{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_25256/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_25256","id":"gutenberg_25256","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25256","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","English literature -- England -- Lancashire","Legends -- England -- Lancashire"],"text":"Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Helene de Mink and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n     \"Time has spared the epitaph on\n     Adrian's horse,--confounded that of himself.\"\n\n     SIR THOMAS BROWNE.\n\n\n\n\n     TRADITIONS\n\n     OF\n\n     LANCASHIRE.\n\n\n     BY\n\n     JOHN ROBY, M.R.S.L.\n\n\n     _ILLUSTRATED BY ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL AND WOOD._\n\n\n     IN TWO VOLUMES.\n\n     VOL. II.\n\n     Fifth Edition.\n\n\n     LONDON:\n     GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS.\n     MANCHESTER: L. C. GENT.\n     1872.\n\n\n     PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY\n     EDINBURGH AND LONDON\n\n     Transcriber's note: Minors spelling inconsistencies - mainly\n     hyphenated words - have been harmonised.\n\n     Obvious printer errors have been corrected, but the original\n     regional spelling of \"properpty\" (in \"Clegg Hall\") has been\n     retained.\n\n     Letters after the sign ^ should be read as superscript. Example\n     Edw^d, where the \"d\" is superscript.\n\n     Some chapters start with illustrations. In the original book\n     those illustrations are not named. Here they are named after\n     their chapters.\n\n     The Latin numbers (i, ii, etc.) behind some words or expressions\n     refer to the transcriber's notes at the end of this e-book.\n\n\n\n\n     CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.\n\n\n                                       PAGE\n     THE FAIRIES' CHAPEL,                 1\n\n     THE LUCK OF MUNCASTER,              24\n\n     THE PEEL OF FOULDREY,               35\n\n     A LEGEND OF BEWSEY,                 69\n\n     THE BLESSING,                       78\n\n     THE DULE UPO' DUN,                  82\n\n     WINDLESHAW ABBEY,                   96\n\n     CLEGG HALL,                        137\n\n     THE MERMAID OF MARTIN MEER,        172\n\n     GEORGE FOX,                        189\n\n     THE DEMON OF THE WELL,             206\n\n     THE SANDS,                         225\n\n     THE RING AND THE CLIFF,            236\n\n     THE DEAD MAN'S HAND,               247\n\n     THE LOST FARM,                     262\n\n     THE MAID'S STRATAGEM,              294\n\n     THE SKULL-HOUSE,                   311\n\n     RIVINGTON PIKE,                    322\n\n     MOTHER RED-CAP,                    345\n\n     THE DEATH-PAINTER,                 389\n\n     THE CRYSTAL GOBLET,                416\n\n\n\n\n\n     LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n     THE PEEL OF FOULDREY           _To face page_ 35\n\n     BEWSEY, NEAR WARRINGTON                       69\n\n     WINDLESHAW ABBEY                              96\n\n     CLEGG HALL, NEAR ROCHDALE                    137\n\n     PEG O'NELLY'S WELL, NEAR CLITHEROE           206\n\n     ULVERSTONE SANDS                             225\n\n     THE LOST FARM, NEAR SOUTHPORT                262\n\n     RIVINGTON PIKE                               322\n\n     \"THE THRUTCH,\" NEAR ROCHDALE                 349\n\n\n\n\n     THE FAIRIES' CHAPEL.\n\n     \"Farewell, rewards and fairies!\n       Good housewives now may say;\n     For now foule sluts in dairies,\n       Doe fare as well as they:\n     And though they sweepe their hearths no less\n       Than mayds were wont to doe,\n     Yet who of late, for cleaneliness,\n       Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?\"\n\n     --_Percy's Reliques._\n\n\n     The ancient mansion of Healey Hall was a cumbrous inconvenient\n     dwelling of timber; but the spirit of improvement having gone\n     forth in the reign of Elizabeth, an ordinary hall-house of stone\n     was erected, about the year 1620, by Oliver Chadwick. On the\n     south front was a projecting wing and three gables, with a large\n     hall-window. The north front had two gables only, with a\n     projecting barn. The north entrance, covered by a porch, was a\n     thorough passage, answering to the screens of a college, having\n     on one side the hall and parlour beyond; on the other were the\n     kitchen, buttery, &c. On the river below was a corn-mill; this\n     and a huge barn being necessary appendages to the hospitable\n     mansions and plentiful boards of our forefathers. Over the front\n     door was this inscription--\n\n     C. C. DOC. T: R. C: I. C. A. C: R. B.\n               ANO. DOM'I. 1168.\n\n     About the year 1756 the east wall gave way, and a considerable\n     fishure appeared on the outside. This event was considered by\n     many as the usual foretokening that its owner, Charles Chadwick,\n     of Healey and Ridware, would speedily be removed by death from\n     the seat of his ancestors; and so it proved, for in the course\n     of a few months he died at Lichfield, _aged eighty-two_. His\n     great age, though, will be thought the more probable token, the\n     surer presage of approaching dissolution.\n\n     On a stone near the top of the building, on the north side, a\n     human head was rudely carved in relief, which tradition affirms\n     to have been a memorial of one of the workmen, accidentally\n     killed while the house was building.\n\n     In 1773, the existing edifice was built, on the ancient site, by\n     John Chadwick, grandfather to the present owner.\n\n     In Corry's _Lancashire_ is the following document, furnished by\n     the recent possessor, Charles Chadwick, Esq. It relates to the\n     foregoing John Chadwick, his father--\n\n     \"In 1745, at the rebellion, when the Pretender's son and his\n     Highlanders reached Manchester, having obtained a list of the\n     loyal subscribers, they began (of course) to enforce the\n     payment of the money for their own use. An officer of the\n     belted plaid, of the second division, came to the house of Mr\n     C., in King Street, whilst the master of it was with his father\n     at Ridware, and, on being told that he was from home, and his\n     lady ill in bed, he went up-stairs, and opening the\n     chamber-door, where she was then lying-in, beckoned her sister\n     to come to him on the stairs, where he told her (in a mild but\n     decided tone) that the money before mentioned must be paid\n     quickly for the use of 'the prince (who lodged at the house in\n     Market Street, now called the Palace Inn), or the house would\n     be burnt down.' In this dilemma, the man-midwife calling first,\n     and afterwards the physician, were both consulted by the\n     ladies; when the former (a Tory) advised to send the money\n     after them, whilst the latter (a Whig) thought it better to\n     keep it till called for; consequently, never being called for\n     in their hasty retreat, the money was not paid. It may be\n     proper to add, Captain Lachlan MacLachlan, of the first\n     division (afterwards one of the proscribed), being quartered in\n     the same house, behaved with the greatest civility and\n     politeness. On a party of horse coming to the door for\n     quarters, he called for a lanthorn, and, though he had a cold\n     (for which white wine whey was offered him, which he called\n     'varra good stuff'), walked as far as Salford, and there\n     quartered them; two of his Highlanders, in the meantime, were\n     dancing reels in the kitchen, and in the morning gave each of\n     the maids sixpence at parting.\"\n\n     The name Healey Dene denotes a valley or dale, _convallis_,\n     enclosed on both sides with steep hills; _dene_ being a Saxon\n     word, signifying a narrow valley, with woods and streams of\n     water convenient for the feeding of cattle. Here the river\n     Spodden, which now keeps many fulling-mills and engines at\n     work, formerly turned one solitary corn-mill only. It was built\n     in the narrow dingle below the hall, for the supply of the\n     hamlet. The feudal owners of most mansions usually erected\n     corn-mills (where practicable) within their own demesnes. After\n     the family had removed to the more mild and temperate climate\n     of Mavesyn-Ridware, in Staffordshire, about the year 1636,\n     Healey Mill was converted into a fulling-mill, so that one of\n     the principal features in our story no longer exists.\n\n\nAbout two miles north from Rochdale lies the hamlet of Healey, a high\ntract of land, as its Saxon derivation seems to imply, hea{~LATIN SMALL LETTER EZH WITH CURL~}e, _high_,\nand lea{~LATIN SMALL LETTER EZH WITH CURL~} _a pasture_, signifying the \"_high pasture_.\"\n\nOur Saxon ancestors chiefly occupied their lands for grazing\npurposes; hence the many terminations in ley, or lea{~LATIN SMALL LETTER EZH WITH CURL~}. Pasturage is\nstill called a \"ley\" for cattle in these parts.\n\nIn this remote hamlet dwelt a family, probably of Saxon origin, whose\nname, De Heley, from their place of residence, had, in all likelihood,\nbeen assumed soon after the Norman conquest. Their descendants, of the\nsame name, continued to reside here until the reign of Edward III.,\nholding their lands as abbey lands, under the abbot of Stanlaw, soon\nafter the year 1172, in the reign of Henry II., and subsequently under\nthe abbot of Whalley, from the year 1296.[1] In 1483, John Chadwyke, or\n(_Ceddevyc_, from the common appellation _Cedde_, and _vyc_, a mansion\nor vill, signifying Cedde's fort, peel, or fortified mansion) married\nAlice, eldest daughter and co-heir of Adam Okeden of Heley; and in her\nright settled at the mansion of Heley (or Healey) Hall, then a huge\nunsightly structure of wood and plaster, built according to the\nfashion of those days. An ancestor of Adam Okeden having married\n\"_Hawise, heir of Thomas de Heley_,\" in the reign of Edward III.,\nbecame possessed of this inheritance.\n\nThe origin of surnames would be an interesting inquiry. In the present\ninstance it seems clear that the name and hamlet of Chadwick are\nderived from Cedde's vyc, or Chad's vyc. This mansion, situated on the\nsouthern extremity of Spotland, or Spoddenland, bounded on the east by\nthat stream, and southward by the Roche, was built on a bold eminence\nabove the river, where Cedde and his descendants dwelt, like the\nJewish patriarchs, occupied in the breeding of sheep and other cattle.\n\n\"But though this hamlet had been named _Ceddevic_, from its\nsubordinate Saxon chief, he himself could not have adopted it for his\nown surname; because surnames were then scarcely, if at all, known\nhere. He must have continued, therefore, to use his simple Saxon name\nof _Cedde_ only, and his successors likewise, with the addition of\nSaxon _patronymics_ even down to the Norman conquest, when the Norman\nfashion of local names or surnames was first introduced into England.\"\n\nBut though the Norman addition of surnames \"became general amongst the\nbarons, knights, and gentry, soon after the Conquest, yet Saxon\npatronymics long continued in use amongst the common people, and are\nstill not unusual here. Thus, instead of John Ashworth and Robert\nButterworth, we hear of Robin o' Ben's and John o'Johnny's,\"--meaning\nRobert the son of Benjamin, and John the son of John, \"similar to the\nNorman Fitz, the Welsh Ap', the Scotch Mac, and the Irish O'; and this\nancient mode of describing an individual sometimes includes several\ngenerations, as Thomas O'Dick's, O'Ned's, O'Sam's,\" &c.\n\nBut besides patronymics, nicknames (the Norman soubriquets) have been\nused in all ages and by all nations, and are still common here; some\nof them coarse and ludicrous enough: the real surname being seldom\nnoticed, but the nickname sometimes introduced, with an alias, even in\na law instrument. And why are not Poden, Muz, Listing, &c., as good as\n\"the Bald,\" \"the Fat,\" \"the Simple,\" &c., of the French kings; or \"the\nUnready,\" \"the Bastard,\" \"Lackland,\" \"Longshanks,\" &c., of our own? A\nlad named Edmund, some generations back, attended his master's sons to\nRochdale school, who latinised his name into \"Edmundus;\" then it was\ncontracted into \"Mundus,\" by which name his descendants are best known\nto this day: some probably knowing \"Tom Mundus\" well who are ignorant\nof his real surname. Within late years individuals have been puzzled\non hearing themselves inquired after by their own surname. At\nWhitworth you might have asked in vain for the house of \"Susannah\nTaylor,\" though any child would have taken you straight to the door of\n\"Susy O'Yem's, O' Fair-off's at top o' th' rake.\"[2]\n\nAnother derivation of the surname De Heley, not at all improbable, has\nbeen suggested--viz., that Hely Dene may have been an early corruption\nof Holy Dene, having formerly belonged to the Church, and possibly, in\nremote ages, dedicated to the religious rites of the Druids. A clear\nrock-spring, in a gloomy dell below the Hall, is still called \"the\nSpaw,\" and often frequented by youths and maidens on May mornings.\nHence some have imagined that this Dene and its Spaw may have given to\nthe river running through it the name of Spodden, or Spaw-Dene.\nAnother spring, higher up, is called Robin Hood's Well, from that\ncelebrated outlaw, who seems to have been the favourite champion of\nthese parts, and who, according to some authorities, lies buried at\nKirklaw, in the West Riding of York.[3]\n\nSuch holy wells were, in more superstitious if not happier ages, the\nsupposed haunts of elves, fairies, and other such beings, not unaptly\ndenominated the rabble of mythology.\n\nA warm sequestered dingle here conducts the Spodden through a scene of\nwild, woodland, and picturesque beauty. Drayton, in his _Polyolbion_,\nhas thus immortalised it:--\n\n     \"First Roche, a dainty rill, which Spodden from her springs,\n     A petty rivulet, as her attendant, brings.\"\n\nFrom the mansion of Healey, built on an elevated slope above the dell,\nopens out an extensive prospect. Limepark in Cheshire, Cloud End in\nStaffordshire, with the Derbyshire hills, may be distinctly seen. Over\nthe smoke of Manchester, the banks of the Mersey are visible; and upon\nthe horizon rises up the barn-like ridge of Hellsby Tor,[4] in the\nforest of Delamere. Towards the west may be seen, far out, like a vast\nbarrier, the Welsh mountains, _Moel Famma_ (mother of mountains), with\nthe vale of Clwyd, like a narrow cleft in the blue hills, which extend\nuntil the chain of Penmaenmawr and the Isle of Anglesey abruptly\nterminate in the sea. Few situations, without the toil of a laborious\nascent, show so commanding a prospect; while under the very eye of the\nspectator, nature assumes an aspect of more than ordinary beauty.\n\nOne wild scene, the subject of our legend, the pencil, not the pen,\nmust describe. It would be impossible, in any other manner, to convey\nan adequate idea of its extreme loveliness and grandeur. It is here\nknown by its Saxon appellation, \"the Thrutch,\" or Thrust, signifying a\nnarrow, but deep and rugged channel in the rocks. Through this cleft\nthe Spodden bursts with great force, forming several picturesque\nfalls, which, though of mean height, yet, combined with the\nsurrounding scenery, few behold without an expression of both wonder\nand delight.\n\nThe ancient corn-mill was here situated, just below the mansion. From\nthe \"Grist Yate,\" by the main road to Rochdale, a winding horse-way,\npaved with stones set on edge, led down the steep bank and pointed to\nthe sequestered spot where for ages the clack of the hopper and the\nplash of the mill-wheel had usurped a noisy and undisputed possession.\n\nIn the reign of our fourth Edward--we know not the precise year--an\noccurrence, forming the basis of the following legend, is supposed to\nhave taken place,--when fraud and feud were unredressed; when bigotry\nand superstition had their \"perfect work;\" when barbaric cruelty, and\nhigh and heroic deeds, had their origin in one corrupt and common\nsource, the passions of man being let loose, in wild uproar,\nthroughout the land; when the wars of the Roses had almost desolated\nthe realm, and England's best blood flowed like a torrent. Such was\nthe aspect of the time to which the following events relate.\n\nIt was in the beginning of the year, at the close of an unusually\nsevere winter. The miller's craft was nigh useless, the current of the\nrivulet was almost still. Everything seemed so hard and frost-bound,\nthat nature looked as though her fetters were rivetted for ever. But\nthe dark and sterile aspect she displayed was bedizened with such\nbeauteous frost-work, that light and glory rested upon all, and winter\nitself lost half its terrors.\n\nRalph Miller often looked out from his dusty, dreary tabernacle,\nwatching the icicles that accumulated on his wheel, and the scanty\ncurrent beneath, the hard surface of the brook scarcely dribbling out\na sufficient supply for his daily wants.\n\nEvery succeeding morn saw the liquid element becoming less, and the\nunhappy miller bethought him that he would shut up the mill\naltogether, until the reign of the frozen king should expire.\n\nA seven-weeks' frost was rapidly trenching on the fair proportions of\nan eighth of these hebdomadal inconveniences, and still continued the\nsame hard, ringing sound and appearance, as if the sky itself o'\nnights had been frozen too--fixed and impervious--and the darkness had\nbecome already palpable. Yet the moon looked out so calm, so pure and\nbeautiful, and the stars so spark-like and piercing, that it was a\nholy and a heavenly rapture to gaze upon their glorious forms, and to\nbehold them, fresh and undimmed, as when first launched from the hands\nof their Creator.\n\nWant of occupation breeds mischief, idleness being a thriftless carle\nthat leaves the house empty, and the door open to the next comer--an\nopportunity of which the enemy is sure to avail himself. The miller\nfelt the hours hang heavily, and he became listless and ill-humoured.\n\n\"'Tis an ill-natured and cankered disposition this,\" said he one\nnight, when sitting by the ingle with his drowsy helpmate, watching\nthe sputtering billets devoured, one after another, by the ravening\nflame: \"'Tis an ill-natured disposition that is abroad, I say, that\nwill neither let a man go about his own business, nor grant him a few\nhonest junkets these moonlight nights. I might have throttled a hare\nor so, or a brace of rabbits; or what dost think, dame, of a couple of\nmoor-cocks or a cushat for a pie?\"\n\n\"Thy liquorish tooth will lead thee into some snare, goodman, ere it\nha' done watering. What did Master Chadwyck say, who is to wed\nMistress Alice, our master's daughter, if nought forefend? What did he\npromise thee but a week agone, should he catch thee at thy old trade\nagain?\"\n\n\"A murrain light on the snivelling bully! Let him stay at his own\nhomestead, and not take mastership here, to trouble us with his\nhumours ere the portion be his. His younger brother Oliver is worth a\nwhole pack of such down-looked, smooth-faced hypocrites. Oliver\nChadwyck is the boy for a snug quarrel. His fingers itch for a\ndrubbing, and he scents a feud as a crow scents out carrion. The\nother--mercy on me!--is fit for nought but to be bed-ridden and\npriest-ridden like his father and his mother to boot.\"\n\n\"Hush, Ralph,\" said the cautious dame; \"let thine hard speeches fall\nmore gently on thy master's son, that is to be. His own parents\ntoo--methinks the son of Jordan and Eleanor Chadwyck should earn a\nkinder word and a lighter judgment from thy tongue.\"\n\n\"Whew! my courteous dame. How now! and so because they are become part\nof the movables of Holy Church, I trow, they must be handled softly,\nforsooth! Tut, tut, beldame, they are--let me see, so it runs; the old\nclerk of St Chad's rang the nomine in my ears long enough, and I am\nnot like to forget it. They be 'Trinitarians,' said he, 'of the house\nof St Robert near Knaresborough, admitted by Brother Robert, the\nminister of the Holy Trinity, for the redemption of captives\nimprisoned by the pagans, for the faith of Jesus Christ.' Gramercy,\nwhat a bead-roll of hard words! They say we are like to have a '_Holy\nWar_' again, when we have settled our own reckonings; and the blood\nand groats of old England are again to be spent for the purchase of\n'_Holy Land_.' O' my halidome, wench, but I would let all the priests\nand friars fight for it. Cunning rogues! they set us together by the\nears, and then run away with the pudding.\"\n\nNo doubt this profane speech rendered him easier of access to the\ntempter, and the powers of evil; who, ever watchful for the slips of\nsilly mortals, report such unholy words at head-quarters, where Satan\nand his crew are assembled in full council.\n\nThe dame groaned deeply at this reply from her graceless husband.\n\n\"Some time or another,\" said she, \"thou wilt rue these wicked\nspeeches; and who knows whether these very words of thine may not have\nbeen heard i' the Fairies' Chapel, or whispered away beyond the forest\nto the witches' tryst!\"\n\n\"I care not for all the imps and warlocks i' th' parish, hags and old\nwomen to boot. Let them come face to face. Here am I, honest Ralph the\nmiller, who never took toll from an empty sack, nor e'er missed the\nmouth of a full one. Tol-de-rol.\"\n\nHere he stood, with arms akimbo, as if daring the whole fellowship of\nSatan, with their abettors and allies. This speech, too, was doubtless\nreported at the Fairies' Chapel hard by; for the dame vowed ever after\nthat she heard, as it were, an echo, or a low sooning sound, ending\nwith an eldritch laugh, amongst the rocks in that direction. This\nwell-known haunt of the elves and fays, ere they had fled before the\nmarch of science and civilisation, was but a good bowshot from the\nmill, and would have terrified many a stouter heart, had not\nfamiliarity lulled their apprehensions, and habit blunted the edge of\ntheir fears. Strangers often wondered that any human being dared to\nsojourn so near the haunts of the \"good people,\" and were sure that,\nsooner or later, the inhabitants would rue so dangerous a proximity.\n\nA few evenings after this foolhardy challenge Ralph had been\nscrambling away, far up the dingle, for a supply of firewood. The same\nkeen tinkling air was abroad, but the sky, where the sun had thrown\nhis long coronal of rays, was streaked across with a mottled and hazy\nlight, probably the forerunner of a change. Ralph was labouring down\nthe steep with his load, crashing through the boughs, and shaking off\ntheir hoary burdens in his progress. Suddenly he heard the shrill and\nwell-known shriek of a hare struggling in the toils. At this joyful\nand refreshing sound the miller's appetite was wonderfully stimulated;\nhis darling propensities were immediately called forth; he threw down\nhis burden, and, rushing through the brake, he saw, or thought he saw,\nin the soft twilight, an unfortunate puss in the noose. He threw\nhimself hastily forward expecting to grasp the prize, when lo! up\nstarted the timid animal, and limping away, as if hurt, kept the\nliquorish poacher at her heels, every minute supposing he was sure of\nhis prey. Rueful was the pilgrimage of the unfortunate hunter. The\nhare doubled, and sprang aside whenever he came within striking\ndistance, then hirpling onward as before. Ralph made a full pause\nwhere a wide gap displayed the scanty waterfall, just glimmering\nthrough the mist below him. The moon, then riding out brightly in the\nopposite direction, sparkled on the restless current, tipped with\nfoam. It was the nearest cut to the \"Fairies' Chapel,\" which lies\nbehind, and higher towards the source of the waterfall. The unlucky\nhare paused too for a moment, as though afraid to leap; but she looked\nback at her pursuer so bewitchingly that his heart was in his mouth,\nand, fearless of consequences, he rushed towards her; but he slipped,\nand fell down the crumbling bank. When sufficiently recovered from the\nshock, he saw the animal stealing off, between the edge of the stream\nand the low copsewood by the brink, towards the Fairies' Chapel. He\nmade one desperate effort to lay hold of her before she set foot upon\nenchanted ground.\n\nHe seized her, luckily as he thought, by the scut; when lo! up started\nsomething black and \"uncanny,\" with glaring eyes, making mouths, and\ngrinning at him, as though in mockery. He felt stupefied and\nbewildered. Fascinated by terror, he could not refrain from following\nthis horrible appearance, which, as if delighted to have ensnared him,\nfrisked away with uncouth and fiendish gambols, to the very centre of\nthe Fairies' Chapel.\n\nRalph, puissant and valorous upon his own hearthstone, felt his\ncourage fast oozing out at elbows when he saw the cold moonlight\nstreaming through the branches above him, and their crawling shadows\non the grotesque rocks at his side.\n\nHe was now alone, shivering from cold and fright. He felt as though\nundergoing the unpleasant process of being frozen to the spot,\nconsciously metamorphosing into stone, peradventure a sort of\nornamental fixture for the fairies' apartment. His great hoofs were\nalready immovable; he felt his hair congealing; his locks hung like\nicicles; and his whole body seemed like one solid lump of ice, through\nwhich the blood crept with a gradually decreasing current. Suddenly he\nheard a loud yelping, as though the hounds were in full cry. The\nsound passed right through the midst of the Fairies' Hall, and almost\nclose to his ear; but there was no visible sign of their presence,\nexcept a slight movement, and then a shiver amongst the frost-bitten\nboughs above the rocks. He had not power to bethink him of his\nPaternosters and Ave Marias, which, doubtless, would have dissolved\nthe impious charm. Ralph had so neglected these ordinances that his\ntongue refused to repeat the usual nostrums for protection against\nevil spirits. His creed was nigh forgotten, and his \"_salve_\" was not\nheard. Whilst he was pondering on this occurrence, there started\nthrough a crevice a single light, like a glow-worm's lantern. Then a\ntiny thing came forth, clad in white, like a miniature of the human\nform, and, peeping about cautiously, ran back on beholding the\nunfortunate miller bolt upright in the narrow glen.\n\nRalph now saw plainly that he had been enticed hither by some evil\nbeing for no good. It might be for the malicious purpose of drawing\ndown upon him the puny but fearful vengeance of those irritable\ncreatures the fairies; and soon he saw a whole troop of them issuing\nout of the crevice. As they came nearer he heard the short sharp tread\nof this tiny host. One of them mounted the little pillar called the\n\"Fairies' Chair,\" round which multitudes gathered, as if waiting for\nthe fiat of their king. It was evident that their purpose was to\ninflict a signal chastisement on him for his intrusion.\n\nRalph watched their movements with a deplorable look. Horrible indeed\nwere his anticipations. The elf on the pillar, a little wrinkled being\nwith a long nose, bottle-green eyes, and shrivelled yellowish-green\nface, in a shrill squeaking tone, addressed him courteously, though\nwith an ill-suppressed sneer, inquiring his business in these regions.\nBut Ralph was too terrified to reply.\n\n\"How lucky!\" said the old fairy: \"we have a mortal here, just in the\nnick of time. He will do our bidding rarely, for 'tis the stout miller\nhard by, who fears neither fiend nor fairy, man nor witch, by his own\nconfession. We'll put his courage to the proof.\"\n\nRalph was now thawing through terror.\n\n\"We would have punished this thine impertinent curiosity, had we not\nother business for thee, friend,\" said the malicious little devilkin.\n\"Place thy fingers on thy thigh, and swear by Hecate, Merlin, and the\nFairies' Hall, that within three days thou wilt fulfil our behest.\"\n\nRalph assented, with a hideous grimace, glad upon any terms to escape.\n\nThe whole company disappeared, but a faint, sulphur-like flame hovered\nfor a while over the spot they had left.\n\nSoon he heard the following words, in a voice of ravishing\nsweetness:--\n\n     \"Mortal I must cease to be,\n     If no maiden, honestly,\n     Plight her virgin troth to me,\n     By yon cold moon's silver shower,\n     In the chill and mystic hour,\n     When the arrowy moonbeams fall\n     In the fairies' festive hall.\n     Twice her light shall o'er me pass,\n     Then I am what once I was,\n     Should no maid, betrothed, but free,\n     Plight her virgin vow to me.\"\n\nThe music ceased for a short space; then a voice, like the soft\nwhisper of the summer winds, chanted the following lines in a sort of\nmonotonous recitation:--\n\n     \"Mortal, take this unstained token,\n     Unpledged vows were never broken;\n     Lay it where a Byron's hand\n     This message finds from fairy-land,--\n     Fair Eleanor, the love-sick maid,\n     Who sighs unto her own soft shade:--\n     Bid her on this tablet write\n     What lover's wish would e'er indite;\n     Then give it to the faithful stream\n     (As bright and pure as love's first dream)\n     That murmurs by,--'twill bring to me\n     The messenger I give to thee.\n\n     \"But the maiden thou must bring\n     Hither, to our elfin king,\n     Ere three days are come and gone,\n     When the moon hath kissed the stone\n     By our fairy monarch's throne.\n     Shouldst thou fail, or she refuse,\n     Death is thine; or thou may'st choose\n     With us to chase the moonbeams bright,\n     Around the busy world. Good night!\"\n\nHe now felt something slipped into his hand.\n\n\"Remember,\" said the voice, \"when that shadow is on the pillar, thou\nmust return.\"\n\nImmediately his bodily organs resumed their office, and the astonished\nmiller was not long in regaining his own threshold.\n\nBut he was a moody and an altered man. The dame could not help\nshuddering as she saw his ashen visage, and his eyes fixed and almost\nstarting from their sockets. His cheeks were sunken, his head was\nbare, and his locks covered with rime, and with fragments from the\nboughs that intercepted his path.\n\n\"Mercy on me!\" cried she, lifting up her hands, \"what terrible thing\nhas happened? O Ralph, Ralph, thy silly gostering speeches, I do fear\nme, have had a sting in their tail thou hast little dreamed of!\"\n\nHere she crossed herself with much fervour and solemnity. She then\nturned to gaze on the doomed wretch, who, groaning heavily, seated\nhimself on the old settle without speaking.\n\n\"He has seen the fairies or the black dog!\" said the dame in great\nterror. \"I will not upbraid thee with thy foolish speeches, yet would\nI thou hadst not spoken so lightly of the good people. But take\ncourage, goodman; thou art never the worse yet for thy mishap, I trow;\nso tell me what has befallen thee, and ha' done snoring there, like an\nowl in a barn riggin'.\"\n\nA long time elapsed ere the affrighted miller could reveal the nature\nand extent of his misfortunes. But woman's wits are more fertile in\nexpedients, and therefore more adroit for plots and counterplots than\nour own. The dame was greatly terrified at the recital, yet not so as\nto prevent her from being able to counsel her husband as to the plan\nhe should pursue.\n\nWe now leave our honest miller for a space, while we introduce another\npersonage of great importance to the further development of our story.\n\nOliver Chadwyck was the second son of Jordan Chadwyck before-named,\nthen residing at their fort or peel of the same name, nearly two miles\nfrom Healey. Oliver had, from his youth, been betrothed to Eleanor\nByron, a young and noble dame of great beauty, residing with her\nuncle, Sir Nicholas Byron, at his mansion, two or three miles distant.\nOliver was a hot-brained, amorous youth, fitted for all weathers,\nready either for brotherhood or blows, and would have won his \"ladye\nlove\" at the lance's point or by onslaught and hard knocks.\n\nEleanor seemed to suffer his addresses for lack of other occupation.\nShe looked upon him as her future husband; but she would rather have\nbeen wooed to be won. The agonies of doubt and suspense, the pangs of\njealousy and apprehension, would have been bliss compared to the dull\nmonotony of the \"betrothed.\" The lazy current would have sparkled if a\nfew pebbles had been cast into the stream. Her sensitive spirit,\nlikewise, shrank from contact with this fiery and impetuous youth; her\nheart yearned for some deep and hallowed affection. Strongly imbued\nwith the witcheries of romance, she would rather have been sought by\nblandishments than blows, which, from his known prowess in the latter\naccomplishment, the youthful aspirant had no necessity to detail in\nthe ears of his mistress. She liked not the coarse blunt manner of her\ngallant, nor the hard gripe and iron tramp for which he was\nsufficiently distinguished.\n\nYet was Oliver Chadwyck reckoned the best-looking cavalier in the\nneighbourhood, and, moreover, an adherent to the \"Red Rose,\" under\nwhose banner he had fought, and, even when very young, had gained\ndistinction for his bravery--no mean recommendation, truly, in those\ndays, when courage was reckoned a sure passport to a lady's favour,\nthe which, it might seem, whoever held out longest and stuck the\nhardest was sure to win.\n\nOne evening, about the time of the miller's adventure in the Fairies'\nChapel, Eleanor was looking through her casement listlessly, perhaps\nunconsciously. She sighed for occupation. The glorious hues of sunset\nwere gone; the moon was rising, and she watched its course from the\nhorizon of long dark hills up to the bare boughs of the sycamores by\nthe banks of the little stream below. Again she sighed, and so heavily\nthat it seemed to be re-echoed from the walls of her chamber. She\nalmost expected the grim panels to start aside as she looked round,\nhalf-wishing, half-afraid that she might discover the intruder.\n\nDisappointed, she turned again to the casement, through which the\nmoonbeams, now partially intercepted by the branches, lay in chequered\nlight and darkness on the floor.\n\n\"I thought thou wert here. Alas! I am unhappy, and I know not why.\"\nWhile she spoke a tear trembled on her dark eyelashes, and as the\nmoonlight shone upon it, the reflection glanced back to the eye-ball,\nand a radiant form apparently glided through the chamber. But the\nspectre vanished as the eyelid passed over, and swept away the\nillusion. She leaned her glowing cheek upon a hand white and\nexquisitely formed as the purest statuary: an image of more perfect\nloveliness never glanced through a lady's lattice. She carelessly\ntook up her cithern. A few wild chords flew from her touch. She bent\nher head towards the instrument, as if wooing its melody--the\nvibrations that crept to her heart. She hummed a low and plaintive\ndescant, mournful and tender as her own thoughts. The tone and feeling\nof the ballad we attempt to preserve in the following shape:--\n\n     SONG.\n\n     I.\n\n         \"It is the stream,\n     Singing to the cold moon with babbling tongue;\n     Yet, ah! not half so wildly as the song\n         Of my heart's dream.\n     Is not my love most beautiful, thou moon?\n         Though pale as hope delayed;\n     Methought, beneath his feet the wild-flowers played\n     Like living hearts in tune.\n\n     2.\n\n         \"We stood alone:\n     Then, as he drew the dark curls from my sight,\n     Through his transparent hand and arm of light,\n         The far skies shone.\n     List! 'twas the dove.\n     It seemed the echo of his own fond tone;\n     Sweet as the hymn of seraphs round the throne\n         Of hope and love!\"\n\nBut the moon was not the object of her love. Ladies are little apt to\nbecome enamoured of such a fit emblem of their own fickle and\ncapricious humours; and yet, somebody she loved, but he was invisible!\nProbably her wild and fervid imagination had created a form--pictured\nit to the mind, and endowed it with her own notions of excellence and\nperfection: precisely the same as love in the ordinary mode, with this\ndifference only--to wit, the object is a living and breathing\nsubstance, around which these haloes of the imagination are thrown;\nwhereas, in the case of which we are speaking, the lady's ideal image\nwas transferred to a being she had never seen.\n\nIt was but a short period before the commencement of our narrative\nthat Eleanor Byron was really in love, and for the first time; for\nthough her cousin Oliver, as she usually called him, had stormed, and\nperchance carried the outworks, yet the citadel was impregnable and\nunapproached. But she knew not that it was love. A soft and pleasing\nimpression stole insensibly upon her, then dejection and melancholy.\nHer heart was vacant, and she sighed for an object, and for its\npossession. It was a silly wish, but so it was, gentle reader; and\nbeware thou fall not in love with thine own dreams, for sure enough it\nwas but a vision, bright, mysterious, and bewitching, that enthralled\nher. Love weaves his chains of the gossamer's web, as well as of the\nunyielding adamant; and both are alike binding and inextricable. She\nsaw neither form nor face in her visions, and yet the impalpable and\nglowing impression stole upon her senses like an odour, or a strain of\nsoft and soul-thrilling music. Her heart was wrapped in a delirium of\nsuch voluptuous melody, that she chided the morning when she awoke,\nand longed for night and her own forgetfulness. Night after night the\nvision was repeated; and when her lover came, it was as though some\nchord of feeling had jarred, some tie were broken, some delicious\ndream were interrupted, and she turned from him with vexation and\nregret. He chided her caprice, which he endured impatiently, and with\nlittle show of forbearance. This did not restore him to her favour,\nnor render him more winning and attractive; so that the invisible\ngallant, a rival he little dreamt of, was silently occupying the heart\nonce destined for his own.\n\nOne evening, Ralph, in pursuance of the commands he had received,\narrayed in his best doublet, his brown hose, and a huge waist or\nundercoat, beneath which lay a heavy and foreboding heart, made his\nappearance at the house of Sir Nicholas Byron, an irregular and ugly\nstructure of lath and plaster, well ribbed with stout timber, situated\nin a sheltered nook near the edge of the Beil, a brook running below\nBelfield, once an establishment of the renowned knights of St John of\nJerusalem, or Knights Templars.\n\nRalph was ushered into the lady's chamber; and she, as if expecting\nsome more distinguished visitant, looked with an eye of disappointment\nand impatience upon the intruder as he made his homely salutation.\n\n\"Thine errand?\" inquired she.\n\n\"Verily, a fool's, lady,\" replied Ralph, \"and a thriftless one, I fear\nme, into the bargain.\"\n\n\"Stay thy tongue. Yet I bethink me now,\" said she, looking earnestly\nat him, \"thou art from my cousin: a messenger from him, I trow.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the ambiguous hind, \"'tis from other guess folk, belike;\nbut--who--I--Like enough that the Lady Eleanor will go a\nfortune-hunting with such a simpleton as I am.\"\n\n\"Go with thee?\" said the lady in amazement.\n\n\"Why, ay--I was bid to bring you to the Fairies' Chapel, beyond the\nwaterfall in the wood by Healey, and that ere to-morrow night. But I\nam a doomed and a dying man, for how should the Lady Eleanor Byron\nobey this message?\"\n\nHere the unhappy miller began to weep; but the lady was dumb with\nastonishment.\n\n\"Forgive me, lady, in this matter; but I was in a manner bound to\naccomplish mine errand.\"\n\n\"And what if I should accompany thee? Wouldest thou be my champion, my\nprotector from onslaught and evil?\"\n\nHere he opened his huge grey eyes to such an alarming extent that\nEleanor had much ado to refrain from smiling.\n\n\"If you will go, lady, I shall be a living man; and you\"--a dead\nwoman, probably he would have said; but the denunciation did not\nescape his lips, and the joy and surprise of the wary miller were\nbeyond utterance.\n\n\"But whence thy message, friend?\" said the deluded maiden, eyeing him\nsuspiciously.\n\n\"Why; the message was whispered in my ear. A stranger brought it\ntogether with a dismal threat should I not bring you at the time\nappointed.\"\n\nHere the miller again became uneasy and alarmed. A cold shudder crept\nover him, and he looked imploringly upon her.\n\n\"But they say, my trusty miller, that this chapel of the fairies may\nnot be visited, forbidden as it is to all catholic and devout\nChristians, after nightfall.\"\n\nAt this intimation the peccant miller displayed his broad thumbs, and\nlooked so dolorous and apprehensive, sprawling out his large ungainly\nproportions, that Eleanor, though not prone to the indulgence of\nmirth, was mightily moved thereto by the cowardly and dismal aspect he\nbetrayed.\n\n\"Nay, lady, I beseech you,\" he stammered out. \"I am a dead dog--a\npiece of useless and unappropriated carrion, if you go not. Ha' pity\non your poor knave, and deliver me from my tormentors!\"\n\n\"Then to-morrow I will deliver thee,\" said the maiden, \"and break\nthine enchantment. But the hour?\"\n\n\"Ere the moonbeam touches the pillar in the Fairies' Hall.\"\n\n\"Agreed, knave. So begone. Yet--and answer truly for thy life--was no\npledge, no token, sent with this message?\"\n\nRalph unwillingly drew forth the token from his belt. Fearful that it\nmight divulge more than he wished, the treacherous messenger had kept\nback the tablets entrusted to him. He suspected that should she be\naware it was the good people who were a-wanting her, he would have but\na slender chance of success.\n\nShe glanced hastily, anxiously, over the page, though with great\nsurprise.\n\n\"How now?\" said she, thoughtfully. \"Here is a pretty love-billet\ntruly. The page is fair and unspotted--fit emblem of a lover's\nthoughts.\"\n\n\"You are to write thereon, lady, your lover's wish, and throw it into\nthe brook here, hard by. The stream, a trusty messenger will carry it\nback to its owner.\"\n\nRalph delivered his message with great reluctance, fearful lest she\nmight be alarmed and retract her promise.\n\nTo his great joy, however, she placed the mystic token in her bosom,\nand bade him attend on the morrow.\n\nThis he promised faithfully; and with a light heart he returned to his\nabode.\n\nEleanor watched his departure with impatience. She took the tablets\nfrom her bosom. Horror seemed to fold his icy fingers round her heart.\nShe remembered the injunction. Her mind misgave her, and as she drew\ntowards the lamp it shot forth a tremulous blaze and expired. Yet with\ndesperate haste, bent, it might seem, on her own destruction, she\nhastily approached the window. The moonbeam shone full upon the page\nas she scrawled with great trepidation the word \"THINE.\" To her\nunspeakable horror the letters became a track of fire, but as she\ngazed a drop of dark blood fell on them and obliterated the writing.\n\n\"Must the compact be in blood?\" said she, evidently shrinking from\nthis unhallowed pledge. \"Nay then, farewell! Thou art not of yon\nbright heaven. My hopes are yet there, whatever be thy doom! If thou\nart aught within the pale of mercy I am thine, but not in blood.\"\n\nAgain, but on another page, she wrote the word \"THINE.\" Again the\nblood-drop effaced the letters.\n\n\"Never, though I love thee! Why urge this compact?\" With a trembling\nhand she retraced her pledge, and the omen was not repeated. She had\ndared much; but her hope of mercy was yet dearer than her heart's deep\nand overwhelming passion. With joy she saw the writing was unchanged.\n\nThrowing on her hood and kerchief, she stole forth to the brook, and\nin the rivulet, where it was yet dark and unfrozen, she threw the\nmystic tablet.\n\nThe following night she watched the moon, as it rose above the huge\ncrags, breaking the long undulating horizon of Blackstone Edge, called\n\"Robin Hood's Bed,\" or \"Robin Hood's Chair.\"[5]\n\nOne jagged peak, projected upon the moon's limb, looked like some huge\nspectre issuing from her bright pavilion. She rose, red and angry,\nfrom her dark couch. Afterwards a thin haze partially obscured her\nbrightness; her pale, wan beam seemed struggling through a wide and\nattenuated veil. The wind, too, began to impart that peculiar chill so\nwell understood as the forerunner of a change. A loud sough came\nshuddering through the frozen bushes, moaning in the grass that\nrustled by her path. Muffled and alone, she took her adventurous\njourney to the mill, where she arrived in about an hour from her\ndeparture. Ralph was anxiously expecting her, together with his dame.\n\n\"Good e'en, lady,\" said the latter, with great alacrity, as Eleanor\ncrossed the threshold. She returned the salutation; but her features\nwere lighted up with a wild and deceptive brightness, and her glowing\neye betrayed the fierce and raging conflict within.\n\n\"The shadow will soon point to the hour, and we must be gone,\" said\nthe impatient miller.\n\n\"Lead on,\" replied the courageous maiden; and he shrank from her gaze,\nconscious of his own treachery and her danger.\n\nThe hard and ice-bound waters were dissolving, and might be heard to\ngurgle in their deep recesses; drops began to trickle from the trees,\nthe bushes to relax their hold, and shake off their icy trammels.\nTowards the south-west lay a dense range of clouds, their fleecy tops\ntelling with what message they were charged. Still the moon cast a\nsubdued and lingering light over the scene, from which she was shortly\ndestined to be shut out.\n\nRalph led the way silently and with great caution through the slippery\nravine. The moonlight flickered through the leafless branches on the\nheights above them, their path winding through the shadows by the\nstream.\n\n\"We must hasten,\" said her guide, \"or we may miss the signal. We shall\nsoon take leave of the moonlight, and perhaps lose our labour\nthereby.\"\n\nThey crept onwards until they saw the dark rocks in the Fairies'\nChapel. The miller pointed to a long withered bough that flung out its\ngiant arms far over the gulph from a great height. The moon threw down\nthe shadow quite across to the bank on the other side, marking its\nrude outline on the crags.\n\n\"The signal,\" said Ralph; \"and by your favour, lady, I must depart. I\nhave redeemed my pledge.\"\n\n\"Stay, I prithee, but within hearing,\" said Eleanor. \"I like not the\naspect of this place. If I call, hasten instantly to my succour.\"\n\nThe miller promised, but with a secret determination not to risk his\ncarcase again for all the bright-eyed dames in Christendom.\n\nShe listened to his departing footsteps, and her heart seemed to lose\nits support. An indescribable feeling crept upon her--a consciousness\nthat another was present in this solitude. She was evidently under the\ncontrol of some invisible agent; the very freedom of her thoughts\noppressed and overruled by a power superior to her own. She strove to\nescape this thraldom, but in vain. She threw round an apprehensive\nglance, but all was still--the dripping boughs alone breaking the\nalmost insupportable silence that surrounded her. Suddenly she heard a\nsigh, and a rustling at her ear; and she felt an icy chillness\nbreathing on her. Then a voice, musical but sad, whispered--\n\n\"Thou hast rejected my suit. Another holds thy pledge.\"\n\n\"Another! Who art thou?\" said the maiden, forgetting her fears in the\nfirst emotion of surprise.\n\n\"Thou hast been conscious of my presence in thy dreams!\" replied the\nmysterious visitor. She felt her terrors dissipated, for the being\nwhom she loved was the guardian of her safety.\n\n\"I have loved thee, maiden,\" said the voice; \"I have hovered round\nthee when thou slept, and thou hast answered my every thought.\nWherefore hast thou not obeyed? Why not seal thy compact and our\nhappiness together?\"\n\n\"Because it was unhallowed,\" replied she firmly, though her bosom\ntrembled like the leaf fluttering from its stem.\n\n\"Another has taken thy pledge. Yet is it not too late. Renew the\ncontract, even with thy blood, and I am thine! Refuse, and thou art\nhis. If this hour pass, I am lost to thee for ever!\"\n\n\"To whom,\" inquired Eleanor, \"has it been conveyed?\"\n\n\"To thy first, thy betrothed lover. He found the pledge that I would\nnot receive.\"\n\nThe maiden hesitated. Her eternal hopes might be compromised by this\ncompliance. But she dreaded the loss of her insidious destroyer.\n\n\"Who art thou? I fear me for the tempter!\"\n\n\"And what boots it, lady? But, listen. These elves be my slaves; and\nyet I am not immortal. My term is nigh run out, though it may be\nrenewed if, before the last hour be past, a maiden plight her hopes,\nher happiness to me! Ere that shadow creeps on the fairy pillar thou\nart irrevocably mine, or his whom thou dreadest.\"\n\nEleanor groaned aloud. She felt a cold hand creeping on her brow. She\nscreamed involuntarily. On a sudden the boughs bent with a loud crash\nabove her head, and a form, rushing down the height, stood before her.\nThis unexpected deliverer was Oliver Chadwyck. Alarmed by the cries of\na female, as he was returning from the chase, he interposed at the\nvery moment when his mistress was ensnared by the wiles of her\nseducer.\n\n\"Rash fool, thou hast earned thy doom. The blood be on thine own head.\nThou art the sacrifice!\"\n\nThis was said in a voice of terrible and fiendish malignity. A loud\ntramp, as of a mighty host, was heard passing away, and Oliver now\nbeheld the form of his betrothed.\n\n\"Eleanor! Here! In this unholy place!\" cried her lover. But the maiden\nwas unable to answer.\n\n\"There's blood upon my hand!\" said he, holding it up in the now clear\nand unclouded moonlight. \"Art thou wounded, lady?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" she replied; \"I was alone. Yet I felt as though some\nliving thing were nigh--some unseen form, of terrible and appalling\nattributes! Was it not a dream?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Oliver, pensively; \"methought another was beside thee!\"\n\n\"I saw him not.\"\n\n\"How camest thou hither?\"\n\n\"Let us be gone,\" said she, trembling; \"I will tell thee all.\"\n\nShe laid her head on his shoulder. It throbbed heavily. \"I am now\nfree. The accursed links are broken. I feel as though newly wakened\nfrom some horrible dream! Thou hast saved me, Oliver. But if thine own\nlife is the price!\"\n\n\"Fear not; I defy their devilish subtilty--in their very den too: and\nthus, and thus, I renounce the devil and all his works!\"\n\nHe spat thrice upon the ground, to show his loathing and contempt.\n\n\"Oh! say not so,\" cried Eleanor, looking round in great alarm.\n\nOliver bore her in his arms from that fearful spot. He accompanied her\nhome; and it was near break of day when, exhausted and alone, she\nagain retired to her chamber. By the way Oliver told her that he had\nfound a mysterious tablet on the edge of the brook the same morning.\nHe had luckily hidden it in his bosom, and he felt as though a\ntalisman or charm had protected him from the spells in the \"Fairies'\nChapel.\"\n\nSpringtide was past, and great was the stir and bustle for the\napproaching nuptials between Oliver Chadwyck and the Lady Eleanor. All\nthe yeomanry, inhabitants of the hamlets of Honorsfield, Butterworth,\nand Healey, were invited to the wedding. Dancers and mummers were\nprovided; wrestlers and cudgel-players, with games and pastimes of all\nsorts, were appointed. The feasts were to be holden for three days,\nand masks, motions, and other rare devices, were expected to surpass\nand eclipse every preceding attempt of the like nature.\n\nEleanor sat in her lonely bower. It was the night before the bridal.\nTo-morrow would see her depart in pageantry and pomp--an envied bride!\nYet was her heart heavy, and she could not refrain from weeping.\n\nShe sought rest; but sleep was denied. The owl hooted at her window;\nthe bat flapped his leathern wings; the taper burned red and heavily,\nand its rays were tinged as though with blood; the fire flung out its\ntiny coffin; the wind sobbed aloud at every cranny, and wailed\npiteously about the dwelling.\n\n\"Would that I might read my destiny,\" thought she. Her natural\ninclination to forbidden practices was too powerful to withstand.\n\nNow there was formerly an ancient superstition, that if, on the night\nbefore marriage, a taper were burned, made from the fat of a young\nsow, and anointed with the blood of the inquirer, after sundry\ndiabolical and cabalistical rites at midnight, a spirit would appear,\nand pronounce the good or evil destiny of the querent.\n\nEleanor had prepared the incantation ere she laid her throbbing head\non the pillow. Whether or not she slept, is more than we can divulge.\nSuch, in all probability, was the case; dreams being the echo only of\nour waking anticipations.\n\nShe thought there came a rushing wind. The door flapped to and fro,\nthe curtains shook, and the pictures glared horribly from the wall.\nSuddenly--starting from the panel, with eyes lighted up like\nbale-fires, and a malignant scowl on her visage--stalked down one of\nthe family portraits. It was that of a female--a maiden aunt of the\nhouse of Byron, painted by one of the court artists, whom the king had\nbrought from France, and patronised at a heavy cost. This venerable\ndame appeared to gaze at the spectator from whatsoever situation she\nwas beholden. The eyes even seemed to follow you when passing across\nthe chamber. A natural consequence though, and only marvelled at by\nthe ignorant and illiterate.