And'tis you must warn him."

"I!" flashed the young man. "Ruth, what do youtake me for? I play traitor? I be a turncoat?"

"It is because you are not one," she answeredcalmly, "that you will do this. It is because youare loyal and true that you will not stand by andsee this crime done."

"Betray my oath?"

"You never swore to taking the life of afellow-creature; least of all your king's."

He was silent. She had indeed spoken thetruth; yet how could he bring himself to acknowledgeto her, what he shrank from admitting tohis own heart, the weakness of that easy natureof his, which had brought him to this terrible pass?His one thought had been to "keep neighbourly,"as he called it, with difficult Master Rumbold. Togive the maltster offence, was never to see Ruthagain, and that was an unendurable thought.And so, hardly conscious whither he was drifting,he suddenly found himself on the edge of thisabyss of crime, from which the soft, sweet, butresolute voice at his side now warned him backere it was too late. "Choose," she said.

Lawrence decides.

"I cannot," he answered, turning and gazingsadly down on the pale agonized face which hadnever before seemed so dear to him. "There isno choice for me, Ruth, but to go."

"And Heaven reward you!" she said, a ray ofgladness breaking into her tearful eyes as she laidher hand on his arm.

"Farewell then, Ruth!" he said with an almostimperceptible shrug; "and if we should nevermeet again—." He paused. "Farewell then,Ruth."

Gone.

And turning away his face, as if he dared notagain meet the sight of hers, he took her littlehand in his and wrung it fast. Then springingto the window ledge, he flung the pane wideopen, and planting one foot firmly on the frettedstonework outside, was lost in the darkness.

CHAPTER XIX.

"STARS AND GARTERS."

The inmates of the King's Arms had beenin bed and asleep full four hours, andprofound silence reigned throughoutit* precincts, when, a few moments afterthe gatehouse clock had chimed one, a loudrattling on the panes of Mistress Sheppard'sbedchamber window roused her from uneasy dreams.

"Cuther! what a night!" ejacul*ted she, sittingup and listening to the sound as it fell again withincreased violence. "There's hail for you! Bigas pebble stones, be sure."

A third shower made it clear beyond all questionthat pebble-stones they were; and rising inhaste, she opened a pane of the lattice and lookedout.

"Is that you, Mistress Sheppard?" said a muffledvoice immediately beneath, as the billowy outlinesof her nightcap broke dazzling white amidthe surrounding darkness upon the vision of thespeaker.

"And is that you, Master Lee?" sharply repliedthe mistress of the hostelry, as her nocturnalvisitor, turning the light of the dark lantern hecarried full upon the casem*nt, revealed at thesame time his own form and features. "What doyou want?" she went on in dudgeon, "cominghere at this time o' night, bringin' honest folks'hearts into their mouths, and disturbin' their rest?"

"Yes, yes," hastily assented Lee; "'tis very late,I grant you—"

"Early, I suppose you mean," fumed MistressSheppard, clutching the pane, to snap it to again."And let me tell you—"

"Oh, yes! whatever you please, if—"

"Please! There's little o' pleasin' in bein'waked up at this hour."

"No, no. Quite true. But listen, just listen."

"I'll do no such a thing. What do you want,Master Lee?"

"A horse."

"I'll see Sheppard has his horsewhip in nicetrim for you next you come this way," iratelyretorted she; "an' be you ten times master o'Nether Hall."

Stars and garters.

"Nay; for that he need be at no trouble,"laughed Lee, hitting a swish in the air with ashort riding-whip he carried in his other hand."I've got my own with me, as luck had it. Andif not, 'twould have mattered little enough, for 'tisrarely Stars and Garters needs whip nor spureither."

"Stars and Garters!" gasped Mistress Sheppard.

"Ay, 'tis her I'll take, with your good leave,"calmly returned Lawrence.

Now Stars and Garters was the name distinguishingthe pride of the King's Arms, and ofher mistress's heart, a beautiful black mare,marked with a white star on her left breast, anda curious ring of white hair below the left knee,whose match for docility and fleetness of foot wasnot to be met with in all the country side; and theaudacity of Lee's proposition took Mistress Sheppard'sbreath away. "Stars and Garters!" ironicallyejacul*ted she, when at last she recovered it."What next, cuther?"

"A brace of pistols," began Lee.

"Ah! Thieves!" she shrieked. "Murder!—"

"Hold your silly tongue, woman," peremptorilyinterrupted Lee. "What do you take me for?Don't you know Lawrence Lee yet?"

"I'm none so sure that I do," replied she,recovering all her wonted presence of mind. "AndI have liked not your ways of late, young man,and so I tell you."

"I doubt they have scarce pleased me betterthan they have yourself," said Lee, with a frankand yet humbled look in his upturned face, whichsomehow went straight to the good woman'sheart.

Mistress Sheppard hesitates.

"If I know toadstools from mushrooms, hemeans honestly," she went on to herself, showing,however, no signs of capitulating, and sternlypursing her lips. "They would ill become your father'sson," she said aloud, "and make sore places in hisheart, as a certain prodigal son's we wot of, did."

"And he resolved, did he not, to try and mendhis ways. So come, Mistress Sheppard, quickwith the stable-door key; there's a good soul; andStars and Garters for England and the King."

"The king?!" and curl papers all forgotten,Mistress Sheppard's head craned eagerly downfrom the casem*nt.

"Ay, he's in danger," nodded Lee, catching up,as he spoke, a rusty crowbar lying in the grass;"and there's not a moment to be lost, I tell you.Shall I break open the stable door and helpmyself?"

A good start.

"No, no, one instant," she replied, glancing atthe slumbering Sheppard, "one instant and I'llbe down."

She was better than her word; and in a fewseconds, attired in strange garments to protect herfrom the chilly night-air, she was standing besideLee, assisting him to prepare Stars and Gartersfor her journey, before the good mare had wellgot her wits together. As, however, she feltMistress Sheppard's own plump hands tightening thesaddle-girths round her sleek body, she roused up,and uttered a loud neigh of pleasure.

"Pretty dear!" murmured Mistress Sheppard."Hark how eager she is to be upon the road,bless her! 'Tis more, I'll warrant, than someChristians'd care about; bein wakened up outo' their beauty sleep. Sheppard, now, he'd beenas growly as a bear with a sore head. Now, then,up with you, Master Lee. Here's your pistols,"she added, thrusting a pair into the holsters."You can tell me the tale when you come back.There's some o't won't be so mighty fresh to me,I'm thinkin'. So off with you, and good luck beyour servant."

With a hurried wave of the hand Lee clatteredout of the stable, and clearing the low gardenfence by a bound, horse and rider started"thorough bush, thorough brier," across the fields,till they attained the high-road, winding on bythe low open country to the fenny Cambridgeshirewastes, old England's least beautiful part, solovers of nature say.

The King's highway.

For another class of folks, however, it possessedin those days immense attraction; inasmuch asit formed the highway from London to thetown of Newmarket, which Charles the Secondhad made the most important and fashionablehorse-racing place in the kingdom. He wasaccustomed to visit it some five or six times inthe year; establishing his quarters at an oldmansion situated in the middle of the HighStreet, which he had purchased from its owner, theEarl of Ormond, and had caused to be alteredand enlarged, to accommodate himself and hisretinue. Thither, as may be imagined, like waspsafter honey, swarmed all sorts and conditions ofmen, and of women too; from my lord and my ladyin their velvet gowns, to the ragged and jaggedbeggar, and worse than these, the footpads, and"gentlemen of the road," as it was the fashion tocall these thieves on horseback, who infested thegreat highways all over the country.

It need hardly be said that this one andparticular half hundred miles of road, stretchingbetween London and Newmarket, was verycarefully attended to by these gentry; and Lee,as he cantered on, did not forget to keep onehand near the holsters.

Nothing, however, occurred to vary the monotonyof his way, beyond encountering now andagain some solitary pedestrian, probably as honestand sober as himself, and here and there some fewyards from the road, a group of wayfarers boundfor Newmarket, encamped upon the stunted turfround the smouldering embers of their hastilykindled fire. Towards three o'clock he reachedthe large wayside hostelry at Chesterford calledthe Blue Bear, where travellers from Londonalways stopped to change horses.

Here, before the big wooden horse-trough infront of the main door, Lee slackened his rein;and while Stars and Garters gratefully drank inthe cool clear water, he called for a jack of ale forhis own refreshment. The drawer was, however,so slow in getting his drowsy wits together, thatwhen at last he did hand up the jack; he foundthat he was holding it in empty space, and hiscustomer had disappeared.

In a mighty hurry.

"He wor in a mighty hurry," grumbled theman, as he stood listening for a few momentsto the fast dying sounds of the horse's feet, andthen stooped down to grope by the light of thelantern swinging to the sign-post, after the coinwhich Lee had flung down in discharge of thereckoning for the refreshment he had not stayedto enjoy. "Well, he must be a woundly wittolbe sure, or his business is such a rare pressing one,that he can spare to pass by this;" and he gazedaffectionately into the ale's clear amber deeps,"as if 'twere no more'n a cup o' fleet milk. Didn'tthe king's own self say, but t'other day, last timehe comed by, and drinked his nippet o't, thatnaught o' the stuff in his Whitehall cellars don'thold a rushlight to't? Maaster'd be monsus putabout, ef he comed to know of its being scorned so.Naa, Naa," he went on, putting the jack to hislips. "I shudn't dare let him knaw as my fineyoung gen'leman didn't drink so much as hisneckum out o't;" and the charitable creature, toconceal the traveller's shortcoming, took a draught,so long and deep, that it absorbed two-thirds ofthe liquor, "there goes Sinkum—and," he said,drawing a long breath of satisfaction, and againcontemplating the interior of the jug, "an' seein'as him as doan't knaa how to finish a job whenhe's begun't, but a poor sort o' creetur, why,"and tipping up the jack, he emptied the remainderof its contents down his throat, "there goesSwankum after 'em." And having thus vindicatedthe honour of the house, he turned in torenew his interrupted slumbers.

The day dawns.

The rain had long ceased; the air smelt warmand fragrant, as, soon after daybreak, LawrenceLee came in sight of the roof-tops of Newmarketshowing sharp and dark against the clear graysky, just rose-tinted with the hues of the risingsun, whose rays were gilding the smooth turfydown, till it gleamed like richest velvet. Verysoft and pleasant it must have felt to the wearyfeet of Stars and Garters; though indeed as shealighted from the flinty road on to the elasticgrass of the course, she carried herself so bravely,that none of the critical eyes she was nowencountering could have guessed she had been anhour out of her stall. Who knows but that shewas conscious that her laurels were at stake; foralready, though it was barely six o'clock, thecourse was dotted with knots of gentlemen andtrainers, and a host of hangers-on and loungersengaged in keen discussion of the pros and consof their ventures, or watching the jockeys as theybreathed their magnificent barbs and racers in amorning gallop.

The horseman.

"Who be he, I wunner?" enviously growled amounted jockey as Lee dashed past. "Happenyou caught sight of his colours, my lord?"

"Black," laughingly replied the gentleman thusaddressed, a handsome man richly attired in abecoming morning suit. "By my faith, black asthe very mischief's self, for aught I could seebesides. Black as Old Nick and his nag. Eh,Master Alworth, was it not so?"

"Nay," replied the somewhat elderly, grizzled,beperiwigged gentleman to whom the other hadappealed, as he leaned with one hand on hissilver-knobbed ebony stick, and shaded his eyes withthe other, to gaze after the strange horse and hisrider. "Black to a certainty. But in my poorjudgment the animal was such a Pegasus of graceand vigour, and his rider's countenance lookedsuch a goodly one, that if ever our patron Georgeof England wore a suit of sables."

"And bestrode a black charger?" gaily interruptedthe other.

"Even so," bowed the elder man, with atwinkle in his kindly brown eyes; "why, I shouldhave guessed him to be our champion saint in theflesh."

"Hastening to deliver his country from theevil-doers," said the nobleman.

"'Twould be a miracle indeed if he could dothat," soberly answered Mr. Alworth, "or he aQuixote of Quixotes to dream of it."

"More like he is come to match his Rosinante'spaces with our Fleetfoot's here," rattled on theother, as he toyed with the nose of the beautifulracer against whose shoulder he was leaning."By the way," he went on, addressing the jockeyin charge of it, "which day is settled for thematch with Woodco*ck?"

"Monday se'nnight, my lord," answered the man.

"Does the king stay so long?" asked Alworth,looking up in some surprise.

"Pleasure!"

"Long!" groaningly echoed the youngergentleman. "'Tis all too short for us poorCambridgeshire squires, let me tell you, MasterAlworth. When the court's back again in London,we may as soon be the cabbages in our ownkitchen-gardens, for any pleasure there is in life."

A moralist.

"Pleasure!" groaningly echoed Master Alworth,as he turned and faced slowly about towards thetown. "Pleasure! Pleasure! 'Tis the watchwordalways, and a melancholy one it has grown to bein my ears, since it no longer pairs off with duty;as though one should surfeit always on honey,and eat no bread, and poor England is sickeningsorely of it Pray heaven she be not finding anyplague of quack doctors to try their remedies onher;" and with a sigh Mr. Alworth pursued hisway.

CHAPTER XX.

"A FRIEND IN NEED."

Lawrence Lee had meanwhile reachedthe town. Hardly, however, was hewell into the High Street before hewas forced to rein up, impeded atevery step by the dense throng, crowding as farahead as eye could reach. Epping Fair was asmall thing by comparison with this motleymedley of bawling wagoners, shrill-tongued farmers'wives haggling over their butter and eggs, screamingchildren, chattering apprentices banging aboutthe shutters of their booths, barking sheep-dogs,chasing their terrified charges back into the ranks,braying donkies, clattering of pack-horses stumblingbeneath their burdens over the cobble-stones,and all to the tune of the several church bells andclocks clanging out six. The unaccustomed sensesof Lawrence Lee lost their balance for a moment,and he closed his eyes to assist their recovery, butopened them again in a twinkling at the soundof a voice demanding in not too honeyed accentswhere he was "shoving to?"

"It's you that's shoving," retorted Lee, lookingdown wrathfully at the speaker, whose upliftedelbow was raised insultingly near Stars and Garters'nose; and lifting his whip, but letting it fallagain as he perceived what for the first momenthe imagined to be an old man. A second glance,however, showed him that the shambling gait,pasty-coloured cheeks, puckered features, andlacklustre eyes helped to the composition of anindividual of somewhere about his own number ofyears.

Tit for tat.

"I'll teach you and your jade to trample downgentlemen in the street," growled on this youngold personage.

"Come, come!" laughed Lee good-humouredly,"I didn't mean to do anything of the sort.You're not hurt, are you?"

"No thanks to you if I'm not," sourly returnedthe other.

"Oh, come now. Did you get out of bed leftleg foremost?" again laughed Lee.

"Right or left," ingenuously yawned the other,whom a game of basset had detained from betweenthe blankets far into the small hours; "if they'vebeen in bed at all, it's as much as they have."

Lawrence Lee's case was in degree a similarone; and his own weary sensations made him feelsome sort of indulgence for this individual's sulkyhumour. "Oh, that accounts for it," he said tohimself.

"Accounts for what?" fired back the other,catching the sotto voce comment.

"For your being so polite—and—and—"

"Well," fumed the other, "people who haveany manners never stop gawking in the middle oftheir remarks. It an't good breeding."

"Isn't it now? Well, for your looking so freshand spruce then, I took you for a scarecrow."

"And I take you for a clodpole," glared backhis new acquaintance with an affected laugh, "towhom 'twill be a real charity to give twopencea week to learn manners."

Crooked answers.

"That begins at home; keep it for your ownnecessities, my friend. You see I know how to begenerous. But if you're really so amiablydisposed towards me—"

"Go about your business."

"That I shall be able to do, when I have gonemiles enough to find some one with a tongue inhis head, civil enough to direct me to the king'spalace."

The other opened his dull eyes in apreternaturally wide-awake manner, and bestowed ascrutinizing stare on Lawrence. "What may youwant there?"

"Folks with an ounce of manners never meetquestion with question. It isn't goodbreeding—not in the part I come from."

"And where—"

"Where do I come from? That's a questionwhose answer will improve by keeping. So outof the way, friend, if you can't direct me."

"Can't!" hysterically giggled the other. "Ho!Come, I like that Ho, ho! Ha, ha! That's rich.Don't you know who I am, friend?"

"Haven't a notion," said Lawrence, lookingaway from him up and down the street, andanxiously surveying its snug butunpalatial-looking houses.

"How do you conceive, I wonder, how I comeby these, my good fellow?" he went on, pointingdownwards.

"Padded a bit, aren't they?" said Lawrence,driven to utter the passing comparison he hadalready unconsciously instituted in his own mind,between the remarkable symmetry and plumpnessof the pair of silken-clad calves, and the meagreupper proportions of their proprietor.

A grand personage.

"Psha! Bah! These, I mean;" and then Lawrenceperceiving that not the legs, but the pair offine blue cloth breeches covering them, were theindicated objects, said, honestly enough, he doubtednot, nay, he was sure they were, by many a longmile, the very finest small-clothes he had ever seen,and must have cost a pretty penny.

"Out of His Majesty's own purse," replied theother, waxing sweet-tempered as any cat rubbedunder the chin, and elevating his insignificant nose,as he buttoned on the coat he had carriedinside-out over his arm, and which Lawrence nowperceived to be of the same cerulean hue andglittering embroideries as the nether garments."Now," he went on, falling well back on to theheels of his resetted shoes, and strutting forwarda few paces. "Now do you know who I am?"

"I haven't the ghost of a notion, I tell you,"said Lawrence, watching the exhibition withabsent impatient eyes, into which, however, agleam of hopeful intelligence began to dawn; "butthink I know what you are. One of the king'slackey fellows."

The lackey.

"Sirrah!"

"For sure!" and Lawrence slapped his knee,and his face grew full of animation. "How cameI not to recognize the cut of you sooner, whenI've seen any number of you hanging as thick asthieves scores of times—about the King's Arms,swilling down its cider—"

"To which King's Arms do you refer, my goodfellow?" lisped the lackey. "There's hundredsof 'em scattered over the country."