\n\nThis ancient personage now advanced from her hanging-place, and\nstanding at the foot of the bed, opened out a fiery scroll with these\nominous words:--\n\n     \"Maid, wife, and widow, in one day,\n     This shall be thy destiny.\"\n\nEleanor struggled hard, but was unable to move. She laboured for\nutterance, but could not speak. At length, with one desperate effort,\na loud cry escaped her, and the vision disappeared. She slept no more,\nbut morning disclosed her haggard cheek and sunken eye, intimating\nthat neither hope nor enjoyment could have been the companion of her\nslumbers.\n\nIt was a bright morning in June. The sun rode high and clear in the\nblue heavens. The birds had \"sung their matins blythe\" ere the\nbridegroom arrived with his attendants. Merrily did the village\nchoristers acquit themselves in their vocation, while those that were\nappointed strewed flowers in the way. The bells of St Chad trolled out\ntheir merry notes when the ceremony was over, and the bride, on her\nsnow-white palfrey, passed on, escorted by her husband, at the head of\nthe procession. Gay cavaliers on horseback, and maidens prancing by\ntheir side, made the welkin ring with loud and mirthful discourse. The\nelder Byron rode on his charger by the side of Jordan Chadwyck and his\neldest son, with whom rode the vicar, Richard Salley, nothing loath to\ncontribute his folly to the festival.\n\nAs the procession drew nigh to the hall, a messenger rode forward in\ngreat haste, whispering to Byron, who, with angry and disordered\nlooks, shouted aloud to Oliver--\n\n\"Away--away! The cowardly Traffords are at our threshold. They have\nskulked out, like traitors as they be, knowing our absence at the\nfeast. 'Tis an old feud, and a bloody one. Who is for Byron? Down with\nthe Traffords!\"\n\nThe old man here put spurs to his horse, and galloped off with his\nattendants.\n\n\"A Byron--a Byron!\" shouted Oliver, as he followed in full cry, first\nleaving his wife under a suitable and safe escort. Soon they routed\nthe enemy, but the prediction was complete; for Eleanor became\n\n     \"Maid, wife, and widow, in one day!\"\n\nher husband being slain during the battle.\n\nThe blood of man was held of little account in those days, if we may\njudge by the following award on the occasion:--\n\n\"In virtue of a writ of appeal of death, sued out against Sir John\nTrafford, Knight, his tenants and servants, the sum of sixty pounds\nwas deemed to be paid by Trafford to Biroun, to be distributed amongst\nthe cousins and friends of the late Oliver C., in the parish church of\nManchester, on the award of Sir Thomas Stanley, Knight, _Lord\nStanley_--viz. ten marks at the nativity of John the Baptist, and ten\nmarks at St Martyn, yearly, until the whole was paid, and all parties\nto be fully friends. Dated London, 24th March, 20 Edward IV. 4018.\"\n\n     [1] Whitaker's _Hist. Whalley_, p. 441.\n\n     [2] Corry's _Lancashire_.\n\n     [3] _Mag. Britan._ York, p. 391.\n\n     [4] Here vulgarly called the Tearn Barn\n     (tithe-barn) in Wales; distinctly seen in showery weather, but\n     invisible in a settled season.\n\n     [5] On a bleak moor, called Monstone Edge, in this\n     hamlet, is a huge moor-stone or outlier, which (though part of\n     it was broken off and removed some years ago) still retains the\n     name of Monstone. It is said to have been quoited thither by\n     Robin Hood, from his bed on the top of Blackstone Edge, about\n     six miles off. After striking the mote or mark aimed at, the\n     stone bounced off a few hundred yards and settled there. These\n     stones, however, in all probability, if not Druidical, were\n     landmarks, the ancient boundary of the hamlet of Healey; and,\n     as was once customary, the marvellous story of this ancient\n     outlaw might be told to the urchins who accompanied the\n     perambulators, with the addition, probably, of a few kicks and\n     cuffs, to make them remember the spot.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE LUCK OF MUNCASTER.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUCK OF MUNCASTER.\n\n     _K. Hen._--\"From Scotland am I stolen, even of pure love,\n               To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.\"\n\n     _King Henry VI._\n\n     \"It shall bless thy bed, it shall bless thy board,\n       They shall prosper by this token;\n     In Muncaster Castle good luck shall be,\n       Till the charmed cup is broken.\"\n\n\n    Gamel de Pennington is the first ancestor of the family of whom\n    there is any recorded account; he was a person of great note and\n    property at the time of the Conquest, and the family, having\n    quitted their original seat of Pennington in Lancashire (where\n    the foundation of a square building called the Castle is still\n    visible), he fixed his residence at Mealcastre, now called\n    Muncaster. It is said that the family originally resided nearer\n    the sea, at a place not far from the town of Ravenglass, where\n    at present are the ruins of an old Roman castle, called Walls\n    Castle. The old tower of the present mansion-house at Muncaster\n    was built by the Romans, to guard the ford called St Michael's\n    Ford, over the river Esk, when Agricola went to the north, and\n    to watch also the great passes into the country over the fells,\n    and over Hard Knot, where is the site of another fortress\n    constructed by them, apparent from the traces existing to this\n    day.\n\n    Muncaster and the manor of Muncaster have long been enjoyed by\n    the Penningtons, who appear to have possessed it about forty\n    years before the Conquest, and ever since, sometimes\n    collaterally, but for the most part in lineal descent by their\n    issue male, to this very time.\n\n    There is a room in Muncaster Castle which still goes by the name\n    of Henry the Sixth's room, from the circumstance of his having\n    been concealed in it at the time he was flying from his enemies\n    in 1461, when Sir John Pennington, the then possessor of\n    Muncaster, gave him a secret reception.\n\n    The posts of the bed in which he slept, which are of handsome\n    carved oak, are also in the same room in good preservation.\n\n    When the period for the king's departure arrived, before he\n    proceeded on his journey, he addressed Sir John with many kind\n    and courteous acknowledgments for his loyal reception,\n    lamenting, at the same time, that he had nothing of more value\n    to present him with, as a testimony of his good-will, than the\n    cup out of which he crossed himself. He then gave it into the\n    hands of Sir John, accompanying the present with the following\n    blessing:--\"The family shall prosper as long as they preserve it\n    unbroken;\" which the superstition of those times imagined would\n    carry good fortune to his descendants. Hence it is called \"_The\n    Luck of Muncaster_.\" It is a curiously-wrought glass cup,\n    studded with gold and white enamel spots. The benediction\n    attached to its security being then uppermost in the\n    recollection of the family, it was considered essential to the\n    prosperity of the house at the time of the usurpation that the\n    Luck of Muncaster should be deposited in a safe place; it was\n    consequently buried till the cessation of hostilities had\n    rendered all further care and concealment unnecessary.\n    Unfortunately, however, the person commissioned to disinter this\n    precious jewel let the box fall in which it was locked up, which\n    so alarmed the then existing members of the family, that they\n    could not muster courage enough to satisfy their apprehensions.\n    It therefore (according to the traditionary story still\n    preserved in the family) remained unopened for more than forty\n    years, at the expiration of which period a Pennington, more\n    hardy or more courageous than his predecessors, unlocked the\n    casket, and exultingly proclaimed the safety of the Luck of\n    Muncaster.\n\n    When John, Lord Muncaster (the first of the family who obtained\n    a peerage), entered into possession of Muncaster Castle, after\n    his elevation in 1793, he found it still surrounded with a moat,\n    and defended by a strong portcullis. The family having of late\n    years entirely resided upon their estate of Wartee in Yorkshire,\n    the house was in so very dilapidated a state that Lord Muncaster\n    was obliged to rebuild it almost entirely, with the exception of\n    Agricola's Tower, the walls of which are nine feet thick. The\n    elevation of the new part is in unison with that of the Roman\n    tower, and forms altogether a handsome castellated building. The\n    situation is eminently striking, and was well chosen for\n    commanding the different passes over the mountains. It is\n    surrounded with mountain scenery on the north, south, and east;\n    while extensive plantations, a rich and cultivated country, with\n    the sea in the distance, makes a combination of scenery than\n    which it is scarcely possible to imagine anything more\n    beautiful or more picturesque.\n\n    We are tempted to conclude this description with the words of\n    John, Lord Muncaster, who himself so greatly contributed to its\n    renovation. Upon being requested to give an outline of its\n    beauties, he replied that it consisted of \"wood, park, lawn,\n    valley, river, sea, and mountain.\"\n\n    The reason or excuse we give for introducing within our\n    Lancashire series this tradition, of which the occurrences took\n    place in a neighbouring county, is, that the family was\n    originally native to our own. By the village of Pennington,\n    situated about midway between Dalton and Ulverstone, is the\n    Castle Hill, the residence of this family before the Conquest.\n    The area of the castle-yard appears to have been an octagon or a\n    square, with obtuse angles, about forty-five yards in diameter.\n    The south and east sides have been defended by a ditch about ten\n    yards wide, and by a vallum of earth, still visible. There are\n    no vestiges of the ancient building. It stood apparently on the\n    verge of a precipice, at the foot of which flows a brook with\n    great rapidity. The side commands an extensive view of the\n    sea-coast and beacons, and was excellently situated for\n    assembling the dependants in cases of emergency. The name is\n    diversely written in ancient writings, as Penyngton, Penington,\n    Pennington, and in Doomsday Book _Pennegetun_, perhaps from\n    _Pennaig_, in British \"a prince or great personage,\" to which\n    the Saxon termination _tun_ being added, forms Pennegetun, since\n    smoothed into Pennington.\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\n     \"Come hither, Sir John de Pennington,\n       Come hither, and hearken to me;\n     Nor silver, nor gold, nor ladye-love,\n       Nor broad lands I give unto thee.\"\n\n     \"I care not for silver, I care not for gold,\n       Nor for broad lands, nor fair ladye;\n     But my honour and troth, and my good broadsword,\n       Are the king's eternally.\"\n\n     \"Come hither, Sir John, thou art loyal and brave,\"\n       Again the monarch spake;\n     \"In my trouble and thrall, in the hour of pain,\n       Thou pity didst on me take.\n\n     \"The white rose withers on every bough,\n       And the red rose rears its thorn;\n     But many a maid our strife shall rue,\n       And the babe that is yet unborn.\n\n     \"I've charged in the battle with horse and lance,\n       But I've doffed the warrior now;\n     And never again may helmet of steel\n       Bind this burning, aching brow!\n\n     \"Oh, had I been born of a simple churl,\n       And a serving-wench for my mate,\n     I had whistled as blithe as yon knave that sits\n       By Muncaster's Castle gate!\n\n     \"Would that my crown were a bonnet of blue,\n       And my sceptre yon shepherd's crook,\n     I would honour, dominion, and power eschew,\n       In this holy and quiet nook.\n\n     \"For England's crown is a girdle of blood,\n       A traitor is every gem;\n     And a murderer's eye each jewel that lurks\n       In that kingly diadem!\n\n     \"Hunt on! hunt on, thou blood-hound keen;\n       I'd rather an outcast be,\n     Than wade through all that thou hast done,\n       To pluck that crown from thee!\"\n\n     \"Then tarry, my liege,\" Sir John replied,\n       \"In Muncaster's Castle gate;\n     No foeman shall enter, while sheltered here\n       From Edward's pride and hate.\"\n\n     \"I may not tarry, thou trusty knight,\n       Nor longer with thee abide;\n     Ere to-morrow shall rise on these lordly towers,\n       From that gate shall a monarch ride.\n\n     \"For a vision came to my lonely bed,\n       And that vision bade me flee;\n     And I must away, ere break of day,\n       O'er the hills to the south countrie.\n\n     \"But take this cup,--'tis a hallowed thing,\n       Which holy men have blessed;\n     In the church of the Holy Sepulchre\n       This crystal once did rest;\n\n     \"And many a martyr, and many a saint,\n       Around its brim have sate;\n     No water that e'er its lips have touched\n       But is hallowed and consecrate.\n\n     \"'Tis thine, Sir John; not an empire's worth,\n       Nor wealth of Ind could buy\n     The like, for never was jewel seen\n       Of such wondrous potency.\n\n     \"It shall bless thy bed, it shall bless thy board,\n       They shall prosper by this token;\n     In Muncaster Castle good luck shall be,\n       Till the charmed cup is broken!\"\n\n     Sir John he bent him on his knee,\n       And the king's word ne'er did err,\n     For the cup is called, to this blessed hour,\n       \"THE LUCK OF MUNCASTER.\"\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\n     \"Oh haste, Sir William of Liddislee\n       My kinsman good at need,\n     Ere the Esk's dark ford thou hast passed by,\n       In Muncaster rest thy steed;\n\n     \"And say to my love and my lady bright,\n       In Carlisle I must stay,\n     For the foe is come forth from the misty north,\n       And I cannot hence away;\n\n     \"But I must keep watch on Carlisle's towers\n       With the banner of Cumberland;\n     Then bid her beware of the rebel host,\n       Lest they come with sword and brand.\n\n     \"But bid her, rather than house or land,\n       Take heed of that cup of grace,\n     Which King Henry gave to our ancestor,\n       The 'LUCK' of our noble race.\n\n     \"Bid her bury it deep at dead of night,\n       That no eye its hiding see.\n     Now do mine errand, Sir William,\n       As thou wouldst prosperous be!\"\n\n     Sir William stayed nor for cloud nor shrine,\n       He stayed not for rest nor bait,\n     Till he saw the far gleam on Esk's broad stream,\n       And Muncaster's Castle gate.\n\n     \"From whence art thou in such fearful haste?\"\n       The warder wondering said;\n     \"Hast thou 'scaped alone from the bloody fight,\n       And the field of the gory dead?\"\n\n     \"I am not from the bloody fight,\n       Nor a craven flight I flee;\n     But I am come to my lady's bower,\n       Sir William of Liddislee.\"\n\n     The knight to the lady's bower is gone:\n       \"A boon I crave from thee,\n     Deny me not, thou lady bright,\"\n       And he bent him on his knee.\n\n     \"I grant thee a boon,\" the lady said,\n       \"If it from my husband be;\"\n     \"There's a cup of grace,\" cried the suppliant knight,\n       \"Which thou must give to me.\"\n\n     \"Now foul befa' thee, fause traitor,\n       That with guile would our treasure win;\n     For ne'er from Sir John of Pennington\n       Had such traitrous message been.\"\n\n     \"I crave your guerdon, fair lady,\n       'Twas but your faith to try,\n     That we might know if the 'Luck' of this house\n       Were safe in such custody.\n\n     \"The message was thus, thy husband sent;\n       He hath looked out from Carlisle wa',\n     And he is aware of John Highlandman\n       Come trooping down the snaw;\n\n     \"And should this kilted papistry\n       Spread hither upon their way,\n     They'll carry hence that cup of grace,\n       Though thou shouldst say them nay.\n\n     \"And thy lord must wait for the traitor foe\n       By the walls of merry Carlisle;\n     Else he would hie to his lady's help,\n       And his lady's fears beguile.\n\n     \"Thy lord would rather his house were brent,\n       His goods and his cattle harried,\n     Than the cup should be broken,--that cup of grace,\n       Or from Muncaster's house be carried.\"\n\n     The kinsman smiled on that fond lady,\n       And his traitor suit he plied:\n     \"Give me the cup,\" the false knight said,\n       \"From these foemen fierce to hide.\"\n\n     The lady of Muncaster oped the box\n       Where lay this wondrous thing;\n     Sir William saw its beauteous form,\n       All bright and glistering.\n\n     The kinsman smiled on that fond lady,\n       And he viewed it o'er and o'er.\n     \"'Tis a jewel of price,\" said that traitor then,\n       \"And worthy a prince's dower.\n\n     \"We'll bury the treasure where ne'er from the sun\n       One ray of gladness shone,\n     Where darkness and light, and day and night,\n       And summer and spring are one:\n\n     \"Beneath the moat we'll bury it straight,\n       In its box of the good oak-tree;\n     And the cankered carle, John Highlandman,\n       Shall never that jewel see.\"\n\n     The kinsman took the casket up,\n       And the lady looked over the wall:\n     \"If thou break that cup of grace, beware,\n       The pride of our house shall fall!\"\n\n     The kinsman smiled as he looked above,\n       And to the lady cried,\n     \"I'll show thee where thy luck shall be,\n       And the lord of Muncaster's pride.\"\n\n     The lady watched this kinsman false,\n       And he lifted the casket high:\n     \"Oh! look not so, Sir William,\"\n       And bitterly she did cry.\n\n     But the traitor knight dashed the casket down\n       To the ground, that blessed token;\n     \"Lie there,\" then said that false one now,\n       \"Proud Muncaster's charm is broken!\"\n\n     The lady shrieked, the lady wailed,\n       While the false knight fled amain:\n     But never durst Muncaster's lord, I trow,\n       Ope that blessed shrine again!\n\nPART THIRD.\n\n     The knight of Muncaster went to woo,\n       And he rode with the whirlwind's speed,\n     For the lady was coy, and the lover was proud,\n       And he hotly spurred his steed.\n\n     He stayed not for bog, he stayed not for briar,\n       Nor stayed he for flood or fell;\n     Nor ever he slackened his courser's rein,\n       Till he stood by the Lowthers' well.\n\n     Beside that well was a castle fair,\n       In that castle a fair lady;\n     In that lady's breast was a heart of stone,\n       Nor might it softened be.\n\n     \"Now smooth that brow of scorn, fair maid,\n       And to my suit give ear;\n     There's never a dame in Cumberland,\n       Such a look of scorn doth wear.\"\n\n     \"Haste, haste thee back,\" the lady cried,\n       \"For a doomed man art thou;\n     I wed not the heir of Muncaster,\n       Thy '_Luck_' is broken now!\"\n\n     \"Oh say not so, for on my sire\n       Th' unerring doom was spent;\n     I heir not his ill-luck, I trow,\n       Nor with his dool am shent.\"\n\n     \"The doom is thine, as thou art his,\n       And to his curse, the heir;\n     But never a luckless babe of mine\n       That fearful curse shall bear!\"\n\n     A moody man was the lover then;\n       But homeward as he hied,\n     Beside the well at Lord Lowther's gate,\n       An ugly dwarf he spied.\n\n     \"Out of my sight, thou fearsome thing;\n       Out of my sight, I say:\n     Or I will fling thine ugly bones\n       To the crows this blessed day.\"\n\n     But the elfin dwarf he skipped and ran\n       Beside the lover's steed,\n     And ever as Muncaster's lord spurred on,\n       The dwarf held equal speed.\n\n     The lover he slackened his pace again,\n       And to the goblin cried:\n     \"What ho, Sir Page, what luckless chance\n       Hath buckled thee to my side?\"\n\n     Up spake then first that shrivelled thing,\n       And he shook his locks of grey:\n     \"Why lowers the cloud on Muncaster's brow,\n       And the foam tracks his troubled way?\"\n\n     \"There's a lady, the fairest in all this land,\"\n       The haughty chief replied;\n     \"But that lady's love in vain I've sought,\n       And I'll woo none other bride.\"\n\n     \"And is there not beauty in other lands,\n       And locks of raven hue,\n     That thou must pine for a maiden cold,\n       Whose bosom love ne'er knew?\"\n\n     \"Oh, there is beauty in every land,\"\n       The sorrowing knight replied;\n     \"But I'd rather Margaret of Lonsdale wed,\n       Than the fairest dame beside.\"\n\n     \"And thou shalt the Lady Margaret wed,\"\n       Said that loathly dwarf again;\n     \"There's a key in Muncaster Castle can break\n       That maiden's heart in twain!\"\n\n     \"Oh never, oh never, thou lying elf,\n       That maiden's word is spoken:\n     The cup of grace left a traitor's hand,\n       Proud Muncaster's '_Luck_' is broken.\"\n\n     Then scornfully grinned that elfin dwarf,\n       And aloud he laughed again:\n     \"There's a key in thy castle, Sir Knight, can break\n       That maiden's heart in twain!\"\n\n     The knight he turned him on his steed,\n       And he looked over hill and stream;\n     But he saw not that elfin dwarf again,\n       He had vanished as a dream!\n\n     The knight came back to his castle hall,\n       And stabled his good grey steed;\n     And he is to his chamber gone,\n       With wild and angry speed.\n\n     And he saw the oaken casket, where\n       Lay hid that cup of grace,\n     Since that fearful day, when the traitor foe\n       Wrought ruin on his race.\n\n     \"Thou cursed thing,\" he cried in scorn,\n       \"That ever such 'Luck' should be;\n     From Muncaster's house, ill-boding fiend,\n       Thou shalt vanish eternally.\"\n\n     He kicked the casket o'er and o'er\n       With rage and contumely;\n     When, lo! a tinkling sound was heard--\n       Down dropped a glittering key!\n\n     He remembered well the wondrous speech\n       Of the spectre dwarf again,\n     \"There's a key in Muncaster Castle can break\n       A maiden's heart in twain!\"\n\n     He took the key, and he turned the lock,\n       And he opened the casket wide;\n     When the cause of all his agony\n       The lover now espied.\n\n     The holy cup lay glistering there,\n       And he kissed that blessed token,\n     For its matchless form unharmed lay,\n       The \"Luck\" had ne'er been broken!\n\n     The loud halls rung, and the minstrels sung,\n       And glad rolled the Esk's bonny tide,\n     When Lonsdale's Lady Margaret\n       Was Muncaster's winsome bride!\n\n     Now prosper long that baron bold,\n       And that bright and blessed token:\n     For Muncaster's Luck is constant yet,\n       And the crystal charm unbroken!\n\n\n[Illustration: THE PILE OF FOULDREY[i]\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._\n_Engraved by Edw^d. Finden._]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEEL OF FOULDREY.\n\n     \"True, treason never prospers; what's the reason?\n     When treason prospers, 'tis no longer treason!\"\n\n\nThe ancient castle of Peel of Fouldrey, the island of fowls, stands a\nlittle beyond the southern extremity of the isle of Walney. The castle\nand its site belong to the ladies of the liberty of Furness.\n\nThe ruins, seen from the heights above Rampside, are beautifully\npicturesque. Though the sea has wasted part of the outworks, yet the\nremains exhibit a complete specimen of the principles and plan upon\nwhich these ancient defences were usually constructed. It may not be\nthought out of place to give the reader some account of its present\nappearance. West, in his _Antiquities of Furness_, inserts the\nfollowing account of his visit to this delightful spot; and as it is\ndetailed with a good deal of graphic simplicity, if not elegance of\nstyle, we prefer it to our own record of an expedition to this place.\n\n\"Choosing a proper time of the tide,\" says he, \"for our excursion, we\nset out from Dalton, early on a pleasant summer's morning, and having\ncrossed the sands in Walney channel, we followed the eastern shore of\nthe isle of Walney from the small village of Northscale, by the\nchapel, to Bigger. Leaving this hamlet, and crossing over a small neck\nof land by a narrow lane winding amongst well-cultivated fields,\nsmiling with the prospect of a plenteous harvest of excellent grain,\nbut principally of wheat, which the land in Walney generally produces\nof a superior quality, we again came to the shore, and having a pretty\ndistinct view of several parts of the ruinous fabric which was the\nobject of our excursion, we took the distant castle for our guide, and\nentered upon a trackless sand, which, by the route we pursued, is\nabout two miles and a half over. It is soft and disagreeable\ntravelling in many places; but there is no quicksand. Those, however,\nwho are unacquainted with the road to the Peel of Fouldrey should take\na guide from Bigger.\n\n\"About half-way over the sand, the mouldering castle, with its\nextensive shattered walls and ruinated towers, makes a solemn,\nmajestic appearance. Having arrived on the island, which is destitute\nof tree or shrub, except a few blasted thorns and briers, we left our\nhorses at a lonely public-house, situated close by the side of the\neastern shore, and proceeded to inspect the ruins of the castle. The\nmain tower has been defended by two moats, two walls, and several\nsmall towers. We crossed the exterior fosse or ditch, and entered the\nouter bayle or yard, through a ruinous guard-tower, overleaning a\nsteep precipice formed by the surges of the sea. The ancient pass,\nwhere the drawbridge over the outer ditch was fixed, has been long\nwashed away. The greater part of the outer wall is also demolished,\nfor in those places which are out of the reach of the tide the stones\nhave been removed for various purposes.\n\n\"The drawbridge over the exterior ditch of these castles used commonly\nto be defended by a fortification consisting of a strong high wall\nwith turrets, called the barbacan or antemural; the great gate or\nentrance into the outer bayle or yard was often fortified by a tower\non each side, and by a room over the intermediate passage; and the\nthick folding-doors of oak, by which the entrance was closed, were\noften strengthened with iron, and faced by an iron portcullis or\ngrate, sliding down a groove from the higher part of the building.\n\n\"A chapel commonly stood in the outer bayle: accordingly, just at our\nentrance into that part we saw the ruins of a building which is said\nto have been the chapel belonging to this castle.\n\n\"At the inside of the yard we came to the inner fosse, moat, or ditch,\nand arriving at the place where the drawbridge had been fixed, we\nentered the inner bayle or court by the ancient passage through the\ninterior wall, the entrance whereof had evidently been secured by a\nportcullis, and defended by a room over the passage.\n\n\"We now proceeded to the entrance into the main tower or keep; but the\ndoorway into the porch, which precedes it, being walled up, we were\nobliged to creep into the edifice by a narrow aperture. The entrance\nhas been secured by a portcullis. The main tower has consisted of\nthree storeys, each divided into three oblong apartments by two\ninterior side walls being carried from bottom to top.\n\n\"The rooms on the ground-floor have been very low, and lighted by long\napertures, extremely narrow, at the outside of the walls, but a\nconsiderable width in the inside, perhaps so constructed for the use\nof the bow. The apartments have communicated with each other; and\nthere has been a winding staircase leading from one of them to the\nrooms above, and to the top of the castle. Under the ground-floor of\nthese ancient castles used commonly to be dark and dismal apartments,\nor dungeons, for the reception of prisoners, but nothing of the kind\nis known to be here. The porch is called the dungeon.\n\n\"The second floor has been on a level with the first landing at the\nprincipal entrance. The rooms have been lofty, and lighted by small\npointed windows, and many of them have had fireplaces. The apartments\non the third floor have been apparently similar to those on the\nsecond. The side apartments have been lighted by several small pointed\nwindows, but those in the middle have been very dark and gloomy.\n\n\"The great door of the castle opens into one of these intermediate\napartments. On the left-hand side of the entrance has been a spiral\nstaircase, leading to the rooms above and to the top of the castle,\nwhich has had a flat roof, surrounded by a parapet and several\nturrets. The walls of this tower are very strong and firm; a deep\nbuttress is placed at each corner, and one against the middle of each\nside wall. A small square tower has stood at the southern corner, but\nthe greater part of it has been thrown down by the sea. The foundation\nof one side wall is also undermined the whole of its length, and as it\nin some places overhangs the precipice formed by the waste of the sea,\nand as the castle is not situated upon a rock, but upon hard loamy\nsoil, this side must inevitably fall in a few years.\n\n\"Many huge fragments of the wasted walls are scattered upon the shore,\nunder the cliff from whence they have fallen; and notwithstanding the\nconcussion they have received in falling from a great height, and the\nfrequent surges of the sea, they are as firm as ever, and in many\nplaces exhibit the shape of the edifice.\n\n\"The corners and doorcases of the guard-towers, the buttresses,\nwindow-frames, and several parts of the main tower, are constructed\nwith red freestone; but all the other parts of the walls which in\ngeneral are about six or seven feet in thickness, are formed of round\nstones collected from the adjacent shores. The inside of the walls has\nbeen constructed with small stones, and plenty of fluid mortar to fill\nthe interstices.\n\n\"To this mode of construction, to the excellent binding quality of the\nstones, and to the slow drying of the grout-work in the inside, may be\nattributed the great tenacity of the walls of this fabric, more than\nto any uncommon or unknown method of composing the mortar.\n\n\"The roofs of the numerous guard-houses in the surrounding walls of\nthis castle have apparently been flat. Upon these, and along the\nwalls, which in most castles were topped by a parapet and a kind of\nembrasure called crennels, the defenders of the castle were stationed\nduring a siege, and from thence discharged arrows, darts, stones, and\nevery kind of annoyance they could procure, upon their enemies.\n\n\"There were often subterraneous passages leading from the lowest part\nof the main tower to a great distance; and by these the besieged could\nmake their escape in time of imminent danger, when the outworks were\ncarried by storm.\n\n\"On the north-east side of the outworks of this castle has been a\nlarge pond or reservoir for supplying the ditches with water in cases\nof sudden emergency. There has also been a fish-pond on the north-west\nside.\n\n\"Though many variations were made in the structure of castles, as the\nplan was often modified by the architect according to the site\noccupied by the edifice, yet the most perfect and magnificent were\ngenerally constructed with all the different parts we have mentioned.\n\n\"The walls contain no decorations of art, and are equally destitute\nof all natural embellishments; the rugged outlines of dilapidation,\nassociating with the appearance of past magnificence, are the\nqualities which chiefly interest the imagination, while comparing the\nsettled tranquillity of the present with the turbulent ages that are\npast, and contemplating the view of this mouldering fabric.\n\n\"The island of Fouldrey has certainly been much larger at the erection\nof the castle than it is at present; but the sea, having reduced it to\nits present small compass, has abated the rapid career of its\ndestruction. It now wastes the western shore of Walney, and forms a\nnew tract out of the ruins, which proves a barrier to its progress\nupon the Peel of Fouldrey, and at some future period may be an\naccession to this island, in place of the land which it has lost.\"\n\nThe period when it was reduced to ruins is not well ascertained, but\nit is probable that this was one of the fortresses which fell under\nthe dismantling orders of the Commonwealth.\n\nThe port is very large and commodious, and would float a first-rate\nship of war at low water.\n\nIn 1789 a body of commissioners and trustees, appointed to improve the\nnavigation of the river Lune, built a lighthouse on the south-east end\nof the isle of Walney. It is an octagonal column, placed upon a\ncircular foundation of a little more than twenty feet in diameter. At\nthe plinth, its diameter is eighteen feet, and diminishes gradually\nwith the elevation through fifty-seven feet to fourteen. The ascent\nfrom the bottom to the lantern is by a staircase, consisting of\nninety-one steps, winding up the inside of the pillar. The whole\nheight is about sixty-eight feet. At the base of the column there is a\nsmall dwelling for the keeper and his family.\n\n      *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was in the \"merry month of May,\" in the year 1487, scarcely two\nyears after Richard's overthrow at Bosworth, and Earl Richmond's\nusurpation of the English crown by the title of King Henry the\nSeventh, that a great armament, landing on the barren island of\nFouldrey, took possession of the castle, a fortress of great strength\ncommanding the entrance to the bay of Morecambe, and a position of\nconsiderable importance to the invaders. It occupied, with the\noutworks and defences, nearly the whole area of the island (a few\nacres only), two or three fishermen's huts at that time being\nirregularly scattered on the beach below. Built by the monks of\nFurness in the first year of Edward III., as a retreat from the\nravages of the Scots, and a formidable barrier against their\napproaches by sea, it was now unexpectedly wrested from its owners,\nbecoming a point of resistance from whence the formidable power of\nHenry might be withstood, and in the end successfully opposed.\n\nA royal banner floated from the battlements: the fortress had been\nformally taken into possession by the invaders in the name of their\nking, previously proclaimed at Dublin by the title of Edward the\nSixth. The youth was crowned there with a diadem taken from an image\nof the Virgin, priests and nobles espousing his cause with more than\nordinary enthusiasm; and Henry, in the second year of his reign, was\nthreatened, from a source as unexpected as it was deemed contemptible,\nwith the loss of his ill-gotten sovereignty.\n\nLambert Simnel, according to some historians, was the real name of\nthis \"pretender;\" but there be others who scruple not to assert, that\nhe was in reality the unfortunate Earl of Warwick, son to Clarence,\nelder brother of Richard III., and that he had made his escape from\nthe Tower, where he long suffered an ignominious confinement by the\ncruel policy of Henry. The prior claims of this young prince to the\nEnglish crown could not be doubted, and Margaret, the \"bold\" Duchess\nof Burgundy, sister to Edward IV., had furnished the invaders with a\nbody of two thousand chosen Flemish troops, commanded by Martin\nSwartz, a brave and experienced officer. With them came the Earl of\nLincoln, related to Edward IV. by intermarriage with Elizabeth, the\nking's eldest sister.\n\nThis nobleman had long entertained ambitious views towards the crown;\nhis uncle Richard, it is said, in default of issue to himself, having\nexpressed the intention of declaring Lincoln his successor. The Lord\nLovel, too, a bitter enemy of the reigning prince, who had fled to the\ncourt of Burgundy beforetime for protection, was entrusted with a\ncommand in the expedition. To these were joined the Earl of Kildare,\nthe king's deputy for Ireland, with several others of the nobility\nfrom the sister kingdom. The countenance thus unexpectedly given to\nthe rebellion by persons of the highest rank, and the great accession\nof military force from abroad, raised the courage and exultation of\nthe Irish to such a pitch that they threatened to overrun England,\nnothing doubting but their restless and disaffected spirit would be\nfully met by a similar disposition on the part of those whom they\ninvaded. In supposing that the inhabitants in the north of England,\nand especially in Lancashire, would immediately join their standard,\nthey had not calculated wisely. The king, in crushing the hopes of the\nYorkists, had made himself, at that period, too popular in the\ncounty; the reluctance, too, which it may be supposed that Englishmen\nwould feel in identifying themselves with a troop of foreign\nadventurers, as well as their general animosity against the Irish, to\nwhom the \"northerns\" never bore any good-will, being too near\nneighbours to agree,--these circumstances taken into account, the\nultimate failure of the expedition might have been easily\nprognosticated. Sir Thomas Broughton, a gentleman of some note in\nFurness, was the only person of weight and influence in the county who\njoined their standard, and he soon found himself a loser by his\ndefection.\n\nThis brief preliminary statement we have thought essential to the\nright understanding and development of our plot.\n\nThe evening was dark and lowering, the sky broken into wild irregular\nmasses of red and angry clouds. The sun, after throwing one fierce\nlook over the broad and troubled sea, had sunk behind a hard, huge\nbattlement of cloud, on the round waving edges of which ran a bright\nburning rim, that looked like a train of fire ignited by the glowing\nluminary behind.\n\nThe beach round the little island of Fouldrey is mostly covered with\npebbles thrown up by the tide, occasionally intermingled with rock and\npatches of dark verdure. A few boats may be seen with their\nequipments, and two or three straggling nets upon the shore. A distant\nsail occasionally glides across the horizon; but the usual aspect is\nthat of solitude, still and uninterrupted, the abode of sterility and\nsadness. Now, the narrow bay by the island was glittering with gallant\nstreamers. Ships of war, in all their pride and panoply, majestically\nreposed upon its bosom. All was bustle and impatience. The\ntrumpet-note of war brayed fiercely from the battlements. Incessant\nwas the march of troops in various directions. Tents were pitched\nbefore the castle. Guards were appointed; and this hitherto peaceful\nand solitary spot resounded with the din of arms, and the hoarse clang\nof preparation for the approaching strife.\n\nMessengers were constantly passing to and from the mainland. The\ninsignia of royalty were ostentatiously displayed, and the captains\nand leaders within the fortress fulfilled the duties of this mimic and\nmotley court in honour of their anticipated sovereign.\n\nUnder a steep cliff, washed by the sea at high water, but of no great\nheight, and above which the higher walls of the castle or keep might\nbe discovered, sat two fishermen, the owners, or rather occupiers, of\none of the cottages built under the very walls of the fortress, where\nthese peaceful inhabitants had placed their little nests, protected\nand covered by the wing of their loftier but more exposed and\ndangerous neighbour.\n\nThe place they had chosen for their conference was secluded from\ngeneral observation, and their low and heavy speech was concealed from\nthe prying sentinels above by the hoarse and impetuous voice of the\nretiring waves. Not many paces distant was the inlet to a\nsubterraneous passage, supposed to lead under the deepest foundations\nof the castle; but its termination was now a mystery, at any rate, to\nthe present occupiers and inhabitants of the place. Many strange and\nhorrible stories were told and believed, of its uses and destination\nin times past. Being burdened with a bad name--\"some uncleansed murder\nstuck to it\"--the place ran little risk of disturbance or intruders.\nWhen the tides ran high this outlet was inaccessible, being partly\nflooded by the sea. From neglect and disuse an accumulation of sand\nand pebbles, washed by the violence of the waves into the cavity, was\ndeposited there, so that the entrance, which, according to tradition\nwas once wide and sufficiently lofty for a person to walk upright, was\nnow dwindled into a narrow and insignificant-looking hole, scarcely\nbig enough to admit an urchin.\n\n\"Thee hasna seen it thysel', then?\" said one of the fishermen to his\ncompanion.\n\n\"Nea; I waur it' hoose man when it cam'; but\"--the speaker looked\nwistfully towards the dark entrance we have named,--\"but I'se sure\nDick wouldna seay sae if\"----\n\n\"Dick's a starin' gowk, and a coward too. I'se warrant there waur\nplenty o' room 'twixt his carcase and the wa'. That I'd bin there\ni'stead! There shouldn't ha' bin room to cram a herrin' tail atween me\nan' the ghost's substance. I would ha' hedged him up thus, an' then\nmaster ghost, taken aback, says, 'Friend, by yere sweet leave I would\npass;' but I make out elbows, and arms this'n, facing till him so.\nHelp! murder!\"\n\nThis sudden change in the voice and attitude of the speaker, this\nsudden exhalation of his courage, unfortunately arose from the parties\nhaving, in the heat and interest of the discourse, turned their backs\nto the haunted entrance, and, so intent was Davy in accommodating the\naction to the valiant tenor of his speech, that it was only on\nturning round, for the purpose of showing to his companion the way in\nwhich he would have disputed a passage with the ghost, that he was\naware for the first time of the presence of that terrible thing, and\nwithin a very few inches too of his own person. They stayed not for\nany further exemplification of this theory of ghost-laying, but in an\ninstant were beyond observation, bounding over the beach, nor once\nlooking behind them until safe in their little hut, and the door\nfastened against the fearful intruder. Davy, being foremost in the\nrace, sat down, followed by his companion George, who, maugre his\ngreat apprehensions, could not forbear laughing heartily at the sudden\nmelting away of the big-mouthed valour of this cowardly boaster.\n\n\"Praised be our lady of Furness,\" said the merry taunter, with many\ninterruptions from laughter and want of breath; \"thy heels are as glib\nas thy tongue: for which--oh, oh! I am breathed--blown--dispossessed\nof my birthright, free quaffing o' the air. Ha, ha! I cannot laugh.\nOh! what a mouth didst thou make at old blacksleeves. Gaping so, I\nwonder he mistook not thy muzzle for one of the vents into his old\nquarters. A pretty gull thee be'st, to swallow yon black porpoise.\"\n\n\"I tell thee, messmate,\" returned the other, gravely, \"thou hast\nmiss'd thy tack. It waur but a slip, maybe a kin' of a sudden start\nwhich took me, as they say, by the nape. I jumped back, I own--a foul\naccident, by which he took advantage. He comes behind me, thou sees,\nand with a skip 'at would have seated him upo' the topmost perch o'\nthe castle, he lights whack, thump, fair upo' my shoulders. I ran but\nto shake the whoreson black slug fro' my carcase. Saints ha' mercy,\nbut his legs waur colder than a wet sheet. I soon unshipp'd my cargo,\nthough--I tumbled him into the sea, made a present of old blacksleeves\nto the fishes!\"\n\n\"Thou lying chub,\" said George, angrily, \"did not I watch thee? Why,\nthou cub, thou cormorant, thou maker of long lies and quick legs,\ndidst not o'ershoot me, ay, by some fathoms? I followed hard i' thy\nwake, but I see'd nought of all this bull-scuddering of thine. Faith,\nbut thou didst ply thy courses with a wet sail!\"\n\n\"Go to, Geordie--go to; a juggle, I tell thee; sheer malice of the\nenemy, fow' an' fause as he be.\" Here he spat on the floor to show his\ndetestation and contempt; but George, either too ignorant or too idle\nto reply, took down a dried fluke from the chimney, and warming it on\nthe glowing turf for a few minutes, was soon occupied in disposing of\nthis dainty and favourite repast. Their hut was of the rudest\nconstruction. The walls were of boulder stones from the beach, loosely\nset up with mud and slime, and in several places decidedly deviating\nfrom the perpendicular. The roof was thatched with rushes, and shaped\nlike unto a fish's back, having a marvellous big hump in the middle,\nupon which grew a fair tuft of long lank herbage, while bunches of the\nbiting yellow stone-crop clung in irregular patches of bright green\nverdure about the extremities. The interior was lighted by a single\ncasement, showing an assemblage of forms the most homely and primitive\nin their construction. The floor, paved with blue pebbles; the\nfireplace, a huge hearth-flag merely, on which lay a heap of glowing\nturf, an iron pot depending from a crook above. The smoke, curling\nlazily through a raft of fish drying a few feet above the flame, and\nacquiring the requisite flavour, with considerable difficulty reached\na hole in the roof, where the adverse and refractory wind not\nunfrequently disputed its passage, and drove it down again, to assist\nthe colds and rheums by its stimulating propensities. A broken chair,\na three-legged stool, and a table with no greater number of\nsupporters, a truckle-bed, and an accumulation of nets, oars, and\nbroken implements of the like nature, were the usual deposits about\nthe chamber. The two fishermen were partners in their gainful trade,\nand not having tasted the bliss of conjugal comforts, enjoyed a sort\nof negative good from the absence of evil, and lived a tolerably quiet\nand harmonious life in these outskirts of creation.\n\nThe few simple and primitive inhabitants of the island had been so\nbewildered and confounded by the turmoil and disorder consequent upon\nthe invasion of their hitherto peaceful and quiet resting-place, that\nsome half-dozen of them, for the first time in their lives, had\nquitted their homes; others, secure from their poverty and\ninsignificance, still remained, though much disturbed with wonder and\nsilly surmises, and ready to catch at any stray marvels that fell in\ntheir way. The subterraneous and half-concealed passage in the rock,\nor rather shale, on which the castle stands, always under the ban of\nsome vague and silly apprehension, had been reported of late as\nmanifesting more than equivocal symptoms of supernatural possession.\nDick Empson, or long-nebbed Dick, a sort of shrewd, half-witted\nincarnation, it might be, of the goblin or elfin species, a runner of\nerrands from the abbey of Furness to the castle, and a being whose\npranks and propensities to mischief were well known in the\nneighbourhood, had affirmed, but a few hours before, that he saw a\nblack figure on the previous night issuing from the hole; and that\nthere was no connection or understanding between this ghostly\nappearance and the present occupiers of the castle, was evident from\nthe mystery and secrecy that attended its movements. This was\ndoubtless the phantom or goblin that, from time immemorial, had been\nthe cause of such sinister dispositions towards the \"haunted passage.\"\nDavy and his friend had unexpectedly stumbled upon its track, for they\nhad not calculated on its appearance, at any rate before midnight.\n\nIn the Castle, Peel, or Pile of Fouldrey, on that night too, there was\na mighty disturbance, not unaccompanied with vexation and alarm. It\nwas soon after the first watch. The new-made monarch was asleep in his\nchamber--an ill-furnished apartment on the second floor of the main\ntower or keep, looking out by a narrow window towards the sea. The\nnext, or middle chamber, was on a level, and communicating with the\nfirst landing, or principal entrance. The latter apartment, in which\nwere the guards and others immediately about the king's person, served\nthe purposes of an ante-room to the presence-chamber.\n\nThe room opposite--for there were three divisions on each floor--was\nsubdivided into several parts, and occupied by the Earl of Lincoln and\nhis attendants; the rooms above being devoted to Swartz, Lovel, and\nFitzgerald, with their trains. Below were the guard-rooms and offices\nassigned to the staff, with the war stores and munitions belonging to\nthe expedition.\n\nIn the same chamber with the king lay his confessor and chief adviser,\none Simon, a wily and ambitious priest, who was the prime agent, if\nnot mover, in this attempt to overturn the reigning power. No other\nindividual was suffered to remain through the night in the king's\napartment.\n\nIt was about the first watch, as before mentioned, when the guards and\nattendants were alarmed by loud cries from the royal chamber. They\nhastened to the door, but it was bolted, and their apprehensions for\nthat time were allayed by the voice of the priest assuring them that\nthe king was safe, but that an ugly dream had awakened him. Lincoln,\nwhom this tumult had quickly brought to the spot, retired grumbling at\nso unseasonable a disturbance. Scarcely had an hour elapsed ere the\ncries were repeated. Unsheathing his sword, the proud Earl of Lincoln\nmarched angrily to the door, and swore a loud broad oath that he would\nsee the king or burst open the barrier. With him came others from the\nrooms overhead, so that the priest was forced, however unwillingly, to\nopen the door, and Lincoln, accompanied by his friends, beheld the\nyoung pretender in bed, pale, and with a rueful countenance, still\nretaining the traces of some deadly horror.\n\n\"What hath disturbed your highness? We would fain know the cause of\nthis alarm, and punish, ay punish home, the traitor!\" said Lincoln,\ndarting a furious look at the confessor, to whom he bore no good-will.\n\n\"Nay, friends, I shall--I shall be well presently. I beseech you be\nnot disturbed. 'Tis a dream,--a vision that hath troubled me. I\nthought I was in the Tower--in my prison chamber--and the tyrant came\nand grasped me by the throat. With that I jumped up, and as Heaven is\nmy witness, I saw a dark figure slip through the floor by yon grim\nbuttress, behind which is the private staircase to the summit.\"\n\nEvery eye was turned towards the corner of the chamber near the bed,\non the outside of which a winding staircase ran up from below, but\nthey were ignorant of any communication from these stairs into the\nking's chamber. Lincoln examined the buttress with his sword, and\nSwartz, the Fleming, with his fingers, but there was no apparent\nopening or crevice that could betoken any outlet or concealment. The\nfloor was examined, and with the same result; so that they were fain\nto depart, little doubting that the whole was the effect of some\nmental disturbance.\n\nWith the morning dawn came Sir Thomas Broughton. A grand council was\nappointed for that day, in which the final arrangement of their plans\nwas to be discussed. A royal banquet was prepared, and the Flemish\ngunners were to give a specimen of their craft from the battlements.\n\nThe forenoon came on chill and squally, with a low scud driving\nrapidly from the west. A drizzling rain was the result, which\nincreased with the coming tide.\n\nThe little island was covered with tents, forming an encampment of no\nmean extent and appearance.\n\nSir Thomas, with a few attendants, after being ferried over the\nchannel which separates the island of Fouldrey from the mainland, was\nconducted through avenues of tents and armed men. The Flemish\nsoldiers, fierce and almost motionless, looked like an array of grim\nstatues. The Irish levies, in a state of more lax discipline, were\ncollected in merry groups, whiling away the time in thriftless and\nnoisy discourse.\n\nSir Thomas Broughton, descended from an Anglo-Saxon family of great\nantiquity, was by virtue of this hereditary and aboriginal descent, of\na proud and pompous bearing. Being allied to most of the principal\nfamilies in these parts, he was won over by solicitation from the\nDuchess of Burgundy, as one of the confederates in her attempt to\nrestore the line of York to the English crown. Fond of show, and\ncareful as to his own personal appearance, he was clad in a steel coat\nof great beauty; this ponderous form of defence having been brought to\ngreat perfection in the preceding reign. His sword-belt was so\ndisposed that the weapon remained in front, while a dagger was\nattached to the right hip. Over his armour he wore a scarlet cloak,\nand as he strode proudly up the avenues to the gate, he looked as\nthough he felt that on his fiat alone depended the very existence of\nthose he beheld. After he had passed the first drawbridge into the\nouter court or bayle, a band of archers, drawn up in full array,\nopened their ranks to receive this puissant chieftain. These were the\nmost efficient of the troops, and partly English, having been brought\nfrom Ireland by the deputy. They were clad in shirts of chain mail,\nwith wide sleeves, over which was a small vest of red cloth, laced in\nfront. They had tight hose on their legs, and braces on their left\narms. Behind them, and on each side, were part of the infantry,\nconsisting of billmen and halberdiers; but the most formidable-looking\nsoldiers were the Flemish gunners, or harquebusiers, so named from the\nbarbarous Latin word _arcusbusus_, evidently derived from the Italian\n_arcabouza_--_i.e._, a bow with a tube or hole. It was made with a\nstock and trigger, in imitation of the crossbow. The match, no longer\napplied by the hand to the touchhole, was fixed into a cock, which was\nbrought down to the pan by the motion of the trigger. This being at\nthe time a recent invention, excited no little curiosity and\nadmiration.