"Opposite Master Rumbold's."

"Never heard of the fellow," said the lackey,airily stroking his little chin. "Hang me nowif I have. Shouldn't be able to tell him fromAdam, renounce me now if I should. Rumbold?Rumbold?"

"Of the Rye House."

"Never so much as heard of the place," saidthe lackey, and slowly shaking his head withthe action and beatifically vacuous smile of aChinese image.

"That shows how little you know the king,then, for he knows it well enough," contemptuouslyreturned Lawrence, "as well as he doesone of his palaces. 'Twas a palace too itself, onceupon a time; and 'tis big enough for thesquinniest eyes to see."

LAWRENCE ENCOUNTERS MR. FLIPPET

"co*ck-a-doodle-doo!" screeched the other."Hear the clodhopper—all his geese are swans. Iapprehend you'll be for telling me next that yourRye House is as fine an edifice as this;" and helanguidly extended his hand in the direction ofthe house beneath whose walls they stood.

"This!" echoed Lawrence, laughing merrily."This dog-hole of a place hold a candle to our oldRye House! Come," and briskly twitching Starsand Garters by the rein, he was about to pushon, "how much farther to the king's palace?"

Mr. Alworth.

"Under this archway and across the yard,"said a voice immediately behind him.

Lawrence's face fell blankly. If he had notquite anticipated walls of gold and columns ofivory, he had conceived of something statelierthan this mean, patched-up-looking house. "Ithank you, sir," he contrived, however, to say atlast, turning to the speaker and lifting his capdeferentially, as he perceived him to be an elderlyman, somewhat tall and still fairly robust, in aniron-gray periwig, and with a genial glance in hiskeen gray eyes, overshadowed by brows still thickand dark. The Mr. Alworth, in fact, whoseacquaintance we have already made upon the heath.

"And if," continued Lawrence, "you will addto your obligation by telling me how I may cometo speak with the king—"

"Ho!" chuckled the lackey; "renounce me ifever I heard the like of that!"

"I am no courtier," answered Mr. Alworth,suppressing the lackey's outbreak by a look;"but I am acquainted with many that are," hewent on with a flicker of a smile; "and I oftenhear them say that His Majesty is not difficult ofaccess, provided you have, of course, some letter ofcommendation."

"Not the ghost of one," said Lee with anotherblank stare.

"Ha! ha!" grinned the lackey in vast enjoymentof Lawrence's discomfiture. "A prettyfellow! What do you say to that, Mr. Alworth?"

"Silence, Mr. Flippet," said Alworth sternly."You should have provided yourself, my friend,"he went on, turning again to Lee. "You havedoubtless influential neighbours—"

"Oh, yes!" said Lawrence, scratching his curls.

"Standing well at court?" continued Mr. Alworth.

"Well, I don't know so much about that.H'm, h'm—the fact is," stammered on Lawrence,"I—you see, I came off in—in just a bit of ahurry."

"And the more haste the less speed. You willknow that, when those brown locks of yours havegot a silver streak or two among them. Well,I don't know what's to be done," he addedcogitatively.

How to see the King.

"Go back where he came from, like a badpenny," interjected the hugely delighted Flippet,but in a key too low to catch the ear of Alworth,of whom he stood in wholesome awe. Thatpersonage having, as he believed, and not withoutgood cause, power to mar or to advance hisfortunes by reason of his intimate acquaintancewith many whose time was passed about thepresence of the king. And Mr. Flippet was fond ofhis place, in spite of his complaints concerning itsarduous and fatiguing duties. These consisted inthe daily washing and combing of a couple of littledogs, respectively named Azor and Médor, twoprime favourites among the posse of snubby-nosed,silky-coated, fringy-pawed, lilliputianspaniels which his majesty loved to have abouthim. As to the daily airing necessary for theirhealth, the king himself was their nurse; and thetoilets of the little creatures completed, Mr. Flippetwas lord of his time, of which the portion notdevoted to slumber, eating and drinking, and thebasset-table, he spent in dawdling about.

"I fear there is nothing for it," said Mr. Alworthafter a brief speculative silence, "but foryou to return home, and obtain such a letter ofintroduction. 'Tis a case, I doubt, where, as theold saying has it, 'the longest way round is theshortest way there.':

"Go back!" cried Lee in dismay. "Thirtymiles if 'tis a yard. Sir! sir! and 'tis a matter oflife and death!"

"That's what they all say when they want tobe fleecing the king or you; an't it, MasterAlworth?" sneered the lackey.

Flippet's duties.

The remark was, however, lost on Alworth,who was absorbed in the study of Lawrence'scountenance; but turning his eyes on Flippet atlast, he said: "Mr. Flippet, you are a person ofconsiderable influence with the gentlemen of thebed-chamber—according to your own account."

Brought to book.

"Oh, Mr. Alworth!" blushingly rejoined Flippet,"you're too kind to say so; renounce me ifyou're not."

"Denounce you, you mean sir!" sternly saidAlworth. "And that, let me tell you, is whatI had more than half a mind for, when I heardthose two wretched little dogs yelping in thestable yonder to the tune of a switch, as I passedsome two hours since."

"Oh, Mr. Alworth!" yelped Flippet in histurn, and falling on his knees, regardless of thepuddles; "you'll never tell of me, Mr. Alworth.'Twould be a hanging matter for me, if it cameto his majesty's ears. Oh! Mr. Alworth, the lazy,pampered little beasts put me out of patience, andI—I—"

"If all the pampered animals were treated bytheir deservings, some would come worse off thanAzor and Médor. Get up, you foolish fellow.You cowardly pretence of a man, chastising twopoor helpless little dogs. Don't let me hear of itagain."

"You shall not, Mr. Alworth," whined Flippet,inwardly resolved that next time he had occasionto "correct" his charges, it should be with closedwindows and stuffed keyholes. "You shall not!Oh! don't tell of me this once," he went on in anagony of entreaty, "and I'll—I'll stand on myhead to do you a service."

"You'll serve me better," smiled Alworth, "bykeeping it where it is, and giving your brains achance of devising some means of bringing thisyoung man before the king, without an instant'sdelay."

"I—I—" gasped Flippet. "Oh! yes, to besure; only, you see—"

"Yes or no," said Alworth inflexibly.

"Anything to oblige you—" began the unfortunatelackey.

A friend not at court.

"Very good," nodded Alworth. "'Tis but asmall enough favour. But for my own part, Ihave never so much as seen his majesty face toface; and should have to be beholden to some ofmy friends for introduction to him myself, thoughwe are near enough neighbours, and have hadsome business together. But my name, sir," hewent on, turning again to Lee, "is but plainRichard Alworth. To be heard of across the wayyonder, over against the parish church, at the signof the 'Silver Leopard.'"

"And my name," said Lawrence, "is Lee—Lawrence Lee."

"Of the Nether Hall Farm, by Hoddesdon?"cried Alworth, a sudden light dispelling all thelittle clouds of mystification in the keen eyestransfixing Lawrence.

"The same," nodded Lee, as he dismountedfrom his horse; "at your service."

"The son of my good old friend and comrade!"and now tears glistened up into the eyes. "Theloyalest heart that ever beat," he went on, seizingthe hand of Lawrence. "We fought side by sideon Worcester Field; and he was struck down.Heaven does so often take the best early back toitself. Well, well, he died worthily—as a manmay be proud to die—for King and Country.You look your father's son," he went on, scanningthe young man keenly; "every inch of you. ButI must not detain you now; and Mr. Flippethere is, I can see, dying to acquit himself of hislittle obligation. So fare you well, Master Lee, tillyou favour me with your company at supperto-night. Nay, come, come; but I'll take nodenial. Don't forget the 'Silver Leopard.' Anybodywill direct you. I'm well known. Yourservant, my lord," he went on, acknowledgingthe salutation of a gaily-dressed gallant, whothereupon linked his arm familiarly into that ofAlworth, and led him away engaged in earnestconversation.

The power of the purse.

"Ay, there they go," muttered Flippet; "hand-in-glove,of course, like he is with 'em all. That'swhat it is to have your pockets well lined,"continued Flippet, thrusting his hands into his ownhighly-decorated, but, thanks to the past night'slittle amusem*nts, absolutely empty ones.

"A wealthy man?" said Lawrence.

"That's not the word for it," enviously repliedFlippet. "No courtier? No. I'll warrant RichardAlworth, the goldsmith, wouldn't change hismouse-coloured broadcloth for all their finefeathers. But he's a good sort I don't sayanything against him. Leastways he would be agood sort if he wasn't such a confounded,pig-headed, obstinate old—"

Stopped in time.

"Come, Mr. Flippet, when you're ready," interrupted Lee.

CHAPTER XXI.

"A FRIEND INDEED."

Passing beneath the archway, whereLawrence Lee delivered Stars andGarters into the charge of a groom,who advanced to receive her inobedience to a lofty gesture from Mr. Flippet, thetwo crossed the courtyard, which was handsomelypaved with octagon-shaped black and whitemarble flags, and decorated with orange-trees setin huge painted china tubs, and statuaryemblematic of the amusem*nt which the king camehither to pursue.

Not by the main door, whose low double flightof winding steps was protected by a rail of castiron, wrought into grotesque shapes of centaursand winged horses, but by a little side postern,half hidden in one of the irregular angles of thebuilding, Lee and his companion gained a darkvestibule; ascending thence by a narrow break-neckflight of stone stairs to a corridor above.Pursuing its tortuous turns, it brought themin sight of a fair-sized gallery, whose gaily gildedbalustrades and painted walls catching the paleyellow rays of the morning sun, presented agarish, confusing picture to the somewhat weariedsenses of Lee. It would, indeed, have been ahard matter to find a resting-place for the eyesamidst the ever moving throng of richly dressedfigures, conspicuous among which were numberswho were clad like his companion in silver-lacedblue livery. These deftly threaded their wayto and fro, bearing salvers of burnished silverloaded with cut-glass silver-gilt flagons, andbrilliantly painted coffee and chocolate pots oforiental china. Pressing on after Flippet, or tospeak with absolute correctness, dragging Flippetonward, Lee soon found himself in the very thickof the chattering, giggling, simpering crowd offine ladies and gentlemen who were bidding theirgood-morrows to each other, and exchanging sweetcompliments.

An awkward fix.

"A nice trim he's in," dismally grumbledFlippet to himself, as he marked the disgustfulstares and supercilious smiles of this butterflybevy, at the stranger's mud-bespattered attire, andthe terror and alarm with which they snatchedtheir skirts and ruffles from possibility of contactwith it. "A sweet trim truly for an audience!It's all mighty fine for Master Alworth to say,'Flippet do that,' and 'Flippet do this,' as if Iwas any fetching and carrying poodle dog; but—"and the gaze of silent despair he was bestowingon the rich blood-red Genoa velvet curtains whichnow stayed their progress, was more eloquentthan words.

No one knew better than himself that thebrazen gates of an ogre's castle could more easilybe broken through, and a couple of dragonssooner mollified, than that pair of suave-lookingsix-foot-high personages, habited in blue andsilver, and wielding slender white wands in theirdelicate hands; for did not they guard the sacredway conducting straight to the private apartmentsof the king?

An awkward introduction.

"And what may be your business this morning,Mr. Flippet?" demanded one of these personages,"and who may be your friend?" he added,glaring at Lawrence Lee.

"I—I—" stammered the lackey. "He's nofriend of mine. Renounce me if he is, and—and—it'sno business of mine, I assure you, Mr. Usher,none whatever."

"Then don't meddle with it," laughed Mr. Usher,as he looked far over Mr. Flippet's head into thegallery's middle distance; "but mind your manners,and stand out of the way. And you too younggentleman," he went on addressing Lee. "Don'tyou see who's a coming?"

He emphasized these words with such a suddenlunge of his staff of office at the objects nearestto him, which happened to be the unfortunateFlippet's legs, that the lackey shifted aside inblind terror, and fell stumbling against Lee.Unprepared for the shock, Lawrence in his turnmust, but for a dexterous twist which regulatedhis balance, have lain sprawling his length atthe very feet of a lady, advancing towards thecurtained way, accompanied by a group of somehalf dozen more ladies, who remained standinga pace or two in the rear of her, as she came to aforced halt.

The Queen.

Fortunately these awkward man[oe]uvres broughtabout no worse mishap than the brushing to thefloor of a little book which the foremost lady hadheld lightly in her hand.

Crimsoning with shame to the roots of his darkcurls, Lawrence stooped down, and picking up thebook was about to present it to the lady, whenhe felt the skirts of his coat pulled from behindwith such violence, that a second and still moredeplorable misadventure must inevitably haveoccurred, had not the lady averted it with aperemptory, but still gracious gesture of her smallivory-white hand.

"Nay, gentlemen, you are unmannerly," shesaid, in tones of gentle remonstrance, and whoseaccents sounded strangely in the ears of theHertfordshire farmer. "What is the meaningof this?" she went on, her dark eyes kindlingwith indignation and surprise, as they traversedthe circle of ladies and gallants whom thedisturbance had drawn to the spot "What isthe meaning of it?" reiterated she, receiving thebook from Lee's hands with a gracious inclinationof her head. The onlookers simpered vacuouslyat each other.

"Your majesty—" began the Usher.

The Queen! In spite of the strange heart-beatingsensation which then seized Lawrence,his curiosity, or more correctly interest, was stillsufficiently his master, to permit of his bearingaway in his memory the enduring picture ofCatharine of Braganza, the not too happy wife of themerry careless Charles the Second.

Court ladies.

How was it that this middle-aged, olive-complexionedPortuguese lady, whose mouth wouldhave been prettier had not her teeth projectedsomewhat too far, and whose chief beauty lay inher magnificent dark eyes, though indeed her smallfigure was slender and graceful enough—broughtcomely English Ruth Rumbold to his mind?Only so it did. Could it be some associationwhich similarity of dress brings? True enough,Ruth's holiday gown and petticoat were but oftiffany, and her cobweb cambric neckerchief onlyhem-stitched neat as needle could do it; whereasthe queen's petticoat was of finest silver graytaffety, bordered like its tawny brown brocadeoverskirt, with pinkish silken embroidery, and thebroad fine linen collar covering her shoulders,and reaching close round her slender neck, wasedged with magnificent Spanish lace. For therest, Lawrence with his masculine ignorance ofwomen's fallals could not have enlightened you atall; but had he presumed to ask the surroundingcourt ladies, they would have uttered little scornfulshrieks, screwed up their red lips—rosy as salvecould make them—tossed back their glossy strayingringlets, and told him that the queen was astarched old frump, who stuck to the odiouslydowdy fashions of thirty years ago and more, whenmelancholy Charles the First was king. Yetperhaps after all, it was not the modest style of herdress, but something in the womanly sweetcomposure of her speech and bearing, that crowns allwomen, old and young, plain and beautiful, witha grace of its own; that reminded LawrenceLee of his little love, won his allegiance to theking's wife, and sealed his determination to savethe king, or die in the attempt; let this butterflyswarm sneer and simper as they pleased, andhalf draw their rapiers, as they were beginningto do, muttering: "Insolence," and "Upstart,"and the rest of it; while the ladies giggledhysterically, and cried, "Malapert," and the ushercontinued to stammer on in dire confusion:—"Yousee—that is, your Majesty will compre—that is,of course apprehend—that is to say—ahem—understandthat here is some plot—"

"A plot! A plot!"

"Ay, ay. Quite so," eagerly interruptedLawrence, and casting grateful looks at the usher."That is it—a plot. A vile, infamous plot—"

"Sirrah!" frowned the usher. "A plot betweenthis fellow Flippet here," he went on, againaddressing the queen. "Your Majesty knows himwell,"—and he pointed his wand at the nowtrembling nurse of Azor and Médor, "and thisstranger here, to thrust themselves into thepresence of his Majesty."

"Wherefore?" demanded the queen; and theinquiry was caught up and echoed on every side.

"Heaven knows," groaned the usher, turningup his eyes.

"And not heaven only," cried the excitedyoung man. "For 'tis a hellish conspiracy tomurder the king—Madam—your Majesty"—hehurriedly continued, in a voice tremulous withagitation; and utterly unconscious of the sneersand uplifted hands of the by-standers, he threwhimself at the queen's feet. "'Tis a matter of lifeand death to the king. I must see him. Youwho are all potent with him—"

"Listen to that now!" giggled the ladies.

"Entreat—implore him to grant me an audience,"and he caught the queen's skirt.

"Come, come. This troublesome fellow is tooinsufferable," cried a young gentleman springingforward, and seizing Lee roughly by the shoulder.

The Queen listens.

"Hands off, my Lord of Grafton," sternly criedthe queen, who saw, or thought she saw in all thispretended zeal, the veiled intention she only toofrequently experienced, of setting her will atnaught. The young nobleman slunk back, lookingcrestfallen and louring. "Go forward, sir,"continued Catherine, waving back the rest, andmotioning Lee to precede her along the corridor.

The curtain fell behind them, and Lee foundhimself alone with the queen and her ladies.

CHAPTER XXII

Our sovereign lord the king,
Whose word no man relies on;
He never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.

The king's private apartments in hisramshackle, patched-together, wanderingold hunting-lodge, presented a vastlydifferent scene from the like sacredprecincts by courtesy misnamed "private" atWhitehall. There up to his bed-rails all was buzz andbustle; here in Newmarket his love of ease, andhis good-will and pleasure, were so far consultedand respected that the swarm of courtly hangers-onwas kept at bay by those velvet hangings; andLee heard not a sound in the corridor they hadentered but the rustling of the ladies' gowns andthe echo of his own footfall.

Pausing before a door about midway along theright-hand wall of the corridor, and which boreon its heavy ebony panels the gilded royal cognizanceand initials, the queen pushed it open withher own hand, and, followed by her companions,entered the apartment beyond. It was an oblongchamber, sparsely lighted at its further end by acouple of tall windows, in whose deep recessessome half-dozen lackeys were yawningly watchingwhat might be going on in the courtyard below.At sight, however, of the queen they hurriedinto rank, and proceeded to throw open with muchceremony another double door, which broughtthem into a room, or rather vestibule of circularform, panelled with looking-glass deeply sunkenin heavy gilded scrollwork, and which reflectedin ghastly distorted fashion the gaudy elephantineugliness of the crimson silk and ormolu furnitureof the latest French fashion, ranged formallyround the windowless walls; for the lightof heaven only found its way into this drearyapartment through the blue and orange-colouredpanes of a skylight let into the centre of its painteddomed roof.