\n\nAt the inner court, and near the main entrance to the keep, Sir Thomas\nwas received in great state by the Earl of Lincoln, whose high, but\neasy and pleasant bearing, bespoke him to have been long the inmate\nand follower of courts, while the stiff attitudes and formal demeanour\nof Sir Thomas were rendered more apparent by the contrast.\n\n\"Welcome, Sir Thomas, to our court in this fair haven. Your presence,\nlike your fidelity, hath a goodly savour in it, being always before\nand better than our expectation or our fears. How faireth our cousin,\nand our pretty dames in Furness?\"\n\n\"My lord, I thank you for your good word. My poor services are repaid\ntenfold in their acceptance by the king,\" said Sir Thomas, bending,\nbut with an ill grace, by reason of little use in that excellent art.\n\n\"Into our council-chamber, Sir Thomas, where you shall render homage\nto the king in person.\"\n\nThis council-chamber was none other than the king's bedroom, whither,\nwith great ceremony, Sir Thomas was conducted. In this mimic court\nthere was a marvellous show of ceremony, and a great observance of,\nand attention to, forms and royal usages--ridiculous enough where a\nfew acres formed the whole of the monarch's territory, and an ugly\nill-contrived castle his palace. But his followers behaved as though\nEngland's sovereignty were theirs, being well inclined to content\nthemselves with the shadow, having little hold or enjoyment of the\nsubstance.\n\nBefore a long narrow table, near the bed, and on a high-backed oaken\nchair, sat the young pretender. He was dressed in a richly-embroidered\ngown, the sleeves wide, and hanging down from the wrists like lappets.\nOn his head was a low cap surmounted by long waving feathers, and his\nmanners and appearance were not devoid of grace and gentility. He\ndisplayed considerable self-possession, and wore his kingly honours\nwith great assurance. He was of a fair and sanguine complexion, pale\nrather than clear, and his hair clustered in heavy ringlets on his\nshoulders. A rapid and somewhat uncertain motion of the eye, and his\nmouth not well closed, showed that although he might have been\nschooled to the exhibition, and could wear the outward show of\nfirmness and decision, yet in the hour of emergency, and in the day of\ntrial, his fortitude would in all likelihood forsake him.\n\nAt his right hand sat the priest in a white cassock and scapulary. A\nblack hood, thrown back upon his shoulders, exhibited the form and\ndisposition of his head to great advantage. His features were large,\nexpressive, and commanding. The fire of a brilliant grey eye was\nscarcely tempered by his overhanging brows, though at times the spirit\nseemed to retire behind their grim shadows, to survey more securely\nand unobservedly the aspect and appearances without.\n\nSwartz, the Flemish general, a blunt military chieftain, was at his\nside. A black bushy beard, some inches in advance of his honest\ngood-humoured face, was placed in strong contrast with the wary, pale,\nand somewhat dubious aspect of the priest.\n\nKildare, the Irish deputy, and Lovel, with several of the senior\nofficers and captains, were assembled round the table.\n\nThe room was lofty, lighted by a small pointed window, and contained\nthe luxury of a fireplace, in which lay some blazing embers; a\ngrateful and refreshing sight in that chill and ungenial atmosphere.\n\nThe needful ceremonies being gone through, Sir Thomas was honoured\nwith a place at the board near to where it rested against the buttress\nbefore mentioned, the priest addressing him as follows:--\n\n\"My Lord Abbot of Furness, Sir Thomas, what news of him? Hath he yet\nsignified his adherence to our cause? We hope you bring tidings of\nsuch auspicious import.\"\n\n\"He doth yet procrastinate, I hear, until he have news from the\ncourt,\" replied Sir Thomas; \"yet I trust his want of zeal and\nobedience will not hinder our march.\"\n\n\"And the proud nobles of Lancashire, how stand they affected towards\nour good prospering?\"\n\n\"Truly, they are, as one may say, neither cold nor hot; but of a\nmoderate temperature, midway, it would seem\"----\n\n\"Which is an indication of neither zeal nor obedience,\" said Swartz,\nsuddenly cutting short the tedious verbosity of Sir Thomas's intended\nharangue. \"Open enemies before lukewarm friends!\"\n\n\"Prithee, general,\" said the priest, with a placid smile, during which\nhis eyes seemed to shrink within their dim sockets, \"be not\nover-hasty. We cannot reasonably hope that they should flock to our\nstandard almost ere we unfurl it for their gathering.\"\n\n\"Your speech hath a reasonable property in it,\" replied Sir Thomas,\n\"and, as we may say, savoureth of great judgment, which, being of an\nexcellent nature in itself, doth thereby control and exercise, in its\nown capacity, the nature and excellence of all others.\"\n\nThis formidable issue of words was delivered with much earnestness of\nenunciation; but of its use or meaning, probably, the speaker was\nfully as ignorant as his hearers. Even at the fountain-head his ideas\nwere sufficiently obscure, but when fairly rolling forth from the\nspring, they sometimes begat such a froth and turbidity in their\ncourse, that no reasonable discernment could fathom their depth or\nbearing.\n\nA short silence was the result, which none, for a while, cared to\ndisturb, lest he should betray his lack of understanding in dark\nsentences.\n\n\"We know your loyalty,\" said the king, \"which hath a sufficient\nimpress on it to pass current without scrutiny. Your example, Sir\nThomas, will be of competent weight, without the casting or imposition\nof vain words into the scale. We acknowledge your ready zeal in our\njust cause.\"\n\n\"Your highness' grace, my liege,\" said Lincoln, ere Sir Thomas could\ngather words for a fitting reply, \"doth honey your confections well.\nMen swallow them without wincing or wry faces.\"\n\nSir Thomas would not thus be deprived of his right to a reply; and was\njust commencing with a suitable attitude for the purpose, when lo! the\ntrenchant knight, who sat on a small stool beside the corner buttress,\nwith a loud cry, suddenly disappeared, and a gaping cavity in the\nfloor sufficiently accounted for the precipitate mode of his\ndeparture. Uprising on the ruins of Sir Thomas, started forth a\ngrotesque figure from the chasm, clad in coarse attire, a ludicrous\nsolemnity on his strange and uncouth visage, as, with a shrill and\nsqueaking tone, he cried--\n\n\"Ay, ay, masters; but my master will gi'e me a blessing for the\nfinding o' this mouse-nest; and a priest's blessin' is worth a king's\ncurse any time; and so good-morrow, knaves.\"\n\n\"Stay,\" said Lincoln, seizing the intruder, none other than our\nlight-witted acquaintance, \"lang-nebbit Dick,\" whose prying\npropensities were notorious, and who had taken upon himself, that\nmorning, the arduous task of exploring the subterraneous passage into\nwhich he had seen the mysterious figure insinuate itself. After many\nperils and impediments, he had come to a flight of steps, ascending\nwhich, his progress was interrupted by a trap-door overhead. He soon\ndiscovered a wooden bolt, the unloosing of which led to the\nprecipitation of Sir Thomas through the aperture. Dick's light was\nstruck from his hand; escaping himself, however, he left Sir Thomas to\nhis fate, and emerged, as we have seen, into the council-chamber. They\nwere much alarmed by this unexpected disturbance, and, looking down,\nthey beheld a narrow flight of steps, at the bottom of which lay the\nunfortunate knight, sore bruised by his fall.\n\n\"If the abbot catch ye here,\" said Dick, with a vacant grin, \"he'll\ngi'e every one o' ye a taste o' the gyves, and so pray ye gang awa',\nand let me gang too. As for that calf beastie, that baas so at the\nbottom, gi'e me a groat, and I'll gather him up again sune.\"\n\nHere Dick held out a paw that would not have disgraced the extremities\nof a bruin for size and colour.\n\n\"Holloa, guards,\" cried Lincoln, \"take this knave to the dungeon by\nthe porch, and keep him safe until we have need of him.\"\n\nThe prying vagabond was removed without ceremony, kicking all the way,\nand bellowing out threats and vengeance against his enemies, while Sir\nThomas and his bruises were brought to light.\n\n\"'Tis the good hand of Providence that hath revealed to us, through\nthe means of this crack-brained intruder, so dangerous an outlet by\nwhich our sovereign's life might have been brought into jeopardy. To\nshow unto us that He works not by might nor by strength, does Heaven\nemploy the feeblest instruments for our ruin or our deliverance.\" The\npriest, after this profane speech, resumed his station at the board,\nwhence the king, with a proper and becoming dignity, had not arisen.\nBut the council did not proceed in their deliberations after this\ninterruption. Contenting themselves with devising precautions against\nanother surprise, they separated, hoping that to-morrow would bring\nthem despatches from abroad, for which they began to feel somewhat\nanxious and impatient.\n\nThe sun was now some hours past meridian. The broad sea and the\nbreakers were foaming on. A wide and impetuous phalanx of waves\nappeared upon the horizon. Gouts of muddy foam were beginning to\nfroth among the blue pebbles on the beach. The tide was rapidly\nfilling the channels, and patches of dark sand were vanishing beneath\nthe waves, when the two fishermen, launching their little boat into a\nnarrow bay between the rocks, prepared for their daily toil.\n\n\"Lords o' the court they be,\" said David, to some inquiry from his\nmore ignorant companion, as he generally affected to consider him.\nIndeed, with but little wit and less valour, he wished to foist\nhimself upon one possessing both, as a being of extraordinary wisdom\nand fortitude. And truly, if loud words and big lies could have done\nthis, he would have had no lack either of courage or discretion.\n\n\"Didst never see a lord to his shirt?\" continued this indomitable\nboaster.\n\n\"Nea, marry, but I've seen 'em to their shifts, for one of 'em couldna\nloup owre t' stones here without help.\"\n\n\"Help thy silly face, thou be'st hardly company fit for they 'at have\nseen knowledge, as 't waur, to its verra nakedness. I tell thee I've\nlooked on lords' flesh; an' no more like thine than thee be'st like\nfish.\"\n\n\"Some of 'em will cudgel thy leesing out o' thee, I hope. Thou\ncould'stna speak truth to save thy neck fro' the rope. Didst get any\no' the crumbs at the dinner to-day? for I ken thou throw'd up thy\ngreasy cap, and cried out 'Hurrah for the king.' Thy tongue would ever\nwag faster at a feast than thy fist at a fray.\"\n\n\"I tell thee, George, 'ware thy gibes an' gallimaufreys. A man can but\nbear what he can, thee knows; an' so stop thy din. Let me see, I heard\nas I cam' doon that this same ghost 'at frightened thee sae appeared\nto the king an' the lords at the feast; an' they waur fain to run for\nit, as thee did last night, thee knows, for verra fearsomeness,\nan'\"----\n\nHere he looked round, as though fearing a visit of the like nature.\n\n\"They say he came an' gobbled up more nor his share; an' he sent the\nguests a-packing like a bream of short-sized kippers from a creel. We\nlooked for our share of the victuals, but they told me old\nbl--bl\"----Again he hesitated, evidently afraid that some \"unsonsy\"\nthing was behind him. His voice sunk down to a tremulous whisper.\n\"They said that old split-feet brought a whole bevy of little\ndevilkins with him that cleared decks in the twinkling of a\nbowsprit.\"\n\n\"And yet thou durst not say him nay, though thy craw were as empty as\nmy basket. Come, bear a hand, or we shall lose the tide; it is already\non the rocks.\"\n\nThe invading fleet were still moored in the harbour, yet the fishermen\nshot past unheeded by these leviathans of the deep. As they came\nnearer to the opposite shore, they saw an individual making signals,\nas though he would be taken across. His monkish garb was a passport to\ntheir obedience; and the friar was received on board with great\nreverence and respect. With a sullen air he demanded, rather than\nrequested, to be conveyed to the castle, which the simple fishermen\nundertook with great alacrity and good humour. Left to the care of the\nguards below the ramparts, he was speedily forwarded through ranks of\niron men, and the barriers flew open at his presence; an embassage\nfrom the abbot of Furness was not to be lightly entreated.\n\nAgain was there a summons that the council should assemble, and the\nchiefs, already risen from the banquet, prepared to give him audience.\nWith a proud and firm step he approached the table; and though, from\nhabit, he repressed the natural feelings and bias of the temper, yet\nthere was an evident expression of hostility against the intruders,\naccompanied with a glance of unequivocal meaning towards their\nsovereign.\n\nSimon, rising to receive this ambassador from the abbot, watched his\ndemeanour with a cautious and keen observance, though betraying little\nof that really intense interest with which his presence was regarded.\n\n\"Thrice welcome!\" he cried; \"we hail your presence as an omen of good\nimport. How fareth my lord abbot, whom we hope to number with our\nfriends in this glorious cause?\"\n\n\"The abbot of Furness hath no message of that similitude. He doth ask\nby what right, privity, or pretence, ye appear within his castle or\nstronghold upon this island? upon whose advice or incitement ye have\nthus taken possession? and furthermore, under whose authority ye do\nthese things?\"\n\nThis short address, uttered in a firm voice, and in a tone of menace\nrather than inquiry, daunted the hearers, who had hoped for a more\npropitious message from the abbey of Furness. Simon, however, without\nbetraying his chagrin, unhesitatingly replied--\n\n\"The right by which we hold this fortress is the will of our king, and\nour authority is from him.\"\n\n\"I crave your honest regards,\" returned the monk, looking round with a\nglance of conscious power and superiority; \"this good inheritance is\nours, and whosoever disporteth himself here must answer for it to the\nlord of Furness, whose delegate and representative I am.\"\n\nCholer was rising in the assembly; but Simon, with that intuitive and\ninexplicable control which superior minds possess, almost unknowingly,\nover their associates, quelled the outburst of the flame by a single\nglance. Another look was directed to the royal pupil at his side, when\nthe latter spoke as follows:--\n\n\"Our presence here, it should seem, is a sufficient answer to the\nquestions of our lord abbot. Being lawful heir to the English crown,\nwe might command the allegiance, if not the homage, of your head; but\nwe would rather win with fair entreaty than command our unwilling\nsubjects, and to this end have we sent messengers to the superior of\nyour house, urging his help and submission.\"\n\nThis reply was given with a dignity and an assurance denoting that\neither he was the individual he personated, or that he had been well\nschooled in his craft.\n\nA murmur of applause was heard through the assembly, but the monk was\nunmoved to any show of recognition or even respect. Waiting until he\ncould be heard, the envoy again inquired--\n\n\"And who art thou? and by what pretence claimest thou this right?\"\n\n\"By hereditary descent. Knowest thou Edward, Earl of Warwick, now thy\nking?\"\n\n\"I have heard of him,\" continued the monk in the same dubious and\ninflexible tone; \"but his bodily appearance hath not been vouchsafed\nunto me.\"\n\n\"See him here!\" said the royal claimant, rising with great majesty and\ncondescension. But the churchman neither did homage, nor in any way\ntestified his loyalty to, or apprehension of, so exalted a personage.\n\n\"Truly it is a marvellous thing,\" replied he, \"that the Earl of\nWarwick should so order his appearance, at one and the same time, both\nin London and at our good fortress here in Fouldrey!\" A slight curl of\nthe lip was visible as he spoke.\n\n\"The Earl of Warwick,\" said Simon, \"cannot now be abiding where thou\nsayest, insomuch as the bodily tabernacle, his dwelling in the flesh,\nis before thee.\"\n\n\"But we have a messenger from thence, even with a writing from the\nhands of the holy prior of St Alban's, who sendeth us the news, lest\nwe should be beguiled. Father Anselm hath seen the earl, who was\nbrought forth from the Tower by command of the king, being conducted\npublicly through the principal thoroughfares of the city, that the\npeople should behold, and not in any wise be led astray through the\nevil reports and machinations of the king's enemies.\"\n\nHere he paused, folding his arms with a haughty and reserved look; but\nSimon, no wise disconcerted by this terrible, unexpected, and\napparently fatal exposure of their plot, replied with a smile of the\nmost intrepid assurance----\n\n\"We knew of this, and were prepared for the wiles of the usurper. Know\nthen, that, through the agency and good offices of that renowned\nprincess, Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, the king's escape from the\nTower was accomplished; but not by might, nor by human power nor\ndevice, but by faith and prayer, was the work wrought out, which holy\ncommunion her enemies do maliciously report as the practice of sorcery\nand the forbidden art. Howbeit the king hath escaped, as thou seest,\nthe fangs of the executioner. Stay, I perceive what thou wouldest urge\nin reply, but listen for a short space. In order to deter them from\npursuit on finding his escape, and with a view likewise to lull them\ninto vain confidence and carnal security, another was left in his\nplace, whom they, of necessity, imagine to be their captive; but it is\nnot a real thing of flesh and blood, though to them it may so appear.\nWhen his time shall be accomplished, the form will vanish, to the\ndownfall and confusion of the usurper and the utter overthrow of our\nenemies.\"\n\nHere the assembly gave a loud and unanimous token of their exultation\nby shouts and exclamations of loyalty and obedience.\n\nAfter a short reverie, the monk replied--\n\n\"We know of a surety that the Princess Margaret, as well as her royal\nbrother, Edward the Fourth, did use to practise in forbidden arts; but\nwe must have testimony indisputable to the truth of your claim, ere it\nbe that we render our belief. Surely the power that wrought thy\ndeliverance would not, if need were, leave thee without the means of\nproving thine identity. How know we that thou art he whom thou hast\nrepresented, and not the impostor Simnel, as thine enemies do not\nscruple openly to affirm?\"\n\n\"We are not without either the means or the power to prove and to\nassert our right,\" said the priest, rising. He drew a phial from his\nbosom.\n\n\"One drop of this precious elixir,\" continued he, \"if it touch the\nform of yon changeling, will dissolve the charm: on the real person of\nthe king it becomes harmless.\"\n\n\"Truly, 'tis a proof not to be gainsaid; but over-long i' the making,\nand too far for the fetching,\" replied the monk scornfully.\n\n\"'Tis bootless to attempt the salvation of those who will not believe:\nnevertheless, they shall perish through their own devices, and be\ncaught in their own snares.\"\n\nSimon threw a threatening glance at the monk, which he received with a\ncool and undaunted aspect.\n\n\"Verily, your blood be on your own heads,\" cried Simon, with a loud\nvoice, \"and your reward in your right hand. Behold, thou scourner, and\ntremble; for your destruction cometh as a whirlwind, and he in whom\nyou trust shall be as the stubble which the fire devoureth.\"\n\nThe enthusiast, as he spoke, struck a heavy blow on the floor with his\nfoot, when there came a low rumbling sound like the roar of the wind\nthrough some subterraneous abyss, or the distant moan of the sea,\ndriven on by the rushing tempest. The whole assembly stood aghast,\nsave the king and the two disputants.\n\n\"Shall I strike once more?\"\n\n\"Do as seemeth to thee good,\" said the monk deliberately; \"but think\nnot to intimidate me with thy fooleries.\"\n\n\"Then beware. I obey, but it is with awe and reluctance.\"\n\nIt is said that Simon's heart failed him as he gave the blow, or the\neffects would have been more terrific. But the castle shook as with an\nearthquake; even the incredulous monk looked amazed and confounded.\n\n\"Shall I repeat the stroke?\" said Simon, when the disturbance had in\nsome measure subsided. \"But remember, I will not answer for the\nresult. Only in cases of the greatest difficulty and trial it was\nthat the duchess made me resort to so dangerous a resource.\"\n\nMost of his hearers besought him to desist. Simon yielded at once to\ntheir entreaties, and the uplifted foot fell softly on the floor. Soft\nand noiseless though it was, yet they saw a lurid mist roll upward;\nand a form, apparently of gigantic size, was faintly visible in the\ndark vapour, as it swept slowly through the apartment. Even Simon and\nhis royal pupil showed symptoms of agitation and alarm.\n\nThe assembly was suddenly dissolved. The proud ambassador of a prouder\nprelate was astonished and bewildered, and hastily took his leave to\nreport these occurrences to his master.\n\nThe whole of these proceedings, in all probability, were but the\nartful contrivance of an ambitious priest; and yet, connected as they\nwere with a female whose well-known predilection for the occult\nsciences, and herself no mean adept therein, they assumed in those\nages of credulity and superstition more the character of miraculous\nevents than as happening in the common course and established order of\nnature. The alarm of the king, too, evidently at the appearance of the\nfigure, caused some to say that it was the arch-enemy himself to whom\nthese conspirators had sold themselves.\n\nIn the meantime, Dick, having been delivered over to the tormentors,\nwas transferred to the prison or dungeon by the porch. He bore his\nmishap with wondrous fortitude and equanimity. Many a strange inquiry\nand silly speech did he make as he heard the sound of footsteps pass\nthe door, through which a few chinks admitted a doubtful glimmer into\nhis cell.\n\n\"I seay--hears to me, lad?\" shouted he to a gruff Fleming, as he\npassed to and fro before the entrance to his prison-house; but the\nguard heeded him not. Dick listened; then, repeating his demand,\nmuttered certain conventional expressions, not over-nice either in\ntheir form or application. He then began to sing, performing a series\nof _cantabile_ movements in the most ludicrous manner possible;\nsometimes chanting a _Miserere_ or an _Ave_, then breaking into some\nwild northern ballad or roundelay of unintelligible import. It was in\nthe midst of a cadence which he was terminating with great earnestness\nand effect that the first deep rumble, the result of Simon's appeal to\nthe truth and justice of their cause, interrupted Dick's vocal\ndispositions for a while; but when the second concussion took place,\nshaking the very stones in their sockets and the hard floor under his\nfeet, Dick ran whooping and bellowing round his den as though he had\nbeen possessed, laughing, amid the wild uproar, like some demon\nsporting fearlessly in the fierce turmoil of the troubled elements.\nThe sentinel ran, terrified, from the door, and the whole camp and\ngarrison were flying to arms, in fear and consternation. Dick,\ndrumming with his fist, found the door yield to his efforts, and he\nmarched forth without let or molestation. His besetting sin was\ncuriosity, which oftentimes led him into difficulties and mishaps.\nThough just now a prisoner, and escaping by means little less than\nmiraculous, yet, instead of making the best use of this opportunity\nfor escape, he commenced a sort of prying adventure on his own\naccount--a temptation he could not resist--by walking, or rather\nshuffling, into the guard-room, where his own peculiar crab-like\nsinuosities were particularly available. A number of soldiers were\njabbering some unintelligible jargon, too much occupied with their own\nclamour to notice Dick's proceedings.\n\nThrough a confused jumble of warlike implements, intermingled with\ncamp-kettles and cooking utensils, some steaming with savoury\npreparations for the evening's repast, and others nearly ready for the\nservice, Dick insinuated himself, until he came to a little door in\nthe corner, the entrance to a staircase communicating with the leads\nabove. Through this door marched the incorrigible intruder--the sentry\nfrom the summit having just issued therefrom, fearful lest the castle\nshould tumble about his ears. Dick's course was therefore unimpeded;\nand after sundry gyrations and stoppages, now and then, to peep\nthrough the loopholes, he emerged into broad daylight on the roof of\nthe tower. Here he paused for some time, entranced with the sudden\nchange he beheld. The bustle and animation around and below him; the\nvessels, with their brave and gallant equipments, anchored in the\nbay;--all this amused Dick vastly for a while. But the most\nheart-ravishing delights end ultimately in satiety and disgust,\ngreater, and probably more keenly felt, the more they have been\nrelished and enjoyed. Dick began to feel listless and tired with his\nday's work. He laid his head upon a groove or niche in the\nbattlements, and fell fast asleep. It seems the sentinel did not\nreturn; for Dick remained undisturbed, and when he awoke it was\ncompletely dark, save that there was a wan gleam from a dull watery\nmoon, just dipping into a stratum of dark clouds over the sea. His\nideas, not over-lucid in broad daylight, would necessarily be still\nmore hazy and obscure in his present situation. Unable to extricate\nthem, he rubbed his eyes and made faces; yawned and groped about for\nhis usual dormitory, in a little cell behind the kitchen at the abbey.\nBut the vision of the moon--which, by reason of the confined glen\nwherein the abbey was built, rarely blessed the sight of a\nnight-watcher--was a wondrous and puzzling appearance. He had some\nconfused recollection that he had mounted a flight of steps, and that,\nby contrary motion, descending would be the next consequent movement.\nTo this end he diligently sought an opening, and, naturally enough,\ntook the first that presented itself. Creeping round the angle of a\nturret, he came to a flight of steps, which he descended. It was not\nlong ere he perceived a faint light through an aperture or chink in\nthe wall. He pressed against the side cautiously, when the wall itself\nappeared to give way, and he entered, through a narrow door, into a\nlarge room, lighted by a few turf embers, that flickered dimly on the\nhearth. A tester bed was near him, whose grim shadow concealed the\nobjects under its huge canopy. It was the king's chamber; but so\nsoftly and cautiously was the entrance effected that Dick's footsteps\ndid not awake him. He was heard, nevertheless, by the priest Simon,\nwho, being concealed by the curtains on the other side, was not seen\nby the intruder. Dick stood still, on being addressed in a low and\nsuppressed voice as follows:--\n\n\"Thou art early, Maurice; but thy despatches are ready. They are on\nthe chair at thy right hand. Thou hast had thy instructions. Be speedy\nand discreet. On the third day, ere sunset, we look for thy return.\"\n\nDick put out his hand and laid hold of a sealed packet, which he took\nwith becoming gravity, and luckily in silence.\n\n\"The same password, 'Warwick,' will convey thee hence; a boat is in\nwaiting, and so God speed,\" said the priest.\n\nDick returned by the way he came, and descending the turret staircase,\nfound a sentry standing at the outlet into the guard-chamber. It was\ndark, and Dick's person was not recognised. With a sort of blundering\ninstinct he gave the word and passed on. This magic sound conveyed him\nsafely through bars, bolts, and all other impediments. The drawbridge\nwas lowered, and Dick, in a little time, found himself again upon the\nbeach, where a boat was waiting to carry him to the opposite shore.\n\n\"Who goes there?\" inquired a gruff voice from the skiff.\n\n\"Why Dick--Warwick,\" cried the blundering knave, nigh mistaking his\ncue.\n\n\"Hang thee,\" said the ferryman, \"what art' ganging o' this gait for?\nIf I'd ken'd it waur thee 'at I'd orders to lie by in shore for, thou\nmight ha' waited a wee for aught 'at I'd ha' brought.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said Dick, full of importance from his newly-acquired\ndiplomatic functions; \"I'm message to the king yonder.\"\n\n\"Ill betides him that has need o' thee,\" said the boatman,\nsurlily;--\"come, jump in. They'd need of a hawk, marry, to catch a\nbuzzard.\"\n\nJust as Dick was preparing to step in, a low, slight-made figure\npassed by whom the boatman immediately challenged.\n\n\"Warwick!\" said he, and would have passed on.\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said Dick; \"I'm Warwick, ma lad; there's no twa on us;\nthey gied me that name i' the castle yon, just now. I'se butter'd if\nthou shall ha't too.\" Dick was a powerful fellow, and he collared the\nother in a twinkling. \"Thou'rt a rogue, I tell thee, an' about no\ngood; an' I've orders from the governor yonder to tak' thee. Bear a\nhand, boatie, and in wi' him. There--there.\"\n\nSpite of his struggles and imprecations, the stranger was impounded in\nthe boat, and Dick soon forced him to be quiet. They pushed off, and\nin a short time gained the other shore. Here Dick, with that almost\ninstinctive sagacity which sometimes accompanies a disturbed state of\nthe intellects, would not allow his prisoner either to go back to the\nisland or remain in the boatman's custody, but secured him to his own\nperson, setting off at a brisk pace towards the abbey. In vain the\nstranger told him that he had business of great moment at the castle;\nthat he was a page of the court, and on the eve of a secret mission\nfrom the priest, who was now waiting for him with the despatches. Dick\nresolved, with his usual cunning it seems, to conceal his possession\nof these documents, and, at the same time, to prevent the real\nmessenger from revealing the deception by his appearance at the\ncastle.\n\nIt was past midnight; yet the abbot and several of the brethren were\nstill assembled in close council. The importance of the events that\nwere unfolding, and in which their own line of conduct was to be\nfirmly marked out and adhered to, necessarily involving much\ndeliberation and discussion, had kept them beyond their usual hour of\nretirement.\n\nA bell rung at the outer gate, and shortly afterwards one of the\nbrotherhood in waiting announced that two men were without, craving\naudience, and that one of them, when asked his name, answered\n\"Warwick.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the bewildered abbot, with a sudden gleam of wonder and\ngladness on his countenance--\"does he come hither? then is our\ndeliverance nearer than we hoped for, even from the special favour and\ninterference of Heaven. Admit them instantly.\"\n\nBut in a little while the messenger came back in great dudgeon to say\nthat the knave who had demanded admittance with such a peremptory\nmessage was none other than Dick Empson, the errand boy to the abbey.\n\"What can possess him,\" continued the monk, \"I greatly marvel; for he\nstill persists in demanding audience, saying that he is 'Warwick.' He\nrefers to some message from the castle with which he is charged, but\nhe refuses to deliver it save into the hands of the reverend abbot\nhimself. Furthermore, he has brought a prisoner, he sayeth, and will\nhave him taken into safe custody.\"\n\n\"Why, bring him hither,\" said the abbot; \"there's little harm can come\nby it. He has a shrewd and quick apprehension at times, under that\nsilly mask, which I have thought he wears but for purposes of knavery\nand concealment.\"\n\nThe monk folded his hands and retired. Returning, he was followed by\nDick, who assumed a very grave and solemn demeanour before this august\nand reverend assembly.\n\n\"Why art thou abroad in these evil times, and at such improper hours\ntoo? To the meanest of our servants it is not permitted. Speak. Thine\nerrand?\"\n\nThe abbot looked towards the offender with an air of displeasure; but\nDick, hitching up his hosen with prodigious fervour, gave a loud and\nexpressive grunt.\n\n\"Dick is a fool,\" said he; \"but he ne'er begged benison of an abbot, a\nbone from a starved dog, or a tithe-pig from a parson.\"\n\n\"What is the message wherewith thou hast presumed upon our audience?\"\n\n\"If ye rear your back to a door, see to it that it be greatly tyned,\nor ye may get a broken head for trust.\"\n\n\"And is this thy message, sirrah? Hark ye, let this fool be put i' the\nstocks, and well whipped.\"\n\n\"And who'll be the fule body then?\" said Dick, leering. \"I ken ye be\nreadier wi' a taste o' the gyves than oatmeal bannocks; an' sae I'se\ngang awa' to my mither.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt go to the whipping-post first.\"\n\n\"Haud off,\" shouted Dick, who flung aside the person that would have\nseized him with the most consummate ease, at the same time placing\nhimself in the attitude of defence; \"haud off, as ye are true men,\"\nsaid he; \"I'm cousin to the king, and I charge ye with high treason!\"\n\n\"Enough,\" said the abbot; \"we may pity his infirmity; but let him be\nsent to the mill for punishment. Now to business, which I fear me hath\nsuffered by this untimely interruption.\"\n\n\"Happen you'll let me be one of the guests,\" said the incorrigible\nDick, thrusting himself forward, even to the abbot's chair, which so\ndiscomposed his reverence that he cried in a loud and authoritative\ntone--\n\n\"Will none of ye rid me of this pestilence? By the beard of St\nCuthbert, I will dispose of him, and that presently!\"\n\nSeizing him by the shoulder, the abbot would have thrust him forth,\nbut Dick slipped dexterously aside. Taking out the packet, he broke\nopen the seals, and immediately began to tumble about the contents,\nseating himself at the same time in the vacant chair of the abbot,\nwith great solemnity, and an air of marvellous profundity in his\ndemeanour. It was the work of a few moments only; a pause of silent\nastonishment ensued, when the abbot's eye, catching, from their\nappearance, something of the nature of the documents, he started\nforward with great eagerness and surprise. He snatched them from the\nhands of their crack-brained possessor, and soon all other matters\nwere forgotten. The abbot in breathless haste ran through the\ncontents. The assembly was all eye and ear, and some were absolutely\nparalysed with wonder. There was not an indifferent observer but Dick,\nwho, with a chuckling laugh, rubbed his hands, and fidgeted about in\nthe chair with a look of almost infantile delight.\n\n\"I've done it brawly, ha'n't I? Dick wi' the lang neb! an' I'll hae\ntwo messes o' parritch an' sour milk, an' a barley-cake; I'm waesome\nhungry i' the waum here.\"\n\nThe abbot was too deeply involved in the subject before him to heed a\ncraving appetite. Dick's stomach, however, was not to be silenced by\ndiplomatic food; not having tasted anything for a considerable time,\nhis wants immediately assumed the language of inquiry.\n\n\"Old dad, ha' ye any bones to pick? I'd like to have a lick at the\ntrencher.\"\n\nThe abbot made signals that he should not be disturbed; but Dick was\nnot to be put off or convinced by such unsubstantial arguments, and\nthey were fain to rid themselves from further annoyance by ordering\nhim into the kitchen, where he was speedily absorbed in devouring a\npan of browis, left there for morning use--the breakfast of the\nlabourers about the abbey.\n\nDuring this interval matters of the deepest importance were discussed,\nthe contents of the packet having furnished abundant materials for\ndeliberation. When the bearer was effectually replenished, he was led\ninto the council-chamber again, where the abbot, in a tone of deep and\nserious thought, thus addressed him:--\n\n\"Who gave thee these despatches? It is plain they were not meant for\nour eyes; but Heaven, by the weakest instrument, often works the\nmightiest and most important events. Where and how came they into thy\nkeeping?\"\n\nDick looked cunningly round the apartment ere he replied, surveying\nthe floor, the walls, and the ceiling; even the groinings of the roof\ndid not escape a minute and accurate examination; whether to give time\nfor the contriving of a suitable reply, or merely to gratify his own\npeevish humour, is of little consequence that we should inquire. After\na long and anxious silence on the part of his auditors, he replied--\n\n\"I told ye when ye spiered afore.\" Another pause. The abbot was\nfearful that Dick's ideas, if not carefully handled, might get so\nentangled and confused that he would be unable to give any\nintelligible account of the matter. He therefore addressed him\ncoaxingly as follows--\n\n\"Nay, nay, Dickon, thou hast not; answer me now, and thou shalt have\nthe fat from the roast to-morrow, and a sop to season it withal.\"\n\nDick leered again at this prospective dainty, as he replied--\n\n\"I tou'd ye, and ye heeded not, belike; and who's the fool now? Come,\nI'll set you my riddle again. If ye set your back to a door, see that\nit be tyned, or ye may get a broken head, and then\"----\n\nHere he paused, and looked round with a vacant eye; but they wisely\nforbore to interrupt the current of his ideas, hoping that ere long\nthey might trickle into the right channel.\n\n\"There was a big room, and a bed in it,\" he continued, \"and a priest,\nwhich the fule body has cheated. A fule's wit is worth more nor a wise\nman's folly.\"\n\nA vague apprehension of the truth crossed the abbot's mind. Being now\non the right scent, he no longer forbore to follow up the chase, but\nendeavoured to hasten the development by a gentle stimulating of his\npace in the required direction.\n\n\"The priest yonder at the castle gave it thee?\" said the abbot\ncarelessly.\n\n\"Well, and if he did,\" replied Dick sharply, \"he didna ken I was\na-peeping into his chamber, as I've done many an unlucky time here in\nthe abbey, and gotten a good licking for my pains.\"\n\n\"To whom was it sent?\"\n\n\"Ask the bairn yon', that I ha' brought by th' scut o' th' neck. He\nwoudna come bout tugging for.\"\n\n\"Was he the messenger?\" asked Roger, the abbot's secretary and prime\nagent.\n\n\"Help thine ignorant face, father!--I was peeping about, you see, in\nthe dark. The priest thought it waur the laddy yonder, a-comin' for\nhis bag; so he gied it me, and tou'd me to carry it safe, but forgot\nto grease my pate forbye wi' the direction. I ken'd ye could read\naught at the abbey here, and so ye may e'en run wi' it to the right\nowner for yere pains.\"\n\nThe cunning knave glossed over his treachery with this excuse; for he\nevidently knew better, and had a notion that he should serve his\nmasters by this piece of diplomatic craft.\n\n\"Thou mayest depart, and ere morrow we will give thee a largess for\nthy dexterity.\"\n\nDick did not care to be long a-snuffing the chill air of the vaults\nand passages after his dismissal, but in a warm cell near the kitchen\nfire he was soon wrapped in the delights of oblivion. Such, however,\nwas the importance of the documents he had so strangely intercepted,\nthat a messenger was immediately despatched to London with a packet\nfor the Privy Council.\n\nThe same morning, with the early dawn, the abbot and his secretary\nwere together in the cloisters. It was a fitting place and opportunity\neither for intrigue or devotion, and many a masterstroke of church\npolicy has issued from those dim and sepulchral arches in \"the Glen of\nthe deadly Nightshade.\"\n\n\"Craft is needful, yea laudable,\" said the abbot, \"when we would cope\nwith worldly adversaries, unless we could work miracles for our\ndeliverance. But since in these degenerate ages of the church they\nhave, I fear me, ceased, we must e'en employ the means that Heaven has\nput into our hands: and if I mistake not, this envoy of ours will be a\nskilful craftsman for the purpose. Under that garb of silly speech\nthere's a cunning and a wary spirit. Thou didst note well his\nready-witted contrivance last night.\"\n\n\"Yea, and the skill too with which he compassed his expedients, and\nthe ingenuity that prevented the disclosure of his treachery, in\narresting the real messenger, and thus keeping them in the dark at the\ncastle yonder until we have had time to countervail their plots. Could\nhe be made to play his part according to our instructions, an agent\nlike him were worth having. Besides he knows every chink and cranny\nabout the castle, so that he could jump on them unawares.\"\n\n\"I am not much given to implicit credence in supernatural devices,\"\nsaid the abbot, \"or visible manifestations of the arch-enemy; yet have\nour chronicles not scrupled to give their testimony to the truth of\nsuch appearances; and it is, moreover, plain, from the papers we have\nread, that the conspirators themselves believe in the existence of\nsome supernatural presence amongst them, by which they are holpen.\"\n\nHe drew a billet from his bosom:--\"I have kept this writing alone, as\nthou knowest,\" continued the abbot, \"for our guidance. Listen again to\nthe confessions of yonder rebellious and it may be credulous priest:--\n\n\"We are sure of success. The noble Margaret hath, by her wondrous art,\ntogether with the exercise of prayer and fasting, fenced us about as\nwith a triple barrier, that no earthly might shall overcome. A power\nattends us that will magnify our cause, and lay our foes prostrate.\n'Tis a mystery even to us, but a being appears unexpectedly at times,\nand by his counsels we are guided. We know not whence he comes, nor\nwhither he goes; but his path is with us, and his presence, though\ngenerally invisible, not without terror, even to ourselves.\"\n\n\"'Tis a strange delusion this, if it be one; for it is plain they have\nbeen ably counselled. Whilst they retain the castle their position may\nbe reckoned as impregnable. It is a powerful support, on which they\nhave placed the lever of their rebellion.\"\n\n\"And in what way purpose you to entice them from it? Methinks it were\nin vain to make the attempt, if guarded and counselled by supernatural\nadvisers.\"\n\n\"I believe in no such improbabilities. Listen. We have heard, as thou\nknowest, that a strange figure, muffled in close garments, steals\nforth, at times, by the southern cliff into the passage there, under\nthe foundations. This, doubtless, will be the emissary referred to in\nthe despatch. 'Tis of a surety some person about the camp, concealed,\nin all likelihood, even from the leaders themselves; but employed by\nyonder ambitious restless woman, to control and direct their\noperations by a pretendedly miraculous and supernatural influence. It\nis the way in which the vulgar and the superstitious are most easily\nled. Fanaticism is a powerful engine wherewith to combine and wield\nthe scattered energies of the multitude. Besides, their plans are well\nlaid, as we have seen by the despatches, and many and powerful are the\nhelps by which they hope to accomplish their designs. Should they\nsucceed, our destruction is certain. Yet could we draw them forth from\nour fortress, we might look to the issue undisturbed. The king will\nthen dispose of them, and few will dare to interrupt us in the quiet\npossession of our privileges.\"\n\n\"How purpose you to entice them forth?\" again inquired the secretary.\n\n\"If properly tutored, our messenger from the kitchen, Dick Empson,\nwill doubtless be a fitting agent for this deed. He must be well\nfurnished with means and appliances against discovery.\"\n\n\"Leave him to my care. I can work with untoward tools, and make them\nuseful too upon occasion.\"\n\n\"The prisoner, whom he so craftily seized and brought hither, is yet\nsafe in the dungeon?\"\n\n\"He is, my lord.\"\n\n\"There he must lie, at any rate, until our plans be accomplished.\"\n\n\"We know not yet unto whom these communications were to have been\nconveyed.\"\n\n\"No; but doubtless, from their tenor, to some person of great note. It\nmay have been to one even about the person of royalty itself, for this\ntreason hath deep root, and its branches are widely spread throughout\nthe land.\"\n\n\"Shall we put him to the question?\"\n\n\"Nay, let present difficulties be brought to issue first; afterwards\nwe shall be able to inquire, and with more certainty, as to the line\nof examination we should pursue.\"\n\nThe speakers separated, one to communicate with Dick Empson, and\nprepare him for the important functions he would have to perform; the\nother to his lodgings, where he might ruminate undisturbed on the\nevents then about to transpire, and of which he hoped, finally, to\nreap the advantage.\n\nIt was past midnight, and the flickering embers threw a doubtful and\nuncertain gleam, at intervals, through the royal chamber, as it was\nthen called, in the Castle of Fouldrey. All around was so still that\nthe tramp of the sentry sounded like the tread of an armed host;\nsounds being magnified to a degree almost terrific, in the absence of\nothers by which their intensity may be compared. Even the dash of the\nwaves below the walls was heard in the deep and awful stillness of\nthat portentous night.\n\nSimon started from the pallet whereon he lay, beside the couch of his\nmaster, at times looking wildly round, as though just rousing from\nsome unquiet slumber, expecting, yet fearful of alarm. He lay down\nagain with a deep sigh, muttering an Ave or a Paternoster as he closed\nhis eyes. Again he raised his head, and a dark figure stood before\nhim.\n\n\"What wouldest thou?\" inquired he, with great awe and reverence.\n\n\"Ye must depart!\" said a voice, deep and sepulchral.\n\n\"Depart!\" repeated the priest, with an expression of doubt and alarm.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the mysterious figure; \"wherefore dost thou inquire?\"\n\n\"Our only resting-place, our point of support, our sustenance and our\nrefuge! Are we to leave this, and buffet with the winds and waves of\nmisfortune, without a haven or a hiding-place? Surely\"----\n\n\"I have said it, and to-morrow ye must depart!\"\n\n\"Whither?\" inquired the priest; his opinion evidently controlled by\nthe belief that a being of a superior nature was before him.\n\n\"Beyond the Abbey of Furness. Choose a fitting place for your\nencampment, and there abide until I come.\"\n\n\"It doth appear to my weak and unassisted sense,\" said the priest, in\ngreat agony of spirit, arising from his doubt and unbelief, \"that it\nwere the very utmost of madness and folly to give up this strong and\nalmost impregnable position for one where our little army may be\noutflanked, and even surrounded by superior strength and numbers.\"\n\n\"Disobey, and thy life, and all that are with thee, shall be cut off!\"\n\n\"And to-morrow! Ere we have news from our partisans in the south?\nMaurice will be here the third day at the latest.\"\n\n\"I have said it,\" replied the figure, peremptorily; when suddenly,\nand, as it were, formed immediately at his side, appeared another\nfigure, similar to the first, assuming nearly the same attitude and\nmanner, save that the latter looked something taller and more\nmajestic.\n\n\"St Mary's grace and the abbot's, there 's twa of us!\" cried the first\nfigure, no less a personage than Dick Empson, who had been daring\nenough to adopt this disguise, according to the instructions he had\nreceived at the abbey. He uttered the words in a tone of thrilling and\nhorrible apprehension, like the last shriek of the victim writhing in\nthe fangs of his destroyer.\n\nThe terrible apparition cried out to his surreptitious\nrepresentative--\"Nay, miscreant; but one. This thou shalt know, and\nfeel too. Fool and impostor, thy last hour is come!\"\n\nAs he spake he seized on the miserable wretch in their presence,\nswinging him round by the waist like an infant, and bore him off, up\nthe turret stairs, to the summit. Ere he disappeared he uttered this\nterrible denunciation--\n\n\"Your ruin is at hand. Flee! This fool hath betrayed ye, and I return\nno more!\"\n\nDarting up the staircase, the shrieks of Dick Empson were heard, as if\nrapidly ascending to the summit. A wilder and more desperate\nstruggle--then a heavy plunge, and the waters closed over their prey!\n\nDick's body was cast up by the waves, but the terrible unknown did not\nreturn; nor was he ever seen or heard of again, save, it is said, that\nwhen the priest received his death-wound, soon afterwards, on the\nfield of battle, this awful form appeared to rise up before him, and\nwith scoff and taunt upbraided him as the cause of his own ruin, and\nthe downfall of his hopes.\n\nThe next day, from whatever cause, the troops began to move from their\npost. Ere the second evening, they had completely evacuated the castle\nand the island, which the wary Abbot of Furness soon turned to his own\nadvantage, occupying the place with some of his armed vassals. The\nrebels, proved to be such by their ill success, took up a tolerably\nadvantageous position upon Swartz Moor, in the neighbourhood of\nUlverstone, where, waiting in vain for the expected reinforcements,\nthey found themselves obliged to move forward, or be utterly without\nthe means either of subsistence or defence. Sir Thomas Broughton, and\na few more of little note, accompanied them to Stokeford, near Newark,\nwhere, engaging the king's forces on the 6th of June 1487, they\nmaintained an obstinate and bloody engagement, disputed with more\nbravery than could have been expected from the inequality of their\nforces. The leaders were resolved to conquer or to perish, and their\ntroops were animated with the same resolution. The Flemings, too,\nbeing veteran and experienced soldiers, kept the event long doubtful;\nand even the Irish, though ill-armed and almost defenceless, showed\nthemselves not deficient in spirit and bravery. The king's victory was\npurchased with great loss, but was entirely decisive. Lincoln, Swartz,\nand, according to some accounts, Sir Thomas Broughton, perished on the\nfield of battle, with four thousand of their followers. As Lovel was\nnever more heard of, he was supposed to have undergone the same fate.\nSimnel, apart from his followers, was too contemptible to be an object\neither of apprehension or resentment on the part of the king. He was\npardoned, and, it is said, made a scullion in the royal kitchen, from\nwhich menial office he was afterwards advanced to the rank of\nfalconer.\n\nThus ended this strange rebellion, which only served to seat Henry\nmore securely on his throne, extinguishing, finally, the intrigues and\nanticipations of the house of York.\n\n\n[Illustration: BEWSEY, NEAR WARRINGTON.\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._\n_Engraved by Edw'd. Finden._]\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF BEWSEY.\n\n     \"Yestreen I dreamed a doleful dream,\n       I fear there will be sorrow!\n     I dreamed I pu'd the heather green\n       With my true love on Yarrow.\n\n     \"She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,\n       She searched his wounds all thorough,\n     She kissed them till her lips grew red,\n       On the dowie howms of Yarrow.\"\n\n\nWarrington is described by Camden as remarkable for its lords,\nsurnamed Butler, or Boteler, of Bewsey. This name was derived from\ntheir office, Robert le Pincerna having discharged the duties of that\nstation under Ranulph, Earl of Chester, in 1158, hence taking the\nsurname. Almeric Butler, his descendant, having married Beatrice,\ndaughter and co-heir of Matthew Villiers, Lord of Warrington, became\npossessed of the barony.\n\nA MS. in the Bodleian Library gives the following statement, which,\nthough manifestly incorrect in respect of names and particulars, may\nyet be relied on with regard to the main facts, corroborated by\ntradition, which still preserves the memory of this horrible event.\n\n\"Sir John Butler, Knt., was slaine in his bedde by the procurement of\nthe Lord Standley, Sir Piers Leigh and Mister William Savage joining\nwith him in that action (corrupting his servants), his porter setting\na light in a window to give knowledge upon the water that was about\nhis house at Bewsey (where your way to ... comes). They came over the\nmoate in lether boats, and so to his chamber, where one of his\nservants, named Houlcrofte, was slaine, being his chamberlaine; the\nother basely betrayed his master;--they payed him a great reward, and\nso coming away with him, they hanged him at a tree in Bewsey\nParke;--after this Sir John Butler's lady prosecuted those that slew\nher husband, and ... L20 for that suite, but, being married to Lord\nGrey, he made her suite voyd, for which reason she parted from her\nhusband and came into Lancashire, saying, If my lord will not let me\nhave my will of my husband's enemies, yet shall my body be buried by\nhim; and she caused a tomb of alabaster to be made, where she lyeth on\nthe ... hand of her husband, Sir John Butler.\n\nIt is further stated in the MS. that the occasion of this murder was\nbecause of a request from Earl Derby that Sir John would make one of\nthe train which followed him on his going to meet King Henry VII., and\nwhich request was discourteously refused.\n\nThe following extract from Froissart may not be deemed uninteresting,\nas a record of one of our Lancashire worthies, Sir John Butler of\nBewsey, relating how he was rescued from the hands of those who sought\nhis life at the siege of Hennebon:--\n\n\"The Lord Lewis of Spain came one day into the tent of Lord Charles of\nBlois, where were numbers of the French nobility, and requested of him\na boon for all the services done to him, and as a recompense for them\nthe Lord Charles promised to grant whatever he should ask, as he held\nhimself under many obligations to him. Upon which the Lord Lewis\ndesired that the two prisoners, Sir John Boteler and Sir Mw.