The King's chambers.

Here the queen paused; and having with a gesturedismissed the lackeys, and desired her ladiesto await her return, she passed on alone withLawrence Lee into a long straight corridor, richlycarpeted and lighted by bull's-eye windows ofcoloured glass not larger than those of a ship'scabin. The silence and tortuous ways of theplace oppressed Lee's senses like a nightmaredream; and he began to think that a guide throughits dim passages was not altogether a mere courtlysuperfluity, but rather a thing of absolutenecessity. "I'd sooner undertake to be finding myway for the first time through our hornbeammaze at home than in and out of all thesecrinkum-cranku*ms," thought he; "and if this beyour King Charles's merry court, give me theNether Hall kitchen."

Under the royal eye.

A silvery peal of merriment, that rippled likedancing water on the sonorous laughter of men'svoices, dispelled Lee's too hastily formedconclusions. He glanced at the queen. Was it hisfancy? or did a shadow momentarily darken thecomposure of her face as she lifted the gorgeouslyembroidered Indian silk hangings before whichthey now stood, and with a sign to Lee to keepclose, stepped over the threshold of a low-ceiledbut spacious chamber, whose wainscot of ebonizedwood was enriched with paintings, and gildedcarved reliefs of fruit and flowers entwiningemblems of the chase. Here at all events was nolack of life; for the apartment was thronged withpersons of both sexes, and all so engrossed in talkand merriment that they did not observe theentrance of the queen, until it was marked bythe quick glance of one pair of eyes, which allthe others had a trick of following, despite theirseeming carelessness. The expression in the faceof the owner of these eyes, who was seated nearthe fire which burned upon the hearth curiouslybuilt into one of the corners of the room, soonbrought to their senses the merry company nearestthe door; and, subsiding into a decorous gravity,they fell apart into a sort of double thicksethedgeway of feathers and furbelows reaching clearup to the stone-canopied fireplace, whose logs,burning brilliantly between the brazen dogs, casttheir light upon the swarthy countenance of KingCharles the Second, where he sat leaning carelesslyback in a tall carved elbow-chair, attired ina hunting suit of darkest olive velvet.

"Your majesty is astir betimes this morning,"he said, rising a little hurriedly, and addressingthe queen in tones which were not wanting incourtesy, if they might be in cordiality. "Youhave been to church?" he added, glancing at thelittle book in her hand.

The queen bowed her head. "'Tis the feast ofmy patron saint, Catharine, your majesty willremember," she said.

"Odds fish!" ejacul*ted Charles, vexedly cudgelling his brows, for he had in no wiseremembered; and a flush of something like compunctioncrossed his swarthy features. "You have ourhearty wishes, Catharine, for its many happyreturns."

A lightless smile curved the queen's lips as sheacknowledged with a deep inclination of her headthe chorus of voices endorsing this tardy felicitation.

The King's breakfast.

"And now," continued Charles with a gestureof his hand towards the breakfast tables, glitteringin their costly confusion, while his eyes travelledrather regretfully down over his long buffriding-boots, "does not your majesty propose to stayand breakfast with us? It is true—"

"That you have breakfasted," interrupted thequeen with another faint smile. "Nay, I take itmy absence will be more esteemed. Oh! no protests,gentlemen," she went on, lifting her hand asthe polite chorus was repeated, "for I perceive, asto be sure I only anticipated, that you are allbooted and spurred for your day's pleasure. AndI had no intention of coming here to—to spoil it.But on my way from chapel this young gentleman—"and she made a motion towards LawrenceLee—"a supplicant for a word with yourmajesty,—crossed it. And though some of your majesty'speople would have denied him, his business—"

"Business!" groaned the king, sinking downagain into his chair with a cavernous yawn.

"Was urgent, he said."

"We have no leisure for it;" and Charles'sblack brows knitted with angry impatience. "Lethim carry it to Whitehall."

"He says," persisted Catharine, "that itconcerns your majesty personally."

"Then its standing over can give the lessoffence. If we alone are concerned—"

Lawrence speaks out.

"We!" cried Lee, breaking to the front andsending all ceremony to the winds, and hisbashfulness after it. "We! 'Tis there all the wholematter lies. 'Tis just because your majesty is'We,' and never can be 'I.' The King is England,and England is the King!"

Charles's brow relaxed into an expression ofamused curiosity at the earnestness of the speaker."Your sentiments are loyal at all events," hesaid, as his dark eyes considered the young man'sappearance from beneath their heavy lids. "Arewe to feel assured that your heart is no traitor tothem?"

Lee blushed. "'Tis my heart," he replied,"that bids me entreat your majesty to hear me."

"And a sweet heart I think it must be, by myfaith, and your red cheeks," merrily laughed theking. "And a brave honest meaning one, I willnot doubt. But we have seen too many shadowsand mumbo-jumbos in our life, to be afraid ofthem. And," continued the king, glancing roundat the company, all ready equipped for theirexpedition, "we are detaining these gentlemen, and theladies too, from their pleasure."

"They could be spared," hopefully said Lee,who desired nothing better than to speak alonewith the king.

Suspicion.

"But it is suspicious indeed—this!" cried abeautiful Frenchified-looking lady, coming closeup beside Charles, and darting angry glances onthe young farmer from her brilliant eyes. "Hismajesty loves not so well tête-à-têtes with personsof your condition," she added in haughty tones.

"He might hold them with less honest folks,madam," returned the queen still more haughtily."And he asks not your leave, I doubt, to speakwith his own English-born subjects."

"Come, come!" said the king, as the lady athis side poutingly drew a step back; "this growstroublesome. What is the bottom of yourbusiness with us, my good friend?"

"Treason!" curtly answered Lawrence.

"Soho! And assassination to follow—eh? Theold parrot screech," he went on, as Lee nodded."Some new plot to rid the world of our sacredpresence. Is that it?"

"And of his Grace of York's, your majesty'saugust brother."

"Why, that of course," laughed Charles, castinga mischievous glance at a sombre-browed gentlemanseated near his own chair; "for to a deadcertainty no man in England would take my lifeto make thee king, James."

"Then," said the duke, accepting his brother'sjest with a sullen smile, "if this young man is tobe trusted—"

"Ay, ay, IF," chorused several of the impatientcompany. "There your grace hits the bull's-eye. IF."

"We are both doomed men," imperturbablyconcluded the duke. "And when," he added,addressing Lee, "is this to be?"

"Ten days hence. On your return from thisplace."

Charles wakes up.

"Ods-fish! So they would take us red hotin our pleasures, would they? The scurvycrew! and where, prithee?" demanded Charles.

"Near by Hoddesdon. Over against the Rye House."

"The Rye House! Is not that how they callthe ancient moated place that looks upon MasterIzaak Walton's favourite old hostelry on the banksof the Lea?"

"The same, your majesty."

"And belongs, if we mistake not, to one Rum—Rum—"

"—bold. Richard Rumbold, a maltster."

"Ay; a prick-eared, Puritan-looking, malignantof a fellow, your majesty," interposed a twinkling-eyedgentleman, "who owns 'one daughter, passingfair,' as the dull old person does in the dullold play we all went to sleep over, a week or twosince. Yes, yes; I remember her charming facewell, and how the old curmudgeon came anddragged her in, sans cérémonie, from the littlepostern in the big red wall, where she was standingas pretty a framed picture as Lely or Sir Godfreymight make, to see your majesty's coach pass by.I' faith! I recall her well."

"And your memory on such points is a proverb,my Lord of Dorset," laughed the king; "butin truth I remember myself thinking the pictureso exquisite, that I intended asking who she wasof the good hostess of the King's Arms, oneMistress—Mistress—"

A slip in a name.

"Sheppard," prompted Lee.

"Ay, Sheppard, to be sure. A murrain befallme for forgetting the name of one who alwaysprofesses such loyalty. Professes, friend," addedthe king in a significant tone.

"'Tis but the expression of what her heartfeels," replied Lawrence warmly. "MistressSheppard is as loyal as the sign that hangs beforeher door. Though for Master Sheppard—h'm,well, 'tis no matter," and Lawrence came to adead halt.

"We like not half-told tales, friend," sternlysaid the duke. "What of this fellow Sheppard?"

"Nothing, I assure you, sir—my lord—yourhighness," floundered Lee. "Nothing. He is aman of straw, a poor weatherco*ck of a creature alamb could not fear."

"Then whom the plague are we to fear?" demandedCharles testily.

"Not the old gentleman, I suppose, who fathersthe pretty daughter, and hasn't a thought beyondher, and his rye-sacks, and his homily books, ifhis face goes for anything. Faith! 'twas as sourlooking as if't had risen out of his own yeasttubs!" cried the earl.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the company, who madea point of always greeting the very smallest sallyof my Lord of Dorset's wit with shouts oflaughter.

"Not he, friend?" said the king, who had notfailed to remark Lee's silence and slightly confuseddowncasting of the eyelids during Lord Dorset'sspeech. "By the by," he went on, still scanningthe young man's face and figure with a sort ofindolent curiosity, "what may be your name? Allthis time we have not heard that. Who mayyou be?"

A reminder.

"Lawrence Lee, of the Nether Hall Farm byHoddesdon," answered Lee proudly. "My fatherserved your majesty's father well. Though, 'tispossible, your majesty may not recall his name."

Short memory on such points, even when suchservices touched still closer home, and had beenrendered to himself, was far from uncommon inCharles. Notwithstanding, his dark eyes kindledgenially as he continued to look at the youngman, and the bantering smile grew softer. "AndNether Hall," he said, "neighbours the house ofMaster Rum—Rum—how the plague did the fellowcome by such a heathenish name?"

"'Tis fortunate," said the irrepressible Earl ofDorset, "that so fair a damsel as his daughteris scarce like to wear it to the end of herdays."

"Nay," said the king, holding up a rebukefulfinger at the earl, as he noted Lee's flushing cheek,and the ill-pleased gnawing of his nether lip;"that quite clearly concerns not our deciding;for here we have, it seems, a question of treason,and this pretty Mistress—Mistress—"

Sorry jesting.

"Ruth," said Lee in a low tone; "Ruth is herChristian name."

"I' faith! and such a sweet one, too, that itcovers all the sinning of her father's—"

Lee started. "I said not—"

"You interrupt," smiled the king; "'twould gohard indeed for us all if fair Mistress Ruth shouldprove traitress."

"Your majesty has not a loyaller heart in allyour kingdom than Ruth Rumbold," said Lee,conquering down his agitation.

"Say you so?" merrily returned the king; "thenwith such fair ladies for our champions, how canwe fear the blackest treason in all Hertforshire?Here we have valiant Mistress Sheppard on oneside of the road, and the loyal Mistress of theRye House on the other—"

"Nay, be serious, Charles," frowned the duke,out of all patience at his brother's levity.

"Pah! I cannot," as impatiently returned theking, taking as he spoke a pair of riding-glovesfrom the table, and beginning to draw them on."These would-be scares sicken one. 'Tis like theshepherd crying wolf."

"And when the real one came at last—" beganthe duke.

The royal pleasure.

"Ods-fish, man. For pity's sake, let us haveno more of this," interrupted the king. "Thelad means honestly enough, no doubt. But hehas been picking up some ale-house tale, and gota nightmare of it, depend on't. Stay you, mydear brother, if you will, to hear it out. Andhark you, when 'tis ended, don't forget to see thelad falls to and picks up a good breakfast for hismelancholy entertainment of your grace. Do youpropose to accompany us this morning, Catharine?"he continued, turning to the queen.

"If your majesty commands," she answered, inslow almost hesitating tones, and as if her thoughtswere elsewhere engaged.

"Nay, not command, Catharine," said the king;"but we do not forget it is your patron saint'sday," he added, in tones that conveyed also astrong intimation of his will; "and it is ourpleasure."

"And that is mine," said the queen, too wellcontent to hesitate longer.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"DID YOU NOT KNOW?" SHE SAID.

Slowly the gatehouse clock tolled out thehours succeeding Lawrence's departure.Terrible and solemn ones they werefor Ruth, maintaining her solitary watchbeside the secret panel where the wounded manlay, with eyes closed, and now breathing heavily,now catching feeble gasping breaths, so feeble thatmore than once Ruth thought life had left him.

She had done her best, poor Ruth, and like anyLady Bountiful of treble her years, had got outher little stock of salves and simples and old linenrag, and gently and tenderly dressed the gapingwound; but it was all of just as much and nomore use than the endeavours of the skilfullestdoctors would have been.

"I am past thy surgery, child," he said in feeblebut distinct tones, when towards two o'clock hestirred a little and opened his eyes. "The knifedid its work. But give me a drink—ay, a cordialif you have it in your store. So," and he eagerlydrank the contents of the little cup which Ruthfilled from a flask upon the table, and shoulderinghimself feebly on his right side, his eyeswandered wistfully round the shadowy chamberas if in search of something, and rested atlast on a little table of carved oak, bearingmaterials for writing. "Bring it here," he said. "Yes,that is well," he went on, as Ruth, marking hiswish, even before he had given it utterance,brought the table beside the panel and set it closewithin his reach. "For I have a message to leavebehind me, and my hours are numbered. Myminutes belike," and his eyes closed; but in a fewseconds he opened them again, and stretched outa trembling hand. "Quick!" he went on. "Penand paper, dear child, as thou'rt a God-fearingmaiden, and hop'st for heaven at last."

The dying man.

"As you do," gently murmured Ruth, spreadingthe paper as well as she could out upon thenarrow bed, and placing the pen in his hand. "Asyou do, dear Master Goodenough."

"Nay," moaned the dying man. "Sin liesheavy on my soul."

"But God is love, dear Master Goodenough," saidRuth, dashing aside the tears that blurred her sight.

"Who taught thee thy creed?" said the sheriff,wonderingly fixing his hollow eyes on her pityingface. "'Tis none of the master's of this house,for his is a gospel of wrath, and of vengeance forour ill deeds."

"'I will have mercy and not sacrifice.' Doesnot the Bible say that, Master Goodenough? andthe Lord Christ, did not He say 'There is joy inheaven over one sinner that repenteth.'"

A last message.

"I doubt," murmured the wounded man, "hadI been thy pupil, I had not been in this plightnow." Then he gazed down at the blank paper,and thoughtfully setting the pen to it, whileRuth knelt upon the floor beside him and heldthe lamp close, began to write. "'I ThomasGoodenough, being now at the point of death'—Thylamp burns very dim, there is a mist aboutit," he went on, labouring at his self-imposed task,while Ruth trimmed the flame, and made it shinebrightly enough, but it remained only a poor dimthing enough for the eyes that never on thisworld's sea or shore, would see the lightagain—"'by the hand of the man, Richard Rumsey, whohas thus now destroyed my body, as first he didmy soul—'

"As first he strove to do that," amended Ruth,watching the words, as one by one the labouringtremulous fingers produced them.

"Take you the pen, and alter it then if you canwrite, for my hand will not reach to't," saidGoodenough, "and may it be as you say, littleone," he went on, a gleam of something likecontent breaking upon his pallid lips as Ruth tookthe pen, and neatly wrote in her little amendmentbetween the crooked-back up-hill-and-down-dalelines. "'As first he strove to ruin my soul, by—'Nay, but write on, and I will sign—quick—'byfair and reasonable seeming words; persuadingme to enrol myself into the foul plot which hathbeen hatched for the making away of the personsof His Majesty, and of His Majesty's Brother,James, Duke of York; thereby.' Hast thou itall down? 'thereby,'" continued Goodenough, asRuth nodded, "'to rid the country of the race ofStuarts; and to set up rulers of their ownchoosing.'"

"Choosing," said Ruth as she wrote the last word.

A tale of murder.

"'It now appeareth,' went on Goodenough aftera brief silence, 'by this night's work, that therehas further been intended the compassing of themurder of the king, and of his brother, by thesebloody-minded men'—write on, child, quick,quick!" Ruth's hand trembled cruelly, and a hugedrop of ink fell from her pen; but she wrote on:"'by their waylaying of the coach in which theking shall return from Newmarket;' where's thecup, child? give me another drink. Now, thypen again—stay, my brain grows confused—ay,from Newmarket, 'upon the by-road which runsby the Rye House, over against Hoddesdon, andthere stopping the coach by the overturning of acart across the narrow way, to shoot the guardsfrom the hedges, and so in cold blood to kill theking and his brother.' Hast thou that all downin black and white?"

"Yes," answered Ruth, though in sober truththe characters glared fiery red from the fair whitepaper in her fevered eyes.

"'And hereby,' faltered on the dying man, 'I,with these my last perishing breaths do declare,that of the forty conspirers in this plot, I takenot upon myself to single out the more guilty,and murderously disposed ones; save only thatmy own soul is innocent of all desire and intentto shed blood; and furthermore I do desire tostate, that of those plotters who gathered thisnight to discuss the ways and means for HisMajesty's death, the young man Lawrence—'"

"Lee; yes, yes, Lawrence Lee," rapidly wroteon Ruth. "I know, Master Goodenough."

"Thou dost? so much the better, the brave ladwho would—who would—"

"Ay, who would have saved you from thatfearful man if he could."

Goodenough nodded. "Lawrence Lee was notone,' and—and—" Goodenough's voice sank to awhisper, and his dim eyes closed. "I can say nomore. I would have—liked to—tell—the nobleturn he did me—and—how—thou, whoever thouart—"

The light grows dim.

Slower and slower, fainter and fainter, roseand fell the dying man's voice upon the silence;until suddenly his eyes opened, and fixingwistfully for a little while upon Ruth's face,wandered from it to the paper under her hand."Set thy name to it," he said, "for—a living witness."

"'Tis well," he went on, when she had obeyed."And now, give it me here again under my hand,and thy pen—and hold the light close, for itgrows so dark—dark—nay, but I cannot see theplace;" and his fast glazing eyes strayed helplesslyover the paper.

"Here, dear Master Goodenough," said Ruth,taking the cold hand and gently placing it aright,"here is where I have written my name."

The signatures.

He made a desperate but ineffectual effort tosteady the pen on the spot she indicated. "Icannot do it," he said, as the quill dropped looselyin his numbed fingers; "and my mark mustsuffice. But 'twill serve—'twill serve. Set thepaper close—closer;" and then with infinite labourhe made the cross mark. "Ruth Rumbold!" hecried, as he moved his hand, and the full light ofthe lamp fell upon the clear, boldly-markedcharacters of her signature beneath. "Thisman—Richard Rumbold's—daughter!" and his eyesfixed upon her in a stare of mingled horror and pity.

She nodded her head slowly up and down."Did you not know?" she said, meeting his gazewith sad, appealing looks—"did you not knowhe was my father?"

"Then Heaven help thee, poor child, and comfortthee, for thou hast need of it indeed, poorinnocent!"

Then his voice fell away into uneasy inaudiblemurmurings. His eyes closed again, and presentlyhe seemed to sleep. And so till dawn slowly beganto silver the fresh young leaves about the ivypanes, and creep on into the room towards the darkrecess, spreading itself gently on the white, stillface of the dying man, and the hardly more life-likeone of the watcher, there was silence. Butjust as the song of the birds trilled cheerily forth,he stirred slightly. "Art thou there?" hemurmured, feebly stretching out his hand.

"I am here, dear Master Goodenough!" shesaid, kneeling beside him and covering the palefingers in her gentle clasp.

"God bless thee, child!" and he drew herhand close towards his lips: "for thy sweet charityGod bless—"

Death of Goodenough.

And in a smile of content the lips partedslightly, a low sigh broke from them, and MasterGoodenough was dead.

CHAPTER XXIV.

LAWRENCE SLEEPS ON IT.

"Now, Friend What-d'ye-call-'em, areyou going to accept his majesty'spolite invitation? or d'ye mean tostand staring all day like a stuckpig, at your brother-porker's pate here?"

The dig in the ribs accompanying these words,which were rendered bewilderingly indistinct byreason of the quantity of the toothsome edibles hereferred to, filling the speaker's mouth, materiallyassisted Lee to catch something of their signification;and he started from the reverie into whichhe had fallen. "Your majesty—" he began, lookinground with dazed, uneasy eyes, and staggeringforward a pace or two.

"Ha! ha! ha! That's excellent!" broke out alaughing chorus. "Your majesty! Hear thefellow! Are his wits clean gone? I' faith, he lookssomething like it! Majesty forsooth! There'snone of it here, friend; unless we're to be havingyou for a change. Come, Master Up-in-the-clouds,out with you! Was ever such insolence!Out with you! D'ye hear?"

It was the most doubtful question in the worldwhether he did. If so, it was, at all events,without a spark of comprehending; and Lawrence Leecontinued to lie back, pale and more than halfsenseless, in the king's chair, whither he hadstaggered forward as he had uttered those last words,and with a twist and a reel, sunk among itscrimson cushions.

"Nay," said another of the crowd of lackeys;"leave him alone. Let him bide a minute. Isaw 'twas a comin' over him before the king haddone speakin' to him. He went on gettin' whiterand whiter. Come, man, drink a drop o' this;"and he took a tall ruby-red Venice goblet of winefrom the table and placed it to the young man'slips. "So; that's brave!" he went on in kindlytones, as Lawrence drank a little of the wine androused up. "Finish it, man, and have anotheratop o't. One leg o' mutton drives down another.Oh! eh! but we don't take noes here. Drink, Itell 'ee;" and refilling the goblet, the well-meaningfellow forced Lawrence to drain it again, in spiteof his efforts at resistance.

Where is the King?

"Where's the king?—the king?" said Lawrenceas consciousness all broke in upon him, and he satup. "I must speak to him. I haven't told himhalf—"

"Then t'must wait!" cried another lackey, "forthe king's gone."

"Gone!"

"Ay; ever so far by now. He wasn't going tostop here all day listening to your wild-goosetales, I doubt. He's half-way across the heath bynow, and all the lot after him."

"But the queen!"

"Ay; her too. Didn't you see them all go?Where had your eyes got to?"

"Gone a wool-gathering along of his wits!"laughed another.

And while their shouts of boisterous laughtermade the old walls echo again, Lawrence pressedthe palms of his hands on the top of his achinghead and made an effort to recall all that hadpassed, and to solve the puzzle of the strangecondition in which he found himself. Possiblythe fact of neither food nor drink having passedhis lips since a hasty meal snatched at the NetherHall early dinner of the previous day, wasaccountable for much of it. Neither can long-fastingmen ride a score and a half of miles and retaintheir wits in good working order; and strongwine, if it be a temporary remedy, is scarcely oneto be recommended, as these noisy court lackeysseemed bent on doing. And when he refused thedainty food they hospitably pressed upon himwith the savageness only those who have lost alldesire for eating, from too long going without it,can ever be guilty of, they forced more wine uponhim, challenging him with a toast he neitherdared nor willed to refuse.

A loyal toast.

"The king! the king!" they cried, filling allround for themselves, and brimming the goblet inhis hand. "Come, Master Stranger, we must seewhat metal you're made of. Drink a bumper tothe king's majesty, and no heeltaps. Here'sconfusion to all crop-eared knaves."

"Ay, ay!" shouted Lee, starting to his feet, andwaving the goblet high over his head. "Confusionto all crop-eared knaves. And now a toast.A toast!"

"Silence! Oh, yes; oh, yes! Listen!" shriekedthe noisy crew. "Fill high. His majesty thechairman proposes a toast."

"The queen. God bless her!" cried Lee, puttingthe glass to his lips and draining it to thelast drop.

"Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Queen? Which queen?"cried the roysterers. "Which queen?—"

"Queen Ruth, to be sure!" shouted one, hookinghis arm into Lawrence's as Lee rose from thechair. "She of the Rye House, you blockheads.Queen Ruth!"

Lawrence escapes.

The sound of her name steadied Lee's senseslike the working of a charm. He straightenedhimself to his full height, and striking out rightand left, sent the troublesome fellows stumblingand tripping pell-mell among the chairs andtables. Then with a parting fling of his emptyglass at the one who had dared to make a jest ofthe dear name, he rushed from the room—on,on—by the now entirely deserted ante-chambers,headlong down the grand staircase, through pitchdark interminable passages, until he found himselfstanding spent and breathless in the open air,the cloudless blue sky above him, and his feetankle-deep in a miry lane.

The King's garden.

The place seemed to form a sort of thoroughfareto the back premises of the palace, whose wallsskirted its length on one side, while the otherwas bounded by a tall privet-hedge. Between theragged twigs he could discern the broad flat stretchof country beyond. On the left, some fifty yardsoff, stood the timbered plaster fronts of a row ofstreet cottages, and a few paces to his right a highnarrow iron gateway, flanked by a couple of moss-grownstone pillars surmounted respectively by theroyal lion and unicorn. Through this gate'sfiligreed iron-work, at the end of a somewhat broad,gravel, yew-bordered path, Lee could see a podgymarble Cupid spouting water through a hunting-horninto a basin. Lured by the gentle plash ofthe water, he approached the gate and attemptedto push it open. With a faint screech, as if ofsurprise at being disturbed, it yielded, andundeterred by its stone guardians, whose jaws seemedindeed to grin less in defiance of his intrusion,than in wonder and derision at his fancy forexploring the deserted place, Lee entered, and strolledtowards the fountain. On its broad edge heseated himself, to the great confusion of the goldand silver fish moving about its weedy depths,and found that it formed the centre of a fair-sizedgarden, the path by which he had come being oneof four, radiating off at equal distances betweengrass-plots, towards the lofty red brick boundarywalls, gay now with the snowy blossom ofespaliered fruit-trees.

Here and there white stone gods and goddessesgleamed amidst the dark yew paths, and wouldhave seemed to render the silence of the placestill more intense, had it not been broken by thevoices of the myriad insect creatures footing itmerrily among the parterres, and the dartingbutterflies, while stout old bumble-bees hummedcogitatively as they gathered in their wealth, asif they were mentally reckoning the probablesum total of its returns; and all to the music ofSir Cuckoo, who had a vast deal to promise of thegood time coming.

A reverie.

Well, well; and Lawrence Lee, rising from hisseat on the fountain's brink, and strolling listlesslyonward by the nearest path, heaved a prolongedand heart-vexed sigh, making all the while nottoo flattering comparisons between these carelessdenizens of the king's pleasaunce—the bees, ofcourse, simply proving his case by their exceptionalprudence—who troubled their feather-brainsnot one doit about to-morrow's storms, which wereas likely as not—more likely than not, indeed, tofall; as you might see if you would but spare halfan eye towards the south-eastward horizon—andthe king himself. As to the idiotic, selfish,frivolous lot about him, they were beneath contempt,Lawrence considered. To compare them with thebutterflies and gnats would be an insult—to theinsects.

This stage of his meditations brought him so nearto the foot of a flight of rustic wooden steps thathe tripped upon the lowermost one; and lookingupward, as he recovered his balance, he saw thatthey wound up to some height, terminating atthe entrance of a pavilion of octagon shape, builtinto the angle of the wall, and partly overhangingthe road running beneath. For sheer lack ofsomething better to wile away his enforced leisure—forto see the king again, by hook or by crook, Lawrencewas determined—he ascended the steps,and found himself in a small eight-sided chamber.Its walls were studded with morsels of spar,bright-coloured shells, and bits of looking-glass disposedin various and eye-fatiguing geometrical devices,sparkling like Hassan's cave in the rays of sun,now beating fiercely through the two windows.One of these looked upon the road, the other,commanding a view of the rear of the palace,admitted light into the place; but in accordancewith the rule of such pleasure-houses, no air,since they were "not made to open."

The summer house.

Nevertheless, a cool breeze rustled in throughthe doorless entrance; and Lawrence, wearied out,and still dizzy with the fumes of the wine whichhad been forced upon him, sank upon the part ofthe bench running round the wall which wasnearest the inner window, and fell to a listlesscontemplation of the scene before him.

Ugly, or altogether unpicturesque it assuredlycould not be called; but incongruous and disorderlyit was, with its queer irregular mass of wall androof, new and old, time stained and brand new, allflung together without apparent rhyme or reason,as if they might settle down as they could.

It was some time before Lawrence was able todistinguish, amid such countless odd holes andcorners, the door by which he had found his wayinto the open air; and longer still before, carryinghis eye to the upper story, he discovered the rowof little bull's-eye casem*nts which lighted thecorridor conducting to the king's apartments.That it ran to the rear of the palace he had somehazy sort of notion; since through one of thosecasem*nts he had caught a glimpse of wavinggreen beechen boughs, and had guessed at thepossibility of a garden beyond, while not a singletree shaded the street front of the palace.

A long nap.

The last straw, eastern wiseacres say, breaksthe camel's back; and it is possible that his toilsomelittle ascent to the pavilion, and the burningsunbeams pouring in through the glass on Lawrence'shead bore their share in producing the drowsysensations stealing so rapidly upon him, that allthe scene before him dissolved as he looked, intoone confusing haze. "'Tis like a dream," hemurmured to himself, pressing the palms of both hishands on his throbbing temples, in a desperateeffort to shake off their oppression. "A murrainon those rascals for drenching me with that stufftill I feel as if I was spinning in an Epping Fairmerry-go-round. Like a dream—a bad dream"—andhis head drooping lower and lower upon hisarms outspread upon the broad window-seat,rested a dead weight there at last, and he fellasleep.

Heavily as one of the Seven Sleepers he slepton. Ten, eleven, mid-day came and went; andstill, as afternoon lengthened, and the shadowsgrew deep upon the grass, he stirred only to sinkback again into the unrefreshing sleep of utterfatigue and exhaustion. Sultry as midsummerthe sunbeams poured into the airless chamber, tillits walls seemed sheeted in parti-coloured flame,which grew but the more dazzling as the time ofparting drew on, and the gray evening mists beganto spread over the low-lying fields.

A sudden waking.

High aloft in the greenish blue sky the youngMay moon rose and mingled her mild beamswith the fiery westward glow, and still he slepton; but restlessly now, and muttering hurried butinarticulate words, as if he was dreaminguneasy dreams. How much longer he would havedrowsed the precious hours away, it is hard toguess, had it not been for a sudden and deafeningblare of French horns and all kinds of music,mingled with shouts of gay laughter and voiceswhich broke just beneath the window, sending Leeto his feet with a start and a cry of terror."Fire! Fire!" he shouted, staggering to the middleof the floor and gazing in wild distraction roundthe pavilion, while he gasped for breath in itsstifling atmosphere. Could it be that he wasdreaming still? Strange ugly visions of—Nay,now, but see what things are dreams! and whatis it after all but the setting-sun blaze? And asLee stumbled tremblingly back against the trelliseddoorway, greedily drinking in the cool eveningair, his senses dawned upon him.

"Ay, ay," he said to himself, with a faint smileof amusem*nt at his own fancies, as he stretchedhis neck over the wall, just in time to obtain aglimpse of the brilliant cavalcade turning the streetcorner in a cloud of white dust, and caught theshouts of the little crowd collected to see the kingpass. "Come back, has he? Yes, yes, God savehim, with all my heart and soul—God save theking! But the question is, you see, good people.The question is—" and then Lawrence Lee cameto a dead pause, and fell into a deep reverie. "Howwas he to be saved?" pondered on the young man,his brows knitting painfully. This happy-go-luckyCharles, who suspected no foul play, because hewould persist in judging others by himself, despiteall his harsh experiences, and thought no onecapable of taking so much trouble as to contriveit. This good-natured gentleman, whose mannerof speaking, far more than the words he spoke,had won Lawrence Lee's heart, as they were aptto win all who approached him. How—so theyoung man now asked himself, could he ever havebeen brought to nurse one traitorous thoughttowards him? Ay, now indeed he understood,as never he had before, his mother's glowing look,when with the proud tears glistening star-brightin her eyes, she would say: "Thy father died forhis king, lad."

What is to be done?

The last shout sank to silence. The birds' songceased. The last ray of the sunset glory faded,and only the plash of the fountain broke thesilence, and still Lawrence Lee stood leaningagainst the ivied wall so motionless, and his faceshowing so white and fixed in the dazzlingmoonlight, that he might have been taken for one ofthe garden's statues; but at last, as eight o'clockstruck in the town belfries, and far-off village churchtowers chimed it back, he stirred, and slowlydescended the little rustic steps.

A deep resolve.

"Rest thee well, father," he murmured, reverentlyfolding his hands as he went. "The worldmay blame me, and say what it lists. The kingshall be saved, though my life should answer forit. Father—only let heaven count me worthy tobe called thy son."

And so across the garden, and through thegate, still standing half open as he had left it, hepassed on into the street.

CHAPTER XXV.

SUPPER AT THE SILVER LEOPARD.

"Oh, all that I grant you; 'tis indeed amockery of hospitality which movesa man to press his good things onhis guest beyond his appetite; andthe rascals were to blame—much to blame. But,my good Master Lee, you're absolutely no trencherman."

And as he spoke, Master Alworth laid a temptingcut from the huge sirloin before him uponLawrence Lee's plate. "A strapping fellow ofyour inches," he went on, "should know betterhow to dispose of a glass, and to ply his knifeand fork."

"Nay," answered Lee, toying with the implementsin question till he seemed to be makinggrand havoc with the slice of beef. "But I havesupped excellently," and he glanced in courteousadmiration at the temptingly loaded table."Such good things would almost charm a dead man."

"And 'tis almost what he looks," thought thegoldsmith, as he secretly scanned Lee's colourlessface; colourless save where on either cheek twospots burned crimson red.

A good servant.

"Though I doubt dead men's eyes never shonelike his," he mentally added. "What the mischiefails the lad?" but aloud he only replied inwell-pleased tones: "They're wholesome enough; and tospeak no treason, Master Lee, the king's own kitchen,at least here in Newmarket, boasts not sucha hand as my old Margery's at turning a venisonpasty; try a morsel of it. No? well then, drink, man,drink. There's no finer colouring for white cheekslike your's, than a glass of my old Tokay. What! youwon't neither?" said his hospitable host witha shrug, as Lee drew the massive silver-gilt gobletsmilingly but resolutely on one side. "I' faith!I like not sots and topers," he went on, as hefilled his own glass to the brim, "and as worthyWarwickshire Will—Oh, no offence, younggentleman—out of date Master Shakspere may be, butmind you, he can frame as wise and witty a phrasewhen he pleases, as any of your Shadwells orRochesters, or your long-winded Master Drydenseither, and he says ''tis a shame for men to put anenemy in their mouths, to steal away theirbrains.' But wine need be no man's enemy. It shouldrather be his trusty servant and helper. Forwine, as another wise man hath it, is a good servant,though it be a tyrant master, just as fire—"

"Fire! Fire!" loudly echoed Lawrence, startingfrom the brown study into which he had fallenduring his entertainer's disquisition.

"Why, bless the good fellow!" ejacul*ted thegoldsmith under his breath, as he leant back inhis well-cushioned chair, and tipping together thepoints of his ten fingers, contemplated Lawrencethrough his half-closed eyelids with no smallcuriosity. "'Tis but a cloud-brained lad after all;one would ha' guessed I'd flashed a musket-shotin his ear, to see him start."

"Ay," he added aloud, "I was but remarkingthat fire is a good servant, but a bad master, since'tis easier to kindle a flame than to put it out.But come, tell me now. How did your suitprosper to-day with his majesty? Though intruth what its nature was I know not; nor desireto be inquisitive," he added good-humouredly, ashe perceived that Lee showed little willingnessto enlighten him. "But you succeeded in it?"

"No—yes, no—that is, I saw the king."

"And spoke with him?"

"And spoke with him—Oh yes."

"And what think you of his majesty?" catechisedon his host, just a thought drowsily. "Aright debonair and gracious gentleman, is henot so?"

"Every inch a king," enthusiastically cried Lee.

Lawrence drinks another toast.