\nTrelawney, who were in prison of the Castle of Faouet, might be sent\nfor, and delivered up to him, to do with them as should please him\nbest.\n\n\"'This is the boon I ask, for they have discomfited, pursued, and\nwounded me; have also slain the Lord Alphonso, my nephew, and I have\nno other way to be revenged on them than to have them beheaded in\nsight of their friends who are shut up in Hennebon.'\n\n\"The Lord Charles was much amazed at this request, and replied, 'I\nwill certainly give you the prisoners since you have asked for them;\nbut you will be very cruel, and much to blame, if you put to death two\nsuch valiant men; and our enemies will have an equal right to do the\nsame to any of our friends whom they may capture, for we are not clear\nwhat may happen to any one of us every day. I therefore entreat, dear\nsir and sweet cousin, that you would be better advised.'\n\n\"Lord Lewis said that if he did not keep his promise he would quit the\narmy, and never serve or love him as long as he lived.\n\n\"When the Lord Charles saw that he must comply, he sent off messengers\nto the Castle of Faouet, who returned with the two prisoners, and\ncarried them to the tent of Lord Charles.\n\n\"Neither tears nor entreaties could prevail on Lord Lewis to desist\nfrom his purpose of having them beheaded after dinner, so much was he\nenraged against them.\n\n\"All the conversation, and everything that passed between the Lord\nCharles and Lord Lewis, relative to these two prisoners, was told to\nSir Walter Manny and Sir Amauri de Clisson, by friends and spies, who\nrepresented the danger in which the two knights were. They bethought\nthemselves what was best to be done, but after considering schemes,\ncould fix on none. At last Sir Walter said, 'Gentlemen, it would do us\ngreat honour if we could rescue these two knights. If we should\nadventure it and should fail, King Edward would himself be obliged to\nus, and all wise men who may hear of it in times to come will thank\nus, and say we had done our duty. I will tell you my plan, and you are\nable to undertake it, for I think we are bound to risk our lives in\nendeavouring to save those of two such gallant knights. I propose,\ntherefore, if it be agreeable to you, that we arm immediately, and\nform ourselves into two divisions,--one shall set off, as soon after\ndinner as possible, by this gate, and draw up near the ditch, to\nskirmish with and alarm the enemy, who, you may believe, will soon\nmuster to that part, and, if you please, you, Sir Amauri de Clisson,\nshall have the command of it, and shall take with you 1000 good\narchers to make those that may come to you retreat back again, and 300\nmen-at-arms. I will have with me 100 of my companions, and 500\narchers, and will sally out at the postern on the opposite side,\nprivately, and coming behind them will fall upon their camp, which we\nshall find unguarded. I will take with me those who are acquainted\nwith the road to Lord Charles's tent, where the two prisoners are, and\nwill make for that part of the camp. I can assure you that I and my\ncompanions will do everything in our power to bring back in safety\nthese two knights, if it please God.'\n\n\"This proposal was agreeable to all, and they directly separated to\narm and prepare themselves. About an hour after dinner Sir Amauri and\nhis party set off; and having had the principal gate of Hennebon\nopened for them, which led to the road that went straight to the army\nof Lord Charles, they rushed forward, making great cries and noise, to\nthe tents and huts, which they cut down, and killed all that came in\ntheir way. The enemy was much alarmed, and putting themselves in\nmotion, got armed as quickly as possible, and advanced towards the\nEnglish and Bretons, who received them very warmly. The skirmish was\nsharp, and many on each side were slain.\n\n\"When Sir Amauri perceived that almost the whole of the army was in\nmotion and drawn out, he retreated very handsomely, fighting all the\ntime, to the barriers of the town, when he suddenly halted: then the\narchers, who had been posted on each side of the ditch beforehand,\nmade such good use of their bows that the engagement was very hot, and\nall the army of the enemy ran thither except the servants.\n\n\"During this time Sir Walter Manny, with his company, issued out\nprivily by the postern, and, making a circuit, came upon the rear of\nthe enemy's camp. They were not perceived by any one, for all were\ngone to the skirmish upon the ditch. Sir Walter made straight for the\ntent of Lord Charles, where he found the two knights, Sir John Boteler\nand Sir Mw. Trelawney, whom he immediately mounted on two coursers\nwhich he had ordered to be brought for them, and retiring as fast as\npossible, entered Hennebon by the same way as he sallied forth. The\nCountess of Montfort came to see them, and received them with great\njoy.\"--_Froissart_, by Col. Johnes, vol. ii. p. 9.\n\nThe Butlers continued to occupy Bewsey till the year 1603, when Edward\nButler sold this estate to the Irelands of Hale. It then passed from\nthe Irelands to the Athertons, and is now enjoyed by Thomas Powis,\nLord Lilford, of Lilford, Northamptonshire, in virtue of the marriage\nof his father, in the year 1797, with Henrietta Maria, daughter and\nheiress of Robert Vernon Atherton, of Atherton Hall, Esq.--_Vide_\nBaines's _Lancashire_.\n\n     Oh listen to my roundelay,\n       Oh listen a while to me,\n     And I'll tell ye of a deadly feud\n       That fell out in the north countrie.\n\n     The summer leaves were fresh and green\n       When Earl Derby forth would ride;\n     For King Henry and his company\n       To Lathom briskly hied.\n\n     A bridge he had builded fair and strong,\n       With wondrous cost and pain,\n     O'er Mersey's stream, by Warrington,\n       For to meet that royal train.[6]\n\n     And lord, and knight, and baron bold,\n       That dwelt in this fair countrie,\n     With the Derby train a-riding were,\n       Save Sir John of proud Bewsey.\n\n     \"Now foul befa' that scornfu' knight,\"\n       Cried Stanley in his pride;\n     \"For he hath my just and honest suit\n       Discourteously denied:\n\n     \"Such hatred of our high estate,\n       This traitor sore shall rue;\n     I'll be avenged, or this good sword\n       Shall rot the scabbard through!\"\n\n     He swore a furious oath, I trow,\n       And clenched his iron hand,\n     As he rode forth to meet his son,\n       The monarch of merry England.\n\n            *       *       *       *       *\n\n     The summer leaves were over and gone,\n        But the ivy and yew were green,\n     When to Bewsey hall came a jovial crew\n       On the merry Christmas e'en.\n\n     It was mirth and feasting in hall and bower\n       On that blessed and holy tide,\n     But ere the morning light arose,\n       There was darkness on all their pride!\n\n     Dark wonne the night, and the revellers gay\n       From the laughing halls are gone;\n     The clock from the turret, old and grey,\n       With solemn tongue tolled one.\n\n     The blast was moaning down the glen,\n       Through the pitch-like gloom it came,\n     Like a spirit borne upon demon wings\n       To the pit of gnawing flame!\n\n     But Sir John was at rest, with his lady love,\n       In a pleasant sleep they lay;\n     Nor felt the sooning, shuddering wind\n       Round the grim, wide welkin play.\n\n     Their little babe, unconscious now,\n       Lay slumbering hard by;\n     And he smiled as the loud, loud tempest rocked\n       His cradle wondrously.\n\n     There comes a gleam on the billowy moat\n       Like a death-light on its wave,\n     It streams from the ivied lattice, where\n       Sits a grim false-hearted knave.\n\n     He saw it on the soft white snow,\n       And across the moat it passed:\n     \"'Tis well,\" said that false and grim porter,\n       And a fearsome look he cast.\n\n     A look he cast so wild and grim,\n       And he uttered a deadly vow;\n     \"For thy dool and thy doom this light shall be,\n       Thy foes are hastening now!\n\n     \"Sleep on, sleep on, thou art weary, Sir John;\n       Thy last sleep shall it be:\n     Sleep on, sleep on, with thy next good sleep\n       Thou shalt rest eternally!\"\n\n     The traitor watched the waters dance,\n       In the taper's treacherous gleam;\n     And they hissed, and they rose, by the tempest tossed\n       Through that pale and lonely beam.\n\n     What hideous thing comes swift and dark\n       Athwart that flickering wave?\n     A spectre boat there seems to glide,\n       With many an uplift glaive.\n\n     The bolts are unslid by that grim porter,\n       And a gladsome man was he,\n     When three foemen fierce strode up the stair,\n       All trim and cautiously.\n\n     \"Now who be ye,\" cried the chamberlain,\n       \"That come with stealth and staur?\"\n     \"We come to bid thy lord good den,\n       So open to us the door.\"\n\n     \"Ere I will open to thieves like ye,\n       My limbs ye shall hew and hack.\n     Awake, Sir John! awake and flee;\n       These blood-hounds are on thy track!\"\n\n     \"We'll stop thy crowing, pretty bird!\n       Now flutter thy wings again:\"\n     With that they laid him a ghastly corpse,\n       And the red blood ran amain.\n\n     \"Oh help!\" the lady shrieked aloud;\n       \"Arise, Sir John, and flee;\n     Oh heard you not yon cry of pain\n       Like some mortal agony?\"\n\n     \"I hear it not,\" Sir John replied,\n       For his sleep was wondrous strong;\n     \"But see yon flashing weapons, sure\n       To foemen they belong!\"\n\n     The knight from his bed leaped forth to flee,\n       But they've pierced his body through;\n     And with wicked hands, and weapons keen,\n       Him piteously they slew!\n\n     But that porter grim, strict watch he kept,\n       Beside the stair sate he;\n     When lo! comes tripping down a page,\n       With a basket defterly.\n\n     \"Now whither away, thou little page,\n       Now whither away so fast?\"\n     \"They have slain Sir John,\" said the little page,\n       \"And his head in this wicker cast.\"\n\n     \"And whither goest thou with that grisly head?\"\n       Cried the grim porter again,\n     \"To Warrington Bridge they bade me run,\n       And set it up amain.\"\n\n     \"There may it hang,\" cried that loathly knave,\n       \"And grin till its teeth be dry;\n     While every day with jeer and taunt\n       Will I mock it till I die!\"\n\n     The porter opened the wicket straight,\n       And the messenger went his way,\n     For he little guessed of the head that now\n       In that basket of wicker lay.\n\n     \"We've killed the bird, but where's the egg?\"\n       Then cried those ruffians three.\n     \"Where is thy child?\" The lady moaned,\n       But never a word spake she.\n\n     But, swift as an arrow, to his bed\n       The lady in terror sprung;\n     When, oh! a sorrowful dame was she,\n       And her hands she madly wrung.\n\n     \"The babe is gone! Oh, spare my child,\n       And strike my heart in twain!\"\n     To those ruthless men the lady knelt,\n       But her piteous suit was vain.\n\n     \"Traitor!\" they cried to that grim porter,\n       \"Whom hast thou suffered forth?\n     If thou to us art false, good lack,\n       Thy life is little worth!\"\n\n     \"There's nought gone forth from this wicket yet,\"\n       Said that grim and grisly knave,\n     \"But a little foot-page, with his master's head,\n       That ye to his charges gave.\"\n\n     \"Thou liest, thou grim and fause traitor!\"\n       Cried out those murderers three;\n     \"The head is on his carcase yet,\n       As thou mayest plainly see!\"\n\n     When the lady heard this angry speech,\n       Her heart waxed wondrous fain;\n     For she knew the page was a trusty child,\n       And her babe in his arms had lain.\n\n     \"Where is the gowd?\" said that grim porter,\n       \"The gowd ye sware unto me?\"\n     \"We'll give thee all thine hire,\" said they;\n       \"We play not false like thee!\"\n\n     They counted down the red, red gold,\n       And the porter laughed outright:\n     \"Now we have paid thy service well,\n       For thy master's blood this night;\n\n     \"For thy master's blood thou hast betrayed,\n       We've paid thee thy desire;\n     But for thy treachery unto us,\n       Thou hast not had thine hire.\"\n\n     They've ta'en a cord, both stiff and strong,\n       And they sought a goodly tree;\n     And from its boughs the traitor swung;--\n       So hang all knaves like he!\n\n     But the lady found her pretty babe;--\n       Ere the morning light was nigh,\n     To the hermit's cell[7] that little page\n       Had borne him craftily.\n\n     And the mass was said, and the requiem sung,\n       And the priests, with book and stole,\n     The body bore to its cold still bed,\n       \"Gramercy on his soul!\"\n\n     [6] \"Thomas, first Earl of Derby, as a compliment\n     to his royal relative, Henry VII., on his visit to Lathom and\n     Knowsley in 1496, built the bridge at Warrington; and by this\n     munificent act conferred a benefit upon the two palatine\n     counties, the value of which it is not easy to\n     estimate.\"--Baines's _Lancashire_.\n\n     [7] The Butlers, it is conjectured, were patrons of\n     the priory of the hermit friars of St Augustine, founded before\n     1379, near the bridge. In 32 Henry VIII., this institution was\n     dissolved, and its possessions were granted to the great\n     monastic grantee, Thomas Holcroft.--_Vide_ Tanner's _Not. Mon._\n     About forty years ago the remains of a gateway of the priory\n     stood on Friar's Green, and some years after that period a\n     stone coffin was dug up near the same place.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE BLESSING]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLESSING.\n\n     \"I had most need of blessing, and amen\n     Stuck in my throat.\"\n\n     --_Macbeth._\n\n\nWe have been unable to identify the spot where the occurrence took\nplace, the subject of the following ballad. It is in all likelihood\none of those wild and monkish legends that may be fitted or applied to\nany situation, according to the whim of the narrator. Many such\nlegends, though the number is lessening daily, are still preserved,\nand an amusing volume might be made of these unappropriated wanderers\nthat possess neither a local habitation nor a name.\n\n     The chase was done--the feast was begun,\n       When the baron sat proudly by;\n     And the revelry rode on the clamouring wind,\n       That swept through the hurtling sky.\n\n     No lordly guest that feast had blessed,\n       No solemn prayer was said;\n     But with ravenous hands, unthankfully,\n       They brake their daily bread.\n\n     The chase was done--the feast was begun,\n       When a palmer sat in that hall;\n     Yet his pale dim eye from its rest ne'er rose,\n       To gaze on that festival!\n\n     The crackling blaze on his wan cheek plays,\n       And athwart his gloomy brow;\n     While his hands are spread to the rising flame,\n       And his feet to the embers' glow.\n\n     For the blast was chill, o'er the mist-covered hill,\n       And the palmer's limbs were old;\n     And weary the way his feet had trod,\n       Since the matin-bell had tolled.\n\n     The baron spake--\"This morsel take,\n       And yon pilgrim greet from me;\n     Tell him we may not forget to share\n       The joys of our revelry!\"\n\n     Then thus began that holy man,\n       As he lowly bent his knee--\n     \"I may not taste of the meat unblessed;\n       I would 'twere so with thee.\"\n\n     \"Then mumble thy charm o'er the embers warm,\"\n       That baron proud replied;\n     \"No boon from my hand shalt thou receive,\n       Nor foaming cup from my side.\"\n\n     The palmer bowed, the giddy crowd,\n       With mirth and unseemly jest,\n     His meekness taunt, when he answered not,\n       The gibe of each courtly guest.\n\n     The minstrel sang, the clarions rang,\n       And the baron sat proudly there,\n     And louder the revelry rode on the wind,\n       That swept through the hurtling air.\n\n     \"What tidings for me from the east countrie?\n       What news from the Paynim land?\"\n     As the baron spake, his goblet bright\n       He raised in his outstretched hand.\n\n     \"There's tidings for thee from the east countrie,\"\n       The pilgrim straight replied;\n     \"A mighty chief, at a mighty feast,\n       There sat in all his pride.\"\n\n     \"'Twas wondrous well;--and what befell\n       This chief at his lordly feast?\"\n     \"A goblet was filled with the red grape's blood,\n       And he pledged each rising guest.\"\n\n     \"'Tis gladsome news;--but did they refuse\n       The pledge they loved so well?\"\n     \"Oh no; for each cup mantling forth to the brim,\n       Did the harp and the clarion tell.\"\n\n     \"And where didst thou such tidings know?\"\n       \"A pilgrim told it me:\n     And he sat on the hearth at this unblessed feast,\n       Where he shared not the revelry,\n\n     \"For ere was quaffed each sparkling draught,\n       Or the foam from the ruby wine,\n     He dashed the cup from that baron's lip,\n       As now I do from thine!\"\n\n     And the palmer passed by, as each goblet on high\n       Was waved at their chief's command,\n     But ere the cup had touched his lip,\n       It was dashed from his lifted hand!\n\n     \"A boon from thee, on my bended knee,\"\n       The palmer boldly cried;\n     \"Seize first with speed yon traitor page\n       Who bore the cup to thy side.\"\n\n     And the page they have bound on the cold, cold ground,\n       And his treason he hath confessed;\n     He had poisoned the cup with one subtle drop,\n       Which he drew from his crimson vest.\n\n     And the palmer grey his treachery\n       Had watched, when all beside\n     In the feast were gaily revelling,\n       Nor danger there espied.\n\n     \"Say where didst thou the treason know?\"\n       The troubled chieftain cried;\n     \"I had blessed thy bread, I had blessed thy bowl,\"\n       The hoary man replied.\n\n     \"And the blessing was given--the boon from heaven;\n       Or this night from thy lordly bed\n     Thy spirit had passed with the shuddering blast,\n       With the loud, shrill shriek of the dead!\n\n     \"Oh! never taste the meat unblessed;\n       Remember the palmer grey;\n     Though he wander afar from thy castle gate,\n       Yet forget not thy feast to-day.\"\n\n     And the pilgrim is gone from that gate alone,\n       When prayer and vow were said;\n     And the blessing thenceforth from that house was heard\n       Ere they broke their daily bread.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE DULE UPO' DUN]\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE DULE UPO' DUN.\n\n     \"Wae, wae is me, on soul an' body,\n         Old Hornie has lifted his paw, man;\n     An' the carle will come, an' gallop me hame,\n         An' I maun gae pipe in his ha', man!\"\n\n     --_Old Ballad._\n\nFor the tradition upon which the following tale is founded, the author\nis indebted to _The Kaleidoscope_, an interesting weekly miscellany,\npublished by Messrs Smith and Son at Liverpool.\n\n\nBarely three miles from Clitheroe, as you enter a small village on the\nright of the high road to Gisburne, stands a public-house, having for\nits sign the title of our story. On it is depicted his Satanic\nmajesty, curiously mounted upon a scraggy dun horse, without saddle,\nbridle, of any sort of equipments whatsoever--the terrified steed\nbeing off and away at full gallop from the door, where a small\nhilarious tailor, with shears and measures, appears to view the\ndeparture of him of the cloven foot with anything but grief or\ndisapprobation.\n\nThe house itself is one of those ancient, gabled, black and white\nedifices, now fast disappearing under the giant march of improvement,\nwhich tramples down alike the palace and the cottage, the peasant's\nhut and the patrician's dwelling. Many windows, of little\nlozenge-shaped panes set in lead, might be seen here in all the\nvarious stages of renovation and decay: some stuffed with clouts,\nparti-coloured and various; others, where the work of devastation had\nbeen more complete, were wholly darkened by brick-bats, coble-stones,\nand many other ingenious substitutes and expedients to keep out the\nweather.\n\nBut our tale hath a particular bearing to other and more terrific\ndays--\"the olden time,\" so fruitful in marvels and extravagances--the\nvery poetry of the black art; when Satan communed visibly and audibly\nwith the children of men--thanks to the invokers of relics and the\ntellers of beads--and was so familiar and reasonable withal, as to\nargue and persuade men touching the propriety of submitting themselves\nto him, as rational and intelligent creatures; and even was silly\nenough, at times, to suffer himself to be outwitted by the greater\nsagacity and address of his intended victims. For proof, we cite the\nfollowing veracious narrative, which bears within it every internal\nmark of truth, and matter for grave and serious reflection.\n\n\"Little Mike,\" or more properly Michael Waddington, was a merry tailor\nof some note in his day, who formerly, that is to say, some eight or\nnine score years ago--dwelt in this very tenement, where he followed\nhis profession, except when enticed by the smell of good liquor to the\nvillage alehouse--the detriment, and even ruin, of many a goodly\npiece of raiment, which at times he clipped and shaped in such wise as\nredounded but little to the credit of either wearer or artificer. Mike\nwas more alive to a merry troll and graceless story, in the kitchen of\nmine host \"at the inn,\" than to the detail of his own shopboard, with\nthe implements of his craft about him, making and mending the oddly\nassorted adjuncts of the village churls. Such was his liking for\npastime and good company that the greater part of his earnings went\nthrough the tapster's melting pot; and grieved are we, as veritable\nchroniclers, to state that it was not until even credit failed him,\nthat he settled to work for another supply of the elixir vitae--the\npabulum of his being. It may be supposed that matters went on but\nindifferently at home, where want and poverty had left indelible\ntraces of their presence. Matty Waddington, his spouse, would have had\nhard work to make both ends meet had she not been able to scrape\ntogether a few pence and broken victuals by selling firewood, and\nhelping her neighbours with any extra work that was going forward.\nYet, in general, she bore all her troubles and privations with great\npatience and good humour--at any rate in the presence of her husband,\nwho, though an idler and a spendthrift, was, to say the truth, not\nviciously disposed towards her, like many beastly sots, but, on the\ncontrary, he usually behaved with great deference and kindness to his\nunfortunate helpmate in all things but that of yielding to his\nbesetting sin; having an unquenchable thirst for good liquor, which\nall his resolutions and vows of amendment could not withstand.\n\nOne evening the little hero of our story was at his usual pastime in\nthe public-house, but his \"cup was run low,\" and his credit still\nlower. In fact, both cash and credit were finished; his liquor was\nwithin a short pull from the bottom; and he sat ruminating on the\ndoleful emergencies to which he was subject, and the horrible spectres\nthat would assail him on the morrow, in the shape of sundry riven\ndoublets and hose, beside rents and repairs innumerable, which had\nbeen accumulating for some weeks, to the no small inconvenience and\nexposure of their owners and former occupiers.\n\n\"I wish I were the squire's footman, or e'en his errand-boy, and could\nget a sup of good liquor without riving and tuggin' for't,\" thought he\naloud. Scarce were the words uttered, when there came a mighty civil\nstranger into the company, consisting of village professors of the\narts, such as the barber, the blacksmith, and the bell-ringer,\ntogether with our knight of the iron thimble. The new-comer was\ndressed in a respectable suit of black; a wig of the same colour\nadorned his wide and ample head, which was again surmounted by a\npeaked hat, having a band and buckle above its brim, and a black rose\nin front. He looked an elderly and well-ordered gentleman, mighty\nspruce, and full of courtesy; and his cane was black as ebony, with a\nyellow knob that glittered like gold. He had a huge beaked nose, and a\nlittle black ferrety eye, which almost pierced what it gazed upon.\nEvery one made way for the stranger, who sat down, not in the full\nglare of the fire to be sure, but rather on one side, so that he might\nhave a distinct view of the company, without being himself subject to\nany scrutinising observances.\n\n\"Pleasant night abroad,\" said the new-comer.\n\n\"Pleasanter within though,\" responded every thought.\n\n\"It's moonlight, I reckon,\" said Mike, who was just meditating over\nhis last draught, and his consequent departure from this bibacious\nparadise.\n\n\"Nay, friend,\" said the black gentleman, \"but the stars shine out\nrarely; and the snow lies so bright and crisp like, ye may see\neverything afore ye as plain as Pendle. Landlord, bring me a cup of\nthe best; and put a little on the fire to warm, with some sugar, for\nit's as cold as a raw turnip to one's stomach.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said mine host, testily; \"it's a good-for-nothin' belly\nthat'll not warm cold ale.\"\n\n\"It's good-for-nothin' ale, Giles, thee means, that'll not warm a cowd\nbelly,\" said one of the wits of the party, a jolly young blacksmith,\nan especial favourite amongst the lasses and good fellows of the\nneighbourhood.\n\n\"Nay, the dickens!\" said another; \"Giles Chatburn's ale would warm the\nseat of old cloven-foot himsel';\" and with that there were roars of\nlaughing, in which, however, the stranger did not participate. Mike\nwondered that so good a joke should not have its due effect upon him;\nand many other notable things were said and done which we have neither\nspace nor inclination to record, but the stranger still maintained his\ngrave and unaccountable demeanour. Mike ever and anon cast a glance\ntowards him, and he always observed that the stranger's eye was fixed\nupon his own. A dark, bright, burning eye, such as made the recreant\ntailor immediately look aside, for he could not endure its brightness.\n\nMike began to grow restless and uncomfortable. He changed his place,\nbut the glance of the stranger followed him. It was like the gaze of a\nportrait, which, in whatever situation the beholder may be placed, is\nalways turned towards him. It may readily be supposed that Michael\nWaddington, though not averse to being looked at in the ordinary way,\ndid not relish this continued and searching sort of disposition on the\npart of the gentleman in black. Several times he was on the point of\nspeaking, but his heart always failed him as the word reached his lip.\n\nHis liquor was now done, but he was not loth to depart as beforetime;\nfor at any rate, he should be quit of the annoyance he had so long\nendured. He arose with less regret assuredly than usual; and just as\nhe was passing the doorway he cast a look round over his shoulder, and\nbeheld the same fixed, unflinching eye gazing on him. He jumped\nhastily over the threshold, and was immediately on his road home. He\nhad not been gone more than a few minutes when he heard a sharp\nfootstep on the crisp snow behind him. Turning round, he saw the dark\ntall peak of the stranger's hat, looking tenfold darker, almost\npreternaturally black, on the white background, as he approached. Mike\nfelt his hair bristling through terror. His knees, usually bent\nsomewhat inwards, now fairly smote together, so that he could not\naccelerate his pace, and the stranger was quickly at his side.\n\n\"Thou art travelling homewards, I trow,\" said he of the black peak.\nMike made some barely intelligible reply. \"I know it,\" returned the\nother. \"But why art thou leaving so soon?\"\n\n\"My money's done, an' credit too, for that matter,\" tardily replied\nthe tailor.\n\n\"And whose fault's that?\" returned his companion. \"Thou mayest have\nriches, and everything else, if thou wilt be advised by me.\"\n\nMike stared, as well he might, at the dark figure by his side. The\nidea of wealth without labour was perfectly new to him, and he\nventured to ask how this very desirable object might be accomplished.\n\n\"Listen. Thou art a poor miserable wretch, and canst hardly earn a\nlivelihood with all thy toil. Is't not a pleasant thing and a\ndesirable, however procured, to obtain wealth at will, and every\nhappiness and delight that man can enjoy?\"\n\nMichael's thirsty lips watered at the prospect, notwithstanding his\ndread of the black gentleman at his elbow.\n\n\"I was once poor and wretched as thou. But I grew wiser,\nand--unlimited wealth is now at my command.\"\n\nThere was an awful pause; the stranger apparently wishful to know the\neffect of this mysterious communication. The liquorish tailor listened\ngreedily, expecting to hear of the means whereby his condition would\nbe so wonderfully amended.\n\n\"Hast thou never heard of those who have been helped by the powers of\ndarkness to\"----\n\n\"Save us, merci\"----\n\n\"Hold!\" said the peremptory stranger, seizing Mike rudely by the\nwrist. \"Another such outcry, and I will leave thee to thy seams and\npatches; to starve, or linger on, as best thou mayst.\"\n\nMichael promised obedience, and his companion continued--\n\n\"There is no such great harm or wickedness in it as people suppose.\nQuite an ordinary sort of proceeding, I assure thee; and such an one\nas thou mayst accomplish in a few minutes, with little trouble or\ninconvenience.\"\n\n\"Tell me the wondrous secret,\" said Michael eagerly, who, in the\nglowing prospect thus opened out to him, felt all fear of his\ncompanion giving way.\n\n\"Well, then; thou mayst say two aves, the creed, and thy paternoster\nbackwards thrice, and call upon the invisible demon to appear, when he\nwill tell thee what thou shalt do.\"\n\nMichael felt a strange thrill come over him at these fearful words. He\nlooked at his companion, but saw not anything more notable than the\nhigh-peaked hat, and the huge beaked nose, as before. By this time\nthey were close upon his own threshold, and Michael was just debating\nwithin himself upon the propriety of asking his companion to enter,\nwhen his deliberations were cut short by the other saying he had\nbusiness of importance a little farther; and with that he bade him\ngood night.\n\nMichael spent the remaining hours of darkness in tossing and\nrumination; but in the end the gratifying alternative between wealth\nand poverty brought his deliberations to a close. He determined to\nfollow the advice and directions of the stranger. There could be no\nharm in it. He only intended to inquire how such wealth might be\npossessed; but if in any way diabolical or wicked, he would not need\nto have anything further to do in the matter. Thus reasoning, and thus\npredetermined how to act, our self-deluded stitcher of seams bent his\nway, on the following forenoon, to a solitary place near the river,\nwhere he intended to perform the mighty incantation. Yet, when he\ntried to begin, his stomach felt wondrous heavy and oppressed. He\ntrembled from head to foot, and sat down for some time to recruit his\ncourage. The words of the stranger emboldened him.\n\n\"'Quite an ordinary business,'\" said he; and Mike went to work with\nhis lesson, which he had been conning as he went. Scarcely was the\nlast word of this impious incantation uttered, when a roaring clap of\nthunder burst above him, and the arch enemy of mankind stood before\nthe panic-stricken tailor.\n\n\"Why hast thou summoned me hither?\" said the infernal monarch, in a\nvoice like the rushing wind or the roar of the coming tempest. But\nMichael could not speak before the fiend.\n\n\"Answer me--and truly,\" said the demon. This miserable fraction of a\nman now fell on his knees, and in a most piteous accent exclaimed--\n\n\"Oh! oh! mercy. I did not--I--want--nothing!\"\n\n\"Base, audacious slave! Thou art telling me an untruth, and thou\nknowest it. Show me thy business instantly, or I will carry thee off\nto my dominions without further ado.\"\n\nAt this threat the miserable mortal prostrated himself, a tardy\nconfession being wrung from him.\n\n\"Oh! pardon. Thou knowest my poverty and my distress. I want riches,\nand--and\"----\n\n\"Good!\" said the demon, with a horrible smile. \"'Tis what ye are ever\nhankering after. Every child of Adam doth cry with insatiate thirst,\n'Give--give!' But hark thee! 'tis thine own fault if thou art not\nrich, and that speedily. I will grant thee _three_ wishes: use them as\nthou wilt.\"\n\nNow the rogue was glad when he heard this gracious speech, and in the\nfulness of his joy exclaimed--\n\n\"Bodikins! but I know what my first wish will be; and I'se not want\nother two.\"\n\n\"How knowest thou that?\" said the demon, with a look of contumely and\nscorn so wild and withering that Michael started back in great terror.\n\n\"Before this favour is granted though,\" continued the fiend, \"there is\na small matter by way of preliminary to be settled.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" inquired the trembling novice with increasing\ndisquietude and alarm.\n\n\"A contract must be signed, and delivered too.\"\n\n\"A contract! Dear me; and for what?\"\n\n\"For form's sake merely; no more, I do assure thee--a slight\nacknowledgment for the vast benefits I am bound to confer. To wit,\nthat at the end of seven years thou wilt bear me company.\"\n\n\"Me!\" cried the terrified wretch; \"nay, then, keep thy gifts to\nthyself; I'll none o' them on this condition.\"\n\n\"Wretched fool!\" roared the infuriate fiend; at the sound of which the\nculprit fairly tumbled backward. \"Sign this contract, or thou shalt\naccompany me instantly. Ay, this very minute: for know, that every one\nwho calls on me is delivered into my power; and think thyself well\ndealt with when I offer thee an alternative. Thou hast the chance of\nwealth, honour, and prosperity if thou sign this bond. If thou do not,\nI will have thee whether or no--that's all. What sayest thou?\" and the\napostate angel spread forth his dark wings, and seemed as though ready\nto pounce upon his unresisting victim.\n\nIn a twinkling, Michael decided that it would be much better to sign\nthe bond and have the possession of riches, with seven years to enjoy\nthem in, than be dragged off to the burning pit immediately, without\nany previous enjoyment whatsoever. Besides, in that seven years who\nknew what might turn up in his favour.\n\n\"I consent,\" said he; and the arch-enemy produced his bond. A drop of\nblood, squeezed from the hand of his victim, was the medium of this\nfearful transfer; and instantly on its execution another clap of\nthunder announced the departure of Satan with the price of another\nsoul in his grasp.\n\nMichael was now alone. He could hardly persuade himself that he had\nnot been dreaming. He looked at his finger, where a slight wound was\nstill visible, from which a drop of blood still hung--a terrible\nconfirmation of his fears.\n\nReturning home, sad and solitary, he attempted to mount to his usual\nplace, but even this exertion was more than he could accomplish. One\nblack and burning thought tormented him, and he sat down by his own\ncheerless hearth, more cheerless than he had ever felt before. Matty\nwas preparing dinner; but it was a meagre and homely fare--a little\noaten bread, and one spare collop which had been given her by a\nneighbour. Scanty as was the meal, it was better than the humble\nviands which sometimes supplied their board. Matty knew not the real\ncause of her husband's dumps, supposing it to be the usual workings of\nremorse, if not repentance, to which Mike was subject whenever his\npocket was empty and the burning spark in his throat unquenched. She\ninvited him to partake, but he could not eat. He sat with eyes\nhalf-shut, fixed on the perishing embers, and replied not to the\nremonstrances of his dame.\n\n\"Why, Mike, I say,\" cried the kind-hearted woman, \"what ails thee?\nCheer up, man, and finish thy collop. Thou mayest fret about it as\nthou likes, but thou cannot undo a bad stitch by wishing. If it will\nmake thee better for time to come, though, I'll not grumble. Come,\ncome, goodman, if one collop winna content thee, I wish we'd two,\nthat's all.\"\n\nScarce was the last word from her lips, when lo! a savoury and smoking\nrasher was laid on the table by some invisible hand. Michael was\nroused from his lethargy by this unlucky wish. Darting a terrified\nlook on the morsel, he cried out--\n\n\"Woman, woman! what hast thou done? I wish thou wert far enough for\nthy pains.\"\n\nImmediately she disappeared--whisked off by the same invisible hands;\nbut whither he could not tell.\n\n\"Oh me--oh me!\" cried the afflicted tailor at this double mishap;\n\"what shall I do now? I shall assuredly starve; and yet I've one wish\nleft. Humph, I'd better be wary in making it though. Best take time to\nconsider, lest I throw this needlessly after the rest.\"\n\nMike could not make up his mind as to what he would have, nor indeed\ncould he bend down his thoughts steadfastly to any subject. He was in\na continual flutter. His brain was in a whirl. He looked round for\nsome relief. The house was in sad disorder, and he thought on his\nabsent wife.\n\n\"Dear me,\" thought he, as he fetched a scrap of wood to the fire, \"I\nwish Matty were here;\" and his wife was immediately at his side.\n\nMike, now grown desperate, revealed to her the fearful cause of these\ndisasters, and the utter failure of any beneficial results from the\nthree wishes.\n\n\"We be just as we were,\" said he, \"save that I've sold mysel', body\nand soul, to the Evil One!\"\n\nHere he began to weep and lament very sore; and his wife was so much\novercome at the recital that she was nigh speechless through the\nanguish she endured.\n\nAt length her tears began to lose their bitterness.\n\n\"It's no use greetin' at this gait,\" said she; \"hie thee to the\nparson, Michael, an' see if he canna quit thee o' this bond.\"\n\n\"Verily,\" said the poor tailor, with a piteous sigh, \"that would be\nleapin' out o' t' gutter into t' ditch. I should be burnt for a\nhe-witch an' a limb o' the de'il. I've yet seven years' respite from\ntorment, an' that would be to throw even these precious morsels away.\nE'en let's tarry as we are, an' make the best on't. This comes of\nidleness and drink; but if ever I put foot across Giles's doorstone\nagain, I wish--nay, it's no use wishing now, I've had enough o' sich\nthriftless work for a bit. But I'll be sober an' mind my work, and\nspend nothing idly, an' who knows but some plan or another may be hit\non to escape.\"\n\nNow his disconsolate wife was much rejoiced at this determination, and\ncould not help saying--\n\n\"Who knows? perhaps it was for good, Mike, that this distress happened\nthee.\"\n\nHe shook his head; but his resolution was made, and he adhered to it\nin spite of the sneers and temptations of his former associates, who\noften tried to lead him on to the same vicious courses again. He had\nreceived a warning that he never forgot. The memory of it stuck to him\nnight and day; and he would as soon have thought of thrusting his hand\ninto the glowing coals as have entered Giles Chatburn's hovel again.\nHe was truly an altered man, but his wife was the first to feel\nbenefited by the change. He had plenty of work, and money came in\napace. The house was cleaned and garnished. There was abundance of\nvictuals, and a jug of their own brewing. He rarely stirred out but to\nwait upon his customers, and then he came home as soon as the job was\ncompleted. But there was an appearance of melancholy and dejection\ncontinually about him. He looked wan and dispirited. Time was rapidly\npassing by, and the last of the seven years was now ebbing away.\n\nOne night, as they were sitting a while after supper, he fetched a\nheavy sigh.\n\n\"It is but a short time I have to live,\" said he.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the dame, let's hope that Heaven will not let thee fall a\nprey to His enemy and ours. Besides thou hast gotten nothing from him\nfor thy bargain. It cannot be expected, therefore, that the old\ndeceiver can claim any recompense.\"\n\nMike shook his head, and looked incredulous.\n\n\"Sure as there's wind i' Meg's entry he'll come for his own. I've been\nconsidering that I'd best go to the old man that lives in the cave by\nSally. He'll maybe give me some advice how to act when the time\ncomes.\"\n\nThis suggestion met with his wife's approval; and the next morning\nour disconsolate hero was on his way to the \"hermit\" of the cave. The\nholy recluse had been long famed through that region for his kindness\nand attention to the wants of those who sought help and counsel; and\nMichael thought no harm could come of it, even though he might be\nunable to circumvent the designs of the arch-enemy.\n\nHis dwelling was by the river-side, in a little hut, the back of\nwhich, the goodman's oratory, was scooped out in a circular form from\nthe bank.\n\n\"Holy father,\" said the tailor, on entering the cell, \"I crave thy\nbenison.\"\n\nThe anchorite, who was on his knees before a crucifix, did not speak\nuntil he had finished his devotions. He then rose and pronounced the\nusual benedictory welcome.\n\n\"So far all is well,\" thought Mike; \"I've got one blow at the devil\nanyhow.\"\n\nThe holy father was very old, but he was hale and active. His white\nsilky beard almost touched his girdle, and his sharp though rheumy\neyes peered inquisitively on the person of his guest.\n\n\"What is thine errand, my son?\" inquired the recluse.\n\n\"I have fallen into a grievous temptation, and would crave your\nsuccour and advice.\"\n\n\"Heaven wills it oft, my son, that we fall into divers extremities to\nhumble us, and to show the folly and weakness of our hearts. What is\nthy trouble and thy petition?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the other, weeping, \"I have been face to face with the\nfather of lies, and I have suffered much damage therefrom.\"\n\n\"Thou hast not been tampering with forbidden arts, I hope?\"\n\n\"Truly, that have I, and to my soul's cost, I fear,\" said the tailor,\nwith a groan of heartrending despair.\n\n\"Thy sin is great, my son; but so likewise is the remedy. Heaven\nwilleth not a sinner's death, if he turn again to Him with repentance\nand contrition of spirit. I trust thou hast not trifled with thy\nsoul's welfare by taking and using any of the gifts whereby the old\nserpent layeth hold on the souls of men?\"\n\n\"Verily, nay; but he frightened me into the signing of a terrible\nbond, wherein I promised, that after seven years were past and gone I\nwould be his!\"\n\n\"Thy danger is terrible indeed. But he gave thee some equivalent for\nthe bargain? thou didst not sell thyself for nought?\" said the hermit,\nfixing his eye sternly on the trembling penitent; \"and now, when thou\nhast wasted the price of thy condemnation, thou comest for help; and\nthou wouldest even play at cheatery with the devil!\"\n\n\"Nay, most reverend father,\" said Michael, wiping his eyes; \"never a\ngift have I had from the foul fiend, save a bacon collop, and that was\ncast out untouched.\" And with that he told of the manner in which he\nwas inveigled, and the scurvy trick which the deceiver had played him.\n\n\"Verily, there is hope,\" said the holy man, after musing a while; \"yet\nis it a perilous case, and only to be overcome by prayer and fasting.\nIf thou seek help sincerely, I doubt not that a way will be made for\nthine escape. Listen;--it is never permitted that the enemy of our\nrace should reap the full benefit of the advantage which otherwise his\nsuperior duplicity and intelligence would enable him to obtain. There\nwas never yet bond or bargain made by him, but, in one way or another,\nit might be set aside, and the foul fiend discomfited. It may be\ndifficult, I own; and advice is not easily rendered in this matter:\nbut trust in the power of the All-powerful, and thou shalt not be\novercome. Wisdom, I doubt not, shall be vouchsafed in this extremity,\nif thou apply anxiously and earnestly for it, seeking deliverance, and\nrepenting of thy great wickedness which thou hast committed.\"\n\nWith these and many other gracious words did the benevolent enthusiast\nencourage this doomed mortal; and though heavy and disconsolate\nenough, he returned more light-hearted than he came.\n\nThe time now drew near. The very week--the day--the hour, was come;\nand when the sun should have climbed to the meridian Michael knew that\nhe would have to face the cunning foe who had beguiled him. His wife\nwould have tarried; but he peremptorily forbade. He would not be\ndisturbed in his intercessions. All that morning, without\nintermission, he supplicated for wisdom and strength in the ensuing\nconflict. He had retired to a little chamber at one end of the house,\nand here he secured himself to prevent intrusion.\n\nNoon was scarcely come when, true to the engagement, a loud\nthunder-clap announced the approach and presence of this terrific\nbeing.\n\n\"I am glad to find,\" said he, \"that thou art ready.\"\n\n\"I am not ready,\" replied the trembling victim.\n\n\"How!\" roared the sable chief, with a voice that shook the whole\nhouse, like the passage of an earthquake; \"dost thou deny the pledge?\ndarest thou gainsay this bond?\"\n\n\"True enough,\" replied the debtor, \"I signed that contract; but it was\nwon from me by fraud and dishonest pretences.\"\n\n\"Base, equivocating slave! how darest thou mock me thus? Thou hadst\nthy wishes; the conditions have been fulfilled, ay, to the letter.\"\n\n\"I fear me,\" again said the victim, who felt his courage wonderfully\nsupported, \"that thou knewest I should never be a pin the richer or\nbetter for thy gifts; and thine aim was but to flatter and to cheat.\nIt is not in thy power, I do verily believe, to grant me riches or any\ngreat thing that I might wish; so thou didst prompt, and, in a manner,\nforce me to those vain wishes, unthinkingly, by which I have been\nbeguiled.\"\n\n\"Dost thou doubt, then, my ability in this matter? Know that thy most\nunbounded wishes would have been accomplished, else I release thee\nfrom this bond.\"\n\n\"I say, and will vouch for 't, that all thy promises are lying cheats,\nand that thou couldst not give me a beggarly bodle, if thou wert to\nlay down thy two horns for it; so I demand my bond, according to thy\npledge.\"\n\n\"To show thee that I can keep this bond, even conformably to the terms\nof my own offer just now, and thy pitiful carcase to boot, I'll e'en\ngrant thee another wish, that thou mayest be satisfied thou art past\nall hope of redemption. Said I not, that if I could not fulfil any\nwish of thine, even to the compass of all possible things, and the\nriches of this great globe itself, I would release thee from this\nbond?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said Michael, with an eager assent.\n\n\"Then wish once more; and mind that it be no beggarly desire. Wish to\nthe very summit of wealth, or the topmost pinnacle of thy ambition,\nfor it shall be given thee.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the tailor hastily, as though fearful the word would not\ncome forth quick enough from his lips, \"I wish thou wert riding back\nagain to thy quarters on yonder dun horse, and never be able to\nplague me again, or any other poor wretch whom thou hast gotten into\nthy clutches.\"\n\nThe demon gave a roar loud enough to be heard to the very antipodes,\nand away went he, riveted to the back of this very dun horse, which\nMichael had seen through the window grazing quietly in the lane,\nlittle suspecting the sort of jockey that was destined to bestride\nhim. The tailor ran to the door to watch his departure, almost beside\nhimself for joy at this happy riddance. Dancing and capering into the\nkitchen, where his wife was almost dying through terror, he related,\nas soon as he was able, the marvellous story of his deliverance.\n\nHe relapsed not into his former courses, but lived happily to a good\nold age, leaving behind him at his death good store of this world's\ngear, which, as he had no children, was divided amongst his poorer\nrelatives. One of them having purchased the house where the tailor\ndwelt, set up the trade of a tapster therein, having for his sign\n\"_The Dule upo' Dun_;\" which to this day attests the truth of our\ntradition, and the excellence of \"mine host's\" cheer.\n\n\n\n\nWINDLESHAW ABBEY.\n\n     \"Adieu, fond love; farewell, you wanton powers;\n             I'm free again.\n     Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,\n             Bewitching pain,\n         Fly to fools that sigh away their time:\n         My nobler love to heaven doth climb;\n     And there behold beauty still young,\n         That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy;\n     Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,\n         And honoured by eternity and joy:\n     There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire;\n     Fond loves decline, this heavenly love grows higher.\"\n\n     --BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.\n\nThis ruined chapel--\"abbey\" it is generally styled--is about a mile\ndistant from St Helen's. Little remains now but the belfry, with its\nluxuriant covering of dark ivy, still preserving it from destruction.\nMore than half a century ago, some ruffian hand nearly severed the\nstem from the root, but happily without material injury, the incision\nbeing incomplete. The burial-ground, formerly open, is now enclosed by\na stone wall; and on the south side is a stone cross with three steps.\nThe whole area has a reputation of great sanctity; many of those who\ndie in the Romish faith, even beyond the immediate neighbourhood,\nbeing brought hither for interment.\n\nThere are no records, that we can find, of its foundation; but it may\nbe suspected that the place was dedicated to St Thomas; for close by\nis a well of that name, unto which extraordinary virtues are ascribed.\n\nThe chapel was but small; not more than twelve yards in length, and\nabout three in width; the tower scarcely eight yards high. Its\ninsignificance probably may account for the obscurity in which its\norigin is involved.\n\nIt fell into disuse after the Dissolution; and its final ruin took\nplace during the civil wars of Charles I.\n\n\nAutumn was lingering over the yellow woods. The leaves, fluttering on\ntheir shrivelled stems, seemed ready to fall with every breath. Dark\nand heavy was the dull atmosphere--a melancholy stillness that seemed\nto pervade and surround every object--a deceitful calm, forerunner of\nthe wild and wintry storms about to desolate and to destroy even\nthese flickering emblems of decay. At times a low murmur would break\nforth, dying away through the deep woods, like some spirit of past\nages wakening from her slumber, or the breath of hoary Time sighing\nthrough the ruin he had created.\n\n[Illustration: WINDLESHAW ABBEY.\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._\n_Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nThere is something indescribably solemn and affecting in the first\ntouches and emblems of the year that has \"fallen into the sear and\nyellow leaf.\" Like the eventide of life, it is a season when the gay\nand glittering promises of another spring are past; when the fervour\nand the maturity of summer are ended; when cold and monotonous days\ncreep on; and we look with another eye, and other perceptions, on all\nthat surrounds us. Yet there is a feeling of gladness and of hope\nmingling with our regrets in the one case, which cannot exist in the\nother. Autumn, though succeeded by the darkness and dreariness of\nwinter, is but the womb of another spring. That bright season will be\nrenewed; our own, never!\n\nPerhaps it might be feelings akin to these which arrested the\nfootsteps of an individual, who, though little past the spring-tide\nand youthful ardour of his existence, was yet not disinclined to\nanticipate another period characterised by the autumnal tokens of\ndecay visible on every object around him.\n\nHe stood by the deserted chapel of Windleshaw. Time had then but just\nbegun to show the first traces of his power. The building was yet\nuninjured, save the interior, which was completely despoiled, the\nwalls grey with lichen, and hoary with the damps of age. The ivy was\ntwining round the belfry, but its thin arms then embraced only a small\nportion of the exterior. A single yew-tree threw its dark and gloomy\nshade over the adjacent tombs; the long rank herbage bending over\nthem, and dripping heavily with the moist atmosphere. An ancient cross\nstood in the graveyard, of a date probably anterior to that of the\nmain building. A relic or commemoration, it might be, of some holy man\nwho had there ministered to the semi-barbarous hordes, aboriginal\nconverts to the Catholic faith.\n\nIt was in the autumn of the year 1644. Wars and tumults were abroad,\nand Lancashire drained the cup of bitterness even to the dregs. The\ninfatuated king was tottering on his throne; even the throne itself\nwas nigh overturned in the general conflict. A short time before the\ndate of our story, the Earl of Derby and Prince Rupert, having brought\nthe siege of Bolton and Liverpool to a satisfactory issue--shortly\nafter the gallant defence of the Countess at Lathom House--were then\nreposing from their toils at that fortress. The prince, remotely\nallied to the noble dame, lay there with his train; and was treated\nnot only with the respect and consideration due to his rank, but\nlikewise with a feeling of gratitude for his timely succour to the\ndistressed lady and her brave defenders. After a short stay, the\nprince marched to York, which was closely besieged by the Earl of\nManchester and Sir Thomas Fairfax, and as vigorously and obstinately\ndefended by the Marquis of Newcastle. On the approach of Prince\nRupert, the Parliamentary generals raised the siege, and, drawing off\ntheir forces to Marston Moor, offered battle to the Royalists. Here\nthe prince, whose martial disposition was not sufficiently tempered\nwith prudence, unfortunately accepted the enemy's challenge, and\nobscured the lustre of his former victories by sustaining a total\noverthrow, thereby putting the king's cause into great jeopardy. The\nfollowing extract from the \"Perfect Diurnall\" of the 9th of July 1644,\nwill show the estimation in which this great victory was held by the\nParliament, and the extent and importance of the results:--\n\n\"This day Captain Stewart came from the Leaguer at York with a letter\nof the whole state of the late fight and routing of Prince Rupert,\nsent by the three generals to the Parliament. The effect whereof was\nthis:--'That, understanding Prince Rupert was marching against them\nwith 20,000 men, horse and foot, the whole army arose from the siege,\nand marched to Long Marston Moor, four or five miles from York; and\nthe prince, having notice of it, passed with his army the byway of\nBurrow Bridge; that they could not hinder his passage to York,\nwhereupon our army marched to Todcaster, to prevent his going\nsouthward; but before the van was within a mile of Todcaster, it was\nadvertised that the prince was in the rear in Marston Moor, with an\naddition of 6000 of the Earl of Newcastle's forces, and was possessed\nof the best places of advantage both for ground and wind. The right\nwing of our horse was commanded by Sir Thomas Fairfax, which consisted\nof his whole cavalry and three regiments of the Scots horse; next unto\nthem was drawn up the right wing of the foot, consisting of the Lord\nFairfax and his foot and two brigades of the Scots foot for a reserve:\nand so the whole armies put into a battalia. The battle being begun,\nat the first some of our horse were put into disorder; but, rallying\nagain, we fell on with our whole body, killed and took their chief\nofficers, and took most part of their standards and colours, 25 pieces\nof ordnance, near 130 barrels of powder, 10,000 arms, two waggons of\ncarbines and pistols, killed 3000, and 1500 prisoners taken.'\"\n\nPrince Rupert with great precipitation drew off the remains of his\narmy, and retired into Lancashire. In a few days York was surrendered\nto the Parliamentary forces, and the garrison marched out with all the\nhonours of war. Fairfax, occupying the city, established his\ngovernment through the county, and sent 1000 horse into Lancashire to\njoin with the Parliamentary forces in that quarter, and attend the\nmotions of Prince Rupert. The Scottish army marched northwards after\ntheir victory, in order to join the Earl of Calendar, who was\nadvancing with 10,000 additional forces; and likewise to reduce the\ntown of Newcastle, which they took by storm. The Earl of Manchester,\nwith Cromwell,--to whom the fame of this great victory was chiefly\nascribed, and who was wounded in the action,--returned to the eastern\nassociation in order to recruit his army.[8]\n\nSuch were some of the fruits of this important victory, and such the\naspect of affairs at the time when our narrative commences;--the\nfortunes and persons of the Royalists, or _malignants_ as they were\ncalled by the opposite party, being in great jeopardy, especially in\nthe northern counties.\n\nThe individual before-named was loitering about in the cemetery of the\nchapel, where the bodies of many of the faithful who die in the arms\nof the mother church are still deposited, under the impression or\nexpectancy that their clay shall imbibe the odour of sanctity thereby.\nThe stranger, for such he appeared, was muscular and well-formed. His\nheight was not above, but rather below, the middle size. A bright full\neye gave an ardour to his look not at all diminished by the general\ncast and expression of his features, which betokened a brave and manly\nspirit, scorning subterfuge and disguise, and almost disdaining the\ntemporary concealment he was forced to adopt. A wide cloak was wrapped\nabout his person, surmounted by a slouched high-crowned hat, with a\nrose in front, by way of decoration. His boots, ornamented with huge\nprojecting tops, were turned down just below the calf of the leg,\nabove which his breeches terminated in stuffed rolls, or fringes,\nafter the fashion of the time. A light sword hung loosely from his\nbelt; and a pair of pistols, beautifully inlaid, were exhibited in\nfront. Despite of his somewhat grotesque habiliments, there was an air\nof dignity, perhaps haughtiness, in his manner, which belied the\ncharacter of his present disguise. He walked slowly on, apparently in\ndeep meditation, till, on turning round the angle of the tower, he was\nsomewhat startled from his reverie on beholding an open grave, at a\nshort distance, just about to be completed. Clods of heavy clay were\nat short intervals thrown out by the workman, concealed from\nobservation by the depth to which he had laboured. After a moment's\npause, the cavalier cautiously approached the brink, and beheld a\nstrange-looking being, with sleeves tucked up to the shoulders, busily\nengaged in this interesting and useful avocation.\n\n\"Good speed, friend!\" said the stranger, addressing the emissary of\ndeath within. The grim official raised his head for a moment, to\nobserve who it was that accosted him; but without vouchsafing a reply,\nhe again resumed his work, throwing out the clods with redoubled\nenergy, to the great annoyance of the inquirer.\n\n\"Whose grave is this?\" he asked again, perseveringly, determined to\nprovoke him to an answer.\n\n\"The first fool's that asks!\" shouted the man from below, without\nceasing from his repulsive toil.\n\n\"Nay, friend; ye do not dig for a man ere he be dead in this pitiful\ncountry of thine?\"\n\n\"And why not? there's many a head on a man's nape to-day that will be\non his knees to-morrow!\"\n\n\"Then do ye rig folks out with graves here upon trust?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the malicious-looking replicant, holding up a long lean\nphalanx of bony fingers; \"pay to-day, trust to-morrow, as t' old lad\nat the tavern says.\"\n\n\"What! is thy trade so dainty of subjects? Are men become weary o'\ndying of late, that ye must need make tombs for the living? I'll have\nthee to the justice, sirrah, for wicked malice aforethought, and\nmisprision.\"\n\nHere this hideous ghoul burst forth with a laugh so fearful and\nportentous that even the cavalier was startled by its peculiarly\nfierce and almost unearthly expression. The mouth drawn to one side,\nthe wide flat forehead, projecting cheek-bones, and pointed chin,\nsufficiently characterised him as labouring under that sort of\nimbecility not seldom unmixed with a tact and shrewdness that seem to\nbe characteristic of this species of disease and deformity. He set one\nfoot on the mattock, ceasing from his labours whilst he cried out,\nwinking significantly with half-shut eyes--\n\n     \"When the owl hoots, and the crow cries caw,\n     I can tell a maiden from a jackdaw.\"\n\nHere he began whistling and humming by turns, with the most consummate\nand provoking indifference. The stranger was evidently disconcerted by\nthis unexpected mode of address, apparently meditating a retreat, from\nwhere even victory would have been a poor triumph. He was turning\naway, when a drop of blood fell on his hand! This disastrous omen,\nwith the grave yawning before him--the narrow dwelling, which,\naccording to the prediction of the artificer, was preparing for his\nreception--discomposed the cavalier exceedingly, and, in all\nlikelihood, rendered him the more easily susceptible to subsequent\nimpressions.\n\n\"Art boun' for Knowsley?\" inquired the hunchbacked sexton.\n\n\"Peradventure I may have an errand thither; but I am a wayfaring man,\nand have business with the commissioners in these parts.\" There was a\ntone of conscious evasion in this reply which did not pass unheeded by\nthe inquirer.\n\n\"If thou goest in at the door,\" said he, \"mind thee doesn't come out\nfeet foremost, good master wayfarer!\" He quickly changed his tone to\nmore of seriousness than before. \"Thou art not safe. Hie thee to\nLathom.\"\n\n\"'Tis beleaguered again. The earl being away at his kingdom of Man,\nthe hornets are buzzing about his nest. There seems now no\nresting-place, as aforetime, for unlucky travellers.\"\n\n\"For who?\" shouted the sexton, climbing out of his grave with\nsurprising agility. He fixed his eyes on the cavalier, as though it\nwere the aspect of recognition. He then hummed the following distich,\na favourite troll amongst the republican party at that period:--\n\n     \"The battle was foughten; the prince ran away.\n     Did ever ye see sic' a race, well-a-day?\"\n\nThe stranger, turning from his tormentor, was about to depart; but he\nwas not destined to rid himself so readily from the intruder.\n\n\"And so being shut out from Lathom, thou be'st a cockhorse for\nKnowsley. Tush! a blind pedlar, ambling on a nag, might know thee\nwhile he was a-winking.\"\n\n\"Know me!\" said the cavalier;--\"why--whom thinkest thou that I be?\nTruly there be more gowks in our good dukedom of Lancaster than either\ngoshawks or hen-sparrows. I am one of little note, and my name not\nworth the spelling.\" He assumed an air of great carelessness and\nindifference, not unmingled with a haughty glance or two, whilst he\nspoke; but the persevering impertinent would not be withstood. Another\nlaugh escaped him, shrill and portentous as before, and he approached\nnearer, inquiring in a half-whisper--\n\n\"Where's thine uncle?\"\n\n\"Whom meanest thou?\"\n\n\"He waits for thee at Oxford, man; but he may wait while his porridge\ncools, I trow: and so good den.\"\n\nThe cunning knave was marching off with his mattock, when the\ncavalier, recovering from his surprise, quickly seized him by the\nhigher shoulder.\n\n\"Stay, knave; thou shalt tarry here a while, until thou and I are\nbetter acquainted. Another step, and this muzzle shall help thee on\nthine errand.\"\n\n\"And who'll pay the messenger?\" said the undaunted and ready-witted\nrogue, not in the least intimidated by the threat, and the mouth of a\nhuge pistol at his breast. \"Put it by--put it by, friend, and I'll\nanswer thee; but while that bull-dog is unmuzzled thou shalt get never\na word from Steenie Ellison.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest of some plot a-hatching,\" said the stranger, putting\naside the weapon. Another drop fell on his hand.\n\n\"I know not,\" said the sexton, doggedly.\n\n\"Thy meaning, then?\" returned the stranger, with great vehemence;\n\"for, o' my life, thou stirrest not until thou hast explained the\nnature of these allusions.\"\n\nWith a shrill cry and a fleet footstep the other bounded away from his\ninterrogator like some swift hound, and was out of sight instantly.\nRetreating with some precipitation, the cavalier bent his steps from\nthe graveyard towards a little hostelrie close by, where it appears he\nhad taken up his abode for a few days along with a companion, whose\nsole use and business on their journey seemed to be that of protecting\na huge pair of saddle-bags and other equipments for their travel,\nunder a mulberry-coloured cloak of more than ordinary dimensions.\nThey had journeyed from Preston thitherwards; their intended route\nbeing for Knowsley, and so forward to the coast. Whether their motive\nfor so long a stay at this obscure and homely tavern could be traced\nto the bright eyes and beautiful image of mine host's daughter--a\nluminary round which they were fluttering to their own destruction--or\nthat they merely sought concealment, it were difficult to guess. The\nostensible object of their journey was to take shipping for Ireland,\nbeing bound thither on some commercial enterprise, for the furtherance\nof which they expected to pass unmolested, being men of peaceable\npursuits, who left the trade of fighting to those that hoped to thrive\nthereby. Such was the general tenor of their converse; but there were\nsome who suspected that the widely-extolled beauty of Marian might\nhave some remote connection with the continuance of these guests; and\ntheir long stay at the inn was regarded with a jealous eye. So well\nknown was the beauteous Marian, \"the fair maid of Windleshaw,\" that\nthe present residence of the cavaliers, if such they were, was the\nworst that could have been chosen for concealment; inasmuch as her\nfame drew many customers to the tap who otherwise would have eschewed\nso humble a halting-place as that of Nathan Sumner.\n\nThoughtful, and with a show of vexation upon his features, the\nstranger entered the house, where breakfast was already prepared, and\nawaiting his return. In the same chamber were the tapster and his\ndame; for privacy was not compatible either with \"mine host's\" means\nor inclination.\n\n\"We have been watching for thee, Egerton,\" said his companion. \"Didst\nthou meet with a bundle of provender in the graveyard that thy stomach\ndid not warn thee to breakfast?\"\n\n\"Prithee heed it not,\" was the reply; \"I care little thus early for\nthy confections. Besides, I have been beset by a knave, whose vocation\nverily remindeth man of his latter end. I've been bandying discourse\nwith the sexton yonder, as I believe.\"\n\n\"Heh! mercy on us! Ye have seen Steenie, belike,\" said the dame,\nlifting up one hand from her knee, which had been reposing there as a\nprotection from the fervid advances of a glowing fire before which she\nsat.\n\n\"Truly, I do suspect this trafficker in ready-made tombs to be none\nother,\" said Egerton.\n\n\"An' howkin' at a grave?\"\n\n\"Ay! and with right good will, too.\"\n\n\"Then look well to your steps, Sir Stranger, that ye fall not into't;\nfor Stephen never yet made grave that lacked a tenant ere long.\"\n\n\"'Tis strange!\" said the cavalier, anxiously. \"Do ye dig graves here\nby anticipation? or\"----\n\n\"He scents death like a carrion crow, I tell ye; an' if he but digs a\ngrave, somebody or other always contrives to tumble in; an' mostly\nthey 'at first see him busy with the job. He's ca'd here 'the live\nman's sexton.'\"\n\nThe cavalier sat down before a well-covered stool, on which was spread\na homely but plentiful breakfast of eggs, cheese, rashers of bacon, a\nflagon of ale, and a huge pile of oat-cake; but he did not fall to\nwith the appetite or relish of a hungry man.\n\n\"Let me reckon,\" said the host, beginning to muster up his arithmetic.\n\"There was\"----\n\n\"Nathan Sumner, I say; thou'rt al'ays out wi' thy motty if a body\nspeaks. Doesn't the beer want tunning, and thou'rt leesing there o'\nthy haunches; at thy whys and thy wise speeches. Let me alone wi' the\ngentles, and get thee to the galkeer. Besides, you see that he knoweth\nnot how to disport himsel' afore people of condition--saving your\npresence, masters,\" said the power predominant, as her husband meekly\nretreated from the despotic and iron rule of his helpmate.\n\n\"Peradventure he doth himself provide tenants for his own graves,\"\nsaid the cavalier, thoughtfully; \"but I'll split the knave's chowl, if\nhe dare\"----\n\n\"You know not him whom you thus accuse,\" said a soft musical voice\nfrom an inner chamber. \"I know those who would not see him with his\nfoot in a new-made grave for the best rent-roll in Christendom!\"\n\nThe speaker, as she came forward, bent a glance of reproof towards the\nstranger.\n\n\"And wherefore, my bonny maiden?\" inquired he.\n\n\"Does he not scent the dying like a raven? When once his eye is upon\nthem they shall not escape. There be some that have seen their last o'\nthis green earth, and the sky, and yonder bright hills. I trust the\ndestroying angel will pass by this house!\"\n\n\"By'r lady,\" replied the other hastily, \"the varlet, when I asked\nwhose lodging it should be, answered, mine! holding forth his long\nskinny paw that I might pay him for the job.\"\n\nThe maiden listened with a look of terror. She grew pale and almost\nghastly; wiping her brow with the corner of her apron, as though in\ngreat agitation and perplexity.\n\nThere was usually a warm and healthy blush upon her cheek, but it\nwaned suddenly into the dim hue of apprehension, as she replied in a\nlow whisper--\n\n\"Ye must not go hence; and yet\"----She hesitated, and appeared as\nthough deeply revolving some secret source of both anxiety and alarm.\n\nThe cavalier was silent too, but the result of his deliberations was\nof a nature precisely opposite to that of his fair opponent.\n\n\"Our beasts being ready, Chisenhall,\" said he to his companion, \"we\nwill depart while the day holds on favourable. We may have worse\nweather, and still worse quarters, should we tarry here till noontide,\nas we purposed. But\"--and here he looked earnestly at the maiden--\"we\nshall come again, I trust, when they that seek our lives be laid low.\"\n\nShe put one hand on his arm, speaking not aloud, but with great\nearnestness--\n\n\"Go not; and your lives peradventure shall be given you for a prey.\nThere is a godly man hereabout, unto whom I will have recourse; and he\nshall guide you in this perplexity.\"\n\n\"We be men having little time to spare, and less inclination--higlers\ntoo, into the bargain,\" replied he, with a dubious glance toward his\nfriend Chisenhall, who was just despatching the last visible relics of\na repast in which he had taken a more than equal share of the duty;\n\"we are not careful to tarry, or to resort unto such ghostly counsel.\nWe would rather listen to the lips of those whose least word we covet\nmore than the preaching of either priest or Puritan; but the time is\nnow come when we must eschew even such blessed and holy\"----\n\n\"There's a time for all things,\" said Chisenhall hastily, and as soon\nas his mouth was at rest from the solid contents with which he had\nbeen successfully, and almost uninterruptedly, occupied for the last\nhalf-hour; wishful, also, to abate the impression which his\ncompanion's indiscreet intimation of dislike to psalm-singers and\nPuritans might have produced. \"There is a time to buy and to sell, and\nto get gain; a time to marry, and a time to be merry and be glad:\"\nhere he used a sort of whining snuffle, which frustrated his attempts\nat neutralising the sarcasms of his friend. \"Being in haste,\" he\ncontinued, \"we may not profit by thy discourse; but commend ourselves\nto his prayers until our return, which, God willing, we may safely\naccomplish in a se'nnight at the farthest.\"\n\n\"If ye depart, I will not answer for your safe keeping.\"\n\n\"And if we stay, my pretty maiden, I am fearful we _shall_ be in safe\nkeeping.\" An ambiguous smile curled his lip, which she fully\nunderstood. Indeed, her manner and appearance were so much superior to\nher station, that no lady of the best and gentlest blood might have\ncomported herself more excellently before these gay, though disguised\ncavaliers. There was a natural expression of dignity and high feeling\nin her demeanour, as if rank and noble breeding were enclosed in so\nhumble a shrine, visible indeed, but still through the medium of a\nhomely but bewitching grace and simplicity. This, in part, might be\nthe consequence of an early residence at Lathom, where, in a few\nyears, she had risen, from a station among the lower domestics to a\nconfidential place about the person of the countess. Here she excited\nno small share of admiration; and it was partly to avoid the fervid\nadvances of some vivacious gallants that she resolved on quitting so\nexposed and dangerous a position; the more especially as the lowering\naspect of the times, and the uncertain termination of the coming\nstruggle, might have left her without a protector, and at the mercy of\nthe lawless ruffians who were not wanting on either side. Retiring\nhome without regret, she had imbibed, from the ministrations of a\nzealous and conscientious advocate of the republican party, a relish\nfor the doctrines and self-denying exercises of the Puritans, with\nwhom she usually associated in their religious assemblies.\n\n\"Do ye purpose, then, for Knowsley to-day?\" she inquired, after a\nshort silence.\n\n\"Yea; unless our present dilemma, and the obstruction thereby, turn\naside the current of our intent.\"\n\n\"Pray Heaven it may!\" said the maiden, with great fervour; \"for I do\nfear me that some who are not of a godly sort are abiding there--even\nthey with whom righteous and well-ordered men should not consort\nwithal.\"\n\n\"Heed not. Being of them who are not righteous overmuch, we can bear\nunharmed the scoffs of prelatists and self-seekers.\"\n\n\"There be others,\" replied she; but the appearance of the dame, who\nhad been overlooking the operations of her helpmate, interrupted the\ncommunication. The horses, too, were at the door, led forth by a\nlubberly serving-lad; and they seemed eager to depart, pawing, as\nthough scarcely enduring a momentary restraint. The cavalier, after\ngiving some order about the beasts, would have bidden farewell to the\nmaiden in private; but she had departed unperceived. He was evidently\nchagrined, lingering long in the house, in hopes of her reappearance,\nbut in vain. He was forced to depart without the anticipated\ninterview.\n\nOut of sight and hearing, the cavaliers began to converse more freely.\n\n\"Right fain I am,\" said Egerton, \"of our escape from yonder house; for\nI began to fear me we were known, or, at any rate, suspected by one,\nif not more, of our good friends behind.\"\n\n\"By one fair friend, peradventure,\" said Chisenhall drily; \"but, on\nthe word of a soldier, I may be known, and little care I, save that it\nmay be dangerous to be found in my company. In the last siege yonder,\nat Lathom, I have beaten off more rogues than flies from my trencher;\nand I would we had but had room and fair play at York; we would have\ngiven your\"----\n\n\"Hold; no names; remember that I am plain Master Egerton: there may be\nlurkers in these tall hedges; so, both in-doors and out, I am--what\nmine appearance doth betoken.\"\n\n\"Well, Master Egerton, good wot, though a better man than myself,\nwhich few be now-a-days, for these strait-haired Roundheads do thin us\nlike coppice-trees, and leave but here and there one to shoot at. I\nwould the noble lord had been within his good fortress yonder, I think\nit would have been too hot to handle, with cold fingers, by the host\nof Old Nick, or Parliament, I care not which.\"\n\n\"It was partly at my suggesting that he retired to his island of Man.\nThere were heart-burnings and jealousies amongst the courtiers on his\naccount, which were but too readily given ear unto by the king.\"\n\n\"Grant it may not be for our hurt as well as his own. I had no notion\nthat these wasps would have been so soon again at the honeycomb. Could\nwe and our bands have made entry, we would have shown them some of the\nold match-work, and given them a psalm to sing that they would not\nreadily have forgotten. As it is, we are just wanderers and vagabonds,\nwithout e'er a house or a homestead to hide us in, should our friends\nbe driven from Knowsley, and our way be blocked up to the coast. What\nis worse, too, our supplies are nigh exhausted, and our exchequer as\nempty as the king's. I would we had not tarried here so long, waiting\nfor advices, as thou didst say, Master Egerton; but which advices, I\ndo verily think, were from a lady's lip; and the next tall fellow,\nwith a long face and a fusee, may tuck us under his sleeve, and carry\nus to his quarters, like a brace of springed woodcocks.\"\n\n\"Fear not, Chisenhall. We will make directly for the coast, and\nto-morrow, if we have luck, be under weigh for Ireland. If, as I do\ntrust, we get our levies thence, down with the Rump and the\nRoundheads, say I, and so\"----\n\n\"We are not bound for Knowsley, then?\"\n\n\"No, believe me, I have a better nose than to thrust it into the trap,\nafter the foretokenings we have had. The knave who elbowed me i' the\ngraveyard, as well as the maiden yonder, warned us of some danger at\nKnowsley, where, I do verily suspect, the rogues are in ambush,\nwaiting for us; but we will give them the slip, and away for bonny\nWaterford.\"\n\nThe morning was yet raw and misty. A dense fog was coming on, which\nevery minute became more heavy and impervious to the sight. Objects\nmight be heard, long ere they were seen. The rime hung like a\nfrost-work from branch and spray, showing many a fantastic festoon,\nwreathed by powers and contrivances more wonderful than those by which\nour vain and presumptuous race are endowed. The little birds looked\nout from their covers, and chirped merrily on, to while away the hours\ntill bedtime. The rooks cawed from their citadel--to venture abroad\nwas out of the question, lest the rogues should be surprised in some\nact of depredation, and suffer damage thereby. So chill and searching\nwas the atmosphere that the travellers wrapped their cloaks closely\nabout their haunches, to defend themselves from its attacks. They were\nscarcely a mile or two on their road when, passing slowly between the\nhigh coppice on either hand, Egerton stayed his horse, listening;\nwhilst thus engaged, another blood-drop fell on his hand.\n\n\"There be foes behind us,\" said he, softly. His practised and\never-watchful ear had detected the coming footsteps before his friend.\n\n\"'Tis a fortunate screen this same quiet mist, and so let us away to\ncover.\" Without more ado he leaped through a gap in the fence,\nfollowed by his companion; and they lay concealed effectually from the\nview of any one who might be passing on the road. They were not so far\nfrom the main path but that the footsteps of their pursuers could be\nheard, and voices too, in loud and earnest discourse. The latter kept\ntheir horses at a very deliberate pace, as if passing forward at some\nuncertainty.\n\n\"I say again, heed it as we may, this mist will be the salvation of\nour runaways. After having dogged them to such good purpose from\nLathom, it will be a sorry deed should they escape under this unlucky\nenvelope.\"\n\n\"Tush, faint heart--thinkest thou these enemies of the faith shall\ntriumph, and our own devices come to nought? Nay, verily, for the\nwicked are as stubble, and the ungodly as they whom the fire\ndevoureth.\"\n\n\"But I would rather have a brisk wind than all thy vapours, thy\nquiddities, and quotations. Yet am I glad they have not ta'en the turn\nto Knowsley.\"\n\n\"Which way soever they turn, either to the right hand or to the left,\nwe have them in the net, and snares and pitfalls shall devour them.\"\n\nThe remainder of this comfortable assurance was inaudible, and the\ncavaliers congratulated themselves on their providential escape.\n\n\"How stand ye for Knowsley now, Sir Captain?\" said Chisenhall.\n\n\"Why, of a surety, friend, there be many reasons why we may pray for a\nsafe passport from this unhappy land; but it seemeth as though our\npurposes were to be for ever crossed. Towards Knowsley, now, it doth\nappear that we must proceed, our haven and hiding-place; these rogues\nhaving got wind that we did not intend to pass by thither, we must\ncountermine the enemy, or rather double upon their route.\"\n\n\"But how shall we be enabled to proceed?\"\n\n\"Forward to the right,\" said Egerton, \"and we shall be sure to hit our\nmark, if I mistake not the bearing. 'Tis, I believe, scarcely two\nmiles hence; and under this friendly cover we cannot be observed,\nthough we should mistake our way.\"\n\nChanging their course, they now attempted, at all hazards, a running\nchase along and across hedges and enclosures, in the supposed\ndirection of their retreat. After a somewhat perilous journey for at\nleast an hour in this thick mist, without discovering any object by\nwhich they could ascertain their relative situation, Chisenhall at\nlength espied something like a dark square tower before them.\n\n\"Plague, pestilence, and all the saints! why if yonder be not that\nsame old ugly grim tower dodging us!\" He rubbed his eyes, hardly\nsatisfied that his morning indulgences were ended.\n\n\"We are fairly on our way for the grave again, sure enough,\" said\nEgerton; \"or it may be as thou sayest, the graveyard itself is\nfollowing us.\" He tried to rally into a smile, but was unable to\ndisport himself in this wise, and it became needful that some way\nshould be hit upon for their extrication, and that speedily. Occupied\nin earnest discourse, they were not aware of the presence of a third\nperson until a thin squeaking voice accosted them from behind.\n\n\"Back again so soon?--wi' the de'il at your crupper too!\"\n\n\"Foul fa' thee, thou screech-owl,\" said Egerton, starting back at that\nill-omened sound; \"we shall ne'er be rid o' this pestilence!\" He\nattempted to spring aside from the object of his abhorrence; but in a\nmoment his horse was holden by the bridle with almost more than human\nstrength; and the malicious creature set up an exulting and triumphant\nlaugh that was anything but agreeable in their present evil condition.\n\n\"Let go--or, by thy master's hoofs, I will send thee to him in the\ntwinkling of a trigger!\" said Egerton, drawing forth his pistol.\n\n\"Hoo, hoo!\" shouted his tormentor, mocking and making faces, with an\nexpression of fiendish delight--\"thee 'ill be first though, nunky.\"\n\nEgerton pointed the weapon; but his horse, goaded in all probability\nby the strange being beside him, made a sudden spring, and, as\nill-luck would have it, stumbled and fell, both horse and rider\nsprawling in the dust. The cause of this foul accident scampered off\nwith great activity: Chisenhall dismounted, extricating his friend\nfrom the trappings. He was bleeding profusely from the nostrils, and\nappeared insensible. Judging it the wisest plan, though at the risk of\ntheir captivity, to procure help, he galloped away to the tavern for\nassistance.\n\nMuch to the surprise of the family was Chisenhall's reappearance, but\nno time was lost in useless explanations; the host and his daughter\nimmediately proceeded to the spot, with means and appliances for\nEgerton's removal and recovery; but to their astonishment and dismay\nthe body was removed. His horse was grazing quietly on the herbage,\nyet there was no trace of Egerton's disappearance. Chisenhall was\nalmost beside himself with distress and consternation; but Marian,\nthough much concerned, seemed to possess some clue to this enigma.\n\n\"Steenie, thou sayest, was the cause of this untoward disaster?\"\n\n\"Ay; that cursed fiend. I wish all his\"----\n\n\"Nay, nay, friend, thou speakest like to the foolish ones, vain and\nimpious men, whose mouths are full of cursing and bitterness. We had\nbest return; I will think on this matter, and ere the morrow we may\nhave tidings of thy friend; but\"----Here she looked significantly\naside as she spoke, but not in her father's hearing. \"Keep snug here\nin thy quarters, friend; for since ye left there came divers of the\npeople to inquire, and as He would have it, from me only. Ye be sons\nof Belial, they said, and cavaliers withal. But ye have eaten and\ndrunken in our dwelling, and though red with the blood of the saints,\nI cannot deliver you into the hand of your pursuers.\"\n\nChisenhall reluctantly complied, having no other resource, and judging\nit best not to stir abroad, as it might be compromising the safety of\nboth parties, without leading to any beneficial result.\n\nThe horses were unharnessed and turned out to graze, whilst Chisenhall\nwas disposed of in an upper chamber above one of the outhouses. His\nanxiety for his friend allowed him but little rest, and often he was\non the point of issuing forth in quest of intelligence; but happily\nprudence prevented him from sacrificing his own and another's life to\na vain and fruitless impatience.\n\nDuring Chisenhall's concealment Marian was by no means in the same\nstate of idleness and inactivity. She threw on her hood and kerchief;\nand a clean white apron, girt about her waist, fully displayed the\nsymmetry of her form. Her cloak was adjusted but with little regard to\noutward show; and an hour was scarcely past ere she sallied forth, as\nshe was often wont, to the dwelling of Gilgal Snape, a person of great\nnote as a preacher and leader of the faithful in these parts. He was,\nin truth, a worthy and zealous man, sincerely devoted to the cause he\nespoused, and the service of his Maker--one widely distinguished from\nthe hypocrites and fanatics of that turbulent era, which, like our\nown, produced, though in a more exaggerated form, from the stimulus\nthen abroad, the same rank and noxious weeds of hypocrisy and\nsuperstition; for man, like a mathematical problem, circumstances and\nconditions being the same, brings out, invariably, the same results.\nNo form of worship, however ludicrous or revolting, but hath its\nadvocates and supporters; and there is nothing which the proud mind\nand unsubdued heart of man will not put forth, when that heart is made\nthe hot-bed of unholy and unsanctified feelings--all monstrous and\npolluted things ripening, even beneath the warm and blessed sun that\nrevives and beautifies all else by its splendour.\n\nGilgal had, however, his figments and his fancies, inseparable\nperchance from the times and dispositions by which they were\nengendered. When men, awaking as from a dream, shaking off the deep\nslumber of bigotry, but not intolerance, through the medium of their\nyet unpractised sense saw \"men as trees walking,\" regarding trivial\nand unimportant objects as paramount and essential, while others,\nwhose nature was vital and supreme, were hardly discerned, or at best\nbut slightly noticed or understood;--when minds long tinctured by\nsuperstition brought the whole of their previous habits and instincts\nto bear upon the newly-awakened energies that were heaving and\nconvulsing the moral fabric of society, and the ground of preconceived\nnotions and opinions on which they stood, they could hardly be\npersuaded that the kingdom of heaven \"cometh not by observation;\" that\nspecial miracles, and visible manifestations of divine favour, were\nnot again to be vouchsafed to the \"elect;\" and that their faith and\nprayers were not sufficient to remove mountains, and to conquer and\nsubdue every obstacle. There was more pride in these expectations than\nthey were willing to allow, or even to suspect; and in many it was\nthe very pride and \"naughtiness of their hearts;\" whilst in others it\nwas but the operation of remaining ignorance, unsubdued lusts, and\nunsanctified affections.\n\nGilgal was famous in his day for dealing with \"spiritual wickedness in\nhigh places.\" The \"prince of the power of the air\" was subject unto\nhim. In other words, it was said of him that he had cast out devils\nand healed the possessed. When others failed, Gilgal had wrestled and\nprevailed. One of the first-fruits of this outpouring of his soul was\n\"Steenie Ellison,\" who, from his childhood, was subject to periodical\nand violent affections of the body--contortions that gave him, in the\neyes of many, an appearance of one possessed. Stephen had a\nconsiderable share of cunning, a sort of knavish sagacity and ready\nimpertinence, peculiar to most of his kind. He was an orphan, early\nleft to the care of chance or charity, and being a follower of\nbell-ringers, grave-diggers, and the like, assumed a sort of\nsemi-official attitude at all funerals, weddings, and merry-makings in\nthe neighbourhood. He was generally suspected of holding intercourse\nwith the powers of evil, and when suffering from disease, the unclean\nspirit whom he had offended was supposed to be afflicting him, having\nentered into his body to buffet and torment him for his contumacy and\ndisobedience. So partial was he to the art and occupation of\ngrave-making, that he was observed at times to hew out a habitation\nfor the dead ere a tenant was provided. It was always remarked,\nnevertheless, that the narrow house failed not ere long to receive an\ninhabitant; and this apprehension considerably heightened the terror\nwith which he was regarded, and rendered him celebrated throughout the\ncountry by the name of \"the live man's sexton.\"\n\nBut the worthy minister being much moved with compassion towards this\nchild of Satan, his bowels yearned for him, that he might cast out the\nunclean spirit, and deliver him from his spiritual bondage. He\naccordingly girded himself to the work, and a great name did he get\nthroughout the land by this mighty achievement, for the possessed\nbecame docile as a little child before him, and was subsequently a\nsort of erratic follower of the party unto which Gilgal was allied;\nbut he would at times forsake the assemblies of the faithful, when, it\nis said, the dark spirit of divination again came over him, and he\nwould wander among the tombs, showing symptoms of a disordered\nintellect, though not of the same violent character as before.\n\nTowards the dwelling of Gilgal Snape did Marian direct her steps; it\nwas but a short mile from her own. Often had she been a visitant to\nthe house, where she imbibed the doctrines and instructions of this\nsincere and zealous confessor of the faith. She frequently mingled in\nthe devotions that were there offered up; but her piety was of a more\nmoderate and amiable cast--less violent and ascetic, not unmixed with\nlove and pity for her enemies and the persecutors of the truth.\n\nHer object in this visit was not so much to partake of the crumbs from\nthe good man's spiritual banquet, as to gain some intelligence through\nhim respecting Egerton's disappearance. She recognised the individuals\nwho were in pursuit of him to be scouts from the republican leaders,\nwith whom the divine was in constant communication. Of the real rank\nof Egerton she was still ignorant; but she more than suspected his\ndisguise, and scarcely hesitated to conclude, from the anxiety shown\nfor his apprehension, that he was of no little importance in the\nestimation of his opponents.\n\nMusing and much troubled, by reason of many conflicting emotions, she\ntook no note of the lapse of time until her arrival at the habitation\nof this devout minister of the word. It was built in a sequestered\nglen, by a narrow brook near to a couple of black, shapeless, scraggy\nfirs, whose long lean arms were extended over the roof. A low porch\nguarded the door, in which dairy utensils and implements of husbandry\nwere usually placed. The short casement windows were rendered still\nmore gloomy, and in places screened from light, by the creeping\nwoodbine throwing its luxuriant and unrestricted foliage about their\ndeep recesses. A little wicket admitted the visitor into the court, on\neach side of which was a homely garden, where nothing ornamental was\nsuffered to intrude or encroach upon the space devoted to objects of\nusefulness rather than indulgence.\n\nMarian lifted up the latch, entering upon the precincts of this\nhallowed abode. She passed on, through the large cold cheerless\napartment generally called the house; turning thence towards a little\nchamber, used as an oratory, she heard a loud voice within. She tapped\nfirst upon the door, which she slowly opened, and beheld the good man\nwith the sacred volume spread out before him. He raised his eyes for\na moment as she entered, but refrained not from his exercise, nor\naltered in the least the strenuous tone of his orisons.\n\n\"And Ehud put forth his left hand, and took the dagger from his right\nthigh, and smote Eglon, the King of Moab, so that he died. Thus perish\nthe ungodly and the oppressor, even as Abimelech, the son of\nJerubbaal, on whom the Almighty rendered the curse of Jotham his\nbrother, and all his wickedness that he had committed, and all the\nevil of the men of Shechem did God return upon their own heads.\" Here\nhe raised his eyes, closing the book with a devout aspiration of\ncompliance to the will of Heaven. \"I have sought counsel,\" he\ncontinued, \"and been much comforted thereby. The wicked shall be\nutterly cut off, and the ungodly man shall fall by the sword. We may\nnot spare, nor have pity, as Saul spared Agag, whom Samuel hewed in\npieces; for the land is cursed for their sakes!\"\n\n\"Hath Steenie yet returned from vain idols, and the abominations he\nhath committed?\" inquired the maiden.\n\n\"He doth yet hunger after the flesh-pots of Egypt; but my bowels yearn\ntowards him, even as my first-born. I do sorrow lest he be finally\nentangled in the snares of the evil one.\"\n\n\"Knowest thou where he abideth, or if he doth attend the outpouring of\nthe word hereabout?\"\n\n\"Verily, nay,\" said the divine; \"but I have heard from Sarah and\nReuben Heathcote that he hath been seen in the house of ungodly\nself-seekers, and notorious Papists and malignants, even with our\nenemies at Garswood. He hath likewise been found resorting unto that\nhigh place of papistry, Windleshaw, of late; despising--yea,\nreviling--the warnings and godly exhortations of the Reverend Master\nHaydock, who did purpose within himself to win, peradventure it might\nbe to afflict with stripes, this lost one from the fold, that he might\nbring him back. But he hath sorely buffeted and evil-entreated this\ndiligent shepherd with many grievous indignities; such as tying him\nunto a gate, and vexing him with sundry of Satan's devices. Yet we\nwould fain hope that he is a chosen vessel, though now defiled by the\nadversary. He will return, peradventure, as heretofore, when the day\nof his visitation is past.\" The good man did, indeed, yearn over this\nerring sinner, and lifting up his voice he wept aloud.\n\n\"There came two men to our habitation, where they abode certain days,\"\nsaid Marian.\n\n\"And they departed this morning,\" said the minister, sharply; \"knowest\nthou that these be enemies of our faith, and contemners of the word?\"\n\n\"I knew them not,\" she replied, \"save that I suspected them as such,\nere they departed.\"\n\n\"Thou wouldest not have them taken with thee in the house, and in that\nthou judgedst wisely; for I care not that a maiden's thoughts were so\nsoon disposed for deeds like these, which be fitter for iron hearts\nand brazen hands. Though Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite, slew\nSisera in her tent, and Rahab the harlot received the spies in peace;\nyet thou didst, I doubt not, point out the way by which they went to\nthe spies sent by the council of the holy state, to follow after these\nsons of Belial, and deliver them into their hands.\"\n\n\"I know not the path they took,\" said Marian, evasively.\n\n\"Heed not, for the men shall be delivered unto us; even now are they\npursued, and, I doubt not, overtaken. Which way soever they turn,\ntheir steps are holden, and a snare is laid for their feet; for they\nshall surely die!\" The preacher lifted up his eyes in righteous\nindignation. They have made themselves drunk with the blood of the\nsaints.\"\n\n\"Will not their lives be given them for a prey?\" inquired Marian,\napparently in great alarm.\n\n\"I have sought counsel, I tell thee; and the Philistine and the\nCanaanite shall be destroyed utterly from the land.\"\n\n\"I fear me they be other than I had imagined,\" returned the maiden\nweeping; \"yet still, and I trust I shall be forgiven, I could not\nbetray them who have abided with us, and eaten of our bread.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest them not, wench,\" said Gilgal; \"and 'tis perhaps well\nthou shouldest not.\" Here he looked fiercely from under his brows, as\nthough he would have pierced the very inmost recesses of her soul.\n\"Beware,\" continued he, \"for thou art comely, and these men do use\ndevilish and subtle devices to allure and to betray.\"\n\nMarian was silent. A swollen tear, the overflowing of an overwhelmed\nand oppressed heart, slowly wandered down her cheek. It was the very\ncrisis of the conflict; and the old man forbore to break the bruised\nreed. She seemed uneasy and anxious to depart; but he hindered her\nfor a space.\n\n\"Wilt thou not, as thou art wont, approach with me to the footstool of\nHim who doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men?\"\n\nMarian felt the rebuke, though it was so finely tempered, and\nadministered so tenderly. She was one of his earlier converts, and his\nlove for her was that of a spiritual parent. Bending the knee, she\ncovered her burning cheeks, and poured out her heart with him in\nfervour and sincerity. Whether both of them had precisely the same\nobject in view as the end of their supplications, or whether the\nmaiden's fears and inclinations might not lead her to offer up a\nsincere petition for the safety of others besides those of the\nhousehold, we will not take upon ourselves to determine; but on\nleaving the dwelling of Gilgal Snape a suppressed sigh and an\ninvoluntary whisper escaped her--\"He may yet be spared.\" She raised\nher eyes in thankfulness, and a gleam of hope, but not of happiness,\nirradiated her heart; for she now felt that a great gulf separated\nthem for ever.\n\nShe had ascertained by her converse with the Puritan, who was well\ninformed in all matters connected with his party, that they were yet\nunacquainted as to the ulterior proceedings of the strangers; and it\nseemed probable, from this circumstance alone, that at any rate\nEgerton had not fallen into their hands. Her next object was to find\nout \"Steenie,\" and to elicit from him the knowledge of the stranger's\nfate; for unless this mischievous personage had in some wild erratic\nfreak or another conveyed him off, she could not tell what mishap\ncould have befallen him. Despite of her prejudices and the true bent\nof her disposition, which, though it partook not of the furious and\nheadlong intolerance of the times, was yet sufficiently imbued with\nthe spirit of her sect, the cavalier had won so unsuspectingly upon\nher kindness that she started as though she would have escaped from\nher own thoughts, when she felt the deep and agonising shudder which\ncrossed her at the bare possibility that he might fall into the hands\nof the avenger of blood. At a glance she saw the fearful involutions\nand the almost inextricable toils by which the fugitives were\nencompassed. Unaided, she was well aware that their attempts would be\nfruitless. She knew not the intentions of the crazy sexton on this\npoint. The wayward and apparently capricious movements of this strange\ncompound of Puritanism and Papistry were too dangerous and uncertain\nto allow any hope for ultimate safety under his management. Whether or\nnot he had a hand in Egerton's removal was still a matter of\nconjecture. She felt, in addition to this uncertainty, no slight\ndegree of awe and apprehension in her approaches to this solitary\nbeing; and a sort of undefined notion that, however modified and\ncontrolled by circumstances, yet his communications with the world of\nspirits were still in operation, imparting to his converse and\ncommunion with his fellow-men a strange and dubious character, which\neven strangers did not fail to perceive, and to shrink from contact\nwith a being of such doubtful qualities. His predictions and dark\nsayings were often quoted, and much more importance was attached to\nthem than their real and obvious meaning should have warranted. They\nderived greater credence, perhaps, from their usually vague and\nambiguous character suiting any accident and condition, according to\nthe fancy of the hearer, however remotely allied in their meaning and\napplication. Whatsoever might be the event, there was little\ndifficulty in shaping out an appropriate or equivalent prediction; and\nit did seem at times sufficiently marvellous that few occurrences\nshould take place which could not be traced to some dark foretokening\nenveloped in one or other of these mystical revelations. Events happen\nto ourselves that do occasionally, and not unfrequently, rush back\nupon our minds with unaccountable and almost appalling force, as\nthough, however novel in reality, they were but facts and feelings\nwith which we had long ago been familiar, yet in what manner we are\nunable to determine. It might seem that they had suddenly, and for a\nmoment, started forth from the Lethe which divides our present\nexistence from some past state of being; that a sudden light had\nflashed from the portals of oblivion, too rapid or too dazzling,\nperhaps, to be apprehended or defined.\n\nAs she returned the shadows of evening were coming on dim and softly\nover the quiet glades and dewy meadows. The noisy rooks, having lately\nventured forth, were cawing cheerily on their homeward flight,\n\"beguiling the way with pleasant intercourse.\" The lesser birds were\nflitting towards the bushes; and through the lingering mist-wreath,\nfloating still and tranquilly on the moist meadows, came forth at\ntimes a solitary twitter, as though the lark had alighted softly and\njoyously on her nest. The glow and the brightness of evening were gone\nwhen Marian passed the threshold of her home, uncertain yet as to the\nfate of Egerton and the course she should pursue. She allayed, as well\nas she was able, the fretfulness and impatience of Chisenhall,\nentreating that he would remain quiet until the morrow, after which it\nwas possible that something would transpire with regard to his friend.\nThe irresistible conclusion, that by venturing forth he would\ncompromise the safety of all parties, alone rendered him tractable,\nand prevented the consequences of any rash exposure.\n\nToo much occupied in resolves and plans for to-morrow's enterprise,\nthe maiden on retiring to her chamber felt no inclination for repose,\nand her little couch was left vacant. It was a low room within the\nthatch, into which a narrow window, projecting from the roof, admitted\nthe clear mellow radiance of the moon, now shining uninterruptedly\nfrom above. So lovely and inviting was the aspect of the night, that,\nafter a long and anxious train of thought, she resolved to enjoy the\ncalm and delicious atmosphere, free and unconfined, hoping to feel its\ninvigorating effects upon her exhausted spirits.\n\nIt might be within a short half-hour of midnight when she tripped\nlightly down the stairs, and was soon across the stile which led to\nthe deserted chapel of Windleshaw. Attracted by the beauty and the\nreviving freshness of all around her, fearing no evil and conscious of\nno alarm, she proceeded, wandering without aim or purpose into the\nquiet cemetery.\n\nIn the dark shadow of the building she walked on, fearless and alone.\nHer bosom had been hitherto the abode of happiness and peace. To the\nstranger's appearance might be attributed the source of her present\ndisquiet. She would have breathed after communion with heavenly\nthings, but earthly objects mingled in her aspirations; charity,\nperadventure, for those of another creed, and anxiety for another's\nfate. But she was not satisfied that this was the sole cause of her\nunhappiness; and the pang of separation, too, came like a barbed arrow\ninto her soul. She felt alarmed, amazed at the sudden change. She\nfeared that her weak and wandering heart was going back to the world,\nand resting for support on its frail and perishing interests. Tossed\nand buffeted with temptation, she still passed on; when, turning the\nangle of the grey tower, she emerged again into the clear, unbroken\nmoonlight--the little hillocks and upright gravestones alone\ndisturbing the broad and level beam. She was startled from her reverie\nby dull and heavy sounds near her, as though a pickaxe were employed\nby invisible hands in disturbing the ground close to where she stood.\nShe paused a moment and listened; the blows were still falling, and\nshe felt the ground vibrating beneath her feet. A sudden thought\ncrossed her--it might be \"Steenie,\" even at this untimely hour, plying\nhis accustomed vocation. He had been retarded probably by the\naccidents of the day; and the occasion being urgent, according to his\nown anticipations, had led him to labour so late for its completion.\nIt was doubtless the grave which had been so mysteriously assigned to\nthe lot of Egerton. A cold tremor crept upon her; she remembered the\ndenunciation and the uncertain fate of the victim. Even now he might\nbe hastening to his final account, and this horrid _ghoul_ might be\nscenting the dissolution of the body that he was preparing to entomb.\n\n\"Graciously forbid it, Heaven!\" she inwardly ejaculated, approaching\nthe grave; but so softly, that her footsteps were not heard by the\ninvisible workman, who was deep in the abyss of his own creating. The\nblows had ceased, and the mattock was now in requisition. Shovelfuls\nof earth were thrown out; thick and heavy clods were hurled forth in\nrapid succession. The scene would have driven back many a timid girl;\nand even some stout hearts and fierce stomachs would have shrunk from\nthe trial. She was within range, and almost within the grasp, of a\nbeing whose evil dispositions were known and acknowledged--a being\nwhose mysterious connection with intelligences of an unfriendly nature\nwas universally admitted. A grave, dug in secret, peradventure during\nsome baneful and preternatural process, yawned before her. Midnight,\ntoo, was nigh; and she was not devoid of apprehension--that inherent\ndread of the invisible things of darkness universally bound up with\nour feeble and fallen nature. Since the day of his first estrangement,\nman never, even in imagination or apprehension, approaches the dark\nand shadowy threshold of a world unseen without terror, lest some\nsupernatural communication should break forth; it seems a feeling\ncoeval with the curse on our first parents, when they heard \"the voice\nof the Lord God walking in the garden, and were afraid.