"Oh ho! have I warmed the ice at last?"thought the goldsmith, with a twinkle in his eyes."Why, so say I, Master Lawrence," he cordiallyrejoined. "And—come now, a challenge, you can'trefuse—nay, i' faith! but you must drain it. Ishall hold you a double-dyed traitor else indeed.Here's to King Charles," and reaching thebottle over Lee's goblet, he filled it, uncheckedthis time, and rose to his feet. "God bless him,and confusion to his foes by land and sea."

"Confusion to his foes!" echoed Lawrence,rising too, and draining the cup to its dregs.

"And, since his majesty so well pleases you, whatthink you of his Newmarket palace?" continuedAlworth, as both resumed their seats, manfullystruggling to keep up the lagging ball of conversation,though, to own the truth, a long day over hisledgers, the dulness of his companion, who didnot seem to be able to originate one singleobservation, and the supper he had eaten, werebeginning to work more and more soporifically upon him.

A rat-hole for a palace.

"Palace!" cried Lee with sudden animation."A rat-hole; just a rat-hole. Only fit to besmoked out!"

"Scarce big enough, truly, to swing a cat in,"laughingly acquiesced Alworth. "'Tis a meanplace, as you say, with its chimneys huddledaway in corners and crannies, as if they wereashamed of themselves; and the house abutting,like any common one, upon the street, withoutany court or avenue to't."[1]

[1] Evelyn's Diary.

"I looked to find it built somewhere upon thecourse itself," said Lee.

"As it should ha' been," replied the goldsmith."Upon the very carpet, as one might say, wherethe sports are celebrated. My own identicalwords to Mr. Samuel, the—the gods forgive us!—thearchitect. 'But,' says he, 'Master Alworth,his majesty is bent on the purchase of thiswretched old house.' And his majesty has a rareobstinate head-piece of his own, like the one theycut off his father's neck before him—heaven resthis soul! And so there's his fine house, and amighty improper one too, in my poor judgment,for sport and pleasure, Mr. Samuel has made of it.Though, to give even him his due, you may gofar before you find better turned arches than thesupports of the cellars that run beneath the king'sprivate apartments.

"Which lie to the back of the house, if I mistakenot," said Lee.

"You do not. And cut off almost entirely fromthe rest of it, a perfect network of pillars, and archesbeneath, that one might go losing one's self in, likeany trapped mouse, if you didn't know the trick ofthem," added the goldsmith half absently, half asif amused by some suggested thought, and toyingwith an ancient-looking little twisted and chasedbar of silver which hung upon the massive goldchain he wore round his neck. "Tho' that wouldscarcely be my case; for here I have an openSesame, that, if I had a mind to't, would bringme straight into Hassan's Cave. In other words—"

Lawrence learns a secret.

"The king's own bed-chamber?" eagerly cried Lee.

"Why, you are quite right," said Alworth,looking up with wide open astonished eyes. Wasthis young farmer such a dull-pated clodpoleafter all? "Though how you should guess—"

"Oh! I have heard of such contrivances asthese subterranean ways," said Lawrencecarelessly. "Where does it lead from?"

"Under your nose almost!" laughed Alworth,pointing to one of the large buttons, or bosses,carved on the intersections of the oaken frameworkof the wainscoting which lined the room.

"The dog's face?" asked Lee, carefully notinghis glance.

"Nay, 'tis a sphinx's. And right well 'tis saidshe has guarded her secret for the three hundredyears this house has been built."

"So long?"

"Ay. Just about the same time that theoriginal foundations of what is now the king'spalace were set. Some say that the lord of it,and my grandfather six or seven times removed,had dealings together in the black art,—but thatis a way folks have of talking of honest traderswhen they happen to grow rich,—and that thetwo would meet together alone in the vaults atdead of night over their crucibles, to find out thesecret of making gold."

"Was he of your craft, Master Alworth?"asked Lawrence.

"Ay; and a skilful master of it he must havebeen," said Alworth proudly, detaching the keyfrom its chain and handing it to Lawrence for hisinspection, "to have been able to cast such apretty thing as this."

The sphinx's throat.

"And the lock it fits to," said Lawrence, takingthe key and examining it curiously, "lies, yousay, in the sphinx's throat yonder?"

The goldsmith nodded. "And the tale goes onto say," he added, "as I tell you, that they whopush far enough along the passage, when they getto the bottom of the little staircase the panelopens upon, would find themselves in the roomthat is now the king's own bed-chamber. But I'dnot care to be making the quest."

"Why not?"

The key.

"I' faith! 'tis possible, for one thing, his majestymight not care for the intrusion," laughed Alworth;"and for a greater reason, I've no fancy to bebreaking my shins over broken-backed old stonefloors and slimy steps, or running my head againstthese fine new stone posts of Master Samuel's, letthem be never so mighty well turned. No; thankyou for nothing!" continued Alworth with a sapientshake of his grizzled periwig. "I'm quite contentto be in possession of the secret without puttingmy knowledge to the proof. And hark you, younggentleman," he went on more gravely, "if I'veconfided it to you, 'tis because—. Eh! eh! somehowI tripped upon it; but 'tis safe enough with you.You're not a man to betray secrets. You'll notput your knowledge to any ill use," he went on,as Lawrence made no reply, but bent his headlower and lower over the key. "'Twill go in at oneear and out at t'other, eh? By your leave," he wenton, stretching out his hand for the key, which,however, Lawrence seemed in no hurry to giveback, but sat dangling it in his fingers, lost,apparently, in deep thought.

"Ah, ha! I see how it is," laughed thegoldsmith; "you'd be for reading my sphinx's riddle,Master Harum-Scarum Christopher Columbus.But I'll have none o' that. Come, no tricks.Give it back. No tricks," continued Alworth, asLawrence obeyed and gave up the precious key."So, lie you there safe and snug," he went on,slipping the key on to the chain again, and puttingit neatly into the breast of his coat,—"safeand snug, little friend. And as for you, MasterLee, if you'll take my advice you'll be gettingbetween the sheets Marjory has spread for you inthe Blue Room above stairs."

"Many thanks," replied Lawrence, shaking hishead; "but that is not possible. I should be backat Nether Hall before mid-day to-morrow; and 'tisa longish journey. In an hour's time I ought tobe upon the road."

Nature's soft nurse.

"Tut, tut, man. Bed is the place for youto-night, and not a horse's saddle. Already youreyes shine like candles kindled at both ends.Six-and-thirty-hours it is, by your own showing, sinceyou've closed 'em; and you know what Will ofWarwick—and he speaks sound sense, mind you,does Will—of Warwick; as good as any of yourmodish Sedleys, and Shadwells, and—and—'sleep,sleep, Nature's'—how does it go? Why, to besure—'Nature's soft—nurse.' Come, Master Lee, how goesit? You should know. By my faith, but you should.Ay—so it runs—'How have I frighted thee.' Marry,come up! What's next? 'That thou—no moreshouldst weigh mine eyelids down'—and—and—"

But then, like a wise physician who puts faithin his own prescription, Master Alworth's sensessank steeped in forgetfulness, his head droopedgently among the cushions, and a profound snorefell upon the silence.

Lawrence's face grew dark with vexation. Couldanything be more tiresome and inopportune? Thechurch clock struck eleven. A fearfully late hourfor those good old times, when "early to bed, andearly to rise" made everybody "so healthy, andwealthy, and wise."

"Master Alworth," said Lee gently, though hewas biting his lip all the while with impatience."Master Alworth, by your leave—I will bid yougood-night."

A second and deeper snore was the response.

"And farewell," shouted Lee.

"Eyelids down; eyelids—down," murmuredthe sleeper.

How to save the King?

"Nay, but begone I must," muttered Lawrence,starting up and pushing back his chair, while hiseyes despairingly contemplated his slumberinghost, until suddenly a light flashed into them."Let's see what a shake will do," he went on tohimself, approaching Alworth's chair, and suitinghis action to his words with no gentle hand.It produced no effect beyond an angry snort ofremonstrance from the sleeper, who turned in hischair only to settle more comfortably. "What isto be done?" ejacul*ted Lawrence, casting desperateglances towards the door, as if he intendedmaking a run for it. "Another half hour—aquarter, even, and—"

Something which fell with a faint jingle and aclash to the floor at his feet, interrupted hisspeculations. He stooped to pick it up.

It was Master Alworth's gold chain, whoseelaborate fastening had apparently missed touchinghome in his drowsy attempts to clasp it.

"Adieu, then," he said, placing the chain noiselesslybeside his host's plate, and wafting him akiss from his finger-tips; "for I must be takingFrench leave, if you will not be having an Englishone," and he turned to escape noiselessly fromthe room.

The first step he took, however, brought his footdown upon some small hard object. He pickedit up. It was the key, which must have slippedfrom the goldsmith's chain when it glided fromhis neck to the cushions of the chair, and thence,as he had turned himself about, to the floor.

Mad fancies

"Oh, ho!" laughed Lee, looking at the key as itlay in the palm of his hand; "you're a mightyslippery little customer!" and he was about tolay it with the chain, when he gave a start, andstood stock still, as if some sudden idea hadmastered him; and still holding the key, he gazedfrom it towards the sphinx with thoughtfulspeculative eyes. Could it be that she waswinking her heavy lids? Were her grim lips curvinginto a meaning smile until her very jaws seemedto be opening? or was it all only the shadowyflicker of the dying lamp? or perhaps a meredelusion of the young man's already highly excitedbrain.

Lawrence knew only that the half-mocking,half-goodnatured face beckoned him irresistibly.

The false panel.

One instant he stood hesitating. The next, hehad seized the lamp, and with the key in his handwas on his knees before the panel.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"FIRE! FIRE!"

Silent and dark as any city of the deadlies Newmarket under the starless sky.Not so much as a glimmer to be seeneven about the palace, excepting fromthe mullioned lattices of the king's ownbedchamber.

Two hours since, Charles bade good-night to hiscourtiers, who, despite their best efforts to beentertaining, were yawning frightfully after theirlong day's pleasure; and then, retiring to hisdressing-room, he dismissed also his drowsy valets,who, evidently for once in a way, seemed notindisposed to allow him to draw on his own night-capinstead of doing it for him, "for all the world," ashe used to complain, as if he were "some poorTyburn gallows-wretch."

Whether he was too tired for sleep, which issometimes the case with people, or not tiredenough, it was certain the king himself was in nomood for sleep; and wrapping his silken dressing-gownabout him, and trimming the wick of themassive silver lamp upon the table with his ownaugust fingers, he drew it towards him, and stretchinghimself upon a couch, took up a book whichlay tumbled face downwards among its cushions.

Charles sits up to read.

"A fair outside truly," he murmured half aloudto himself as he carelessly scanned its richlyemblazoned velvet and gilt binding, and thenproceeded as carelessly to turn its embossed pages;"and with such a mighty pretty dedication to mysacred majesty, that my poor privy-purse willsuffer cruelly, I fear. Tho' I'll dare swear that 'tisall as full of emptiness, or at best of fulsome fawningflatteries, as my fine lords and ladies, who hangupon my skirts, and care no more for me than thislittle Médor here," and he gently caressed thesatin soft ears of the little dog who had jumpedto its favourite spot between himself and thedowny cushions, "who loves me—for the cakeand comfits I carry in my pocket. Nay, but I dothee an ill compliment after all, Médor; for thoughto be sure thou mightst not be at the pains tostretch out one of thy fringy paws here to helpme in my need, at least thou'dst not turn againstme, as some I wot of would, who have fed uponmy bounty. But what have we here?" continuedthe king, turning on again at the pages of hisbook. "Nay, now, fie, fie, Master Poetaster! butis not your choice of mottoes here uncourtly,to say the least?

"'For kings and mightiest potentates must die.
For that's the end of human misery.'

"I' faith! and I doubt 'twould trouble you nomore than the rest of the herd, were I to dieto-night, so long as your dedication money weresafe to you. All—all alike, every man jack, andwoman jill of you. 'The king is dead,' you'd cry,'alack! alack!' though I doubt your breath mightnot reach to so much as that—'The king isdead—'"

A startling visitor.

"God save the king!"

"Who goes there?" cried the king, starting tohis feet and flinging down the book. What voicewas this, snatching, as it were from his lips thevery words that were upon them, and in tones sodeep and significant, from the darkest recesses ofthe dimly lighted chamber? "Who goes there?"he reiterated, peering hard into the obscurity, tillat last his keen gaze caught the outlines of afigure enveloped in a black riding cloak.

"A friend," answered the voice in hurried tones.

Charles laughed bitterly. "Our foes in disguisecall themselves that," he said. "Comeforward—friend, into the lamplight here."

The intruder needed not to do so much inorder to reveal his identity; for the words hadnot left the king's lips before a glare of light litup the whole apartment, and revealed the face ofLawrence Lee. An exclamation of anger brokefrom Charles; and he darted a look of mingledsuspicion and defiance on Lee.

"Ha! I thought as much, Master Talebearer,"he cried; "and this is your vaunted loyalty—thisis—"

"Fire! fire! your majesty," and Lee rushedforward with outspread arms. "Come quick! forGod's sake, come! afterwards hang me—kill me—doas you will. But now—now—the palace ison fire, I say! and there's not an instant to lose."

Madness indeed.

"Fire?" cried the king, casting a rapid glanceupward at the dazzling glare lighting up everyobject in the room, and hurrying towards thecurtained entrance, only to stagger backward intoLee's arms, overcome with the smoke and flamebursting from the heavy drapery as he lifted it.

"No, no! great heavens! not that way!" shoutedLee. "Already the corridors have caught, andcommunication will be cut off. Come for your life;"and he dragged the half-breathless king acrossthe room. "Here, by the private staircase!"

"What private staircase?" demanded Charles,reeling forward after Lee, with his hand to hismonth. "I tell thee, man," he went on, in tones ofanger as well as of fear, "there is no private stair—"

"Come! come!" shouted his deliverer with alaugh of triumph which rang through the burningroom, and he seized the king round the waistwith both arms; "we are safe enough thisway—as yet."

"The dog! the dog!" cried the king, strugglingin Lee's embrace, and pointing towards poorMédor, whose piteous yelpings resounded fromthe couch.

LAWRENCE LEE SAVES THE KING

"Ay, come, then," said Lawrence, turning, andcatching up the little animal with one hand, hethrust it into his pocket. Then tightening hisclutch upon the king, he dragged him to asquare hole in the side of the wainscoted wall asyet untouched by the flames, and almost flunghim down on his knees as with a vigorous pushhe thrust him through the aperture.

"What is the meaning of this, sirrah?" angrilydemanded the king, as, after a maddening intervalpassed in stumbling and sliding through pitchdarkness encircled by Lee's arms, he went roundand round, down and down, as if in some hideousnightmare dream, till at last his feet were safelydeposited on level ground, and his shouldersagainst a rough stone wall, which struck ice coldthrough his silken dressing-gown. "Say! whatdoes it all mean?"

Fire on the brain.

"Fire! fire! your majesty," was all Lawrencecould find breath to articulate, as, reeling from theweight of his burden, he advanced towards a lampwhose rays sufficed dimly to reveal a low stonevaulted roof, supported by thick pillars, whoseoutlines loomed ghost-like through the obscurity."The palace is on fire;" and catching up thelamp, and again seizing the king, this time,however, only by the arm and with a more gentle grip,he succeeded in dragging him a few paces farther.

"This way! this way—"

"No," said the king, wrenching himself free,and coming to a dead standstill with his backresolutely planted against the wall! "I'll go nofarther; not a yard. 'Tis some plot," he added,casting suspicious looks round from Lee's face tothe darkness visible, and then again to the eageragitated countenance of the young man. "Somescurvy plot. Villain!" he cried, suddenly seizingLawrence by the throat. "How many are thereof you? Speak!"

It was only by something like a miracle, however,that Lee was still able to breathe. "Speak!"shouted the king, and his imperious tones echoedagain and again through the vaulted place, till forthe moment he might well have fancied that ahost of conspirators were hidden away behind thepillared arches; but not a creature came to therescue, and Charles's grip relaxed. "I cry yourpardon," he said then, a little shamefacedly, andretaining his hold about Lee's shoulder more inkindness now than in anger. "Such doubts areunworthy. A miserable requital indeed for thisgood service you have shown me. Your faceshould be no traitor's. Nay, never blush. Ithought this morning that 'twas as honest a oneas I had seen for many a day, and should tell itsown story."

A desperate plan.

"Yet even though my tongue helped it, yourMajesty would not listen. Yet here as we stand,"went on Lee, as Charles replied only by a shrugof his shoulders, "man to man, liege-man to hislord," and Lawrence fell on his knees at the king'sfeet, "I swear I spoke the truth. But it was toworse than deaf ears. All in vain—and so—andso—" his voice faltered.

"And so—Ods-fish, man!" cried Charles inbewildered astonishment at the agitation of Lee'sface. "Don't be afraid. Speak out. And so?"

"I fired the palace."

"You!" cried the king, recoiling in horror.

"What else was to be done?" asked Lee, regaininghis composure, and shrugging his shoulders inhis turn! "We smoke out the fox's hole when wecan't unearth him."

"To kill him after all, poor fellow," said theking, with a half smile, and a faint glimmer ofthe old suspicion in his dark eyes fixed onLawrence, as though he was striving to penetrate tohis inmost heart.

"Nay," bluntly answered the young man, "Ihave no wit for carrying on conceits of that kind,nor time for it neither. If I burnt out the fox,'twas to save him from himself, and get him tomake off out of harm's way."

"And what of the queen, and all my poorpeople?" cried the king, looking with troubledeyes along the way they had come. "A heavyransom they are paying for my rescue. Let usget out of this place, and help, before every one ofthem is burned in bed."

Out of danger.

"'Tis but little enough harm they'll come to,I'll warrant," said Lee, in cool tones, anddetaining the king with a firm hand. "The fire hada mighty pretty effect," he continued, withpride, "a mighty pretty effect; and so do aman's frills and furbelows, though he hasn't athread of shirt underneath to bless himself with;and 'twas just that and no more—a flash in thepan, a snap-dragon, that has but just burned upall your Majesty's little favourite odds and ends,and rattle-traps, but I doubt it had not done agroat's worth of harm."

"That's reassuring," said the king dismally.