\" This\napprehension still clings to us; but, though surrounded in light, as\nwell as in darkness, by a world of disembodied spirits, whose\nattributes and capacities are inconceivably superior to our own, our\nnature is so material, and our very essence so engrossed and\nidentified with earth, that it is only when the startling realities of\ntheir existence become manifest in those visible emblems of their\nnature--darkness and death--that we shrink back in horror, lest our\nvery being should suffer contact with spiritual and eternal things.\n\nConcealed from view, Marian stood still at a very short distance from\nthe grave. Steenie was humming a plaintive ditty, or rather dirge; for\nit partook of a double character, something between an alehouse\nroundelay and a funeral chant.\n\nShe soon perceived that each spadeful, as it was thrown out, was\naccompanied by a separate distich, the meaning of which she could\ndistinctly gather from some uncouth and barbarous rhymes--the\nremnants, probably, of a more superstitious age--almost cabalistic in\ntheir form and acceptation. The following may serve as a specimen,\nthough we have taken the precaution to render them a little more\nintelligible:--\n\n     \"Howk, hack, and dig spade;\n     Tenant ne'er grumbled that grave was ill made.\"\n\nThen came a heavy spadeful of earth again from the narrow house.\nAnother shovelful produced the following doggerel:--\n\n     \"Housen, and castles, and kings decay;\n     But the biggins we big last till doomus-day.\"\n\nSome more coarse and less intelligible jargon followed, which it is\nnot needful that we repeat. Again he threw forth a burden of more than\nordinary bulk, resting from his labours during the following more\nelaborate ditty:--\n\n     \"Dark and dreary though it be,\n     Thou shalt all its terrors dree:\n     Dungeon dark, where none complain,\n     Nor 'scape to tell its woe and pain.\"\n\nAgain he bent him to his task, and again the earth went rolling forth,\naccompanied by something like the following verse:--\n\n     \"Though I dig for him that be living yet,\n     O'er this narrow gulf he shall never get;\n     The mouth gapes wide that 'Enough' ne'er cries;\n     Each clod that I fling on his bosom lies;\n     In darkness and coldness it rests on thee,\n     With the last stroke that falls thy doom shall be!\"\n\nWith increasing energy did he work on, as though to accelerate the\nfate of his victim. Marian felt herself on the brink of the tomb, and\nits icy touch was perceptible through every part of her frame.\n\nThe mystic chant was again audible, and more distinct than before--\n\n     \"The charm is wound, and this stroke shall be\n     The last, when it falls, of his destiny;\n     Save he sell to another his birthright here,\n     Then the buyer shall buy both grave and bier.\"\n\nUttering this malediction, he scrambled out of the grave, and suddenly\nstood before the astonished maiden, who shuddered as she beheld the\nunshapely outline of a form which she instantly recognised.\n\nHe did not seem a whit surprised or startled, though he could not have\nbeen aware previously that a listener was nigh.\n\n\"What ho, wench!\" said he; \"art watching for a husband?\" His sharp\nshrill voice grated on her ear like the cry of the screech-owl.\n\n\"I came to meet thee!\" said she firmly. He broke forth into a loud\nlaugh at this reply, more terrible than the most violent expression of\nhate or malignity. No wonder, in those ages, that it was supposed to\nbe the operation of some demon, animate in his form, controlling and\nexercising the bodily functions to his own malignant designs.\n\n\"Where is he whom I seek?\" inquired the maiden.\n\n\"Ask the clods of the valley, and the dust unto which man departs!\" he\nreplied, pointing significantly to the gulf at his feet.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Marian, apparently to humour the fantastical turn of his\nideas; \"thou knowest if he sell that grave to another, he shall\nescape, and the doom shall be foregone.\"\n\n\"Ay, lassie; but there be no fools now-a-days, I wot, to buy a man's\ngrave over his head for the sake of a bargain!\"\n\n\"I warrant thee now, Steenie, but thou hast hidden him hereabout.\" She\nsaid this in as careless and indifferent a tone as she could well\nassume.\n\n\"I am but a-keeping of him safe till his time comes. Neither priest\nnor Presbyterian shall cheat me out of him. He's mine as sure as that\ngrave gives not back its prey.\"\n\n\"He is living, I trow?\"\n\n\"Good wot, I reckon so; but living men may die; and this pick never,\nfor man or woman, opened a mouth that was left to gape long without\nvictuals.\"\n\n\"Thou wouldst not harm him?\"\n\n\"I'd not hurt the hair on a midge-tail, though it stung me. But his\ndoom was shown me yesternight,\" said he, lowering his voice to a\nwhisper; \"and I would have him laid here in consecration, that the\ndevil get not his bones to pick, for neither priest nor Puritan can\nbless the ground now-a-days like unto this.\"\n\nWhether the cause of his anxiety was really a wish to provide a\nhallowed resting-place for the cavalier, or this pretence was merely\nto cover some ulterior purposes of his own, the maiden was left\nwithout a clue to form any plausible conjecture. She had heard\nsufficient, however, to ascertain that he was in some way or another\naccessory to the disappearance of Egerton, and that in all likelihood\nhe knew the retreat of the unfortunate captive.\n\nA woman's wits are proverbially sharpened by exigencies, and Marian\nwas not slow in obeying their impulse.\n\n\"Where art thou abiding? I would fain speak with thee to-morrow\ntouching thy condition, for thou hast been much estranged from us of\nlate.\"\n\nHe pointed to the ivied belfry, where a grated loophole formed a dark\ncross on the wall.\n\n\"A man may sleep if the wind will let him; but such fearsome visions I\nhave had of late, that I ha' been just nigh 'reft o' my wits. Wilt be\na queen or a queen-mother, Marian? Something spake to me after this\nfashion; but I was weary with watching. The spirit passed from me, and\nI comprehended him not.\"\n\nShe was silent, apprehensive that his wits were at present too\nbewildered for her purpose, being always subject to aberration under\nany peculiar excitement of either mind or body.\n\n\"I will visit thee yonder to-morrow,\" said Marian.\n\n\"Me!\" he shouted, in a tone of surprise. \"Bless thy pretty face,\nMarian, I have bolted him in. He is but waiting for his dismissal.\"\n\n\"Whither?\"\n\nAgain he pointed to the grave.\n\n\"Tush,\" said Marian; \"he will not, maybe, get his passport thither so\nsoon, unless, indeed, thou shouldst starve him to death.\"\n\n\"Starve him! Nay, by\"----He stopped just as he was on the point of\nuttering some well-remembered but long quiescent oath.\n\n\"I thought not of that before, Marian: he will want some food. Ay--ay,\nbless thy little heart, I did not think on 't. But for thee, Marian, I\nshould ha' kept him there, and he might ha' starved outright; though\nhe will not need it long, I trow, poor fool!\" said he, with a sigh,\nludicrous enough under other circumstances, but now invested with all\nthe solemnity of a supernatural disclosure.\n\n\"I will away for victuals,\" said Marian: \"stay here until I return.\" A\nshort time only elapsed ere she came again, laden with provisions and\nother restoratives, judging that the captive stood in need of some\nrefreshment.\n\nStephen was waiting for her in a deep and solemn fit of abstraction\nbefore the low door leading to a staircase at the foot of the tower.\nHe spoke not until she stood beside him.\n\n\"My brain, Marian--Oh! my brain. Here, here!\" Seizing her hand, he\npressed it hurriedly over his brow, which was hot, almost scorching.\nThe blood beat rapidly through his throbbing temples. Fearful lest the\napproaching hallucination might prevent her benevolent designs, she\nsoothed and coaxed him to lead the way, which had the desired effect;\nmuttering as he went on, at times unintelligibly, at others speaking\nwith peculiar emphasis and vehemence.\n\n\"The foul fiend came again, though he was cast out; and I--I yielded.\nHe promised me gold, if I would dig for 't. And I digg'd, and digg'd;\nbut it always shaped itself into a grave--another's grave--and I never\nfound any. Yea, once. Look thee, wench,\" said he, pulling out a bright\nJacobus from his belt, and holding it in the beam that shot through a\nloophole of the ascent. \"Yes; this--this! the devil brought it that\ntempted me. No, no; I sold my own grave for 't. Would it were mine\nagain: I had been where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary\nare at rest. Nay; there will be no rest for me. I am an apostate--a\ncastaway--the devil that seduced me hath said it again and again--for\nwhom is reserved the blackness of darkness, and the noisome pit for\never! But as long, look thee, as I keep this gold, I die not. No!\nthough twice ten thousand were on my track; for I sold my grave to a\ndoomed one; nor, till I buy another with the same piece of gold, shall\ndeath and hell prevail against me. So sayeth the fiend.\"\n\nMarian felt actually as though in the presence of the Evil One, so\ncompletely had the frenzy of this poor deluded idiot developed itself\nin this short interval. Some violent paroxysm was evidently\napproaching; and her object was, if possible, to procure the\nliberation of Egerton before her guide should be rendered either\nunwilling or incapable. He suddenly assumed a more calm and consistent\ndemeanour, while, to her great joy, she heard him climbing the stair.\nShe followed as closely as the darkness would permit, and heard him\npause after ascending a few steps. Then a bolt was withdrawn, her hand\nwas seized, and she was led hastily through the aperture. It was the\nentrance to a small chamber in the tower, lighted by the grating\nbefore named, through which the moonlight came softly, like a wizard\nstream, into the apartment.\n\nBy this light she saw something coiled up in a corner, like a human\nform in the attitude of repose. It was the prisoner Egerton, fast\nasleep. Nature, worn out with suffering, was unconsciously enjoying\nfor a season the bliss of oblivion. He heard not the intruders, until\nMarian gently touched him, when, starting up, he cried--\n\n\"Is mine hour come? so soon! I thought\"--\n\n\"Here be victuals; thy grave's not ready yet,\" said the maniac.\n\nSoon the soft voice of the maiden fell calmly and quietly on his\nbosom: and in that hour Egerton felt how noble, how self-denying, was\nthe spirit guiding the hand that ministered to him in the hour of\ndanger and distress. Her disinterestedness was now manifest. Of\nanother creed, and fully aware, perhaps, that he had been one of the\nmost zealous persecutors of those who aforetime were hunted like the\nwild roe upon the mountains; he found that she had knowledge of him,\ngenerally, as belonging to the Royalist party, though not individually\nas to his rank and character.\n\nIf she had set herself to win his favour by draughts and\nlove-philtres, she could not have compassed her design more\neffectually. His impetuous nature was alike impatient of restraint\neither in love or in war; but in the latter instance the flame had\nburnt so rapidly that it was nigh extinguished. This maiden being\nrenowned through the whole neighbourhood for her beauty, as well as\nthe natural and engaging simplicity and gentleness of her manners,\nappertaining to one of high birth, nurtured in courts, rather than in\nso humble a station, the cavalier had beforetime looked on her with a\nfavourable glance, but not with eyes at which the god Hymen would have\nlighted his torch. Now, so strange and wayward is that capricious\npassion which men call love, that when beset with dangers, his life in\njeopardy, and threatened with death on every hand, he seemed to cling\neven to this lowly one as though his soul were bound to hers. Love,\nthat mighty leveller, for a season threw down every barrier--the pride\nof birth, and the rank and sphere which were his birthright--nor did a\nlicentious thought find a resting-place in his bosom. Young and\nardent, he had spoken to her beforetime, though not explicitly, on the\nsubject; and Marian, knowing none other but that he was a wayfaring\nman, of little note--so he represented himself--regarded his handsome\nperson, his kindness, and his attentions, with still less appearance\nof disfavour.\n\n\"Thou shouldest be mine, Marian,\" said he, \"were I\"----\n\n\"Never!\" she replied, interrupting him; but a sudden heaving of the\nbreast showed the anguish that one hopeless word cost her.\n\nStephen was in the chamber, still hurrying to and fro, too fully\nabsorbed in his own abstractions to understand or attend to what was\npassing.\n\n\"And wherefore?\" inquired the cavalier, with some surprise.\n\n\"Wherefore? Ask your own nature and condition; your pride of station,\nwhich I have but lately known; your better reason, why; and see if it\nwere either wise or fitting that one like yourself--though of your\nprecise condition I am yet ignorant--should wive with the daughter of\na poor but honest tapster. Suffer this plainness; I might be your\nbauble to-day, and your chain to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Thou dost wrong me!\" said the cavalier; and he took her hand\ntenderly, almost unresistingly, for a moment. \"I would wear thee as my\nheart's best jewel, and inlay thee in its shrine. It is but fitting\nthat the life thou hast preserved should be rendered unto thee.\"\n\n\"Nay, sir,\" said she, withdrawing her hand, \"my pride forbids it; ay,\npride! equal, if not superior to your own. I would not be the wife of\na prince on these terms; nor on any other. 'Be not unequally yoked.'\nWill not this wholesome precept hold even in a carnal and worldly\nsense? I would not endure the feeling of inferiority, even from a\nhusband. 'Twould but be servitude the more galling, because I could\nneither persuade myself into an equality, nor rid me of the chain.\"\n\n\"Thou dost reason wondrously, maiden. 'Tis an easy conquest, when\nneither passion nor affection oppose our judgment; when the feelings\nare too cold to kindle even at the spark which the Deity himself hath\nlighted for our solace and our blessing in this valley of tears.\"\n\n\"Mine!--Oh! say not they are too cold, too slow to kindle. They are\ntoo easily roused, too ardent, too soon bent before an earthly idol;\nbut\"--here she laid her hand on his arm--\"but the right hand must be\ncut off, the right eye plucked out. I would not again be their slave,\nunder the tyranny and dominion of these elements of our fallen nature,\nfor all the pomps and vanities which they would purchase. There be\nmightier obstacles than those of expediency, as thou dost well\nimagine, to thy suit; but these are neither coldness nor\nindifference.\" Here her voice faltered with emotion, and her heart\nrose, rebelling against her own inflexible purpose, in that keen, that\noverwhelming anguish of the spirit. She soon regained her composure,\nas she uttered firmly: \"They are--my altar and my faith!\"\n\nEgerton felt as though a sudden stroke had separated them for ever--as\nthough it were the last look of some beloved thing just wrenched from\nhis grasp. This very feeling, had none other prompted, made him more\nanxious for its recovery; and he would have urged his suit with all\nthe energy of a reckless desperation, but the maiden firmly resisted.\n\n\"Urge me not again: not all the inducements I trust that even thou\ncouldest offer would make me forget my fealty! No more--I hear thee\nnot. The tempter I know hath too many allies within the\ncitadel--worldly vanities and unsubdued affections--to suffer me to\nparley with the traitors and listen to their unholy suggestions. Again\nI say, I hear thee not.\"\n\nFinding it was in vain, he forbore to persecute her further; and after\nhaving merely tasted of the cordial, and partaken of a slight\nrefreshment, he listlessly inquired if the term of his imprisonment\nwould soon expire.\n\n\"Tarry here for a season, until the heat and energy of the pursuit be\noverpast, or at least abated. We could not find a more fitting place\nof concealment.\"\n\n\"Being straitened for moneys until we can obtain succour from our\nfriends, I cannot reward your hospitality as I would desire; but if we\nare brought forth and delivered safely from this thrall, thy father's\nhouse shall not be forgotten.\"\n\n\"We will not touch the least of all thy gifts,\" said the maiden:\n\"forbid that we sold our succour to the distressed, though it were to\nthe most cruel and bitter of our enemies!\"\n\nA sudden thought excited this noble-hearted female. She cautiously\napproached her companion, who, having discontinued his perambulations,\nhad seated himself in a corner, awaiting the termination of their\ninterview. Knowing that he had generally a hoard of moneys about his\nperson--for covetousness was ever his besetting sin--she ventured to\nsolicit a loan, either for herself or the stranger, judging that\nEgerton's escape would be much impeded, if, as he had just confessed,\nhis finances were hardly sufficient for his ordinary expenditure.\n\n\"And so I must give my blood and my groats to nourish thy sweethearts,\nwench,\" said the surly money-lender. \"I have saved this prelatist and\nmalignant from his adversaries, and now\"----He considered a while,\nmuttering his thoughts and arguments to himself with a most confused\nand volatile impetuosity of ratiocination. In a short time he seemed\nto arrive at some satisfactory conclusion through all this obscurity,\nand drew out a handful of coin, of some low denomination, apparently\nby the sound, and placed it in the hands of his fair suitor.\n\n\"There--there--one, two, three. Never mind, wench; I could have\ncounted 'em once with the best clerkman i' the parish; and for the\nmatter of that, I've told 'em oft enough, though,--but the count\nalways seems to slip from me. It is all I have, save the price of my\nlife; and I would not part with that for a world's worth; for what\nshould it profit me, when with it I had bought my grave?\"\n\nMarian immediately transferred the long-hoarded treasure into the\nhands of the cavalier.\n\n\"Thanks; yea, better than these, for they were a poor recompense, my\npeerless maiden. I scruple not to receive this loan at thine hands,\nbecause it is part of the means thou dost employ for my escape. Yet\ndoubt not of my willingness and ability to repay thee tenfold. Thou\nwilt not deny me this silly suit.\"\n\nAs he said this, he, with the greatest gallantry and devotedness,\nkissed the hand held forth to supply his exigency. He was accompanying\nthe movement with some fair and courtly speech when a loud and\nterrible cry startled him. It was more like the howl of some ravenous\nbeast than any sound which human organs ever uttered. Curses\nfollowed--horrible, untold--the suggestion of fiends in their\nbitterness and malignity. Then came the cry, or rather shriek--\n\n\"Lost! lost!\" at irregular intervals.\n\nThe cavalier and his companion were much alarmed by this unexpected\noccurrence. They doubted not that the foul fiend was before them,\nbodily, in the form of this poor maniac. After a short interval of\nsilence, he cried, approaching them fiercely--\n\n\"Ye have sold me, soul and body, to the wicked one. May curses long\nand heavy light on ye! The coin! the coin! Oh, that accursed thing! I\nhave bought thy grave, stranger; and my day of hope is past!\"\n\nThe latter part of the speech was uttered in a tone of such deep and\nheartrending misery that pity arose in place of terror in the bosom\nof his auditors. Marian ventured to address him, hoping she might\nassuage or dissipate the fearful hallucination under which he\nlaboured.\n\n\"There is yet hope for the repenting sinner. The hour of life is the\nhour of grace: for that, and that only, is life prolonged. Turn to Him\nfrom whom thou hast backslidden, nor add unto thy crime by wilfully\nrejecting the free offers of His mercy.\"\n\n\"Mercy!--Life!\" Here he laughed outright. \"Hearest thou not my\ntormentor?--Life!--I am dead, wench; and my grave is waiting for me,\ndug by these accursed fingers. That grave I digged for thee is now\nmine. Unwittingly have I bought it, and the coin is in thy purse!\"\n\nIt seems the poor maniac, in replacing the mysterious coin to which,\nfrom some cause or other, he attached such importance, had\nunthinkingly added it to the common hoard, and in this manner conveyed\nit to the stranger, whose grave he persisted he had bought by this\ntransfer; and nothing could shake his belief in so marvellous a\nconclusion.\n\nThe cavalier attempted to comfort him; and in order to make the\ndelusion subservient to the removal of its terrors, he offered to\nrestore the coin, or even the whole of what he had received, that the\nsimple gravedigger might be certain he had it in possession.\n\n\"'Tis needless; the token, once from my grasp and in the fingers of\nanother whose grave I have digged, would never change my doom by its\nreturn. Keep what thou hast; and may it serve thee more faithfully\nthan it hath served me! But remember--let me say it while my senses\nhold together, for I feel the blast coming that shall scatter them to\nthe four winds--remember, if thou part therefrom, as I have done, to\nsome doomed one, thou shalt go to the grave in his stead. But a\ncharmed life is thine as long as it is in thy possession. Away--leave\nme--the master will be here presently for his own. Leave me, I say;\nfor when the fiend cometh, he'll not tarry. But be sure you make fast\nthe door, lest I escape, and mischief happen, should I get abroad.\"\n\n\"Stephen!\" said Marian, \"slight not the mercy of thy God, nor\ndishonour His name, by hearkening to the suggestions of the enemy. His\narm is not shortened, nor His ear heavy.\"\n\n\"I know it; but when the fiend came, and found the house swept and\ngarnished, did he not take unto himself seven other spirits more\nwicked than himself, and was not the latter end of that man worse than\nthe first?\"\n\n\"Yet,\" said Marian, \"would he have been delivered if he had cried out\nto the strong man armed.\"\n\n\"But he would hear no refutation, persisting in the thought that his\ncrime was unpardonable, since he had relapsed after the devil was cast\nout.\" During the present paroxysm, it was in vain to thwart him\nfurther; indeed their stay was attended with some hazard, of which, it\nseems, he felt aware, inasmuch as he drove them forth without\nceremony. Availing themselves of his suggestion they bolted the door\non the outside, thus preventing any further mischief. Here was a\nperplexing and unforeseen dilemma; and how to dispose of the cavalier\nwas a question of no slight importance. At present the only\nalternative was to convey him to his fellow-traveller, Chisenhall,\nwho, comfortably established in his narrow loft, was quite unconscious\nof the events that were passing so near him.\n\nAs they left the cemetery they heard the groans and cries of the\nunfortunate victim, suffering, as he imagined, from the resistless\npower of his tormentor.\n\nEarly, with the early dawn, Marian again sought the dwelling of Gilgal\nSnape. She earnestly entreated him that he would make all speed to the\nchapel--again exercising his peculiar gift in \"binding the strong man\narmed,\" or, in other words, dispossessing the demoniac.\n\nThe benevolent divine instantly accompanied her, and forthwith\nproceeded to the relief of the possessed. Howls and shrieks accosted\nhim as he ascended the stair.\n\n\"I must be alone,\" said he; \"no earthly witness may be nigh. Strong in\nfaith, by the grace that is given me, I doubt not that this also thou\nwilt vouchsafe to thine unworthy dust,\"--he raised his eyes toward\nHeaven;--\"yet should I fail, He will not let me be overcome, nor fall\ninto the snare of the wicked one; for I know, and am assured, that\nthis trial shall turn out to the furtherance of His glory!\"\n\nMarian left him at the entrance. But, with the minister's appearance\nin the chamber, the agony of the deluded sufferer seemed to quicken,\nas if the sight of him who was the herald of mercy only added fresh\nfuel to his torments. Marian was fain to depart; her ears almost\nstunned with the cries and howlings of the demoniac. She withdrew in\ngreat agitation, her knees almost sinking under their burden. Hardly\nconscious of the removal, she reached her own chamber, where, covering\nher face with both hands, she wept bitterly. This outburst of tears\nrelieved her; though she still suffered from the recent excitement.\nHer former resolutions were strengthened by the terrible example she\nhad just witnessed; and the backsliding impenitent she looked upon as\na watchlight to warn her from the rocks whereon he had made shipwreck.\n\nSome hours passed on, but no tidings came from the \"abbey.\" She often\nlooked out across the path, and towards the stile which led to the\nruins; but all was undisturbed. The sun shining down, bright and\nunclouded, all was harmony and peace--\"all, save the spirit of man,\nwas divine\"--all fulfilling their Maker's ordinances, and his behest.\n\nThe sun was creeping down towards the dark low tower of the chapel;\nand Marian was still at the door, gazing out anxiously for\nintelligence. She saw a figure mounting the stile. It was--she could\nnot be mistaken--it was the reverend and easily-recognised form of\nGilgal Snape. She ran down the path to meet him; and she could not\nhelp noticing that he looked more sedate than usual, appearing\nharassed and disquieted, betraying more obviously the approach of age\nand infirmities.\n\n\"Have you wrestled with the adversary and prevailed?\" inquired she,\nanxiously.\n\n\"I have had a fearful and a perilous struggle. The fight was long;\nbut, by the sword of the Spirit, I _have_ prevailed.\"\n\n\"Has the backslider been brought again to the fold?\"\n\n\"He hath, I trust, been found of the Good Shepherd; and he now\nsleepeth in Abraham's bosom!\"\n\n\"Dead! Hath the grave so soon demanded its prey?\"\n\n\"I left him not until the spirit was rendered unto Him who gave it. He\nentreated me sore that I would not leave him until I had watched his\ndismissal from the body.\"\n\n\"Then do I know of a surety that the evil spirit was cast out, and the\nlost one restored.\"\n\n\"There was joy in heaven over a repentant sinner this day. When the\ndark foe was vanquished, his spirit came again as a little child, and\nthe leprosy of his sin was healed. Verily, the evil one, ere he was\noverthrown, did utter many strange words touching things to come, and\nour present perplexities. There seemed to be a spirit of divination\nwithin him which did prophesy. Marian,\" continued the divine, with a\nscrutinising look, \"he did tell of thy dealing with our enemies, and\nthat thou dost even now nourish and conceal those of whom we are in\nsearch.\"\n\n\"If thine enemy hunger\"----But Marian was hastily interrupted in her\nplea.\n\n\"But of the secrets which, by virtue of mine office and godly\nvocation, men do entrust to my safe keeping, I may not use, even to\nthe hurt of our enemies and the welfare of the Church, yet buffeted by\nSatan in the wilderness. Nevertheless, I was sore troubled that thou,\neven thou, shouldest harbour and abet these wicked men, who have\nbroken the covenant and plucked up the seed of the kingdom. Truly, I\nwot not where the afflicted Church shall find succour when her foes be\nthey of her own household.\"\n\n\"I knew not that they were enemies when first they sought our\nhabitation. They had eaten and drunken at our board, and the\"----\n\n\"These sons of Belial found favour in thy sight, even the chief\ncaptain of the king's host. I would not accuse or blame thee rashly;\nbut verily thou hast not judged wisely in this matter, for now must\nthey depart, inasmuch as I cannot use, even to the advantage of our\njust cause, the knowledge I have gained; nor wilt thou render them up,\nI trow; but mark me, the avenger of blood is behind them, and though\nthe city of refuge be nigh, they shall not escape!----Yet there be\nother marvels this wicked one did set forth,\" said the minister, with\na searching eye directed to the maiden. \"One of these uncircumcised\nPhilistines did woo thee for his bride. What answer gavest thou?\"\n\n\"Such answer as becometh one who seeketh not fellowship with the works\nof darkness.\"\n\n\"'Tis well. Now lead me to this Joab the son of Zeruiah, this captain\nof the king's host; for I have a message unto him also.\"\n\nFollowing the astonished and trembling maiden, the divine, fraught\nwith some weighty commission, was admitted into the temporary\nconcealment of the fugitives. It was a narrow and inconvenient loft\nabove one of the outbuildings--the roof so low that it was only in\nsome places the upright figure of the minister might be sustained. The\nlight penetrated through an aperture in the roof, showing the guests\nwithin seated, and enjoying a frugal, but sufficient repast.\n\n\"I am one of few words,\" said the divine, \"and so much the rather as\nthat I now stand in the presence of mine enemies. What sayest thou,\nPrince Rupert, the persecutor of God's heritage, who didst not stay\nthine hand from the slaughter even of them that were taken captive?\nWhat sayest thou that the word should not go forth to kill and slay,\neven as thou didst smite and not spare, but didst destroy utterly them\nwho, when beleaguered by thine armies in Bolton, were delivered into\nthine hand?\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said the Prince; \"thou--a cockatrice to betray me!\"\n\n\"She hath not betrayed thee. Yonder poor and afflicted sinner, when in\nbondage unto Satan, led captive by him at his will, did reveal it by\nthe spirit of prophecy that was in him. But we take not advantage of\nthis to thine hurt; we may not use the devil's works for the building\nup and welfare of the Church, even though she were mightily holpen\nthereby. But listen: thou hast wooed this maiden to be the wife of thy\nbosom. In the dark roll of destiny it is written--so spake the unclean\nspirit--that if thou shouldest wed, a son springing from thy loins\nshall sit upon the throne of this unhappy realm. He shall govern the\npeople righteously, every one under his own vine and his own fig-tree,\nnone daring to make them afraid. Surely it would not be a vain and an\nevil thing should the maiden be----Yet--this is my temptation. Get\nthee behind me, Satan. May the thought and the folly of my heart be\nforgiven me! No! proud and cruel persecutor, this maiden is a pearl of\nrare price which thou shalt not win--a chosen one who hath had grace\ngiven unto her above measure, even above that vouchsafed unto me. I do\nloathe and abhor myself for the iniquity of my heart, and the\nunsubdued carnality of my spirit.\"\n\n\"Your Highness had need of great meekness and patience to endure this\ngrievous outpouring,\" said Chisenhall to the silent and bewildered\nPrince. \"Shall I thrust him through, and make sure of his fidelity?\"\n\n\"Hurt him not,\" said his Highness to this effectual admonisher unto\nsecrecy. \"And what if I should not wed?\" continued he, addressing the\ndivine, and at the same time looking tenderly on the damsel.\n\n\"To this point too was the prophecy accordant. The sceptre shall\nnevertheless be given to one of thy race; thy sister's son shall carry\ndown the line of kings to this people; and the Lord's work shall still\nprosper. Now, daughter of many prayers--for I have yearned over thee\nwith more than a father's love--choose thee without constraint this\nday. Thou hearest the words of this prophecy: wilt thou be the mother\nof kings, or the lowly and despised follower of God's heritage?\"\n\n\"I will not grasp the bubble of ambition. It bursts--a hollow vapour\nwhen possessed. Let me choose rather to suffer affliction with the\npeople of God than obtain all the treasures of Egypt. But tempt me not\nagain, for my soul cleaveth to the dust--flesh and blood shrink from\nthe trial!\"\n\nShe sobbed aloud, and threw herself on the old man's neck, who\nscarcely refrained from joining in her tears.\n\n\"Thou hast come forth as gold from the furnace--thou hast kept the\nfaith, and holden fast thy profession,\" said the divine, with a glance\nof triumph. Marian held out her hand to the Prince, who grasped it\nwith fervour. She seemed more like to some holy and heavenward thing\nthan a denizen of this polluted earth--more like a type of the\nconfessors and martyrs of the primitive church than a disciple of our\nown, nurtured in the lap of carnal security, with little show of\neither zeal or devotion.\n\n\"Your Highness must depart--but whither?\" said she, with an anxious\nand inquiring glance directed to the minister.\n\n\"Take no thought for their safety; thy constancy hath earned their\ndeliverance. My safe-conduct will carry them unharmed beyond the reach\nof their enemies; but let them not return. It is at their own peril if\nthey be found again harboured in this vicinage, and their blood be on\ntheir own heads!\"\n\nThey departed, and the subsequent history of the gallant Rupert is\nwell known. He joined the king at Oxford, and helped him to retrieve\nhis defeat at Newbury, bringing off his artillery left at Dunnington\nCastle in the very face of the enemy. At the decisive Battle of Naseby\nwe find him performing feats of extraordinary valour; but, as before,\nhis headlong and precipitate fury led him into the usual error; and\nthough the loss of the battle was not to be attributed entirely to his\nimprudence, yet a little more caution would have altered materially\nthe results of that memorable conflict. Harassed and dispirited, he\nthrew himself with the remainder of his troops into Bristol, intending\nto defend it to the last extremity; but even here his constitutional\nfortitude and valour seemed to forsake him: a poorer defence was not\nmade by any town during the whole war, and the general expectations\nwere extremely disappointed. No sooner had the Parliamentary forces\nentered the lines by storm, than the Prince capitulated, and\nsurrendered the place to General Fairfax. A few days before, he had\nwritten a letter to the King, in which he undertook to defend it for\nfour months, if no mutiny obliged him to surrender it. Charles, who\nwas forming schemes and collecting forces for the relief of the city,\nwas astonished at so unexpected an event, which was little less fatal\nto his cause than the defeat at Naseby. Full of indignation, he\ninstantly recalled all Prince Rupert's commissions, and sent him a\npass to go beyond sea.\n\nSeveral years afterwards we find him in command of a squadron of\nships, entrusted to him by Charles II, when an exile in Normandy.\nAdmiral Blake received orders from the Parliament to pursue him.\nRupert, being much inferior in force, took shelter in Kinsale, and\nescaping thence, fled toward the coast of Portugal. Blake pursued and\nchased him into the Tagus, where he intended to attack him; but the\nKing of Portugal, moved by the favour which throughout Europe attended\nthe royal cause, refused Blake admission, and aided the Prince in\nmaking his escape. Having lost the greater part of his fleet off the\ncoast of Spain, he made sail towards the West Indies; but his brother,\nPrince Maurice, was there shipwrecked in a hurricane. Everywhere his\nsquadron subsisted by privateering, sometimes on English, sometimes on\nSpanish, vessels. Rupert at last returned to France, where he disposed\nof the remnants of his fleet, together with his prizes.\n\nHe was never married; peradventure the remembrance of the noble and\nheroic maiden marred his wiving; he cared not for the presence of\nthose courtly dames by whom he was surrounded, though a soldier, and a\nbrave one. By one of his race the crown of these realms was inherited;\nand the same line is yet perpetuated in the person of our gracious\nmonarch, whom God preserve! The sister of Rupert, Princess Sophia, by\nmarriage with the Elector of Hanover, became the mother of George I.;\nand thus was that singular prediction of the supposed demoniac\nstrangely and happily verified. Of Marian little remains to be told;\nthe lives of the virtuous and well-doing furnish little matter for the\nhistorian; their deeds are not of this world; the bright page of their\nhistory is unfolded only in the next.\n\n     [8] Hume.\n\n     [9] Clarendon.\n\n     [10] Hume.\n\n\n[Illustration: CLEGG HALL, NEAR ROCHDALE.\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._\n_Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\n\n\nCLEGG HALL.\n\n       \"Is there no exorcist\n     Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?\n     Is't real that I see?\"\n                      --SHAKESPEARE.\n\nClegg Hall, about two miles N.E. from Rochdale, is still celebrated\nfor the freaks and visitations of a supernatural guest, called\n\"Clegg-Hall Boggart.\"\n\nSo desultory and various are the accounts we have heard, and many of\nthem so vague and unintelligible, that it has been a work of much\ndifficulty to weave them into one continuous narrative, and to shape\nthem into a plot sufficiently interesting for our purpose. The name\nand character of \"Noman\" are still the subject of many an absurd and\nmarvellous story among the country chroniclers in that region.\n\nDr Whitaker says it is \"the only estate within the parish which still\ncontinues in the local family name.\" On this site was the old house\nbuilt by Bernulf de Clegg and Quenilda his wife as early as the reign\nof Stephen. Not a vestige of it remains. The present comparatively\nmodern erection was built by Theophilus Ashton of Rochdale, a lawyer,\nand one of the Ashtons of Little Clegg, about the year 1620.\n\nStubley Hall, mentioned in our tale, was built by Robert Holt in the\nreign of Henry VIII. The decay of our native woods had then occasioned\na pretty general disuse of timber for the framework of dwelling-houses\nbelonging to this class of our domestic architecture. Dr Whitaker\nsays--\"It is the first specimen in the parish of a stone or brick\nhall-house of the second order--that is, with a centre and two wings\nonly. Long before the Holts, appear at this place a Nicholas and a\nJohn de Stubley, in the years 1322 and 1332; then follow in succession\nJohn, Geoffrey, Robert, and Christopher Holt; from whom descended,\nthough not in a direct line, Robert Holt of Castleton and Stubley,\nwhose daughter, Dorothy, married in the year 1649, John Entwisle of\nFoxholes. Robert, who built Stubley, and who was grandson of\nChristopher Holt before mentioned, was a justice of the peace in the\nyear 1528. In an old visitation of Lancashire by Thomas Tong, Norroy,\n30 Hen. VIII., is this singular entry:--\"Robarde Holte of Stubley,\nhase mar. an ould woman, by whom he hase none issewe, and therefore he\nwolde not have her name entryed.\" Yet it appears he had a daughter,\nMary, who married Charles Holt, her cousin, descended from the first\nRobert. Her grandson was the Robert Holt, father to Dorothy Entwisle\nbefore-named, at whose marriage the events took place which, if the\nfollowing tradition is to be credited, were the forerunners of a more\nstrange and unexpected development.\n\nIn the year 1640, nine years before the date of our story, Robert Holt\nabandoned Stubley for the warmer and more fertile situation of\nCastleton, about a mile south from Rochdale. It was so named from the\n_castellum de Recedham_, wherein dwelt Gamel, the Saxon Thane; which\nplace and personage are described in our first series of _Traditions_.\nCastleton was principally abbey-land belonging to the house of\nStanlaw. Part of this township, the hamlet of Marland or Mereland,\nwas, at the dissolution of monasteries, granted to the Radcliffs of\nLangley, and sold by Henry Radcliff to Charles Holt, who married his\ncousin, Mary Holt of Stubley, and was grandfather to Robert, who left\nStubley for this place, which we have noticed above.\n\nStubley, with its neighbourhood, was always noted for good ale. From\nits situation, exposed to all the rigours of that hilly region, the\nclimate was reckoned so cold as to require that their daily beverage\nshould be of sufficient strength to counteract its effects. That\nhabits of intemperance would be contracted from the constant use of\nsuch stimuli may easily be inferred. The following letter from\nNicholas Stratford, Bishop of Chester, to James Holt of Castleton, son\nof Robert Holt before-named, is but too melancholy a confirmation of\nthis inference.\n\nThe original is in the possession of the Rev. J. Clowes of Broughton\nHall:--\n\n\n     \"SIR,--Your request in behalf of Mr Halliwell was easily\n     granted; for I am myself inclined to give the best encouragement\n     I can to the poor curates, as long as they continue diligent in\n     the discharge of their duty. But I have now, Sir, a request to\n     make to you, which I heartily pray you may as readily grant me;\n     and that is, that you will for the future abandon and abhor the\n     sottish vice of drunkenness, which (if common fame be not a\n     great liar) you are much addicted to. I beseech you, Sir,\n     frequently and seriously to consider the many dismal fruits and\n     consequences of this sin, even in this world--how destructive it\n     is to all your most valuable concerns and interests; how it\n     blasts your reputation, destroys your health, and will (if\n     continued) bring you to a speedy and untimely death: and, which\n     is infinitely more dreadful, will exclude you from the kingdom\n     of heaven, and expose you to that everlasting fire where you\n     will not be able to obtain so much as one drop of water to cool\n     your tongue. I have not leisure to proceed in this argum^t, nor\n     is it needful that I should, because you yourself can enlarge\n     upon it without my ... I assure you, S^r, this advice now given\n     you proceeds from sincere love and my earnest desire to promote\n     your happiness both in this world and the next; and I hope you\n     will be pleased so to accept from,\n\n\n     \"S^r,\n     \"Your affectionate friend\n     \"and humble servant,\n     \"N. CESTRIENS.\n\n     \"CHESTER, _Nov. 1699_.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nClegg Hall, after many changes of occupants, is now in part used as a\ncountry alehouse; other portions are inhabited by the labouring\nclasses who find employment in that populous and manufacturing\ndistrict. It is the properpty of Joseph Fenton, Esq., of Bamford Hall,\nby purchase from John Entwisle, Esq., the present possessor of\nFoxholes, in that neighbourhood.\n\n\nTo Clegg Hall, or rather what was once the site of that ancient house,\ntradition points through the dim vista of past ages as the scene of an\nunnatural and cruel tragedy. Not that this picturesque and stately\npile, with its gable and zigzag terminations, the subject of our\npresent engraving, was the very place where the murder was\nperpetrated; but a low, dark, and wooden-walled tenement, such as our\nforefathers were wont to construct in times anterior to the Tudor\nages. The present building, with its little porch, quaint and\ngrotesque, its balustrade and balcony above, and the points and\npediments on the four sides, are evidently the coinage of some more\nmodern brain--peradventure in King James's days. Not unlike the\ncharacter of that learned monarch and of his times, half-classical,\nhalf-barbarous, it combines the puerilities of each, without the power\nand grandeur of the one, or the rich and chivalric magnificence of the\nother; and might remind the beholder of some gaunt warrior of the\nMiddle Ages, with lance, and armour, and \"ladye-love,\" stalking forth,\nclad in the Roman toga or the stately garb of the senator. The\nbuilding, the subject of our tale, has neither the gorgeous\nextravagance of the Gothic nor the severe and stern utility of the\nRoman architecture. Little bits of columns, dwarf-like, and frittered\ndown into mere extremities, give the porch very much the appearance of\na child's plaything, or a Dutch toy stuck to its side.\n\nIt has the very air and attitude--the pedantic formalities--of the\ntime when it was built. Not so the house on whose ruins it was\nerected; the square, low, dark mansion, constructed of wood, heavy and\ngigantic, shaped like the hull of some great ship, the ribs and\ntimbers being first fixed, and the interstices afterwards filled with\na compost of clay and chopped straw, to keep out the weather. Of such\nrude and primitive architecture were the dwellings of the English\ngentry in former ages: such was the house built by Bernulf and\nQuenilda Clegg, in the reign of Stephen, the supposed scene of that\nhorrible deed which gave rise to the stories yet extant relating to\n\"Clegg-Hall Boggart.\" Popular story is not precise, generally, as to\nfacts and dates. The exact time when this occurrence took place we\nknow not; but it is more than probable that some dark transaction of\nthis nature was here perpetrated. The prevailing tradition warrants\nour belief. However fanciful and extravagant the filling up of the\npicture, common rumour still preserves untouched the general outline.\nIt is said that, sometime about the thirteenth or fourteenth century,\na wicked uncle destroyed the lawful heirs of this goodly\npossession--two orphan children that were left to his care--by\nthrowing them over a balcony into the moat, that he might seize on the\ninheritance. Such is the story which, to this day, retains its hold on\nthe popular mind; and ever after, it is said, the house was the\nreputed haunt of a troubled and angry spirit, until means were taken\nfor its removal, or rather its expulsion. But upon the inhuman deed\nitself we shall not dilate, inasmuch as the period is too remote, and\nthe events are too vague, for our purpose.\n\nThe house built by Bernulf Clegg had passed, with many alterations and\nrenewals, into the possession of the Ashtons of Little Clegg. About\nthe year 1620 the present edifice was built by Theophilus Ashton; and\nthirty years had scarcely elapsed from its erection to the date of our\nstory. Though the original dwelling had, with one or two exceptions,\nbeen pulled down, yet symptoms of \"the boggart\" were still manifest in\nthe occasional visitations and annoyances to which the inmates were\nsubject.\n\nThe hues of evening were spread out, like a rich tapestry, above and\nbehind the long unpicturesque line of hills, the lower acclivities of\nBlackstonedge, opposite to the stately mansion of Clegg Hall. The\nsquare squat tower of Rochdale Church peered out from the dark trees,\nhigh on its dim eyrie, in the distance, towards the south-west, below\nwhich a wan hazy smoke indicated the site of that thriving and\npopulous town. To the right, the heavy blue ridge of mountains,\nbearing the appropriate name of Blackstonedge, had not yet put on its\ncold, grey, neutral tint; but the mass appeared to rise abruptly from\nthe green enclosures stretching to its base, in strong and beautiful\ncontrast of colour, such as painters love to express on the mimic\ncanvas. It was a lovely evening in October; one of Nature's parting\nsmiles, ere she envelops herself in the horrors and the gloom of\nwinter. So soft and balmy was the season that the wild flowers\nlingered longer than usual in the woods and copses where they dwelt.\nIn the gardens some of the spring blossoms had already unfolded. The\nwallflowers and polyanthuses had looked out again, unhesitatingly, on\nthe genial sky--deprived, by sophistication and culture, of the\ninstincts necessary to their preservation: the wild untutored denizens\nof the field and the quiet woods rarely betray such lack of\npresentiment. But such are everywhere the results of civilisation;\nwhich, however beneficial to society in the aggregate, gives its\nobjects altogether an artificial character, and, by depriving them of\ntheir natural and proper instincts, renders them helpless when single\nand unaided; while it makes them more dependent upon each other, and\non the factitious wants, the offspring of those very habits and\nconditions into which they are thrown.\n\nOn the hollow trunk of a decrepit ash the ivy was blossoming\nprofusely, gathering its support from the frail prop which it was\nfated to destroy. The insects were humming and frolicking about on\ntheir tiny wings, taking their last enjoyment of their little day, ere\nthey gave place to the ephemera of the next.\n\n\"How merry and jocund every life-gifted thing looks forth on this our\nfestival. It might be Nature holding high jubilee in honour of Holt's\ndaughter on her wedding-night!\"\n\nThus spake Nicholas Haworth to his sister Alice, as they stepped forth\nfrom the hall porch, and stayed for a moment by this aged trunk to\nadmire the scene that was fast losing its glory and its brightness.\nThey were bidden to the marriage-supper at Stubley, where a masqued\nball was to be given after the nuptials of Dorothy Holt, the daughter\nof its possessor, with Entwisle, the heir of Foxholes.[11]\n\n\"It may be holiday and gladness too; but I feel it not,\" said Alice\npensively, as she leaned on her brother's arm, while they turned into\na narrow lane overarched by irregular groups of beech and sycamore\ntrees.\n\n\"Heed not such idle fancies,\" said her brother. \"And so, because,\nforsooth, an impudent beggar-man predicts some strange event that must\nshortly befall thee, the apprehension doth cast its shadow ere it\ncome, and thou art ready to conjure up some grim spectre in the gloom\nit hath created. But, in good sooth, here comes the wizard himself who\nhath raised these melancholic and evil humours.\"\n\n\"I never pass him without a shudder,\" said she, at the same time\ncringing closely to her protector.\n\nThis awful personage was one of an ancient class, now probably\nextinct; a sort of privileged order, supplying, or rather usurping,\nthe place of the mendicant friars of former days. Their vocation was\nnot of an unprofitable kind, inasmuch as alms were commonly rendered,\nthough more from fear than favour. Woe betide the unlucky housewife\nwho withheld her dole, her modicum of meal or money to these sturdy\napplicants! Mischief from some invisible hand was sure to follow, and\nthe cause was laid to her lack of charity.\n\nThe being, the subject of these remarks, had been for many months a\nperiodical visitor at the Hall, where he went by the name of \"Noman.\"\nIt is not a little remarkable that tradition should here point out an\nadventure something analogous to that of Ulysses with the Cyclop as\nonce happening to this obscure individual, and that his escape was\nowing to the same absurd equivoque by which the Grecian chief escaped\nfrom his tormentor. Our tale, however, hath reference to weightier\nmatters, and the brief space we possess permits no further digression.\nThis aged but hale and sturdy beggar wore a grey frieze coat or cloak\nloosely about his person. Long blue stocking gaiters, well patched and\ndarned, came over his knee, while his doublet and hosen, or body-gear,\nwere fastened together by the primitive attachment of wooden\nskewers--a contrivance now obsolete, being superseded by others more\nelegant and seemly. A woollen cap or bonnet, of unparalleled form and\ndimensions, was disposed upon his head, hiding the upper part of his\nface, and almost covering a pair of bushy grey eyebrows, that, in\ntheir turn, crouched over a quick and vagrant eye, little the worse\nfor the wear of probably some sixty years. A grizzled reddish beard\nhung upon his breast; and his aspect altogether was forbidding, almost\nferocious. A well-plenished satchel was on his shoulder; and he walked\nslowly and erect, as though little disposed to make way for his\nbetters in the narrow path, where they must inevitably meet. When they\ncame nearer he stood still in the middle of the road, as though\ninclined to dispute their passage. His tall and well-proportioned\nfigure, apparent even beneath these grotesque habiliments, stood out\nbefore them in bold relief against the red and burning sky, where an\nopening in the lane admitted all the glow and fervour of the western\nsunset. His strange, wayward, and even mysterious character was no bar\nto his admittance into the mansions of the gentry through a wide\ncircuit of country, where his familiarities were tolerated, or perhaps\nconnived at, even by many whose gifts he received more as a right than\nas an obligation.\n\nHe looked steadfastly on them as they approached, but without the\nslightest show either of respect or good-will.\n\n\"Prithee, stand a little on one side, that we may pass by without fear\nof offence,\" said Nicholas Haworth, good-humouredly.\n\n\"And whither away, young master and my dainty miss?\" was the reply, in\nhis usual easy and familiar address, such as might have suited one of\nrank and condition.\n\nHaworth, little disturbed thereat, said with a careless\nsmile,--\"Troth, thou hast not been so long away but thou mightest have\nheard of the wedding-feast to-night, and, peradventure, been foremost\nfor the crumbs of the banquet.\"\n\n\"I know well there's mumming and foolery a-going on yonder; and I\nsuppose ye join the merry-making, as they call it?\"\n\n\"Ay, that do we; and so, prithee, begone.\"\n\n\"And your masks will ne'er be the wiser for't, I trow,\" said the\nbeggar, looking curiously upon them from beneath his penthouse lids.\n\n\"But that I could laugh at his impertinence, Alice, I would even now\nchide him soundly, and send his pitiful carcase to the stocks for this\npresumption. Hark thee, I do offer good counsel when I warn thee to\nshift thyself, and that speedily, ere I use the readiest means for thy\nremoval.\"\n\n\"Gramercy, brave ruffler; but I must e'en gi'e ye the path; an' so\npass on to the masking, my Lord Essex and his maiden queen.\"\n\nHe said this with a cunning look and a chuckle of self-gratulation at\nthe knowledge he had somehow or other acquired of the parts they were\nintended to enact.\n\n\"Foul fa' thy busy tongue, where foundest thou this news? I've a\nmonth's mind to change my part, Alice, but that there's neither\nleisure nor opportunity, and they lack our presence at the nuptials.\"\n\n\"How came he by this knowledge, and the fashion of our masks?\"\ninquired Alice from her brother. \"Truly, I could join belief with\nthose who say that he obtained it not through the ordinary channels\nopen to our frail and fallible intellects.\"\n\nMistress Alice, \"the gentle Alice,\" was reckoned fair and\nwell-favoured. Strongly tinctured with romance, her superstition was\ncontinually fed by the stories then current in relation to her own\ndwelling, and by the generally-received opinions about witches and\nother supernatural things which yet lingered, loth to depart from\nthese remote limits of civilisation.\n\n\"Clegg-Hall Boggart\" was the type of a notion too general to be\ndisbelieved; yet were the inmates, in all probability, less intimately\nacquainted with the freaks and disturbances attendant thereon than\nevery gossip in the neighbourhood; for, as it frequently happens,\ntales and marvels, for the most part originating through roguery, and\nthe pranks of servants and retainers, were less likely to come to the\nears of the master and his family than those of persons less\ninterested, but more likely to assist in their propagation. The\nvagrant and erratic movements of \"Noman\" were, somehow or another,\nconnected with the marvellous adventures and appearances in the\n\"boggart chamber.\" At the Hall, this discarded room, being part of the\nold house yet remaining, was the one which he was permitted to occupy\nduring his stay; and his appearance was generally the signal of a\nvisit from their supernatural guest. To be sure, the strange sights he\nbeheld rested on his testimony alone; but his word was never\nquestioned, and his coming was of equal potency with the magician's\nwand in raising the ghost.\n\n\"We shall have some news from our troublesome guest, I suppose, in the\nmorning,\" said Alice to her brother, as they went slowly on: \"I know\nnot the cause; but yonder vagrant seems to waken our ancient companion\nfrom his slumbers, either by sympathy or antipathy, I trow.\"\n\n\"For the most part they be idle tales,\" said he; \"though I doubt not,\nin former days, the place was infested by some unquiet spirit. But\nthis good house of ours hath modern stuff too strong upon it. The\nsmell of antiquity alone hath a savour delicate enough for your musty\nghost.\"\n\nAlice pressed his arm slightly as an admonition, at the same time\ngently chiding his unbelief. Thus beguiling the way with pleasant\ndiscourse, they drew nigh to the old house at Stubley, little more\nthan a mile distant from their own dwelling.\n\nThough now resident in his more modern, sheltered, and convenient\nmansion of Castleton, Holt determined that his daughter's wedding\nshould be solemnised in the ancient halls, where Robert Bath, vicar of\nRochdale, who was presented to the living on his marriage with a niece\nof Archbishop Laud, was invited to perform the ceremony;--\"A man,\"\nsays Dr Whitaker, \"of very different principles from his patron; for\nhe complied with all changes but the last, and retained his benefice\ntill August 24, 1662, when he went out on the Bartholomew Act, and\nretired to a small house at Deepleach Hill, near Rochdale, where he\nfrequently preached to a crowded auditory.\"[12]\n\nAs they came nigh, lights were already glancing between the mullions\nof the great hall window, then richly ornamented with painted glass.\nThe guests were loitering about the walks and terraces in the little\ngarden-plots, which in that bleak and chilly region were scantily\nfurnished. In the hall, fitted up with flowers and green holly-wreaths\nfor the occasion, the father of the bride and his intended son-in-law\nwere pacing to and fro in loving discourse; the latter pranked out in\na costly pair of \"petticoat breeches,\" pink and white, of the newest\nfashion, reaching only to the knee. These were ornamented with ribands\nand laces at the two extremities, below which silk stockings,\nglistering like silver, and immense pink shoe-roses, completed his\nnether costume. A silken doublet and waistcoat of rich embroidery,\nover which was a turned-down shirt-collar of point-lace, surmounted\nthe whole.\n\nHis friends and officials were busily employed in arranging matters\nfor the occasion, distributing the wedding-favours, and preparing for\nthe entertainments and festivities that were to follow.\n\nHolt and his son-in-law were exempt from duty, save that of welcoming\nthose that were bidden, upon their arrival.\n\nBefore an oaken screen, beautifully carved with arabesque ornaments\nand armorial bearings,[13] there was a narrow table, covered with a\nwhite cloth, and on it the prayer-book, open at the marriage\nformulary. Four stools were placed for those more immediately\ninterested in the ceremony. Rosemary and bay-leaves, gilt and dipped\nin scented water, were scattered about the marriage-altar in\nlove-knots and many fanciful and ingenious devices. A bride-cup rested\nupon it, in which lay a sprig of gilded rosemary--a relic or semblance\nof the ancient hymeneal torch. Huge tables, groaning with garniture\nfor the approaching feast, were laid round the apartment--room being\nleft in the central floor for all who chose to mingle in the games and\ndances that were expected after supper.\n\nThe company were now assembled, and the ceremony about to commence.\nThe bride, clothed in white, with a veil of costly workmanship thrown\nover her, was led in by her maidens and a train of friends. The\nbridegroom taking her hand, they stood before the altar, and the brief\nbut indissoluble knot was tied. The kiss being given, the happy\nhusband led away his partner into the parlour or guest chamber,\nfollowed by many of those who had witnessed the ceremony. Alice and\nher brother were amongst them; and the bride, perceiving their\nentrance, drew the hand of the maiden within hers, and retained her\nfor a short season by her side.\n\nThe feast was begun; those who were for the mask took but a hasty\nrefreshment, being anxious to proceed into the 'tiring rooms, there to\narray for the more interesting part of the night's revel. In due time\nissued forth from their crowded bowers lords and ladies gay, buffoons,\nmorris-dancers, and the like; gypsies, fortune-tellers, and a medley\nof giddy mummers, into the hall, where the more sedate or more sensual\nwere still carousing after the feast.\n\n\"Room for the masks!\" was the general cry; and the musicians, each\nafter his kind, did pierce and vex the air with such a medley of\ndisquieting sounds that the talkers were fain to cease, and the\ndancers to fall to in good earnest. Alice and her brother were\ndisguised as the cunning beggar had predicted--to wit, as the virgin\nqueen and her unfortunate lover. Masks were often dropping in, so that\nthe hall and adjoining chambers were fully occupied, resounding in\nwild echoes with noise and revelry.\n\nLoud and long was the merriment, increasing even until the roofs rung\nwith the din, and the revellers themselves grew weary of the tumult.\n\nAlice was standing by the oaken screen during a temporary cessation on\nher part from the labours incident to royalty, when there came from\nbehind it a tawny Moor, wearing a rich shawl turban, with a beard of\ncomely aspect. His arms were bare and hung with massive bracelets, and\nhe wore a tight jacket of crimson and gold. His figure was tall and\ncommanding; but his face was concealed by a visor of black crape,\nwhich hindered not his speech from being clearly apprehended, though\nthe sound came forth in a muffled tone, as if feigned for the\noccasion. Immediately there followed an Arabic or Turkish doctor,\nclad in a long dark robe, and his head surmounted by a four-cornered\nfur cap. In one hand he held a glass phial, and a box under his left\narm. Of an erect and majestic stature, he stood for a moment\napparently surveying the scene ere he mingled in the busy crowd. His\nface also was covered with black crape, and through the \"eyelet-holes\"\na bright and burning glance shot forth, hardly repressed by the shadow\nfrom his disguise. Alice, being unattended, shunned these unknown\nintruders, and mingled again with a merry group who were pelting one\nanother with comfits and candied almonds. The stately Elizabeth\nbeckoned to her maidens; but they merely curtsied to their royal\nmistress, without discontinuing their boisterous hilarity. Indeed, the\nmumming hitherto had been more in dress than manners, so little\nrestraint had their outward disguise occasioned, or their behaviour\nbeen altered thereby. The two late comers, however, produced a change.\nIt appeared that their business was to enact a play or cunning device\nfor the amusement of the company who, regarding them with a curious\neye, one by one left off their several sports to gaze upon the\nstrangers.\n\nThe rest were generally known to each other; but whispers and\ninquiries now went round, from which it appeared that the new\nvisitants were strictly concealed, and their presence unexpected.\n\n\"Now, o' my faith,\" said Harry Cheetham, whose skill in dancing and\ndrollery had been conspicuous throughout the evening, \"yon barbarians\nbe come from the Grand Turk, with his kerchief, recruiting for the\nseraglio.\"\n\n\"Out upon thee!\" said a jingling Morisco, enacted by young Hellawell\nof Pike House; \"the Grand Signior loveth not maidens such as ours for\nhis pavilion. They be too frosty to melt, even in Afric's sunny\nclime.\" This was said with a malicious glance at Alice, whose\nqueen-like dignity and haughty bearing had kept many an ardent admirer\nat bay through the evening.\n\n\"Sure the master of the feast hath withheld this precious delectation\nuntil now,\" said Essex; \"for they, doubtless, be of his providing.\"\n\n\"And give promise of more novel but less savoury entertainment,\" said\nHamer of Hamer. But Holt either knew them not, or his look of\nsurprise, not unmixed with curiosity and expectation, showed that he\nwas playing the masker too, without other disguise than his own proper\nfeatures--the kind hospitable face of an honest north-country squire,\nruddy with health and conviviality.\n\nAt the farther end of the hall the bride and her bride-maidens were\nstanding, with the bridegroom at her side, whispering soft gallantries\nin her ear. The strangers, on their entrance, rendered neither token\nnor obeisance, as courtesy required, to the bride and her train, but\nfollowed Alice, who had joined her brother in the merry crowd, now\nwatching the motions of these unexpected visitants. They approached\nwith stately and solemn steps; and, without once deigning to notice\nthe rest of the company, the gaudy Moor bowed himself in a most\ndignified _salaam_ before the queen. Alice, apparently with some\ntrepidation at being thus singled out from the rest, clung to her\nbrother, she hardly knew why.\n\n\"My sublime master, emperor of the world, lord of the sun, and ruler\nof the seven celestial configurations, sendeth his slave unto the most\nhigh and mighty Queen--whose beauty, as a girdle, doth encompass the\nwhole earth--with greeting.\"\n\n\"And who is he?\" said Alice, timidly enough.\n\n\"The Sultan Ibrahim, lord of the seven golden towers, the emerald\nislands, and ruler over an hundred nations. He bade his slave kiss the\nhem of his mistress's garment, and beseech her to put her foot on the\nneck of his bondsman, her slave's slave, and accept his gift.\"\n\n\"And who is this thy companion?\" said Alice, growing bolder, while the\ncompany were gradually gathering round them.\n\n\"This, whom your unworthy slave hath brought, most gracious Queen, is\nthe renowned Doctor Aboulfahrez, high conjuror to the Khan of Tartary,\nand physician to the Great Mogul. He doth drive hence all pains and\ndiseases whatsoever, and will cure your great majesty of any disorder\nof the spirit, by reason of charms or love-philtres heretofore\nadministered.\"\n\nWith a slight bend of his illustrious person, as though the high\nconjuror to the Khan of Tartary, and physician to the Great Mogul,\nthought himself too nearly on an equality with her \"high mightinesse\"\nthe Queen, the learned doctor for the first time broke silence--\n\n\"Will it please the Queen's grace to command an ensample of mine art?\"\n\n\"We must first be assured unto what purpose. Hast thou not heard,\"\nsaid Alice, with increasing confidence, \"that it is treason to put\nforth strange or unlawful devices before the Queen?\"\n\nThe stranger bowed. \"But your grace hath traitors in those fair eyes\nwhich do prompt treason if they practise none.\"\n\nThis gallant speech was much applauded by the company, and relieved\nAlice from the necessity of a speedy and suitable answer; for she\nbegan to be somewhat perplexed by the address of these bold admirers.\n\n\"Look at this precious phial, the incomparable elixir, the pabulum of\nlife, the grand arcanum, the supernaculum, the mother and regenerator\nof nature, the source and the womb of all existence, past, present,\nand to come!\" The learned doctor paused, more from want of breath than\nfrom scarcity of epithets wherewith to blazon forth the great virtues\nof his discovery. Soon, however, he breathed again through the\nmouth-slit in his mask, and blew on the phial, when lo! a vapour\nissued from within, curling in long-drawn wreaths down the side, in a\nmanner most wonderful to behold.\n\nThis trick roused the admiration of his audience, but he made a sign\nthat they should be still, as their breath and acclamations might\ndisturb the process. He now thrust one finger into the vapour, when it\nappeared to wind round his hand; then, letting the bottle drop, it\nfell, suspended from the finger by this novel and extraordinary\nchain--the vapour seeming to be the link by which it hung. This\nunexpected feat repressed the noisy burst of applause which might have\nbeen the result of a less wonderful device. Every one looked anxiously\nand uneasily at his neighbour, and at the renowned Doctor Aboulfahrez,\nnot feeling comfortable, perhaps, or even safe, in the presence of so\nexalted a personage. But new wonders were at hand. The mysterious\nvisitor uttered some cabalistic words, and lo! flames burst forth from\nthe magic phial, to the additional wonder and dismay of the beholders.\n\n\"When the Queen's grace doth will it, this box shall be opened; but it\nwill behove her to be discreet in what may follow, lest the charm be\nevaded.\"\n\nThe Moorish slave was silent during this procedure, standing with\narms folded, as though he had been one of the mutes of his master's\nharem, rather than ambassador to his \"ladye love.\" With the assent of\nAlice, the Doctor took in one hand the casket, which he cautiously\nunlocked. The lid flew open by a secret spring, and a peacock of\nsurprising beauty and glittering plumage rose out of the box,\nimitating the motions of the real bird to admiration. The mimic thing,\nbeing placed on the floor, flapped its wings, and unfolded its tail\nwith all the pride and precision of the original.\n\n\"Beshrew me!\" said Holt, approaching nearer to the performer, \"but\nthou hast been bred to the black art, I think. Some o' ye have catered\nexcellently for our pastime.\" But who it was none could ascertain,\neach giving his neighbour credit secretly for the construction of\nthese dainty devices. Yet new wonders were about to follow, when the\nbride and bridegroom, though wedded to each other's company, came\nforward to see the spectacle. Not a guest was missing. Even those most\npleasantly occupied at the tables left their sack and canary, their\nspices and confections. The musicians, too, and the menials, seemed to\nhave forgotten their several duties, and stood gaping and marvelling\nat the show. Suddenly there flew open a little door in the breast of\nthe automaton bird, and out jumped a fair white pigeon, which, after\nhaving performed many surprising feats, in its turn became the parent\nof another progeny--to wit, a beautiful singing bird, or nightingale,\nwhich warbled so sweetly, fluttering its wings with all the ecstacy of\nthat divine creature, that the listeners were nearly beside themselves\nwith ravishment and admiration. The nightingale now opened, and a\nlittle humming-bird of most surprising brilliancy hopped forth, and\njumping up to the Queen, held out its beak, having a label therein,\napparently beseeching her to accept the offering. She stooped down to\nreceive the billet, which she hastily unfolded. What effect was\nvisible on her countenance we cannot pretend to say, inasmuch as the\nmask precluded observation; but there was an evident tremor in her\nframe. She seemed to be overpowered with surprise, and held out the\nnote as though for the moment incapable of deciding whether to accept\nit or no. Then with a sudden effort she crumpled it together, and\nthrust it behind her stomacher. Wonder sat silent and watchful on the\nface of every beholder. The actors in this strange drama had replaced\nthe automata in the box again, closing its lid. The Moor had made his\n_salaam_, the Doctor his obeisance, disappearing behind the screen\nfrom which they had so mysteriously come forth. But at their departure\na train of fire followed upon their track, and a lambent flame played\ncuriously upon the wooden crockets for a few seconds, and then\ndisappeared.\n\nNow was there a Babel of tongues unloosed, at first by sudden impulses\nand whispers, then breaking forth by degrees into a loud and\ncontinuous din of voices, all at once seeking to satisfy their\ninquiries touching this strange and unexpected visit. Their host was\nmightily pestered and besieged with questions and congratulations on\nthe subject, which he has promptly and peremptorily disclaimed,\nattempting to fix the hatching of the plot upon the astonished\nbridegroom. But even he would not father the conceit; and, in the end,\nit began to be surmised that these were indeed what their appearance\nbetokened, or something worse, which cast a sudden gloom on the whole\nassembly. Some sallied out of the door to watch, and others blamed the\nmaster for not seizing and detaining these emissaries of Satan. Alice\nwas closely questioned as to the communication she had received; but\nshe replied, evasively perhaps, that it was only one of the usual\nstale conceits appropriate to the masque.\n\nNothing more was heard or seen of them; and it was now high time they\nshould accompany the bridegroom to his own dwelling at Foxholes--a\ngoodly house situate on a pretty knoll near the town of Rochdale, and\nabout two miles distant from Stubley.\n\nNow was there mustering and hurrying to depart. An unwieldy coach was\ndrawn up, into which the bride and her female attendants were\nforthwith introduced, the bridegroom and his company going on foot. On\narriving at Foxholes, the needful ceremonies were performed. Throwing\nthe stocking, a custom then universally practised, was not omitted;\nwhich agreeable ceremony was performed as follows:--\n\nThe female friends and relations conducted the bride to her chamber,\nand the men the bridegroom. The latter then took the bride's\nstockings, and the females those of the bridegroom. Sitting at the\nbottom of the bed, the stockings were thrown over their heads. When\none of the \"hurlers\" hit the owner, it was deemed an omen that the\nparty would shortly be married. Meanwhile the posset was got ready,\nand given to the newly-married couple.[14]\n\nIt was past midnight, yet Alice sat, solitary and watchful, at her\nlittle casement. One fair white arm supported her cheek, and she was\ngazing listlessly on the silver clouds as they floated in liquid\nbrightness across the full round disc of the moon, then high in the\nmeridian. Her thoughts were not on the scene she beheld. The mellow\nsound of the waterfalls, the murmur from the river, came on with the\nbreeze, rising and falling like the deep pathos of some wild and\nmysterious music. Memory, that busy enchanter, was at work; and the\nscenes she had lately witnessed, so full of disquietude and mystery,\nmingled with the returning tide of past and almost forgotten emotions.\nWe have said that the prevailing bent or bias of her disposition was\nthat of romance; and this idol of the imagination, this love of\nstrange and enervating excitement, had not been repressed by the\noccurrences of the last few hours; on the contrary, she felt as though\nsome wondrous event was impending--some adventure which she alone\nshould achieve--some power that her own arm should contend with and\nsubdue.\n\nShe took the billet from her bosom; the moonlight alone fell upon it;\nbut the words were so indeliby fixed upon her imagination that she\nfancied she could trace every word on that mystic tablet.\n\n     \"To-morrow, at midnight, in the haunted chamber! If thou hast\n     courage, tarry there a while. Its occupant will protect\n     thee.\"--['Wherefore am I so bent on this adventure? To visit\n     the beggar in his lair!' thought she; and again she threw her\n     eyes on the billet.] \"Peril threatens thine house, which thy\n     coming can alone prevent. Shouldest thou reveal but one word of\n     this warning, thy life, and those dear to thee, will be the\n     forfeit. From thine unknown monitor,\n\n     \"THESE.\"\n\nThe guest in the boggart-chamber was Noman, to whom it had been\nallotted, and though he told of terrible sights and harrowing\ndisclosures, he seemed to brave them all with unflinching hardihood,\nand even exulted in their repetition. To remain an hour or two with\nsuch a companion was in itself a sufficiently novel adventure; but\nthat harm could come from such a source scarcely entered her\nimagination. A feeling of irrepressible curiosity stimulated her, and\nprevailed over every other consideration. It was not like spending the\ntime alone; this certainly would have been a formidable condition to\nhave annexed. Besides, would it not be a wicked and a wanton thing to\nshrink from difficulty or danger when the welfare and even life of one\nso dear as her brother, peradventure, depended on her compliance.\nAnother feeling, too, more complicated, and a little more selfish it\nmight be, was the hidden cause to which her inclinations might be\ntraced.\n\n\"Mine unknown monitor!\" she repeated the words, and a thousand strange\nand wayward fancies rose to her recollection. Often had she seen, when\nleast expecting it, a stranger, who, in whatsoever place they met,\npreserved a silence respectful but mysterious. She had seen him in the\nplaces of public resort, in the solitary woods, and in the highways;\nbut his reserve and secrecy were unbroken. When she inquired, not an\nindividual knew him; and though his form and features were indelibly\ntraced on her memory, she could never recall them without an effort,\nwhich, whether it was attended with more of pain than of pleasure, we\nwill not venture to declare. Once or twice she had fancied, when\nawaking in the dead stillness of the night, that an invisible\nsomething was near and gazing upon her; but this feeling was soon\nforgotten, though often revived whenever she was more than usually\nsensitive or excited. The figure of the Moor was wonderfully similar\nto the form of the mysterious unknown. But the secret was now, at any\nrate, to be divulged; and a few hours would put her into possession of\nthe key to unlock this curious cabinet. So thought Alice, and her own\nsecret chambers of imagery were strangely distempered thereby. Was she\nbeloved by one of a higher order of beings, a denizen of the invisible\nworld, who tracked her every footstep, and hovered about her unseen?\nShe had heard that such things were, and that they held intercourse\nwith some favoured mortals--unlimited duration, and a nature more\nexalted, subject to no change, being vouchsafed to the chosen ones.\nThe exploits at Stubley seemed to favour this hypothesis, and Alice\nfell into a delicious reverie, as we have seen, well prepared for the\nbelief and reception of any stray marvels that might fall out by the\nway.\n\nLooking upon the moat which lay stagnant and unruffled beneath the\nquiet gaze of the moon, she thought that a living form emerged from\nthe bushes on the opposite bank;--she could not be mistaken, it was\nher unknown lover. Breathless she awaited the result; but the shadows\nagain closed around him, and she saw him not again. Bewildered,\nagitated, and alarmed, the day was springing faintly in the dim east\nwhen her eyelids lay heavy in the dew of their repose.\n\nMorning was high and far risen in the clear blue atmosphere, but its\nfirst and balmy freshness was passed when Alice left her chamber. She\nlooked paler and more languid than she was wont, and her brother\nrallied her playfully on the consequences of last night's dissipation;\nbut her thoughts were otherwise engrossed, and she replied carelessly\nand with an air of abstraction far different from her usual playful\nand unrestrained spirit. The mind was absorbed, restricted to one sole\navenue of thought: all other impressions ceased to communicate their\nimpulse. Her brother departed soon afterwards to his morning\navocations; but Alice sat in the porch. She looked out on the hills\nwith a vacant, but not unwistful eye. Their slopes were dotted with\nmany a fair white dwelling, but the rigour of cultivation had not\nextended so far up their barren heathery sides as now; yet many a\nbright paddock, green amid the dark waste, and the little homestead,\nthe nucleus of some subsequent and valuable inheritance, proclaimed\nthe unceasing toil, the primeval curse, and the sweat of the brow,\nthat was here also.\n\nTo enjoy the warmth and freshness of the morning, Alice had removed\nher spinning-wheel into the porch. Here she was engaged in the\nprimitive and good old fashion of preparing yarn for the wants of the\nhousehold--an occupation not then perfected into the system to which\nit is now degraded. The wives and daughters of the wealthiest would\nnot then disdain to fabricate material for the household linen,\ncarrying us far back into simpler, if not happier times, when Homer\nsung, and kings' daughters found a similar employment.\n\nAlice was humming in unison with her wheel, her thoughts more free\nfrom the very circumstance that her body was the subject of this\nmechanical exercise.\n\n\"Good morrow, Mistress Alice!\" said a sonorous voice at the entrance.\nTurning suddenly, she espied the athletic beggar standing erect, with\nhis staff and satchel, on one side of the porch.\n\n\"Ha' ye an awmous to-day, lady?\" He doffed his cap and held it forth,\nmore with the air of one bestowing a favour than soliciting one.\n\n\"Thou hast been i' the kitchen, I warrant,\" said Alice, \"by the\nbreadth of thy satchel.\"\n\n\"An' what the worse are ye for that?\" replied the saucy mendicant;\n\"your hounds and puppies would lick up the leavings, if I did not.\"\n\n\"Go to,\" said Alice, impatiently; \"thou dost presume too far to escape\ncorrection. Begone!\"\n\n\"This air, I reckon--ay, this blessed air--is as free unto my use as\nthine,\" said Noman, sullenly, and without showing any symptoms of\nobedience.\n\n\"My brother shall know of thine insolence, and the menials shall drive\nthee forth.\"\n\n\"Thy brother!--tell him, pretty maiden, that though he is a lawyer,\nand his uncle, he who built this house to boot, he hath little left in\nthis misgoverned realm but to deal out injustice. Other folks' money\nsticks i' their skirts that have precious little o' their own, I wis.\"\n\n\"I know not the nature of thine allusions, nor care I to bandy weapons\nwith such an adversary.\"\n\n\"Hark ye, lady! it was to solder down as pretty a piece of roguery as\none would wish to leave to one's heirs that Theophilus Ashton, thine\nuncle, thy mother's brother, now deceased, went to London when he had\nbuilded this house.\"\n\n\"Roguery!--mine uncle Ashton! Darest thou?\"----\n\n\"Ay, the same. The spoils of my patrimony built this goodly dwelling,\nand the battle of Marston Moor gave thy brother wherewith to buy the\nremainder of the inheritance. I was made a beggar by my loyalty, he a\nrich man by his treason.\"\n\n\"What means this foul charge?\" said Alice, astounded by the audacity\nof this accusation.\n\n\"But fear not. Had it not been for thee and another--whose well-being\nis bound up in thine own--long ago would this goodly heritage have\nbeen spoiled; for--revenge is sweeter even than possession; so\ngood-morrow, Mistress Alice.\"\n\n\"What, then, is thy business with me?\"\n\n\"Wentest thou not from the masque with thy pretty love-billet behind\nthy stomacher?\"\n\n\"Insolent vagrant, this folly shall not go unpunished!\"\n\n\"Hold, wench! provoke not an\"----he paused for one second, but in that\nbrief space there came a change over his spirit, which in a moment was\nsubdued as though by some over-mastering effort--\"an impotent old\nman.\" His voice softened, and there was a touch even of pathos in the\nexpression. \"To-night--fail not--I, ay even _I_, will protect thee.\nFear not; thy welfare hangs on that issue!\"\n\nSaying this, with an air of dignity far superior to his usual\nbluntness and even rudeness of address, he slowly departed. Thoughts\ncrowded, like a honey swarm, to this hive of mystery, nor could she\nthrow off the impression which clung to her. She had been warned\nagainst revealing this communication, but at one time she felt\nresolved to make her brother acquainted with the whole, and to claim\nhis protection; but then came the warning, or rather threat, of some\nhidden mischief that must inevitably follow the disclosure. \"Surely,\nin her own home, she might venture to walk unattended. The beggar she\nhad known for some time in his periodical visits; and though she felt\nan unaccountable timidity in his presence, yet she certainly was\nminded to make an experiment of the adventure; but\"----And in this\nhappy state of doubt and fluctuation she remained until eventide, when\na calm bright moon, as it again rose over the hill, saw Alice at the\ncasement of her own chamber, looking thoughtfully, anxiously, down\nwhere the dark surface of the stagnant moat wore a bright star on its\nbosom. The scene, the soft and tender influence which it\npossessed--the hour, soothing and elevating the mind, freed from the\nharassing and petty cares of existence--to a romantic and imaginative\ndisposition these were all favourable to its effects--the development\nof that ethereal spirit of our nature, that enchanter whose wand\nconjures up the busy world within, creating all things according to\nhis own pleasure, and investing them with every attribute at his will.\nShe felt her fears give way, and her resolution was taken: the die was\ncast, and she committed herself to the result. What share the\nhandsome, dark, and melancholy-looking stranger had in this decision\nshe did not pause to inquire, nor indeed could she have much if any\nsuspicion of the secret influence he excited. There was danger, and\nthis danger could only be averted by her interference: what might be\ncuriosity was at any rate her duty; and she, feeling mightily like\nsome devoted heroine, would not shrink from the trial. When once\nbrought to a decision she felt a load taken from her breast; she\nbreathed more freely, and her tread was more vigorous and elastic. She\nleft her chamber with a lofty mien, and the gentle Alice felt more\nlike the proud mistress of an empire than the inhabitant of a little\ncountry dwelling when she re-entered the parlour: yet there was a\nrestless glance from her eye which ever and anon would start aside\nfrom visible objects and wander about, apparently without aim or\ndiscrimination. Her brother was busied, happily, with domestic duties,\ntoo much engaged to notice any unusual disturbance in her demeanour,\nand Alice employed her time to little profit until she heard the\nappointed signal for rest. As they bade the usual \"good-night,\" her\nheart smote her: she looked on the unconscious, unsuspecting aspect of\nher brother, and the whole secret of her heart was on her tongue: it\ndid not escape her lips; but the tear stood in her eye; and as she\nclosed the door it sounded like the signal of some long separation--as\nthough the portal had for ever closed upon her.\n\nWrapped in a dark mantle, with cap and hood, the maiden stepped forth\nfrom her little closet about midnight. She bore a silver lamp that\nwaved softly in the night-wind as she went with a noiseless, timid\nstep through the passages to the haunted chamber. The room wherein the\nbeggar slept was somewhat detached from the rest of the dormitories. A\nlow gallery led by a narrow corridor to a flight of some two or three\nsteps into this room, now used for the stowage of lumber. It was said\nto have been one of the apartments in the old house, forming a sort of\npeduncle to the new, not then removed, like a remnant of the shell\nsticking to the skirts of the new-fledged bird. This adjunct, the\nbeggar's dwelling, is now gone. An ancient doorcase with a grotesque\ncarving disclosed the entrance. She paused before it, not without a\nsecret apprehension of what might be going on within. For the first\ntime she felt the novelty, not to say imprudence, of her situation,\nand the unfeminine nature of her exploit. She was just hesitating\nwhether or not to return when she heard the door slowly open; a tall,\ngaunt, figure looked out, which she immediately recognised to be that\nof the mendicant. Somewhat reassured, and her courage strengthened by\nhis appearance, she did not attempt to retreat, but stood silent for a\nspace, and seemingly not a little abashed; yet the purity of her\nmotives, as far as known to herself, soon recurred to her aid, and her\nproud and somewhat haughty spirit immediately roused its energies when\nshe had to cope with difficulty and danger.\n\n\"I come to thy den, old man, that I may unriddle thy dark sayings.\"\n\n\"Or rather,\" replied he, slowly and emphatically, \"that thou mayest\nunriddle that pretty love-billet thou hast read.\"\n\n\"I am here in my brother's house, and surely I have both the right and\nthe power to walk forth unquestioned or unsuspected of an intrigue or\nassignation,\" replied she, quick and tender on the point whereon her\nown suspicions were disagreeably awakened.\n\n\"Come in, lady,\" said he, \"and thou shall be safe from any suspicions\nbut thine own.\"\n\nAlice entered, and the door was closed and bolted. Her feelings were\nthose of uneasiness, not unmixed with alarm. Before her stood the\nathletic form of the mendicant; she was at some distance from the rest\nof the family--none caring to have their biding-place in the immediate\nvicinity of the haunted chamber--in the power, it might be, of this\nstrange and anomalous being. A miserable pallet lay on the floor in\none corner, and the room was nearly filled with useless lumber and the\nremains of ancient materials from the old apartments. Probably it was\nfrom this circumstance that the ghosts had their fancies for this\nroom, haunting the relics of the past, and lingering around their\nformer reminiscences. The light she held gleamed athwart the face of\nher companion, and his features were strangely significant of some\nconcealed purpose.\n\n\"Whom do we meet in this place?\" she inquired.\n\n\"Prithee, wait; thou wilt see anon. But let me counsel thee to remain\nsilent; what thou seest note, but make no reply. Be not afraid, for no\nharm shall befall thee. But let me warn thee, maiden, that thou shrink\nnot from the trial.\"\n\nHe now slowly retired, and she watched his receding figure until it\nwas hidden behind a huge oaken bedstead in the corner. But he returned\nnot, and Alice felt terrified at being so unexpectedly left alone. She\ncalled out to him, but there was no answer; she sought for some\noutlet, but no trace was visible whereby he could have departed from\nthe chamber. As she was stooping down, suddenly the light was blown\nout, and she felt herself seized by invisible hands.\n\n\"Be silent for thy life,\" said a strange whisper in her ear. She was\nhurried on through vaults and passages; the cold damp air struck\nchilly on her, and she felt as though descending into some unknown\ndepths, beneath the very foundations of her own dwelling. Darkness was\nstill about their steps; but she was borne along, at a swift pace, by\npersons evidently accustomed to this subterraneous line of\ncommunication.\n\n\"No harm shall happen thee,\" said the same whisper in her ear as\nbefore. Suddenly a vivid light flashed out from an aperture or window,\nand she heard a groaning or rumbling and the clank of chains; but this\nwas passed, and a pale dull light showed a low vaulted chamber, into\nwhich Alice was conveyed. An iron lamp hung from the ceiling in what\nseemed to have been one of the cellars of the old house, though she\nwas unaware beforetime of such a dangerous proximity. The door was\nclosed upon her, and again she was left alone. So confused and\nagitated was she for a while that she felt unable to survey the\nobjects that encompassed her. By degrees, however, she regained\nsufficient fortitude to make the examination. Her astonishment was\nextreme when she beheld, ranged round the vault, coffers full of\ncoin--heaps of surprising magnitude exposed, the least of which would\nhave been a king's ransom; fair and glistering too, apparently fresh\nfrom the hands of some cunning artificer. Her curiosity in some\nmeasure getting the better of her fears, she ventured to touch one of\nthese tempting heaps--not being sure but that her night visions were\nanswerable for the illusion. She laid her hand on a hoard of bright\nnobles. Another and another succeeded, yet each coffer held some fresh\ndenomination of coin. There were moneys of various nations, even to\nthe Spanish pistole and Turkish bezant. Such exhaustless wealth it had\nnever yet entered into her imagination to conceive--the very idea was\ntoo boundless even for fancy to present. \"Surely,\" thought she, \"I am\nin some fairy palace, where the combined wealth of every clime is\naccumulated; and the king of the genii, or some old and ugly ogre, has\ncertes fallen in love with me, and means to present it for my dowry.\"\nSmiling at this thought, even in the midst of her apprehensions--for\nthe blow which severed her from her friends was too stunning to be\nfelt immediately in all its rigour--she stood as one almost\ntransported with admiration and surprise. Yet her situation was far\nfrom being either enviable or pleasant, though in the midst of a\ntreasure-house of wealth that would have made an emperor the richest\nof his race. No solution that she could invent would at all solve the\nproblem--no key of interpretation would fit these intricate movements.\nHere she stood, a prisoner perhaps, with the other treasures in the\nvault; and assuredly the miser, whosoever he might be, had shown great\ntaste and judgment too in the selection. But the crisis was at hand.\nThe door opened, and she heard a footstep behind her. A form stood\nbefore her whom she immediately recognised and perhaps expected. The\nmysterious stranger was in her presence. With a respectful obeisance\nhe folded his hands on his bosom, but he spoke not.\n\n\"What wouldst thou? and why this outrage?\" inquired she.\n\nThe intruder pointed to the surrounding treasures, then to himself: by\nwhich she understood (so quickly interpretated is the mute eloquence\nof passion) that he was in love with her, and devoted them all\nexclusively to her service. But what answer she gave, permit me,\ngentle reader, for a season to detain; for truly it is an event of so\nmarvellous a nature whereon our tradition now disporteth itself, that,\nlike an epicure hindering the final disposal of some delicate\nmouthful, of which, when gulped, he feeleth no more the savour, so we\nwould, in like manner, courteous reader, do thee this excellent\nservice, in order that the sweetness of expectation may be prolonged\nthereby; and the solution, like a kernal in the shell, not be crushed\nby being too suddenly cracked.\n\nTurn we now to the inmates at the hall, where, as may easily be\nunderstood, there was a mighty stir and commotion when morning brought\nthe appointed hour, and Mistress Alice came not to the breakfast meal.\nHer brother was at his wits' end when the forenoon passed, and still\nthere were no tidings. Messengers were sent far and near, and no place\nwas left untried where it was thought intelligence might be gained.\nShe was not to be found, nor any trace discovered of her departure.\n\nNicholas was returning from Foxholes, Stubley, and Pike House.\nPassing, in a disconsolate mood, through the gate leading from the\nlane to his own porch, he met Noman, apparently departing. The beggar,\nseeing his approach, assumed his usual stiff and inflexible attitude,\npausing ere he passed. A vague surmise, for which he could not\naccount, prompted the suspicions of Nicholas Haworth towards this\nunimportant personage.\n\n\"What is thy business to-day abroad?\" he inquired hastily.\n\n\"A word in thine ear, master,\" said the beggar.\n\n\"Say on, then; and grant that it may have an inkling of my sister!\"\n\n\"She hath departed.\"\n\n\"That I know. But whither?\"\n\n\"Ask the little devilkins I saw yesternight. I have told ye oft o' the\nsights and terrible things that have visited me i' the boggart\nchamber, and that the ghost begged hard for a victim.\"\n\n\"What! thou dost not surely suppose he hath borne away my sister?\"\n\n\"I have said it!\" replied the mendicant, with an air of mystery.\n\n\"We'll have the place exorcised, and the spirit laid; and thou\"--said\nNicholas, pausing--\"have a care that we hale thee not before the\njustice for practising with forbidden and devilish devices.\"\n\n\"I cry thee mercy, Master Haworth; but for what good deed am I to\nsuffer? I have brought luck to thine house hitherto, and what mischief\nyon ghost hath wrought is none o' my doing. If thou wilt, I can rid\nthee of his presence, and that speedily, even if 'twere Beelzebub\nhimself.\"\n\n\"But will thy conjurations bring back my sister?\" said the wondering,\nyet half-credulous squire.\n\n\"That is more than I can tell. But, to prove that I am not in league\nwith thine enemy, I will cast him out.\"\n\n\"Hath Alice been strangled, or in anywise hurt, by this wicked\nspirit?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the beggar solemnly, \"I guess not; but I heard him pass\nby, and the chains did rattle fearfully through mine ears, until I\nheard them at her bed-chamber. He may have spirited her away to\nfairy-land for aught I know; and yet she lives!\"\n\n\"Save us, merciful Disposer of our lot!\" said Nicholas, much moved to\nsorrow at this strange recital, yet in somewise comforted by the\nassurance it contained. \"We are none of us safe from his visitations,\nnow they are extended hitherto. I dreamt not of danger beforetime,\nthough I have heard sounds, and seen unaccountable things; yet I\nimagined that in the old chamber only he had power to work mischief;\nand, even there, I did disbelieve much of thy story, as it respected\nhis freaks and the nature and manner of his visits. The rumblings that\nI fancied at times in the dead of night were in the end disregarded\nand almost forgotten.\"\n\n\"I too have heard the like, but I knew it was the spirit, and\"----\n\n\"Beware, old man; for I do verily suspect thee as an abettor of these\nunlawful practices.\"\n\n\"And so the reward for my testimony is like to end in a lying\naccusation and a prison!\"\n\n\"Canst thou win her back by driving from me this evil spirit?\"\n\n\"I can lay the ghost, I tell thee, if thou wilt; but as for the other,\nperadventure it lieth not within the compass or power of mortal man to\naccomplish.\"\n\n\"What thou canst, let it be done without delay, for I would fain\nbehold a sight so wonderful; yet will I first take precaution to put\nthee in durance until it be accomplished; perchance it may quicken\nthee to this good work; and I do bethink me too, thou knowest more\nthan thou wouldest fain acknowledge of this evil dealing toward my\nsister.\"\n\nThe beggar sought not to escape; he knew it would be in vain, for the\nmenials had surrounded them; and he was conveyed to the kitchen until\nhe should be ready for the important duties he had to perform.\nTo-morrow was appointed for the trial, but fearful was the night that\nintervened--rattling of chains, falling of heavy weights, loud\nrumblings, as though a coach-and-six were driving about the premises;\nthese, intermingled with shrieks and howlings, were not confined to\nthe old room, where the beggar lodged as heretofore, but were heard\nand felt through the whole house. It seemed as though his presence had\nhitherto confined them to the locality we have named, and that they\nhad burst their bounds on his departure. Little rest had the household\non that fearful night, and the morning was welcome to many who had\nbeen terrified so that they scarcely expected to see the light of\nanother sun.\n\nWith the earliest dawn Nicholas Haworth hied him to the kitchen, where\nthe beggar, a close prisoner, was comfortably nestled on his couch.\n\n\"What ho!\" said the squire, \"thou canst sleep when others be waking.\nThy friends have been seeking thee through the night, mayhap. There\nhave been more shaking limbs than hungry stomachs, I trow.\"\n\n\"I know of naught that should keep me waking; my conscience made no\necho to the knocking without; and so good-morrow, Master Nicholas.\"\n\nThere came one at this moment running in almost breathless, to say\nthat the cart-horses were all harnessed and yoked ready in the stable\nby invisible hands, and that no one durst take them from their stalls.\nOn the heels of this messenger came another, who shouted out that the\nbull, a lusty and well-thriven brute, was quietly perched, in most\nbull-like gravity, upon the hay-mow. It being impossible, or contrary\nto the ordinary law of gravitation, that he could have thus\ntransported himself, what other than demon hands could or durst have\nlifted so ponderous and obstinate a beast into the place? In short,\nsuch were the strange and out-of-the-way frolics that had been\ncommitted, that Satan and all his company seemed to have been let\nloose upon the household on this memorable night.\n\n\"Thou shalt rid us of these pests, or by the head of St Nicholas,\"\nsaid his namesake, \"the hangman shall singe thy beard for a\nfumigation.\"\n\n\"Let me go, and the spirit shall not trouble thee.\"\n\n\"Nay, gaffer, thou dost not escape me thus; my sister, we have yet no\ntidings of her, and, it may be, those followers or familiars of thine\ncan help me to that knowledge.\"\n\n\"I tell thee I'll lay the ghost while the holly's green, or mire in\nDearnly Clough, should it so please thee, Master Nicholas; but I must\nfirst be locked up for a space in the haunted chamber alone. Keep\nwatch at both door and loophole, if thou see fit; but I gi'e thee my\nword that I'll not escape.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" said Haworth; \"but it shall not avail thee, thou crafty fox,\nfor we will watch, and that right diligently; unless the de'il fly\naway with thee, thou shalt not escape us.\"\n\nThe bargain was made, and Noman was speedily conducted to the chamber.\nSentinels were posted at the door, and round the outside, to prevent\neither entrance or exit.\n\nA long hour had nigh elapsed, and the watchers were grown weary. Some\nthought he had gone off in a chariot of smoke through the roof, or in\na whirlwind of infernal brimstone; while others, not a few, were out\nof doors gazing steadfastly up towards the chimneys, expecting to see\nhim perched there, like a daw or starling, ready for flight. But when\nthe hour was fulfilled, the beggar lifted up the latch, and walked\nforth alone, without let or molestation.\n\n\"Whither away, Sir Grey-back?\" said Nicholas, \"and wherefore in such\nhaste? We have a word or so ere thou depart. Art thou prepared?\"\n\n\"Ay, if it so please thee.\"\n\n\"And when dost thou begin thine exorcism?\"\n\n\"Now, if so be that thou have courage. But I warn thee of danger\ntherefrom. If thou persist, verily in this chamber shall it be done.\"\n\n\"Then return, we will follow--as many as have courage, that is,\" said\nNicholas Haworth, looking round and observing that his attendants,\nwith pale faces and mewling stomachs, did manifest a wondrous\ninquietude, and a sudden eagerness to depart. Yet were there some\nwhose curiosity got the better of their fears, and who followed, or\nrather hung upon their master's skirts, into the chamber, which, even\nin the broad and cheerful daylight, looked a gloomy and comfortless\nand unhallowed place. Noman commanded that silence should be kept,\nthat not even a whisper should breathe from other lips than his own.\nHe drew a line with his crutch upon the floor, and forbade that any\nshould attempt to pass this imaginary demarcation. The auditors were\nall agape, and but that the door was fastened, some would doubtless\nhave gone back, repenting of their temerity.\n\nAfter several unmeaning mummeries and incantations, the chamber\nappeared to grow darker, and a low rumbling noise was heard, as from\nsome subterraneous explosion.\n\n\"_Dominus vobiscum_,\" said the necromancer; and a train of fire leapt\nsuddenly across the room. A groan of irrepressible terror ran through\nthe company; but the exorcist, with a look of reprehension for their\ndisobedience, betook himself again to his ejaculations. Retiring\nbackwards a few paces to a corner of the room, he gave three audible\nknocks upon the floor, which, to the astonishment and dismay of the\nassembly, were distinctly repeated, apparently from beneath. Thrice\nwas this ceremony gone through, and thrice three times was the same\nanswer returned.\n\n\"Restless spirit,\" said the conjuror, solemnly, and in a voice and\nmanner little accordant with those of an obscure and unlearned beggar;\n\"why art thou disquieted, and what is the price of thy departure?\"\n\nNo answer was given, though the question was repeated. The adjurer\nappeared, for one moment, fairly at a nonplus.\n\n\"By thine everlasting doom, I conjure thee, answer me!\" Still there\nwas no reply. \"Thou shalt not evade me thus,\" said he, indignant at\nthe slight which was put upon his spells. He drew a little ebony box\nfrom his bosom, and on opening it smoke issued therefrom, like the\nsmell of frankincense. With this fumigation he used many uncouth and\nhorrible words, hard names, and so forth, which probably had no\nexistence save in the teeming issue of his own brain. During this\noperation groans were heard, at first low and indistinct, then loud\nand vehement; soon they broke into a yell, so shrill and piercing that\nseveral of the hearers absolutely tried, through horror and\ndesperation, to burst the door; but this was secure, and their egress\nprevented thereby.\n\n\"Now answer me what thou wouldst have, and tell me the terms of thy\ndeparture hence.\"\n\nA low murmur was heard. The beggar listened with great attention.\n\n\"This wandering ghost avoucheth,\" said he, after all was silent, \"that\nthere be two of them, and that they rest not until they have taken\npossession of this house, and driven the inhabitants therefrom.\"\n\n\"Hard law this,\" said Nicholas Haworth; \"but, for all their racket, I\nshan't budge.\"\n\n\"Then must they have a sacrifice for the wrong done when they were i'\nthe body; being slain, as they say, by their guardian, a wicked uncle,\nthat he might possess the inheritance.\"\n\nAgain he made question, looking all the while as though talking to\nsomething that was present and visible before him.\n\n\"What would ye for your sacrifice, evil and hateful things? for I\nknow, in very deed, that ye are not the innocent and heavenly babes\nwhose spirits are now in glory, but devilish creatures who have been\npermitted to walk here unmolested, for the wickedness that hath been\ndone. Again, I say that your unwillingness sufficeth not, for ye shall\nbe driven hence this blessed day.\"\n\nAnother shriek announced their apprehension at this threat, and again\nthere was a murmuring as before.\n\n\"He sayeth,\" cried the exorcist, after listening a while, \"they must\nhave a living body sacrificed, and in four quarters it must be laid;\nthen shall these wicked spirits not return hither until what is\nsevered be joined together. With this hard condition we must be\ncontent.\"\n\n\"Then, by 'r lady's grace, if none else there be, thou shalt be the\nholocaust for thy pains,\" said Nicholas, \"for I think we need not any\nother. What say ye, shall not this wizard be the sacrifice, and we\nthen rid the world of a batch of evil things at once?\" He looked with\na cruel eye upon the mendicant; for he judged that his sister had, in\nsome way or another, fallen a victim to his devilish plots; and he\nwould have thought it little harm to have poured out his blood on the\nspot. The beggar seemed aware of his danger, but with a loud and\nperemptory tone he cried--\n\n\"There needeth not so costly an oblation. Bring hither the first brute\nanimal ye behold, any one of you, on crossing the threshold of the\nporch.\"\n\nA messenger was accordingly sent, who returned with a barn-door fowl\nin his hand, a well-fed chanticleer, whose crow that morning had\nawakened his cackling dames for the last time.\n\nWith great solemnity the conjuror went forth from the chamber, and in\nthe courtyard the fowl was named \"John;\" sponsors standing in due\nform, as at an ordinary baptism. Then the bird was dismembered, or\nrather divided into four parts, according to the directions they had\nreceived. These were afterwards disposed of as follows:--one was\nburied at Little Clegg, in a field close by, another under one of the\nhearth-flags in the hall, another at the Beil Bridge, by the river\nwhich runs past Belfield, and the remaining quarter under the\nbarn-floor. Nicholas continued to look on with a curious eye until the\nceremony was concluded, when, after a brief pause, he inquired--\n\n\"Have there been no tidings yet from Alice? Can thine art not disclose\nto me whither she be gone?