"Your Majesty may take my word for it,"continued Lawrence. "I did but fire the wainscotof your chamber, as close as I could by the stonecorridor, which I know cuts off all communicationwith the rest of the palace."

"But how did you know that?"

"One may learn a great deal—"

"By opening one's mouth, hey, and asking questions?"

Lawrence dictates to the King.

"By keeping it shut, and listening," saidLawrence. "Your Majesty may trust me for mindingwhat I was about, and that I risked no chanceagainst that sweet lady's life, just for the sake ofsaving your Majesty's."

"Well, well," said Charles, feeling more and moresatisfied that he might place confidence in hisdeliverer. "But I like not these extremes," hewent on, shivering and dragging his thin Indiansilk garment about him. "First, you frizzle mewithin an inch of my life, and then you freeze meto the marrow. How long is it your pleasurethat we stop in this dreary cellar?"

"So please your Majesty's own pleasure, youmight be sleeping in your own bed-chamber atWhitehall by this time to-morrow night? 'Twouldbe the best course I can advise."

"I might do worse, I doubt," shivered the king.

"But you must leave Newmarket unattendedand secretly. My horse stands at your Majesty'sservice."

"And a pretty figure I should cut upon him!"ruefully laughed the king, looking down at hisairy attire. "To say nothing of my singedperiwig here," and he passed his hand over the spotwhere the coal-black locks had been scorched andburnt.

"Your Majesty would in any case be safer forfinding one of another colour to travel in; and ifyou'll but keep moving, I'll warrant that MasterAlworth will help you to it, and all else you mayneed."

"Alworth! Richard Alworth!" cried Charles.

"Ay," said Lawrence. "Your Majesty, I takeit, can trust him."

"With untold gold," warmly said the king—"withmy crown jewels—"

"With yourself, then."

"Have with you, Master Lee;" and the lastlingering doubt faded from his face. "Which way?"

The private stair.

"Up by this little staircase."

CHAPTER XXVII.

"IN THE NIGHT ALL CATS ARE GRAY."

The after-supper nap indulged in byMaster Alworth was no little affair offorty winks; and he would possibly haveslept on till morning's light, had notthe sound of countless tramping feet, and adeafening uproar of voices outside in the street,disturbed his repose.

"Hey day! morning already!" he grumbled,sitting up shiveringly, and cramped in every limb."Ha! what's that?" he went on, blinking andrubbing his eyes, as a flare of red light brokeacross the green-tinted traceried lattice of thewindow looking into the High Street, and lit upthe room clear as day. The next moment he wasin utter darkness, for the lamp had disappeared."Mercy alive, 'tmust be fire!" ejacul*ted thegoldsmith, as another and another flash rose and fell;and aided by the fitful light, he groped, stumblingamong the chairs to the window-seat, where he sankdown staring horror-stricken at the showeringsparks, as they fell on the heads of the crowdsurging in the street, as far as his eyes couldreach. "What, where is it?" he gasped, dashingopen a pane, and seizing the nearest gaper by thechin.

Quick work.

"The king's private apartments, so 'tis said,"answered the man, shaking himself free, andrushing onward with the rest. "And the king! theking!" shrieked Alworth, in a frenzy of dismayas he turned from the window, and groping forwardin the direction of the door, stumbled intoa pair of strong supporting arms.

"Here, Master Alworth, safe and sound," saidthe unmistakable sonorous tones of Charles, as heset the trembling old man on his feet again."Thanks to my young friend here."

"But how—how—" began Alworth, gaspinglike a stranded fish.

"The sphinx helped me, Master Alworth," saidLee, as he lighted a couple of waxen tapers whichstood on the buffet, by the flame of the almostspent lamp. "But we'll talk about all thatanother time. Meanwhile there's a plot beinghatched against the king's life; and if he stayshere till folks from the palace yonder find him,and he be detained, and no doubt they are alreadyin search of him, 'tis likely to go hard but his liferuns in danger."

"What's to be done?" cried Alworth, gazingwith scared eyes from Lee to the king. "Whatis to be done?" he went on, wringing his hands."What can I do?"

"Lend him your coat, and the rest of it, andyour hat, and spare him your periwig—Eh?"added Lee, laying despoiling hands on the grizzledarticle in question. "So, by your leave, 'in thenight all cats are gray.'"

"I would give my skin to save your Majesty,"murmured the goldsmith, as he watched Lee tearoff Charles's singed perruque, and assist him infitting on the more venerable borrowed locks.

"Nay," laughed the king, "'tis not a flayingquestion, I trust, though it comes pretty near it, tobe sure," he added, with a compassionate glance atAlworth's coatless bald-pated figure. "Here,Master Alworth, take this for pity's sake.Exchange is no robbery;" and tearing off hisgorgeous robe de chambre, he flung it across theshoulders of Alworth, who, as he proudly drewthe garment about him, produced an effect lessbeautiful than striking, and as much as possiblelike some Chinese idol with his smooth shiningcrown adorned by its tight little wisp of hair."Your Majesty," he said, as Lee put his finishingtouches to the king's rapid toilette, "lookscharming—perfection!" he went on, clasping his hands."The very double of myself. No one would evertake you for the—h'm—the sort of person youare."

Ready for the road.

"I look like a better man, I doubt," answeredthe king, turning to survey himself in a mirror."And now, Master Lee, what next?"

"Stars and Garters," said Lee.

"Ods-fish, man!" cried Charles, opening hiseyes. "Hadn't we best be leaving those alone?They'd be telling tales."

"Stars and Garters is the name of my mare,"smiled Lee, "who is to carry your Majesty."

"To London?"

"Nay, not so far as that, only to the King'sArms by Hoddesdon Rye."

Into the lion's mouth.

"What?" cried Charles, with a little start ofsurprise. "Into the lion's mouth?"

"And the unicorn's. Your Majesty will find noloyaler hearts than beat there, where danger mostthreatens you."

"I could get to London by another road;'twould be better, even if it were ever such acircuitous one," said the king dubiously.

"'Twould be safer to take the road I propose,"said Lee, "since it is the one by which I mustreturn home; and I must have further speech withyour Majesty."

"Is your horse a good one?"

"Her better is not to be found in your Majesty'sstables. She'll prove worth the cost of herfeed. I'll warrant your Majesty will be tellingme that, when next we meet."

"At the King's Arms?"

"To-morrow afternoon; and there are those whowill not be far behind your Majesty on the road."

And then Lee, kneeling at the king's feet, tookhis hand, and, kissing it, turned to go.

"Wait a bit," said Charles, detaining him;"what—who the mischief am I?"

"For the next eighteen hours you cannot be abetter person than Master Alworth, called onsudden pressing business affairs to London."

"That's all very well," said the king, still ratherperplexedly; "but I don't clearly comprehend—"

"Then your Majesty must pardon me for sayingyou are not Master Alworth."

Masquerading.

"Well, well," laughed Charles, "'tis not thefirst time Charles Stuart has been driven toexercise his wits."

"And Stars and Garters," continued Lee, "willserve the King of England at his need every whitas well as ever Royal Oak did. In ten minutes shewill be at the street corner."

And bidding a warm adieu to the goldsmith,Lawrence Lee hurried away.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

And so as the shadows fled away, andbreaking day cast its pale gleams acrossthe face of the dead conspirator, Ruthdrew the panel back into its place;for down in the malting-yard she could hear thevoices of the men getting to their work, and sheturned away, making an effort to collect herthoughts.

It was no easy task; and she was still far fromhaving achieved it when she was roused by theapparition of Maudlin Sweetapple's head throughthe tapestry.

"Marry come up! Dressed a'ready!" cried theold woman grumblingly. "We shall be havin'thee astir in the middle o' the night next! Thatcomes o' the maaster sendin' o' thee off to bed atsundown, like he's bin so fond o' doin' o' late.Oh, ay! they may say what pleases 'em," continuedMaudlin, searchingly scanning Ruth's face in theyoung yellow sunshine; "but I say it don't agreewith thee, child. Thy cheeks are as white asturnips; an' thy face as gastered as if thou'dst binseein' of spirits. And—for the gracious power'ssake!" she shrieked in terror as a rattling at thelocks of the opposite door suddenly made itselfaudible, "what's that? Master Rumbold, as I'ma livin' soul! And me—"

Rumbold home again.

The rest was lost in the privacy of her ownapartment, into which Maudlin speedily withdrewher benightcapped head.

"I may come in, Ruth?" said the maltster, ashe pushed open the door, and paused for aninstant on its threshold for her reply, casting, ashe did so, one swift keen glance round the room."I was upon the drawbridge and saw you openingthe window. Up and dressed earlier thanusual; is it not so?"

"Is it, father?" said Ruth mechanically.

"Ay, is it, is it," he rejoined in impatient tones."Have you and your pillow quarrelled, that youare so soon astir?" he went on. "Come, can younot answer me?"

"I could not sleep, father," faltered she.

"And why not, mistress?" he demanded withthe uneasy twitch of his lips which sometimesdid duty with him for a smile. "Were the ratsmore troublesome than usual? A plague on thevermin for eating my malt till I shall be ruined;and vexing thy rest."

But Ruth only shook her head.

"Why, what then?" he insisted. "Was perhapsthe White Woman walking? Ah! for shame,child, on thy foolish fancies!"

"Alack! father, 'twas no fancy," answered she."It was no White Woman's spirit that hauntedyonder room last night; but the black one of anevil, wicked-hearted man."

"Psha!" said Rumbold with an uneasy laugh."Let us have done with riddles. I understandyou now. You heard me and my boys—" Hestopped with a confused, shamefaced smile. "Thatis what the foolish fellows, you know, love to callthemselves. You heard, belike, I say, me and myfriends—"

"Friends, father!" reproachfully interrupted she.

An anxious question.

A deep flush suffused Rumbold's face, but histones of assumed careless indifference changed."How now, mistress?" he demanded with sternlyknitted brows. "Was it needful to be cravingyour leave for them to pay a little visit to theWarder's Room to—to inspect its pictures,and—and—its old oak chest, and—and—what not?"rather lamely concluded Rumbold, darting at thesame time a keen sideways glance at her. "Butlet me tell you, Ruth, I like not these would-beprying ways of yours. 'Tis fortunate that thesewalls"—and he glanced with infinite satisfactionround the solid-looking wainscot—"were notmade in to-day's gimcrack fashion, for theentertainment of every eaves-dropper who pleases to belending his idle ear to—to concerns that are toohigh for him. You did hear nothing?" he addedwith ill-concealed anxiety after a moment's pause.

"Father—dearest, do you love me?" was allher answer. "In truth, do you love me?"

"Ay, ay. What a strange girl you are, Ruth!I love you dearer than life, little one;" and hedrew her towards him, and laid her head downgently on his breast. "Far, far dearer than life.But hark you," and then all the wistful tendernessdied out of his voice, "that says not that I loveyour faults. Among which I find this prying,curious habit—that accursed inheritance of whichour poor unhappy mother Eve has bequeathed herdaughters so large a share of."

"But, father—dearest—"

"Ay. Then let me see thee thy father'schild. Seek truth and righteousness as he hasalways done; and put off,—as some one put offcertain mountebank pink petticoats we wot of—eh,little Ruth?—the pride of life, and the lust ofthe eye and the ear; for these are but part andparcel all of things that lead to the soul'sdestruction; feeding vain imagination and emptyfancy—"

"Father! father!" interrupted Ruth, wildly,"I would it were fancy, or that my poor sillyimagination were to blame. But 'tis truth andfact indeed. See here!" and dragging him beforethe panel, she pushed it open with hasty tremblinghands. "See what these—friends of yourshave done!"

"Sheriff Goodenough!" cried Rumbold, recoilingin horror-struck amazement! "Dead?"

Murdered!

"Murdered—look. There is blood upon his hands."

"Who has done this? Who?—"

"Colonel Rumsey."

"The villain!" muttered Rumbold, grinding histeeth. "I knew," he went on meditatively, knittinghis brows, "that their hearts were not at peace withone another. How came we to be so ill-advisedas to leave them alone together?—Yet to dreamof its coming to this! And how—" Then hepaused. What need to ask how she had come byher information? The broken panel explainedall. "What brought it about?" he said afteranother silence. "They came to high words?"

Ruth nodded.

"Concerning?—"

"The murder of the king."

"Master Goodenough being opposed to it?"

"And Master Rumsey," nodded Ruth, "all forstriking him down—unawares—like he has poorMaster Goodenough himself."

Honour among conspirators.

"Ay," said Rumbold, "I guessed as much;though he breathed no word of it. I suspectedit, I say, to be in his thoughts. Heaven forgivehim! I think now, he would not have hesitatedat putting poison in—a man's food, be he CharlesStuart, or any other—or stabbing him in his sleep,so only that he might gain his end."

"But you, father, you?" almost joyfully criedRuth.

"Nay, we are not assassins. I and my—friends.And this scum of the earth, Richard Rumsey wasnot fit to consort with men of honour like us—welooked, Walcot and the rest of us, we lookedindeed to be the slayers, if heaven blessed ourproject, or the slain, and it saw fit. A fair fight,front to front—"

"Fair!" cried Ruth, "Fair? In that narrowby-way? Where the coach could not pass for theoverturned cart!"

Rumbold frowned. "You have it all, seemingly,at your fingers' ends, mistress," he said, "and'tis useless to dissemble with you; or to reasonover nice and just distinctions with obstinateyoung maids' brains. Enough! See only that youmake a discreet use of your indiscretion. Keepa silent tongue in your head. Do you hear me,mistress? Or by—"

"Father! father! kill me. Do with me whatyou will," cried Ruth, throwing herself at his feet."By this time the king knows all!"

"Girl!" and in his fury he turned pale as thedead man beside him, and seized her by bothwrists. "How? By what means? Who? Thisis Lawrence Lee's handiwork? Speak."

Her lips moved, but she made no answer.

The looming gallows.

"Betrayed!" he wailed forth in a paroxysm ofimpotent fury, "and brought to naught! Destroyedlike any wind-bag. All our holy work—our sacredcompact. By the machinations of a frivolousgirl, and a love-sick Don Quixote of a boy! Oh,Ruth, Ruth! Little Ruth, was he indeed more toyou than your father—and your very faith? Ay,but 'tis so—'tis so. What have you done? And isit nothing to you neither, that this brave night'swork of your's must see me swing for it on Tyburntree?"

"Father! father! No, no," shuddered Ruth."There is time—time yet to escape."

"Ho! Is there so?" cried he with a gratingbitter laugh. "I protest now, my daughter, youare really too tender and dutiful. Time is there?Time for me to play the poltroon's part, and makea byword and a scorn of myself while the worldlasts! No, let them take me here. And yet—"

A father lost.

He paused, and his hold on Ruth's arms relaxed,so that she slowly fell away from him, while hestood sternly gazing into the chilly morning hazeas though he saw in it some prophetic vision."And yet," he murmured, "to be hunted downso. To let myself be trapped like vermin—whenstill I may be preserved, for an instrument tocrush out the superstition and the tyranny ofthese evil days that darken more and more—"

"Father! father!" implored Ruth. "Quick!By the vaults. Before it is too late!"

"Yes," he went on, letting his keen glance dropon her for a moment, and then fixing it again likesome prophetic seer, on empty space. "So it shallbe. And my voice shall yet once more be upliftedto cry: Woe! woe! to the doers of wickedness inhigh places. Yes, I will live. I will live! I willstoop, even to the very dust beneath my feet—toconquer. I will live—and if every hair of myhead were a man, I would venture them all inthis quarrel."

Then he turned, and looked towards the door.

"Father!" cried Ruth, dashing aside the tangleof hair all fallen about her face, and clinging to himwith agonized clutch. "Father! one kiss—oneword—one little word before you go!" But hisface was turned stonily upon the door.

"Father!"

Alone!

Then he was gone, leaving her stretched whereat last he wrenched himself free of her clingingagonized hands, prone and senseless upon thethreshold.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A WELCOME HOME.

"Past three o' the clock, and a fine starlightnight," piped the old watchman, ashe shuffled along, bell and lantern inhand, down Newmarket High Street."Past three o' the clock."

"Hullo! Master Diogenes. Have a care whereyou're running to," cried a deep good-humouredvoice, as the old fellow came trundling full-tiltagainst the tall, broad-shouldered figure of a mandressed in gray, who was just about to vault on tothe back of a fine black horse standing before thedoor of the Silver Leopard. "Are you lookingfor an honest man?"

"I've found him anyhow, Master Alworth,"replied the old man, half lifting his lantern to theface of the speaker, which was shaded by a hat ofgray felt, whose broad brim almost covered thelong iron-gray locks of his periwig. "'Tis theearly bird that catches the worm, they say,"continued he. "But you be astir betimes indeed,Master Alworth."

"I've a longish journey before me."

The watchman.

"Cambridge?" asked the old fellow.

"Nay. Farther by many a mile," answeredthe other, vaulting into the saddle.

"The powers alive! You don't say so! Well,you seem in mighty good trim for the taskanyhow! 'Tis many a month,—years not tosay—since I've noticed ye so springy-like about theknees, Master Alworth."

"H'm," said the traveller, passing his handacross the lower half of his face and then down histhighs. "But I must mind, or I shall be payingfor my agility."

"Ay, ay. It don't do to be making too freewhen us is gettin' well on in our threescore, do it?But happen 'tis some good stroke o' business as isgreasin' the wheels for ye," slyly laughed the oldfellow. "Coin's a rare mender of a man's paces.'Tis money—"

"Makes the mare to go," laughed the horseman."Try the recipe yourself, friend," and hethrew a crown-piece upon the ground.

Not without a half-suppressed exclamation ofsurprise at the goldsmith's unwonted liberality,albeit Master Alworth was no skinflint, the oldman picked up the coin, and contemplated itwith affectionate admiration. "I never seelikenesses of old Rowley ever pleases me so well asthese do," he said. "Eh, Master Alworth?"

"They're well enough," said the horseman, witha preoccupied shrug, as he stooped to adjust hisstirrup.

"Tho', to be sure," continued the old man, "Igrant you 'tis mightily handsomer than everCharles was, or is like to be. For 'tis few on usgrows comelier as we gets on in the years. Andthere's no doubt this here picture makes the bestof him. But there, 'tis part o' kings' trades to beflattered, 'tan't oftentimes as they stumble upontruth."

"Ods-fish!" laughed the other, "'tis seeminglya deal more likely to stumble upon them!"

"Ay—Past three o' the clock! and a fine starlightnight—you may say that, for stumblin' 'tis, anno mistake, when you get no heed nor thanksneither for your pains. Maybe as you've heard—forthe tale's in everybody's mouth by now—thatthere came one yesterday mornin' to the king, towarn him o' some fresh plottin's that's hatchin'.And what does Charles do, but turn on his heel,along with all his tag-rag an' bobtail o' lords an'ladies, an' leave the young gentleman to take careo' himself—Past three o' the clock, an' a starlightnight—what d'ye think o' that?"

"I think 'twas mightily ill-bred of him," saidthe horseman.

News.

"Well, pray Heaven the breedin' be the baddestpart o't, and keep his majesty from any worse dangersthan this night's," said the old man fervently.

"The fire, do you mean? But—'twas nothingafter all?"

"Just a flash in the pan. An up-an'-ha'-done-wi'tpiece of business. Not so much, as far as Ican make out, as a hair o' the tails o' one o' hislittle spannel dogs scorched."

"And the king?"

"He? oh ha!—near four o' the clock, an'—not tobe found high nor low, so 'tis said. But whatwon't folks say? He knows where he is, dependupon't; 'tis not the first time as Charles has binmislaid. He'll show up again, safe as the noseon your face. A cat with nine lives is oldRowley, God bless him!"

"Well, well, adieu, friend!"

"And a safe journey to your worship—Justfour o' the clock, an' a bright sunshiny morning,"called out the old man, trudging on and ringinghis bell with such tremendous energy, as if tomake up for any little delays, that it completelydrowned the clatter of Stars and Garters' hoofsas she cantered over the cobble-stones of the HighStreet.

Another horseman.

Meanwhile Lawrence Lee, only halting to snatcha meal by the way, and to give his horse half anhour's rest, reached Stanstead Church, just as theyoungsters let loose from morning dame schoolwere pranking among the gravestones, andplundering the hawthorn hedges. Tired out, butlighter of heart than he could remember for manya long day, he threw them a gay quip as he passed.Bang, clash, rattle, went the churchyard wicket,away all over the dusty road the poor mayblossoms, scattered and trampled under ruthlesslittle feet all trotting after the big horse's legs.And no marvel neither; for let alone the merryjokes of Master Lee, who always was the mostpopular creature in the world with the young fryof the neighbourhood, there was a thing to be seenpopping its head in and out of the deep pocket ofhis doublet in the most strange fashion. Head,forsooth! a bunch of brown satin ribbons youmean, or some fairing of the sort for MistressRuth Rumbold, that wobbled to and fro with thehorse's movements.

"'Tis a dog."

"Naa, 'tes a dog, tell'ee," whispered a five-year-oldwiseacre under his breath.

"Dog!" contemptuously laughed a wise virginof six, whose canine circle of acquaintance waslimited to huge farm mastiffs and gypsy curs."'Tes a silk pincush'n for Madam Lee, cain't yousee the brown and whoite bows to the corners o't."

"Pincush'n! bows! Thems its ears an' its oyes agogglin'. Pincush'ns doesn't goggle their oyes; 'tesa dog, ain't it, Marster Lee?"

"Something of the sort," answered Lee, carefullydrawing the little King Charles from hissnug hiding-place, and exhibiting its roly-polybody to the public gaze; but the shrieks ofdelight greeting its appearance, so startled itsunaccustomed ears, that terror got the better ofMaster Médor's courtly breeding, and sent himscuffling back into the recesses of his friend'sriding-coat; and amidst a general groan at thisdisappointing man[oe]uvre, Lee ambled on at a goodround trot, which quickly brought him withinsight of the grass-grown broken tower tops ofNether Hall. It was now close upon mid-day,and the sun shone hotly, so that the deserted lookof the meadows where the haymakers had justcommenced work would have occasioned theiryoung proprietor small surprise, even could hispreoccupied mind have spared the matter athought. Just a day it was for creeping awayinto the shade of the hedges, or of the aldersoverhanging the cool water shallows, to munchyour rye-bread and bacon, and drink your draughtof milk or small-beer out of your old tin can;and one or two old crippled men and womenseemed the only folks in the way to give the mastera welcome home.

A posse comitatus.

Eager to relieve the anxiety he felt his longand unexpected absence must be causing hismother, Lawrence Lee had no eyes for the strangestares full of wonderment and suspicion the oldgaffers and goodies threw after him; but he wasstartled out of himself as he reached the last fieldskirting the lane which led to the house, by aconfused hubbub of voices and angry discussion,as if the whole parish had collected between itslofty hedgerows. The spot, ordinarily so peacefuland so silent, save for the singing of the birds inthe big elm boughs overhead, was now a veritableBabel; and breaking through a gap in the hedge,fresh made by the trampling of a hundred hobnailedshoes, he leaped the intervening ditch, andalighting in their very midst, demanded inimperative tones, what they did there?

For one instant, all stood as if confounded byhis apparition. A thunderbolt fallen among themwould have startled them less. Here had they beenscouring the country pretty well since daybreak,north, south, east, west, and all points of thecompass between, among Epping glades, alongHainhault hedgerows, away over Amwell,Hoddesdon, Wideford, Ware, Waltham—far and wide,the hue and cry had gone. Deep into oozingditches, and hollow tree trunks, and pigsties, andbarns, and farmhouse cellars, and gable roofs, andcanal barges, and river craft, pitchforks, and sticks,and cudgels of all sorts and sizes had prodded andpoked in search of farmer Lawrence Lee.

"What is the meaning of this?" indignantlydemanded Lee, as half a dozen strapping fellowsclad in the local militia uniform broke throughthe crowd of smock-frocks, and closed round him."Is this the way you do your duty, MasterSergeant?" he went on addressing that officer, whohad seized his bridle-rein.

Arrested for murder.

"Ay, it be, Master Cap'n," grinned the fellow—forLee was the head of their company—"an' amoighty proper pretty way too. You be ourprisoner!"

"Prisoner!"

"Oy, oy, it be all roight, ship-shape. You bearrested."

"On what charge?"

"That be no business o' yourn."

"The murder o' Sheriff Goodenough," shriekedan open-mouthed matron. "The murder o' SheriffGoodenough, Master Innocence. Him as lies deadin the Warder's Room at Master Rumbold's?"

"By whose charge?" said Lee, passing his handacross his eyes, like a man striving to see the light.

"You want to be knowing more than's goodfor you," sneeringly replied the sergeant; "'tis allroight. Him as asks no questions, woan't be telledno lies. I warrant ya 't be no use kickin'.Eh—yow! yow! stand still, you brute," yelled thebrave Hector, as Lawrence's horse evinced adecided disposition to make a trial of his heels,and sent the by-standers to a safer distance. Lee,however, quieted the animal, and then with acomposure of manner that worked everybody upto an unendurable pitch of exasperation, he againdemanded his accuser's name.

"Colonel Richard Rumsey," answered the spokesman,thinking it wiser perhaps to comply.

"Very good," said Lawrence dismounting, andconsigning his horse to one of his own stablemenwho stood near.

"Come! Quick march, cap'n," said the sergeant,regaining all his wonted valour, as thesound of the departing horse's hoofs grew fainterand fainter.

"Where to?" said Lawrence, facing about.

"To the King's Arms!"

"The King's Arms, to begin with, and then—"the man chuckled.

"That will do," calmly said Lee. "What doyou mean by this?" he added, a purple red flushof wounded pride suffusing all his face, as a stoutcord was flung over his shoulders from behind,and a dozen hands secured it.

"Only a little compliment we pay to plottersand suchlike folk," laughed the sergeant.

Mob law.

Lawrence was about to make a violentresistance; but suddenly his face changed, a look ofdeep humiliation came over it, and he stoppedshort. "Do I not deserve this?" he said tohimself, and then he submitted quietly; and as if hewere in his old position as leader of these men,and not the led one, he turned and faced aboutfor the Rye; only delaying for a moment to chargesome of the terror-stricken women-servants of thefarm with a cheering message for his mother, andto bid them conceal the truth from her, as up tillnow they had contrived to do—"till he shouldreturn," as he said, regardless of the mockinggibes of the rabble, pressing upon all sides.

CHAPTER XXX

A TRAVELLER FROM NEWMARKET.

"This a fair scene," said the king tohimself, as between three and four o'clockin the afternoon he reached the risingground which commanded the familiarprospect of the square battlemented roofand tall spiral chimney-shaft of the Rye House."I think," he pondered on, "if I were not kingof England, I would be a maltster, and live insuch a corner of it, as this Master Rumbold does,without a care to fret me, and with one fairdaughter, and my honest friend Farmer Lee formy nearest neighbour. But yonder," continuedCharles, as his glance caught the gables of theKing's Arms, "lies our rendezvous. Now, maymy luck be as good as Master Isaak Walton's, andbring me as good a supper of fish out of yonderlittle silver stream, as he used to find under theold hostelry's roof. 'Tis quite certain at all events,"he went on, smilingly to himself, as he caughtsight of the buxom figure of Mistress Sheppard,who was standing at the porch expectantly,shading her eyes with her hand as she looked upthe road, "that this present hostess of the King'sArms, is as cleanly and handsome-looking as herpredecessor could be; and as to her civility, ifMaster Lee's word is to be taken—"

Pleasant quarters.

"Bless the darling!" murmured Mistress Sheppard,making a profound curtsey to the king, asStars and Garters stopped of her own sweet willbefore the porch, and neighed a greeting.

"Pretty creature!" she murmured on under herbreath, hardly knowing whether the sight of herfavourite, or of her favourite's rider, more originatedthe agreeable fluttering about her heart; for at thefirst glimpse she had recognized the king; andguessed at the consequent success of LawrenceLee's mission. "Will your Majesty be pleased todismount?" she said in low glad tones, as she laidher hand lightly on the mare's neck.

"Why, bless my soul!" ejacul*ted Sheppard,who now made his appearance in the porch, toreceive the new-comer, and rubbing his eyes tostare at the horse. "Stars and Garters—as I'malive!"

"You're not alive, man. You're asleep," laughedhis wife, a trifle nervously, and placing her amplefigure in such a position as to intercept his viewof the horse, as it disappeared under the ostler'scare in the direction of the stables. "Stars andGarters! What next, I wonder? 'Tis all Starsand Garters in thy sleepy eyes! Come, stir aboutman. Waken up, and take his Ma—take thisgood gentleman indoors, an' lay the table, whileI see about somethin' for him to eat."

"Not forgetting a trout. Eh, Mistress?" calledthe guest after her.

"Ay. I'll warrant your—worship. A right royalone 'tis too," answered the beaming hostess.

"One would ha' guessed she'd bin' expectin' ofhim," muttered Sheppard, still rubbing the mystificationout of his eyes, while he preceded his guestto the inn parlour, "and him a moighty sort of afavourite too. Now, there's a many that comesalong, as she thinks naught o' puttin' off with chub;nasty fork-boned watery skelintons o' things. Butmy foine old gentleman here, must be havin' histrout, and his curtseys, and down bobbins into thebargain." And Master Sheppard, who, as luckwould have it, had been a bit put about all daywith one thing and another, having first rathersulkily flicked a few stray crumbs with hissnow-white apron from the bright oaken table to thefloor, proceeded to lay the cloth.

"Any news stirring in these parts?" asked theguest in careless tones, as he threw himselfcomfortably among the cushions of a settle drawn upin the deep bay of the window looking upon theroad.

A surly host.

Now there was a good deal of news stirring;but Sheppard, contrary to his garrulous wont,seemed in no mood to impart it; and he onlyreplied by a shrug of his lean shoulders, and ashake of the head, casting at the same timeuneasy and sheepish glances towards a stoutbroad-shouldered man, seated in the embrasure of adistant window smoking an enormous Dutch pipe,whose hat was drawn low down over his eyes, whichwere apparently absorbed in gloomy contemplationof the huge jack of ale on the table before him.

Meaning words.

"Be you from nor'ards, Master Traveller?" saidSheppard to the new-comer, as if in haste to turnthe current of conversation.

"Cambridge," answered the guest, craning hisneck towards the window, as if he expected somebody.

"Eh! be you, now?" said Sheppard, rousing upa little, and a gleam of intelligence breaking intohis eyes. "Then I doubt you can tell me if 'tistrue that May Queen has beat Satan by ten paces,as the talk goes she has?"

"Quite true."

"An' what," gleefully nodded Sheppard, "what'syour notions over Flatfoot?"

"Oh! safe to win."

"The king's own horse, an't he?"

The traveller nodded.

"Maybe as you've a score on her yourself?" saidSheppard with a knowing wink.

"Rather a heavy one. Yes," replied thetraveller, suppressing a faint sigh.

"Well, well," consolingly said Sheppard. "An'you'll make a potful, depend upon't. Trust OldRowley for tellin' good horseflesh from carrion."

"Ay. As he's able to tell honest subjects fromcrop-eared knaves," laughed the stranger, drawingclose up to the table, and pouring out a bumperof ruby red wine from the tall silver-lipped flagonwhich Mistress Sheppard had just brought in, andplaced at his elbow. "Shall we drink his health,friend?" he added, brimming another glass, andpushing it toward Sheppard.

A more agonizing expression than the one breakingon Sheppard's face at this challenge, it wouldbe impossible to conceive. Half-way his tremblingfingers carried the goblet to his lips that quiveredwith strange contortions; then as his oblique stolenglances crossed those of the silent smoker,uplifted towards the shadows cast by the ivy halfcovering the lattice, his cheeks turned white ashis apron, and he set down the glass untasted.

"Come man! what ails you?" said the stranger,looking up at the unhappy Sheppard, and thennot without a touch of suspicion at the flagon."Or is anything wrong with the wine?"

"No, no," gasped Sheppard, "it's very nicewine indeed;" and he gazed at the contents ofhis cup, with affectionate admiration. "Very nice.But I—I—I'm—ordered not—to—to—" Thenhe broke down hopelessly.

Dinner for a King.

"Not to touch it, eh?" and laughing heartily athis host's perturbation, the stranger turned hisattention to the trout which Mistress Sheppard wasnow setting before him with her own fair hands."And who's your medical adviser?" he continued,as he made a deep incision into the gleaming armourof the fish. "I' faith! if 'tis yonder gentleman,"and he gave a half glance towards the silentstranger, "I'd seek another opinion if I were you.What is this?" he went on, turning to inspect thecontents of a little cruet-tray which MistressSheppard was handing to him. "Verjuice and vinegar!Thanks, no. I'll have none of them. For though'tis said they're good for the digestion, theyalways spoil mine," and he pushed away his plate,almost untasted, and his dark eyes wanderedtowards the silent guest. "What have you there?"he went on, as Sheppard with vast pomp andcirc*mstance, placed on the table a large dish.

"Sirloin," answered Sheppard, flourishing off thesilver cover, huge as Mambrino's helmet. "Sirloin—yourworship," he reiterated obsequiously, as ifhe was anxious to patch up the appalling hole hehad just now made in his manners. "Prime cut.Fit for a king."

Dangerous names.

"I'll have none of it. I cannot wait longer,"said Charles, impatiently looking again towardsthe window. "I came here by appointment witha—friend, who does not appear disposed to bepunctual. And yet, by his own tale, he lives notso far off from here. His name is—"

"Hush!" whispered Mistress Sheppard in hisear, as she bent to replace his plate with a cleanone.

"H'm—No matter," went on Charles. "We—Iam not accustomed to be kept waiting," and herose, and took up his hat. "Tell the younggentleman when he does come, that he will find me atWhitehall—"

"Hush—sh!" again whispered Mistress Sheppard.

"H'm—not far from the water stairs. But heknows my address. So come, Master Landlord,have with you, and find me a fresh horse. Andpray be quick about it, for if I would sleep at hometo-night, I must be brisk. I cry your pardon,Mistress Sheppard. You were about to speak?"he added in courteous tones, as he perceived hishostess smoothing her apron, and her lips openingand shutting, and opening again.

A fair visitor.

"So please you, there is one," answered MistressSheppard. "Nay, names matter little. One whoearnestly desires an audience—a word with you,before you go. A young girl—"

"Let her come in," said Charles with animation.

CHAPTER XXXI.

RUMSEY MEETS HIS MATCH.

"Mistress, your servant," said the king,his voice dropping to a gentle gravity,as the door opened, and disclosed thegray-clad figure of Ruth Rumbold."What can we do for you?" he added, strivingto conceal the curiosity he could not but feel atsight of the pale face, and the sad wearied look ofthe beautiful downcast eyes. "Or do you perhapsbring me the reckoning?" he went on, as,encouraged by his kindly tones, she tendered him alarge folded paper which she carried in her hand,making a profound curtsey as she did so, at thesame time lifting her eyes to his friendly gaze, sothat he could read in them of the heart too fullfor words.

"Ods-fish, it must be something of a heavyone!" he added laughingly, as he turned the paperabout, examining its seal; "but it bears nosuperscription, Mistress—Mistress—are you not MistressRuth Rumbold?" She curtseyed again, "It bearsno superscription?" he reiterated, and hesitatingto break open the seal.

"It is meant for your—your—"

"Worship," prompted Mistress Sheppard.

"Your worship's reading," said Ruth.

Then without more ado, Charles opened the paper.

"Why, what have we here?" he said, glancingover its contents with awakened curiosity. "'Tismade out in two hands! 'I, Thomas'—who is it?'Thomas Good'—I' faith! 'tis less like handwriting,than as if a spider had dipped his legs in ink, andthen danced a coranto on this fair white papermeadow. Pray had the gentleman his witswhen he indited this?"

"Indeed, indeed," cried Ruth, "he had, but nothis strength—your worship. He was dying."

"Oh, I crave your pardon," said the king,growing grave again, and dropping his gaze fromRuth's troubled face, to the paper; "'being now atthe point of death.' Ay, ay, I see now, I shouldhave read further, 'by the hand of the manRichard'—what's that noise?" he went on, breakingoff in his deciphering endeavours, as a distantchorus of yells and shouts and hideous cat-callssuddenly broke upon the drowsy afternoon silence."Your neighbourhood," he added with an amusedsmile, as he turned to continue his task, "wouldappear to be less peaceful than it looks. 'Theman Richard—'"

The strange guest speaks.

"Maybe 'tis your friend come at last to keep hisappointment," said the stranger, whose eyes had formany minutes past been fixed on Charles. "Betterlate than never, you know," he added, putting hispipe back between his lips, which were curledinto an ugly leer; and thrusting both hands intothe pockets of his small clothes, he settledhimself to watch the approach of a dense motleyrabble enveloped in a cloud of dust, whichsuddenly broke with a renewed outburst of uproar,over the low wood garden-fence, trampling itunder foot, till it lay scattered in all directions.On, on, tramp, tramp, surging to the very windowsit came, amidst shrieks and whoops, and criesof "Shame! shame! give him a yard o' rope, fairplay! God save the king!—The gallows tree's toogood for him!"—Tramp, tramp, fell the heavy treadof hobnailed shoes, until the forest of pitchforks,cudgels, rusty firearms, spades, spuds, rakes, andevery conceivable weapon and tool brandishedaloft by the strange crew fell apart, and disclosedthe cord-bound figure of Lawrence Lee.

The prisoner.

"What!" cried the king, starting in amazement."Master Lee?"

"And a right magnificent progress he appearsto have made," said the stranger, with an insolentlaugh, as he carefully laid aside his pipe and rosefrom his seat. "Ho! come, guards," he shoutedthrough the open window; "bring in yourprisoner;" and hustled forward along the broadpassage, despite the proddings and fisticuffs dealtright and left by his guards, against whom MistressSheppard seconded her indignant protests, by thevigorous aid of her own hands and finger nails,Lee, deprived of all power of helping himself,stumbled head first into the presence of the king.

"What does this mean?" cried Charles, as Lee,maintaining a stout resistance, succeeded for amoment in elbowing off the worst of the press, andhurrying forward, dropped, breathless and spent,upon one knee at the king's feet.

"Your Majesty," he began.

"The king?!!" broke in one universal shout ofamazement from all present, excepting from thelips of Mistress Sheppard and Ruth Rumbold, andthen an awe-stricken silence fell.

"Tell me—" began the king.

"I can tell your Majesty but this," said Lee,his voice falling clear and resonant through theutter stillness, "that I have been arrested by theorder of the man who stands there, Richard Rumsey;but on what charge, I wait for him to say."

"On the charge," said Rumsey, advancing fromthe shadows, like some savage beast from its lair,with an evil twitching of his lips, and a serpent-likeglitter in his cold eyes, which, however,carefully eluded the gaze of all present—"the chargeof the murder of Sheriff Goodenough."

"What?!" shouted Lee, bounding to his feet.

"Committed," calmly continued Rumsey, stilllooking into space, "in the Warder's Room ofMaster Rumbold's house yonder yesterday morning."

The witness.

"Nay, that is false," broke in Ruth, "for itwanted almost ten minutes of midnight. Theclock had not struck."

"Girl!" cried Rumsey starting, and turning uponher a face grown ghastly pale; but immediatelycollecting himself he added, addressing the king,with a baleful smile upon his lips, "Let it beso, your M——. The young woman may beright. She is in Master Lee's confidence I doubtnot; and he has whispered the gentle secret ofhis exploit to her. Ten minutes to midnight itmight have been."

"Villain!" furiously burst forth Lee.

"And since he has imparted in sweet confidenceto this—in sooth I think she just now saidher name was—"

The accuser.

"Ruth Rumbold, yes," cried the girl in a loudringing voice. "And 'tis you—you, RichardRumsey, are the murderer of Sheriff Goodenough!"

"You are certainly mighty wise, little mistress,"he rejoined with a spasmodic twitch of his pallidlips. "Your Majesty," he went on, turning jauntilyto the king, and with a careless wave of hishand towards Lee, "can see how the land liesbetwixt these two. And this brave youngbloodsucker is indeed to be envied so fair a specialpleader. But it won't do, my dear," he added,addressing Ruth in jeering tones. "'Tis too gravea matter."

"Ay, truly," said the bewildered Charles, againglancing over the paper in his hands. "Graveindeed!"

"Scoundrel! double-dyed villain!" exclaimedLee, writhing in his cords, and glaring at Rumsey."Is it not enough that already your soul is blackwith its guilt, but you must accuse another ofyour crime?"

"Words break no bones," coolly laughed Rumsey."If ever now," he went on, pointing at Lee'sbound hands, whose every vein stood out to burstingin his struggles to get free, "these inconvenientlittle knots should be loosed, you shall certainlybe set to rant it at Drury Lane playhouse. You'dmake Manager Betterton's fortune in a week. Inthe meantime," he added, turning to the king,"your Majesty sees before you the slayer ofThomas Goodenough."

For the defence.

"Ay, ay; he speaks truth at last!" cried MistressSheppard, and dashing forward, and squaringup to Rumsey, she shook her clenched fist in hisface.

"Woman!" he snarled, retreating a step, andhis ashen lips quivering apart, like a half-cowedhyena's.

"Oh! woman me as much as you please," shestormed on. "That don't frighten me much, Ireckon. Yes, yes, woman I am, and Ruth here hastold me all about it; and how the others beinggone away—"

"Others?" wonderingly interrupted the king."Gone away?"

"Ay, for sure. The other conspirators, yourMajesty—being gone down into the vaults withMaster Rumbold, to see the way they shouldescape by, if—when—" She hesitated a moment.

"Go on, my good woman. I understand," saidthe king, "when their purpose should beaccomplished."

"And they left Master Goodenough, who hadfallen asleep in the window, alone with thisRumsey here; and Master Goodenough, who was notfor—for your Majesty being murdered, but onlyfor being made away with like, across the water—beingpresently wakened up, picked a quarrel withthis fellow—that is, this fellow, who was all forhacking down your Majesty and his grace of Yorkyonder in the lane, like any butcher's oxen, pickedit with him, and—Come, Ruth, child;" and seizingRuth by the arm, Mistress Sheppard dragged herforward. "Those were his words. Tell the kinghow those were his words."

"Lies!" hissed Rumsey through his livid lips."Let her bring her witnesses. Just a string oflies!"

"Those are in thy foul mouth," retorted MistressSheppard. "Not in this gentle child's, whofound courage, Heaven helping her, for the king'ssake, to make herself certain of all your evil mindswere hatchin'; and then spared not what was bestand dearest to her, so only that the king shouldbe apprised of your villainy. Oh, I trow they'll bewell mated man an' wife," murmured on MistressSheppard, gazing with proud tears in her eagereyes, from Ruth to Lawrence Lee, "when pleaseold Time's good leisure, he shall make her a trifleolder."

A parenthesis.

"Keep to the point, dear Mistress Sheppard,"said Lawrence, flushing a little.

"An' what am I doin', if I aren't keepin' to't?"demanded she. "Don't I say that she spared noteven you, Lawrence Lee, to the perilsome journeyto Newmarket? and didn't you right willinglymind her biddin'? Oh, I'll warrant me, littleRuth has told me all; and who but me was't, thatgirthed Stars and Garters, not waitin' tountie—savin' your Majesty's sacred presence—to untiemy nightcap, and bid ye God-speed, and sent yeboth gallopin' off together?"

"This is a strange tale," said the king, asMistress Sheppard paused for lack of breath.

The evidence.

"Ay, 'tis indeed," she went on, "and MistressRuth has eyes an' ears, an' uses 'em to betterpurpose than some folks I know"—and she threwa significant glance at her bewildered betterhalf—"as can only stand gaffin' and gawmin' at a body.An' she used 'em to bestest purpose of all, thatmoment when she hided, poor lamb, inside o'yonder panel that looks into the Warder's Room,an' saw you, Richard Rumsey, commit your fouldeed. And so for your witness, if you want one,why here she stands."

"Unbind this young man's arms," said the king.

Rumsey started forward with looks of well-feignedconcern. "Is your Majesty mad?" hesaid protestingly. "'Tis indeed too venturesome—toofoolhardy, if I may say so. This fellow—takenred-handed—"

"We are surety for his not running away,"interrupted the king with a faint smile.

"Shall she tell more?" went on Mistress Sheppard,looking on with triumphant satisfaction,while the king's commands were being obeyed."Do you want to know how like the Lord's ownblessed Bible Samaritan this child tended thepoor bleeding sinful soul, an' strove to save hispoor body; but Heaven would not have it so, an'called him to his account—"

"Does your Majesty," loftily broke in Rumsey,"accept the testimony of this ranting virago, andthis puling girl, or the word of a soldier?"

"He can take it, or leave it," cried MistressSheppard, throwing all her court manners to thewinds, "like pigs leave pearls for offal. Thewitness of living truth," she went on in slower andsolemn tones, "and of loyal hearts, is no thing tobe despised. But the testimony of the dead ismightier than the angel's last trumpet; and thatlooks his Majesty in the face;" and MistressSheppard pointed to the paper in the king's hands.

The tables turned.

"It is enough," said Charles, gazing withemotion on the poor faint signature of the dyingman's hand, and the somewhat tremulous butclerkly little characters beneath it. "RichardGoodenough being dead, yet speaketh. Arrestthat traitor!" and he pointed to Rumsey.

Like a wild beast at bay, the guilty wretchglared round him. All chance of escape wasworse than hopeless; and the guard which nowleft Lawrence Lee a free man, and hastened tosurround their new prisoner, had apparently an easytask in securing him. Ere, however, they couldtouch him, he plunged his hand into his breast,and with a heavy, but lightning-quick sidewayslurch, eluded the grasp of his captors, andbreaking into a low rageful howl stumbled forwardwithin a couple of paces of the king. "So then!"he cried with an imprecation, snatching his hiddenhand from the bosom of his doublet.

Rumsey's last attempt.

Time only to see that it clutches some gleamingweapon which he turns with a savage thrustupon the king's breast,—time only for a momentof dumb stricken horror instantly broken by shrieksand cries mingling with the deafening report of apistol, whose smoke as it clears in thin bluishvapour reveals Rumsey prostrate at the king'sfeet beneath the grip of Lawrence Lee, the fingersof the would-be regicide's right hand still graspingthe pistol, whose muzzle points straight upwardto the broad beam overhead, shattered and charred,and riddled with its discharged contents!

CHAPTER XXXII.

"So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.—"
Shakspere.

One bright June morning, a few weeksafter the events recorded in this littlechronicle, the large audience chamberof the palace of Whitehall is throngedwith a brilliant company, in whose midst areseated King Charles and his Queen. With curiouseager glances the fine lords and ladies jostle eachother to obtain a closer view of the dark-eyedhandsome young fellow, and the girl standingbeside him, apparently some few years his junior,with whom their majesties are absorbed inconversation.

The young man's eyes, when he can sparethem from the queen, turn admiringly on hiscompanion, around whose slender neck, white asalabaster, except indeed where the saucy sunhas just bestowed his touches of tan upon it—hismajesty has just cast a chain of exquisitelywrought gold, from which hangs a double pendant,set with diamonds encircling the miniaturesof himself and Queen Catharine. "'Tis a souvenirof our regard and affection," the king is saying."Requital for your noble service, gold nordiamonds cannot make. These gems are but poorshadows of truth and fealty like yours, fairMistress Ruth."

He paused, he had been about to institute someworn-out comparison between the beautiful jewelsand Ruth's eyes, but a look from the queenchecked him, she saw those eyes were too brimfulof tears for any trifling, and as they welledover, dropping fast upon the basket on her arm,she made an attempt to speak. "This—" shefaltered, slowly drawing down the handles overher arms.

"Ay?" said the king graciously, as he lookedwith rather expectant eyes at the basket. Couldit be a present of eggs or cream or such like, fromthe farm?

A converted courtier.

"Médor!" he exclaimed as he lifted the lid,and the snubby muzzle, and two velvet browneyes of the little dog peered forth. "Poor Médor!Ods-fish! we had been near forgetting theealtogether!" Notwithstanding which piece ofself-confessed royal shortcoming, the small creaturebestowed a lick or two on his master's hands;though it was a trifle carelessly, and he set upa whine, and vigorous efforts to wriggle back intoRuth's arms.

"Your kindness in this instance has been verycruel, Mistress Ruth," smiled the king, as he letthe little creature have its way. "You havegiven him such hospitable entertainment since heand I parted company in the burning room atNewmarket, that now he is loth to be separatedfrom you. Médor loves you."

Nothing could be more clear than that thedog's sentiments were fully reciprocated, judgingfrom Ruth's caress, and the wistful look her eyesbestowed on the little creature.

"Not better than she loves Médor," said Lawrence.

"Say you so? Why then, 'twould be thebreaking of two hearts to part them! A crime noconscience could endure," cried the king. "Say,fair Mistress, will you keep the little jackanapesfor your own?"

Would she? Would she not? Well, as Maudlinalways would have it, Ruth was a strangeincomprehensible creature; and if pleasure shone in herface at the gift of that costly carkanet, whatcomparison did that bear to the content brighteningit, as she clasped Médor her own, her veryown, in her arms!

Marriage bells.

Benefits of a more substantial sort wereconferred on Lawrence Lee; and the estate of NetherHall was widened by many a broad acre, so thatFarmer Lee came to be accounted one of thewealthiest landowners of the shire, and themarvel of it was, that few begrudged him this worldlygood fortune; though it would be too much tosay none envied his lot, when one fine morninga year or two later, old Stanstead Church bellsrang a joyous peal, as he led his wife Ruth alongthe flower-strewn way to her new home.

Something, nay very much of the old contentshines again, now at last in Ruth's face; thoughits placid light-hearted look is gone for ever, andthe shadow of past griefs will linger on it, till,herself an aged woman, they will lay her toher rest, to wait the time when all shadows fleeaway.

Patriots and plotters.

Still, very bright and blessed was Ruth's future,with the love of Madam Lee, warm and deepas own mother's love could be; and the devotionof her husband, and the music of small voicesthat by and by began to ring about the old house,and the mysterious alleys of the hornbeam maze;but no happiness could ever efface for her thememory of her father's fate.

Stern and implacable, yielding only to thegentler side of his nature, to stifle it down again,he had deeply loved Ruth, and been loved byher with a child's heart-felt affection. Honest inhis convictions, loyal to his leader the famousArgyle, bravely as he had lived, Richard Rumbold,maimed and tortured by his captors, diedan ignominious death at the Market Cross atEdinburgh, two years after the exposure of theRye House Plot.

Cruel as these tidings of his end were, it wasrendered ten times crueller by the thought ofall those noble hearts that perished for the causewhich had exasperated more desperate, and lessdisciplined minds to devise the hideous lengths ofbloodshed and assassination; bringing all alike tothe scaffold; patriot and lofty spirits like Sydneyand Russel, grovelling, revengeful self-seekers likeso many of the plotters. Few escaping with theirlives, excepting such scum as those who turnedking's evidence like Richard Rumsey, and boughttheir evil breath at the price of their oldhand-in-glove comrades' death.

Upon all this, Ruth in the coming years wouldoftentimes sit and ponder. Ardent, unshakenlittle Stuart royalist as she remained to her latestday, and as Master Lawrence under her goodguidance came to be, it is doubtful whether eitherwas ever brought to declare with good MadamLee, that "the king could do no wrong." Thatquestion, however, they left uncontested, and,content with trying to do as little of it as possiblethemselves, did so much good as to call downupon their heads in life and in death the blessingsof all the country side.

Good company.

The grandfather's part which the roll of timebrought into request at Nether Hall, wasexcellently represented by good old bachelor MasterAlworth, who was its frequent guest, and ofthe many tales he used to tell the little ones,they liked very much that one of the brave, dear,real grandfather who died fighting for the king onWorcester field.

Of old Maudlin, what more can be said thanthat she passed her uneventful later years inthe snug ingle nook at Nether Hall, made muchof by every member of the establishment.

Adam Lockit, being of another turn of mind,declined to forsake his quarters in the gatehouse.New masters of the old mansion might come andthey might go. Maltster or magnifico, peasant orpeer, but monarch of his trophy-hung little domainhe remained; bequeathing it, when at last he wentthe way of all flesh, with his well-seasoned talesof flood and field, and hobgoblinry, to BarnabyDiggles, who superadded in fair writing (anaccomplishment, by the way, for which he was beholdento his old master's daughter), that tradition of hisown times, of the famous plot and conspiracyagainst his gracious majesty King Charles theSecond—known as the Rye House Plot—andwhose valuable assistance towards the puttingtogether of this present record, it well behovesthis chronicler gratefully to recognize.

The author of this story.

Need it be added that the substantial marks ofthe king's gratitude which were bestowed on thehostess of the King's Arms, entirely convertedMaster Sheppard to his wife's way of thinking? andthey subsided into the happiest peacefullest pairyou could find in Hertfordshire; but then MasterSheppard never again put his fingers in what hiswife called "pies that weren't baked for hiseatin';" and when sea-coal was wanted for theKing's Arms' hearth-places, honest sea-coal itmight be, but Mistress Sheppard took good care itshould be conveyed overland in a proper decentwagon; and always stood by in person, to countthe sacks, and to see to the bottom of them too.

As to oysters, she steadily set her face againstthe things, and refused ever again to admit theghost of a shell of one inside her doors. "If chuband barbel and trout—trout such as his sacredmajesty King Charles, not to speak of therenowned Master Isaak Walton before him, hadpartaken of under her roof, was not good enoughfor common wayfarin' folks, why, let 'em gofarther," she said, "an' fare worse."

The end.

Spiked atop of the spiral chimney of thegatehouse, there hung for many a year the ghastlydecapitated head of one of the arch conspirators,but long ago it crumbled to nothingness, andno blot now mars the scene that is as goodly andfair as old England has to show. Side by side insweet converse, like old friends, the two riversstill wander on amid the green pastures. Stillround about, and in and out of the red battlementedwalls, the rooks flit, and caw their never-endingchorus, and the tall trees wave their longarms day and night, and whisper to those wholist to hear it, the story of the Old Rye House.

THE END.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74255 ***