\"\n\n\"The maiden lives,\" said the beggar doggedly.\n\n\"Thou knowest of her hiding, then?\" said her brother sharply, and with\na cunning glance directed towards the speaker.\n\n\"The spirit said so,\" replied Noman, as though wishful to evade or to\nshrink from the question.\n\n\"And what else?\" inquired the other; \"for by my halidome thou stirrest\nnot hence until she be forthcoming, alive or dead! I verily\nsuspect--nay, more, I charge thee with forcibly detaining her against\nher own privity or consent.\"\n\nThe beggar looked steadily upon him, not a whit either moved or\nabashed at this bold accusation.\n\n\"Peradventure thou speakest without heed and unadvisedly. I tell thee\nagain, thou wouldest have been driven hence ere now had it not been\nfor others whom that spirit must obey.\"\n\n\"Who art thou?\" said the perplexed inquirer; \"for thou art either\nworse or better than thou seemest.\"\n\n\"Once the rightful heir, now a beggar, in these domains, wrested from\nme by rapine and the harpy fangs of injustice misnamed law. Theophilus\nAshton, from whom ye took your share of the inheritance when death\ndislodged it from his gripe, won it himself most foully from my\nancestors;--and have I not a right to hate thee?\"\n\n\"And so thy vengeance hath fallen upon a defenceless woman?\"\n\n\"Nay, I said not so; but if I had so minded I might have been glutted\nwith vengeance, ay, to my heart's core. Hark thee. Secrets I have\nlearned that will bind the hidden things of darkness, and bow them to\nmy behest. The unseen powers and operations of nature have been open\nto my gaze. Long ago my converse and companionship were with the\nlearned doctors and sages of the East. In Spain I have walked in the\npalace of the Moorish kings, the Alhambra at Grenada; and in Arabia I\nhave learned the mystic cabala, and worshipped in the temple of the\nholy prophet!\"\n\n\"And yet thou comest a beggar to my door! Truly thy spells have\nprofited thee little.\"\n\nThe beggar smiled scornfully. \"Riches inexhaustible, unlimited are\nmine; while nature is unveiled at my command.\"\n\n\"Thou speakest riddles, old man; or thou dost hug the very spectres of\nthy brain, which men call madness.\"\n\n\"I am not mad; save it be madness that I have not hurled thee from\nthis thy misgotten heritage. A power of mighty and all prevading\nenergy hath hindered me, and, it may be, rescued thee from\ndestruction.\"\n\n\"Unto what unknown intercessor do I owe this forbearance?\"\n\n\"Love!\" said the mendicant, with an expression of withering and\nbaneful scorn; \"a silly hankering for a puling girl.\"\n\n\"Thee!--in love?\"\n\n\"And is it so strange, so hard and incapable of belief, that in a\nfrosty but vigorous age, the sap should be fresh though the outward\ntrunk look withered and without verdure?\"\n\nNicholas shuddered. A harrowing suspicion crossed him that his beloved\nsister had fallen a victim to the lawless passions of this hoary\ndelinquent.\n\n\"Thou dost judge wrongfully,\" said the beggar; \"she appertaineth not\nto me. 'Tis long since I have drunk of that maddening cup, a woman's\nlove. Would that another had not taken its intoxicating draught.\"\n\n\"Thou but triflest with me,\" said Haworth; \"let the maiden go, or\nbeware my vengeance.\"\n\n\"Thy vengeance! Weak, impotent man! what canst thou do? Thy threats I\nhold lighter than the breath that makes them; thy cajolments I value\nless than these; and thy rewards--why, the uttermost wealth that thou\ncouldst boast would weigh but as a feather against the riches at my\ndisposal.\"\n\n\"Then give her back at my request.\"\n\n\"I tell thee she is not mine, nor in my charge.\"\n\n\"But thou knowest of her detention, and where she is concealed.\"\n\n\"What if I do? will that help thee to the discovery?\"\n\n\"Point out the place, or conduct me thither, and\"----\n\nThe mendicant here burst forth into a laugh so tantalising and\nmalicious that Nicholas, though silent, grew pale with choler.\n\n\"Am I a fool?\" said the exorcist; \"an everyday fool? a simpleton of\nsuch a dastardly condition that thou shouldest think to whine me from\nmy purpose? Never.\"\n\nScarcely was the word spoken when a loud and awful explosion shook the\nbuilding to its foundations. Horror and consternation were seen upon\nthe hitherto composed features of the beggar. He grasped his crutch,\nand with a yell of unutterable anguish he cried, \"Ruined--betrayed!\nMay the fiends follow ye for this mischance!\"\n\nHe threw himself almost headlong down the steps, and ran with rapid\nstrides through the yard, followed by Nicholas, who seemed in a stupor\nof astonishment at these mysterious events.\n\nPassing round to the other side of the house, he saw a smoke rising in\na dense unbroken column from an outbuilding beyond the moat, towards\nwhich Noman was speedily advancing. Suddenly he slackened his pace. He\npaused, seemingly undecided whither to proceed. He then turned sharply\nround and made his way into the kitchen, passing up a staircase into\nthe haunted chamber, still followed by Nicholas Haworth, and not a few\nwho were lookers-on, hoping to ascertain the cause of this alarm.\n\nTo their great surprise the beggar hastily displaced some lumber, and,\nraising a trap-door, quickly disappeared down a flight of steps. With\nlittle hesitation the master followed, and keeping the footsteps of\nhis leader within hearing, he cautiously went forward, convinced that\nin some way or another this opportune but inexplicable event would\nlead to the discovery of his sister.\n\nSuddenly he heard a shriek. He felt certain it was the voice of Alice.\nHe rushed on; but some unseen barrier opposed his progress. He heard\nnoises and hasty footsteps beyond, evidently in hurry and confusion.\nThe door was immediately opened, and he beheld Noman bearing out the\nhalf-lifeless form of Alice. Smoke, and even flame, followed hard upon\ntheir flight; but she was conveyed upwards to a place of safety.\n\n\"There,\" said the mendicant, when he had laid down his burden, \"at the\nperil of all I possess, and of life too, I have rescued her. My hopes\nare gone--my schemes for ever blasted--and I am a ruined, wretched old\nman, without a home or a morsel of bread.\"\n\nHe walked out through the porch, Nicholas being too busily engaged in\nattending to the restoration of Alice to heed his escape. Two other\nmen, strangers, had before emerged from the avenue. In the confusion\nof the moment their flight was effected, and they were seen no more.\n\nWhen Alice was sufficiently recovered, Nicholas, to his utter surprise\nand dismay, learned that she had been doomed to be imprisoned, even in\nher own house, until she consented to be the wife of one whom, however\nhe might have won upon her regard by fair and honest courtship, she\nhated and repulsed for this traitorous and forcible detention. Yet\nthey had not dared to let her go, lest the secrets of her prison-house\nshould be told. The false beggar, whose real name was Clegg, having\nbecome an adept in the art of coining, acquired during his residence\nabroad, and likewise having arrived at the knowledge of many chemical\nsecrets long hidden from the vulgar and uninitiated, had leagued\nhimself with one of the like sort, together with his own son, a\nhandsome well-favoured youth (whose mother he had rescued from a\nSpanish convent), for the purpose of carrying on a most extensive\nmanufacture and issue of counterfeit money of several descriptions.\nHis former knowledge, when young, of his ancestors' mansion at Clegg\nHall suggested the fitness of this spot for their establishment. Its\nsituation was sequestered; and the ancient vaults, though nearly\nfilled with rubbish, might yet be made available for their purpose.\nThe secret entrance, and, above all, the currently-believed story of\nthe ghost, might afford facilities for frightening away those who were\ndisposed to be curious; and any noises unavoidable in the course of\ntheir operations might be attributed to this fruitful source of\nimposture. By a little dexterity, possession of the haunted chamber\nwas obtained, the feigned beggar being a periodical visitant; thence a\nready entrance was contrived, and all materials were introduced that\nwere needful for their fraudulent proceedings. Many months their\ntraffic was carried on without discovery; and in the beggar's wallet\ncounterfeit money to a considerable amount was conveyed, and\ndistributed by other agents into general circulation. Well might he\nsay that boundless wealth was at their command; the means employed in\ndisposing of the proceeds of their ingenuity were well calculated for\nthe purpose. They had proposed, by machinations and alarms, to drive\naway utterly the present inhabitants and possessors of the Hall. The\nreign of terror was about to commence, plans being already matured for\nthis purpose, had not the younger Clegg seen Alice Haworth; and love,\nthat mighty controller of human affairs and devices, most\ninopportunely frustrated their intentions. The elder Clegg, too, was\ninduced to aid the design, hoping that, should a union take place, the\ninheritance might revert into the old channel. We have seen the\nresult: the wilfulness and obduracy of Alice, and the infatuation of\nthe lover, who had thought to dazzle her with the riches he purposely\nspread before her, prevented the success of their schemes. She\nperemptorily refused and repulsed him, accusing him of a gross and\nwanton outrage. What might have been the end of this contention we\nknow not, seeing that an unforeseen accident caused the explosion\nwhich led to her escape and the flight of her captors.\n\nWhat remained of the old house was pulled down. The vaults and\ncellars, which were found to extend for a considerable distance even\nbeyond the moat, were walled up, and every vestige that was left,\ntogether with an immense hoard of counterfeit money, was completely\ndestroyed.\n\n     [11] Her marriage-gift was L500, nineteen cows,\n     and a bull,--a magnificent portion in those days.\n\n     [12] We are sorry that this remark should come\n     from the historian of Whalley; but our respect for the author\n     even will not suffer us to let it pass unnoticed. The passage,\n     indeed, refutes itself, and we need refer to none other than\n     the very terms of the accusation. The circumstance of Bath\n     \"going out under the Bartholomew Act,\" that master-movement of\n     spiritual tyranny, issued by an ill-advised and sensual\n     monarch, when two thousand and upwards of conscientious\n     clergymen were driven from their flocks and deprived of their\n     benefices in one day, is a sufficient denial of what the\n     learned doctor has insinuated, as it respects complying \"with\n     all changes\" from mere self-interest and worldly lucre. For\n     what could have hindered this conscientious and self-denying\n     minister from conforming to the terms of the act, and securing\n     his goodly benefice thereby, if it were not a zealous and\n     honest regard to the vows he had taken, and the future welfare\n     of his flock; which the very fact of his subsequent preaching\n     to crowded auditories at his own house sufficiently\n     corroborates. We know the persecutions, the malice, and the\n     poverty, which would assail this unlicensed administration of\n     ordinances; and nothing but a reverential awe for the sacred\n     and responsible functions he had undertaken could have\n     stimulated him to \"endure the cross and despise the shame,\"\n     when a very different line of conduct would have left him in\n     the undisturbed possession of both wealth and patronage. But,\n     we are afraid, the unpardonable offence of preaching in the\n     church under the authority and protection of the Commonwealth,\n     and his leaving her pale and preaching to \"crowded auditories,\"\n     when the wicked decree of St Bartholomew went forth, is\n     ungrateful to the spirit of many, who ought not to stigmatise\n     as sectaries and malignants all who have dared to think for\n     themselves, and at anytime to oppose \"spiritual wickedness\" in\n     \"high places.\" The very principles which made Bath an outcast\n     for conscience' sake are those which originated and led on the\n     work of our Protestant Reformation, and placed the historian of\n     Whalley where his sacred functions should have led him to\n     respect the rights and consciences even of those from whom he\n     might differ, and not hold them up to unmerited obloquy and\n     reprehension.\n\n     [13] This interesting and curious relic is now in\n     the possession of the Rev. J. Clowes of Broughton, whose\n     ancestor, Samuel Clowes, Esq., about the year 1690, married\n     Mary Cheetham, a descendant of Humphrey Cheetham, founder of\n     the Manchester Blue Coat School. In 1713, after the death of\n     James Holt, whose faithful rebuke from the Bishop of Chester we\n     have noticed in the introduction, Castleton came into\n     possession of the Cheethams until the death of Edward Cheetham,\n     in 1769.\n\n     The screen is now made into a side-board, and is most\n     fancifully and beautifully wrought with crests, ciphers, and\n     cognisances, belonging to the Holts and many of the\n     neighbouring families.\n\n     [14] Brand's _Popular Antiquities_, ii. 86-96.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE MERMAID OF MARTIN MEER]\n\n\n\n\nTHE MERMAID OF MARTIN MEER.\n\n\n     \"Now the dancing sunbeams play\n     O'er the green and glassy sea:\n     Come with me, and we will go\n     Where the rocks of coral grow.\"\n\n\n\n     Little needs to be said by way of introduction or explanation\n     of the following tale. Martin Meer is now in process of\n     cultivation; the plough and the harrow leave more enduring\n     furrows on its bosom. It is a fact, curious enough in\n     connection with our story, that some years ago, in digging and\n     draining, a canoe was found here. How far this may confirm our\n     tradition, we leave the reader to determine. It is scarcely two\n     miles from Southport; and the botanist, as well as the\n     entomologist, would find themselves amply repaid by a visit.\n\n\nMartin Meer, the scene of the following story, we have described in\nour first series of _Traditions_, where Sir Tarquin, a carnivorous\ngiant, is slain by Sir Lancelot of the Lake. These circumstances, and\nmore of the like purport on this subject, we therefore omit, as being\ntoo trite and familiar to bear repetition. We do not suppose the\nreader to be quite so familiar with the names and fortunes of Captain\nHarrington and Sir Ralph Molyneux, though they had the good fortune to\nbe born eleven hundred years later, and to have seen the world, in\nconsequence, eleven hundred years older--we wish we could say wiser\nand better tempered, less selfish and less disposed to return hard\nknocks, and to be corrupted with evil communications. But man is the\nsame in all ages. The external habits and usages of society change his\nmode of action--clothe the person and passions in a different garb;\nbut their form and substance, like the frame they inhabit, are\nunchanged, and will continue until this great mass of intelligence,\nthis mischievous compound of good and evil, this round rolling earth,\nshall cease to swing through time and space--a mighty pendulum, whose\nlast stroke shall announce the end of time, the beginning of eternity!\n\nOur story gets on indifferently the while; but a willing steed is none\nthe worse for halting. Harrington and his friend Sir Ralph were spruce\nand well-caparisoned cavaliers, living often about court towards the\nlatter end of Charles the Second's reign. What should now require\ntheir presence in these extreme regions of the earth, far from society\nand civilisation, it is not our business to inquire. It sufficeth for\nour story that they were here, mounted, and proceeding at a shuffling\ntrot along the flat, bare, sandy region we have described.\n\n\"How sweetly and silently that round sun sinks into the water!\" said\nHarrington.\n\n\"But doubtless,\" returned his companion, \"if he were fire, as thou\nsayest, the liquid would not bear his approach so meekly; why, it\nwould boil if he were but chin-deep in yon great seething-pot.\"\n\n\"Thou art quicker at a jest than a moral, Molyneux,\" said the other\nand graver personage; \"thou canst not even let the elements escape thy\ngibes. I marvel how far we are from our cousin Ireland's at Lydiate.\nMy fears mislead me, or we have missed our way. This flat bosom of\ndesolation hath no vantage-ground whence we may discern our path; and\nwe have been winding about this interminable lake these two hours.\"\n\n\"Without so much as a blade of grass or a tree to say 'Good neighbour'\nto,\" said Molyneux, interrupting his companion's audible reverie.\n\"Crows and horses must fare sumptuously in these parts.\"\n\n\"This lake, I verily think, follows us; or we are stuck to its side\nlike a lady's bauble.\"\n\n\"And no living thing to say 'Good-bye,' were it fish or woman.\"\n\n\"Or mermaid, which is both.\" Scarcely were the words uttered when\nHarrington pointed to the water.\n\n\"Something dark comes upon that burning track left on the surface by\nthe sun's chariot wheels.\"\n\n\"A fishmonger's skiff belike,\" said Sir Ralph.\n\nThey plunged through the deep sandy drifts towards the brink,\nhastening to greet the first appearance of life which they had found\nin this region of solitude. At a distance they saw a female floating\nsecurely, and apparently without effort, upon the rippling current.\nHer form was raised half-way above the water, and her long hair hung\nfar below her shoulders. This she threw back at times from her\nforehead, smoothing it down with great dexterity. She seemed to glide\non slowly, and without support; yet the distance prevented any very\nminute observation.\n\n\"A bold swimmer, o' my troth!\" said Molyneux; \"her body tapers to a\nfish's tail, no doubt, or my senses have lost their use.\"\n\nHarrington was silent, looking thoughtful and mysterious.\n\n\"I'll speak to yon sea-wench.\"\n\n\"For mercy's sake, hold thy tongue. If, as I suspect--and there be\nsuch things, 'tis said, in God's creation--thou wilt\"----\n\nBut the tongue of this errant knight would not be stayed; and his loud\nmusical voice swept over the waters, evidently attracting her notice,\nand for the first time. She drew back her dark hair, gazing on them\nfor a moment, when she suddenly disappeared. Harrington was sure she\nhad sunk; but a jutting peninsula of sand was near enough to have\ndeceived him, especially through the twilight, which now drew on\nrapidly.\n\n\"And thou hast spoken to her!\" said he gravely; \"then be the answer\nthine!\"\n\n\"A woman's answer were easier parried than a sword-thrust, methinks;\nand that I have hitherto escaped.\"\n\n\"Let us be gone speedily. I like not yon angry star spying out our\npath through these wilds.\"\n\n\"Thou didst use to laugh at my superstitions; but thine own, I guess,\nare too chary to be meddled with.\"\n\n\"Laugh at me an' thou wilt,\" said Harrington: \"when Master Lilly cast\nmy horoscope he bade me ever to eschew travel when Mars comes to his\nsouthing, conjunct with the Pleiades, at midnight--the hour of my\nbirth. Last night, as I looked out from where I lay at Preston,\nmethought the red warrior shot his spear athwart their soft\nscintillating light; and as I gazed, his ray seemed to ride half-way\nacross the heavens. Again he is rising yonder.\"\n\n\"And his meridian will happen at midnight?\"\n\n\"Even so,\" replied Harrington.\n\n\"Then gallop on. I'd rather make my supper with the fair dames at\nLydiate than in a mermaid's hall.\"\n\nBut their progress was a work of no slight difficulty, and even\ndanger. Occasionally plunging to the knees in a deep bog, then wading\nto the girth in a hillock of sand and prickly bent grass (the _Arundo\narenaria_, so plentiful on these coasts), the horses were scarcely\nable to keep their footing--yet were they still urged on. Every step\nwas expected to bring them within sight of some habitation.\n\n\"What is yonder glimmer to the left?\" said Molyneux. \"If it be that\nhideous water again, it is verily pursuing us. I think I shall be\nafraid of water as long as I live.\"\n\n\"As sure as Mahomet was a liar, and the Pope has excommunicated him\nfrom Paradise, 'tis the same still, torpid, dead-like sea we ought to\nhave long since passed.\"\n\n\"Then have our demonstrations been in a circle, in place of a right\nline, and we are fairly on our way back again.\"\n\nSure enough there was the same broad, still surface of the Meer,\nthough on the contrary side, mocking day's last glimmer in the west.\nThe bewildered travellers came to a full pause. They took counsel\ntogether while they rested their beasts and their spur-rowels; but the\nresult was by no means satisfactory. One by one came out the glorious\nthrong above them, until the heavens grew light with living hosts, and\nthe stars seemed to pierce the sight, so vivid was their brightness.\n\n\"Yonder is a light, thank Heaven!\" cried Harrington.\n\n\"And it is approaching, thank your stars!\" said his companion. \"I\ndurst not stir to meet it, through these perilous paths, if our\nnight's lodging depended on it.\"\n\nThe bearer of this welcome discovery was a kind-hearted fisherman, who\ncarried a blazing splinter of antediluvian firewood dug from the\nneighbouring bog; a useful substitute for more expensive materials.\n\nIt appeared they were at a considerable distance from the right path,\nor indeed from any path that could be travelled with safety, except by\ndaylight. He invited them to a lodging in a lone hut on the borders of\nthe lake, where he and his wife subsisted by eel-catching and other\nprecarious pursuits. The simplicity and openness of his manner\ndisarmed suspicion. The offer was accepted, and the benighted heroes\nfound themselves breathing fish-odours and turf-smoke for the night,\nunder a shed of the humblest construction. His family consisted of a\nwife and one child only; but the strangers preferred a bed by the\nturf-embers to the couch that was kindly offered them.\n\nThe cabin was built of the most simple and homely materials. The walls\nwere pebble-stones from the sea-beach, cemented with clay. The\nroof-tree was the wreck of some unfortunate vessel stranded on the\ncoast. The whole was thatched with star-grass or sea-reed, blackened\nwith smoke and moisture.\n\n\"You are but scantily peopled hereabouts,\" said Harrington, for lack\nof other converse.\n\n\"Why, ay,\" returned the peasant; \"but it matters nought; our living is\nmostly on the water.\"\n\n\"And it might be with more chance of company than on shore; we saw a\nwoman swimming or diving there not long ago.\"\n\n\"Have ye seen her?\" inquired both man and dame with great alacrity.\n\n\"Seen whom?\" returned the guest.\n\n\"The Meer-woman, as we call her.\"\n\n\"We saw a being, but of what nature we are ignorant, float and\ndisappear as suddenly as though she were an inhabitant of yon world of\nwaters.\"\n\n\"Thank mercy! Then she will be here anon.\"\n\nCuriosity was roused, though it failed in procuring the desired\nintelligence. She might be half-woman half-fish for aught they knew.\nShe always came from the water, and was very kind to them and the\nbabe. Such was the sum of the information; yet when they spoke of the\nchild there was evidently a sort of mystery and alarm, calculated to\nawaken suspicion.\n\nHarrington looked on the infant. It was on the woman's lap asleep,\nsmiling as it lay; and an image of more perfect loveliness and repose\nhe had never beheld. It might be about a twelvemonth old; but its\ndress did not correspond with the squalid poverty by which it was\nsurrounded.\n\n\"Surely this poor innocent has not been stolen,\" thought he. The child\nthrew its little hands towards him as it awoke; and he could have\nwept. Its short feeble wail had smitten him to the heart.\n\nSuddenly they heard a low murmuring noise at the window.\n\n\"She is there,\" said the woman; \"but she likes not the presence of\nstrangers. Get thee out to her, Martin, and persuade her to come in.\"\n\nThe man was absent for a short time. When he entered, his face\ndisplayed as much astonishment as it was possible to cram into a\ncountenance so vacant.\n\n\"She says our lives were just now in danger; and that the child's\nenemies are again in search; but she has put them on the wrong scent.\nWe must not tarry here any longer; we must remove, and that speedily.\nBut she would fain be told what is your business in these parts, if ye\nare so disposed.\"\n\n\"Why truly,\" said Harrington, \"our names and occupation need little\nsecrecy. We are idlers at present, and having kindred in the\nneighbourhood, are on our way to the Irelands at Lydiate, as we before\ntold thee. Verily, there is but little of either favour or profit to\nbe had about court now-a-days. Nought better than to loiter in hall\nand bower, and fling our swords in a lady's lap. But why does the\nwoman ask? Hath she some warning to us? or is there already a spy upon\nour track?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Martin; \"but she seems mightily afeard o' the\nchild.\"\n\n\"If she will entrust the babe to our care,\" said Harrington, after a\nlong pause, \"I will protect it. The shield of the Harringtons shall be\nits safeguard.\"\n\nThe fisherman went out with this message; and on his return it was\nagreed that, as greater safety would be the result, the child should\nimmediately be given to Harrington. A solemn pledge was required by\nthe unseen visitant that the trust should be surrendered whenever, and\nby whomsoever, demanded; likewise a vow of inviolable secrecy was\nexacted from the parties that were present. Harrington drew a signet\nfrom his finger; whoever returned it was to receive back the child. He\nsaw not the mysterious being to whom it was sent; but the idea of the\nMeer-woman, the lake, and the untold mysteries beneath its quiet\nbosom, came vividly and painfully on his recollection.\n\nLong after she had departed, the strange events of the evening kept\nthem awake. Inquiries were now answered without hesitation. Harrington\nlearned that the \"Meer-woman's\" first appearance was on a cold wintry\nday, a few months before. She did not crave protection from the\ndwellers in the hut, but seemed rather to command it. Leaving the\ninfant with them, and promising to return shortly, she seemed to\nvanish upon the lake, or rather, she seemed to glide away on its\nsurface so swiftly that she soon disappeared. Since then she had\nvisited them thrice, supplying them with a little money and other\nnecessaries; but they durst not question her, she looked so strange\nand forbidding.\n\nIn the morning they were conducted to Lydiate by the fisherman, who\nalso carried the babe. Here they told a pitiable story of their having\nfound the infant exposed, the evening before, by some unfeeling\nmother; and, strange to say, the truth was never divulged until the\ntime arrived when Harrington should render up his trust.\n\nYears passed on. Harrington saw the pretty foundling expand through\nevery successive stage from infancy to childhood--lovelier as each\nyear unfolded some hidden grace, and the bloom brightened as it grew.\nHe had married in the interval, but was yet childless. His lady was\npassionately fond of her charge, and Grace Harrington was the pet and\ndarling of the family. No wonder their love to the little stranger was\ngrowing deeper, and was gradually acquiring a stronger hold on their\naffections. But Harrington remembered his vow: it haunted him like a\nspectre. It seemed as though written with a sunbeam on his memory; but\nthe finger of death pointed to its accomplishment. It will not be\nfulfilled without blood, was the foreboding that assailed him. His\nlady knew not of his grief, ignorant happily of its existence, and of\nits source.\n\nTheir mansion stood on a rising ground but a few miles distant from\nthe lake. He thus seemed to hover instinctively on its precincts;\nthough, in observance of his vow, he refrained from visiting that\nlonely hut, or inquiring about its inhabitants. Its broad smooth bosom\nwas ever in his sight; and when the sun went down upon its wide brim\nhis emotion was difficult to conceal.\n\nOne soft, clear evening, he sat enjoying the calm atmosphere, with his\nlady and their child. The sun was nigh setting, and the lake glowed\nlike molten fire at his approach.\n\n\"'Tis said a mermaid haunts yon water,\" said Mrs Harrington; \"I have\nheard many marvellous tales of her, a few years ago. Strange enough,\nlast night I dreamed she took away our little girl, and plunged with\nher into the water. But she never returned.\"\n\n\"How I should like to see a mermaid!\" said the playful girl. \"Nurse\nsays they are beautiful ladies with long hair and green eyes.\nBut\"--and she looked beseechingly towards them--\"we are always\nforbidden to ramble towards the Meer.\"\n\n\"Harrington, the night wind makes you shiver. You are ill!\"\n\n\"No, my love. But--this cold air comes wondrous keen across my bosom,\"\nsaid he, looking wistfully on the child, who, scarcely knowing why,\nthrew her little arms about his neck, and wept.\n\n\"My dream, I fear, hath strange omens in it,\" said the lady\nthoughtfully.\n\nThe same red star shot fiercely up from the dusky horizon; the same\nbright beam was on the wave; and the mysterious incidents of the\nfisherman's hut came like a track of fire across Harrington's memory.\n\n\"Yonder is that strange woman again that has troubled us about the\nhouse these three days,\" said Mrs Harrington, looking out from the\nbalcony; \"we forbade her yesterday. She comes hither with no good\nintent.\"\n\nHarrington looked over the balustrade. A female stood beside a pillar,\ngazing intently towards him. Her eye caught his own; it was as if a\nbasilisk had smitten him. Trembling, yet fascinated, he could not turn\naway his glance; a smile passed on her dark-red visage--a grin of joy\nat the discovery.\n\n\"Surely,\" thought he, \"'tis not the being who claims my child!\" But\nthe woman drew something from her hand, which, at that distance,\nHarrington recognised as his pledge. His lady saw not the signal;\nwithout speaking, he obeyed. Hastening down-stairs, a private\naudience confirmed her demand, which the miserable Harrington durst\nnot refuse.\n\nTwo days he was mostly in private. Business with the steward was the\nostensible motive. He had sent an urgent message to his friend\nMolyneux, who, on the third day, arrived at H----, where they spent\nmany hours in close consultation. The following morning Grace came\nrunning in after breakfast. She flung her arms about his neck.\n\n\"Let me not leave you to-day,\" she sobbed aloud.\n\n\"Why, my love?\" said Harrington, strangely disturbed at the request.\n\n\"I do not know!\" replied the child, pouting.\n\n\"To-day I ride out with Sir Ralph to the Meer, and as thou hast often\nwished--because it was forbidden, I guess--thou shalt ride with us a\nshort distance; I will toss thee on before me, and away we'll\ngallop--like the Prince of Trebizond on the fairy horse.\"\n\n\"And shall we see the mermaid?\" said the little maiden quickly, as\nthough her mind had been running on the subject.\n\n\"I wish the old nurse would not put such foolery in the girl's head,\"\nsaid Mrs Harrington impatiently. \"There be no mermaids now, my love.\"\n\n\"What! not the mermaid of Martin Meer?\" inquired the child, seemingly\ndisappointed.\n\nHarrington left the room, promising to return shortly.\n\nThe morning was dull, but the afternoon broke out calm and bright.\nGrace was all impatience for the ride; and Rosalind, the favourite\nmare, looked more beautiful than ever in her eyes. She bounded down\nthe terrace at the first sound of the horses' feet, leaving Mrs\nHarrington to follow.\n\nThe cavaliers were already mounted, but the child suddenly drew back.\n\n\"Come, my love,\" said Harrington, stretching out his hand; \"look how\nyour pretty Rosalind bends her neck to receive you.\"\n\nSeeing her terror, Mrs Harrington soothed these apprehensions, and\nfear was soon forgotten amid the pleasures she anticipated.\n\n\"You are back by sunset, Harrington?\"\n\n\"Fear not, _I_ shall return,\" replied he; and away sprang the pawing\nbeasts down the avenue. The lady lingered until they were out of\nsight. Some unaccountable oppression weighed down her spirits; she\nsought her chamber, and a heavy sob threw open the channel which\nhitherto had restrained her tears.\n\nThey took the nearest path towards the Meer, losing sight of it as\nthey advanced into the low flat sands, scarcely above its level. When\nagain it opened into view its wide waveless surface lay before them,\nreposing in all the sublimity of loneliness and silence. The rapture\nof the child was excessive. She surveyed with delight its broad\nunruffled bosom, giving back the brightness and glory of that heaven\nto which it looked; to her it seemed another sky and another world,\npure and spotless as the imagination that created it.\n\nThey entered the fisherman's hut; but it was deserted. Years had\nprobably elapsed since the last occupation. Half-burnt turf and\nbog-wood lay on the hearth; but the walls were crumbling down with\ndamp and decay.\n\nThe two friends were evidently disappointed. At times they looked out\nanxiously, but in vain, as it might seem; for they again sat down,\nsilent and depressed, upon a turf-heap by the window, while the child\nran playing and gambolling towards the beach.\n\nHarrington sat with his back to the window, when suddenly the low\nmurmuring noise he had heard on his former visit was repeated. He\nturned pale.\n\n\"Thou art not alone; and where is the child?\" or words to this purport\nwere uttered in a whisper. He started aside; the sound, as he thought,\nwas close to his ear. Molyneux heard it too.\n\n\"Shall I depart?\" said he, cautiously; \"I will take care to keep\nwithin call.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said his friend, whispering in his ear, \"thou must ride out of\nsight and sound too, I am afraid, or we shall not accomplish our plans\nfor the child's safety. Depart with the attendants; I fear not the\nwoman. Say to my lady I will return anon.\"\n\nWith some reluctance Sir Ralph went his way homewards, and Harrington\nwas left to accomplish these designs without assistance.\n\nImmediately he walked out towards the shore; but he saw nothing of the\nchild, and his heart misgave him. He called her; but the sound died\nwith its own echo upon the waters. The timid rabbit fled to its\nburrow, and the sea-gull rose from her gorge, screaming away heavily\nto her mate; but the voice of his child returned no more!\n\nAlmost driven to frenzy, he ran along the margin of the lake to a\nconsiderable distance, returning after a fruitless search to the hut,\nwhere he threw himself on the ground. In the agony of his spirit he\nlay with his face to the earth, as if to hide his anguish as he wept.\n\nHow long he remained was a matter of uncertainty. On a sudden,\ninstantaneously with the rush that aroused him, he felt his arms\npinioned, and that by no timid or feeble hand. At the same moment a\nbandage was thrown over his eyes, and he found himself borne away\nswiftly into a boat. He listened for some time to the rapid stroke of\nthe oars. Not a word was spoken from which he could ascertain the\nmeaning of this outrage. To his questions no reply was vouchsafed, and\nin the end he forbore inquiry--the mind wearied into apathy by\nexcitement and its consequent exhaustion.\n\nThe boat again touched the shore, and he was carried out. The roar of\nthe sea had for some time been rapidly growing louder as they neared\nthe land. He was now borne along over hillocks of loose sand to the\nsea-beach, when he felt himself fairly launched upon the high seas. He\nheard the whistling of the cordage, the wide sail flap to the wind,\nwith the groan of the blast as it rushed into the swelling canvas;\nthen he felt the billows prancing under him, and the foam and spray\nfrom their huge necks as they swept by. It was not long ere he heard\nthe sails lowered; and presently they were brought up alongside a\nvessel of no ordinary bulk. Harrington was conducted with little\nceremony into the cabin; the bandage was removed from his eyes, and he\nfound himself in the presence of a weather-beaten tar, who was sitting\nby a table, on which lay a cutlass and a pair of richly-embossed\npistols.\n\n\"We have had a long tug to bring thee to,\" said the captain; \"but we\nalways grapple with the enemy in the long run. If thou hast aught to\nsay why sentence of death should not pass on thee, ay, and be executed\nstraightway too--say on. What! not a shot in thy locker? Then may all\nsuch land-sharks perish, say I, as thus I signify thy doom.\" He\nexamined his pistols with great nicety as he spoke. Harrington was\ndumb with amazement, whilst his enemy surveyed him with a desperate\nand determined glance. At length he stammered forth--\n\n\"I am ignorant of thy meaning; much less can I shape my defence. Who\nart thou?\"\n\nThe other replied, in a daring and reckless tone--\n\n\"I am the Free Rover, of whom thou hast doubtless heard. My good\nvessel and her gallant crew ne'er slackened a sky-raker in the chase,\nnor backed a mainsail astern of the enemy. But pirate as I am--hunted\nand driven forth like the prowling wolf, without the common rights and\nusages of my fellow men--I have yet their feelings. I _had_ a child!\nThy fell, unpitying purpose, remorseless monster, hath made me\nchildless! But thou hast robbed the lioness of her whelp, and thou art\nin her gripe!\"\n\n\"As my hope is to escape thy fangs, I am innocent of the crime.\"\n\n\"Maybe thou knowest not the mischief thou hast inflicted; but thy\nguilt and my bereavement are not the less. My child was ailing; we\nwere off this coast, when we sent her ashore secretly until our\nreturn. A fisherman and his wife, to whom our messenger entrusted the\nbabe, were driven forth by thee one bitter night without a shelter.\nThe child perished; and its mother chides my tardy revenge.\"\n\n\"'Tis a falsehood!\" cried Harrington, \"told to cover some mischievous\ndesign. The child, if it be thine, was given to my care--by whom I\nknow not. I have nurtured her kindly; not three hours ago, as I take\nit, she was in yonder hut; but she has been decoyed from me; and I am\nhere thy prisoner, and without the means of clearing myself from this\nfalse and malicious charge.\"\n\nThe captain smiled incredulously.\n\n\"Thou art lord of yonder soil, I own; but thou shouldest have listened\nto the cry of the helpless. I have here a witness who will prove thy\nstory false--the messenger herself. Call hither Oneida,\" said he,\nspeaking to the attendants. But this personage could not be found.\n\n\"She has gone ashore in her canoe,\" said the pirate; \"and the men\nnever question her. She will return ere mid-watch. Prepare: thou\nshowedst no mercy, and I have sworn!\"\n\nHarrington was hurried to a little square apartment, which an iron\ngrating sufficiently indicated to be the state prison. The vessel lay\nat anchor; the intricate soundings on that dangerous coast rendered\nher perfectly safe from attack, even if she had been discovered. He\nwatched the stars rising out, calm and silently, from the deep: \"Ere\nyon glorious orb is on the zenith,\" thought he, \"I may be--what?\" He\nshrank from the conclusion. \"Surely the wretch will not dare to\nexecute his audacious threat?\" He again caught that red and angry star\ngleaming portentously on him. It seemed to be his evil genius; its\nmalignant eye appeared to follow out his track, to haunt him, and to\nbeset his path continually with suffering and danger. He stood by the\nnarrow grating, feverish and apprehensive; again he heard that low\nmurmuring voice which he too painfully recognised. The mysterious\nbeing of the lake stood before him.\n\n\"White man\"--she spoke in a strange and uncouth accent;--\"the tree\nbows to the wing of the tempest--the roots look upward--the wind sighs\npast its withered trunk--the song of the warbler is heard no more from\nits branches, and the place of its habitation is desolate. Thine\nenemies have prevailed. I did it not to compass thine hurt: I knew not\ntill now thou wert in their power; and I cannot prevent the\nsacrifice.\"\n\n\"Restore the child, and I am safe,\" said Harrington, trembling in his\nsoul's agony at every point; \"or withdraw thy false, thine accursed\naccusations.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest not my wrongs and my revenge! Thou seest the arrow, but\nnot the poison that is upon it. The maiden, whose race numbers a\nthousand warriors, returns not to her father's tribe ere she wring out\nthe heart's life-blood from her destroyer. Death were happiness to the\ntorments I inflict on him and the woman who hath supplanted me. And\nyet they think Oneida loves them--bends like the bulrush when the wind\nblows upon her, and rises only when he departs. What! give back the\nchild? She hath but taken my husband and my bed; as soon might ye tear\nthe prey from the starved hunter. This night will I remove their child\nfrom them--to depart, when a few moons are gone--it may be to dwell\nagain with my tribe in the wigwam and the forest.\"\n\n\"But I have not wronged thee!\"\n\n\"Thou art of their detested race. Yet would I not kill thee.\"\n\n\"Help me to escape.\"\n\n\"Escape!\" said this untamed savage, with a laugh which went with a\nshudder to his heart. \"As soon might the deer dart from the hunter's\nrifle as thou from the cruel pirate who has pronounced thy death! I\ncould tell thee such deeds of him and these bloody men as would freeze\nthy bosom, though it were wide and deep as the lakes of my country.\nYet I loved him once! He came a prisoner to my father's hut. I have\nspilled my best blood for his escape. I have borne him where the white\nman's feet never trod--through forests, where aught but the Indian or\nthe wild beast would have perished. I left my country and my kin--the\ngraves of my fathers--and how hath he requited me? He gave the ring of\npeace to the red woman; but when he saw another and a fairer one of\nthy race, she became his wife; and from that hour Oneida's love was\nhate!--and I have waited and not complained, for my revenge was sure!\nAnd shall I now bind the healing leaf upon the wound?--draw the arrow\nfrom the flesh of mine enemies? Thou must die! for my revenge is\nsweet.\"\n\n\"I will denounce thee to him, fiend! I will reveal\"----\n\n\"He will not believe thee. His eye and ear are sealed. He would stake\nhis life on my fidelity. He knows not of the change.\"\n\n\"But he will discover it, monster, when thou art gone. He will track\nthee to the verge of this green earth and the salt sea, and thou shall\nnot escape.\"\n\nWith a yell of unutterable scorn she cried--\n\n\"He may track the wild bee to its nest, and the eagle to his eyrie,\nbut he discerns not one footprint of Oneida's path!\"\n\nThe pangs of death seemed to be upon him. He read his doom in the\nkindling eye and almost demoniac looks of the being who addressed him.\nShe seemed like some attendant demon waiting to receive his spirit.\nHis brain grew dizzy. Death would have been welcome in comparison with\nthe horrors of its anticipation. He would have caught her; but she\nglided from his grasp, and he was again left in that den of loneliness\nand misery. How long he knew not; his first returning recollection was\nthe sound of bolts and the rude voices of his jailers.\n\nIn this extremity the remembrance of that Being in whom, and from\nwhom, are all power and mercy, flashed on his brain like a burst of\nhope--like a sunbeam on the dark ocean of despair.\n\n\"God of my fathers, hear!\" escaped from his lips in that appalling\nmoment. His soul was calmed by the appeal. Vain was the help of man,\nbut he felt as if supported and surrounded by the arm of Omnipotence,\nwhile silently, and with a firm step, he followed his conductors.\n\nOne dim light only was burning above. Some half-dozen of the crew\nstood armed on the quarter-deck behind their chief; their hard,\nforbidding faces looked without emotion upon this scene of unpitying,\ndeliberate murder.\n\nTo some question from the pirate Harrington replied by accusing the\nIndian woman of treachery.\n\n\"As soon yonder star, which at midnight marks our meridian, would\nprove untrue in its course.\"\n\nHarrington shuddered at this ominous reference.\n\n\"I cannot prove mine innocence,\" said he; \"but I take yon orb to\nwitness that I never wronged you or yours. The child is in her\nkeeping.\"\n\n\"Call her hither, if she be returned,\" said the captain, \"and see if\nhe dare repeat this in her presence. He thinks to haul in our canvas\nuntil the enemy are under weigh, and then, Yoh ho, boys, for the\nrescue. But we shall be dancing over the bright Solway ere the morning\nwatch, and thy carcase in the de'il's locker.\"\n\n\"If not for mine, for your own safety!\"\n\n\"My safety! and what care I, though ten thousand teeth were grinning\nat me, through as many port-holes. My will alone bounds my power. Who\nshall question my sentence, which is death?\"\n\nHe gnashed his teeth as he went on. \"And your halls shall be too hot\nto hold your well-fed drones. Thy hearth, proud man, shall be\ndesolate. I'll lay waste thy domain. Thy race, root and branch, will I\nextinguish; for thou hast made me childless!\"\n\nThe messenger returned with the intelligence that Oneida was not in\nthe ship.\n\n\"On shore again, the ----! If I were to bind her with the main-chains,\nand an anchor at each leg, she would escape me to go ashore. No heed;\nwe will just settle the affair without her, and he shall drop quietly\ninto a grave ready made, and older than Adam. I would we had some more\nof his kin; they should swing from the bowsprit, like sharks and\nporpoises, who devour even when they have had enough, and waste what\nthey can't devour.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt not murder me thus, defenceless, and in cold blood.\"\n\n\"My child was more helpless, and had not injured _thee_! Ye give no\nquarter to the prowling beast, and yet, like me, he only robs and\nmurders to preserve his life. How far is it from midnight?\"\n\n\"Five minutes, and yon star comes to his southing,\" said the person he\naddressed.\n\n\"Then prepare; that moment marks thy death!\"\n\nThe men looked significantly towards their rifles.\n\n\"Nay,\" cried this bloodthirsty freebooter, \"my arm alone shall avenge\nmy child.\"\n\nHe drew a pistol from his belt.\n\n\"Yonder is Oneida,\" sang out the man at the main-top; \"she is within a\ncable's length.\"\n\n\"Heed her not. When the bell strikes, I have sworn thou shalt die!\"\n\nA pause ensued--a few brief moments in the lapse of time, but an age\nin the records of thought. Not a breath relieved the horror and\nintensity of that silence. The plash of a light oar was heard;--a boat\ntouched the vessel. The bell struck.\n\n\"Once!\" shouted the fierce mariner, and he raised his pistol with the\nsharp click of preparation.\n\n\"Twice!\"\n\nThe bell boomed again.\n\n\"Thrice!\"\n\n\"Hold!\" cried a female, rushing between the executioner and the\ncondemned: But the warning was too late;--the ball had sped, though\nnot to its mark. Oneida was the victim. She fell, with a faint scream,\nbleeding on the deck. But Harrington was close locked in the arms of\nhis little Grace. She had flown to him for protection, sobbing with\njoy.\n\nThe pirate seemed horror-struck at the deed. He raised Oneida,\nunloosing his neckcloth to staunch the wound.\n\n\"The Great Spirit calls me:\" she spoke with great exertion: \"the green\nwoods, the streams, land of my forefathers. Oh! I come!\" She raised\nherself suddenly with great energy, looking towards Harrington, who\nyet knelt, guarded and pinioned--the child still clinging to him.\n\n\"White man, I have wronged thee, and I am the sacrifice. Murderer,\nbehold thy child!\" She raised her eyes suddenly towards the pirate,\nwho shook his head, supposing that her senses grew confused.\n\n\"It was for thy rescue!\" again she addressed Harrington. \"The Great\nSpirit appeared to me: he bade me restore what I had taken away, and I\nshould be with the warriors and the chiefs who have died in battle.\nThey hunt in forests from which the red-deer flies not, and fish in\nrivers that are never dry. But my bones shall not rest with my\nfathers!--I come. Lake of the woods, farewell!\"\n\nShe threw one look of reproach on her destroyer, and the spirit of\nOneida had departed.\n\nThe pirate stood speechless and bewildered. He looked on the child--a\nray of recollection seemed to pass over his visage. Its expression was\nsoftened; and this man of outlawry and blood became gentle. The savage\ngrew tame. The common sympathies of his nature, so long dried up,\nburst forth, and the wide deep flood of feeling and affection rolled\non with it like a torrent, gathering strength by its own accumulation.\n\nYears after, in a secluded cottage by the mansion of the Harringtons,\ndwelt an old man and his daughter. She soothed the declining hours of\nhis sojourn. His errors and his crimes--and they were many and\naggravated--were not unrepented of. She watched his last breath; and\nthe richest lady of that land was \"THE PIRATE'S DAUGHTER.\"\n\n\n[Illustration: GEORGE FOX]\n\n\n\n\nGEORGE FOX.\n\n\n     \"O Thou who every thought pervades,\n       My darkened soul inform:\n     With equal hand Thy goodness guides\n       A planet or a worm.\"\n\n\n     On the eastern side of Swart Moor, about a mile from\n     Ulverstone, stands Swartmoor Hall. This bleak elevation took\n     its name from Colonel Martin Swart, or Swartz, an experienced\n     and valiant soldier, of a noble German family, to whom the\n     Duchess of Burgundy, in 1486, entrusted the command of the\n     troops which were sent to support Lambert Simnel in his claim\n     to the English crown. A more detailed account of this\n     transaction will be found in the first volume of our present\n     series, in the tradition relating to \"The Pile of Fouldrey.\"\n     Suffice it to say that the rebel army was defeated here with\n     great slaughter; and Swartz, along with several of the English\n     nobility, was slain--an event which entailed the name of this\n     chieftain on the place of his overthrow.\n\n     The hall, about 180 years ago, was the residence of Thomas Fell,\n     commonly called Judge Fell, vice-chancellor of the Duchy Court\n     at Westminster, and one of the judges that went the Welsh\n     circuit; a man greatly esteemed both in his public and private\n     capacity. His wife was a lady of exemplary piety: she was born\n     at Marsh Grange, in the parish of Dalton, in the year 1614, and\n     was married before she had attained to the age of eighteen. The\n     Judge and his lady being greatly respected, and much hospitality\n     being displayed in their house to ministers and religious\n     people, George Fox, in the year 1652, on his first coming into\n     Furness, called at Swartmoor Hall, and preaching there, and also\n     at Ulverstone, Mrs Fell, her daughters, and many of the family\n     adopted his principles.  The Judge was then upon the circuit.\n     On his return he seemed much afflicted and surprised at this\n     revolution in his family; and in consequence of some malicious\n     insinuations from those who met him with the intelligence, he\n     was greatly exasperated against George Fox and his principles.\n     By the prudent intervention of two friends, however, his\n     displeasure was greatly mitigated; and Fox, returning hither in\n     the evening, answered all his objections in so satisfactory a\n     manner, that the Judge \"assented to the truth and reasonableness\n     thereof;\" the tranquillity of the family was restored; and from\n     that time, notwithstanding numerous attempts to detach him from\n     the cause, he continued a steady friend to the members of the\n     society and its founder on all occasions where he had the power.\n     A weekly meeting was established in his house the following\n     Sunday. But his patronage did not last many years; he departed\n     this life in September 1658, his health having been for some\n     time before considerably on the decline.\n\n     Mrs Fell, after his death, suffered much inconvenience and\n     oppression because of the religious principles she had\n     embraced; yet, notwithstanding, the weekly meetings continued\n     to be held at her house until the year 1690, when a new\n     meetinghouse was opened about a quarter of a mile distant.\n\n     In 1669, eleven years after the death of Judge Fell, she\n     married George Fox, whom she survived eleven years, dying at\n     Swartmoor Hall in February 1702, nearly eighty-eight years\n     old.[15]\n\n     The house is still inhabited, though in a very dilapidated\n     condition. The barns and stables by which it is surrounded, and\n     the litter of the farmyard, give it a very mean and\n     undignified appearance.\n\n     The tenant is a substantial farmer, who is very assiduous in\n     showing the premises. The hall is spacious, with an oaken\n     wainscoting. The bedrooms, which are large and airy, were\n     formerly ornamented with carved work, now greatly damaged. In\n     one of them is a substantial bedstead, with carved posts, on\n     which it is said this reformer used to repose, and any of his\n     followers have permission to occupy it for one night. This\n     privilege is either not known, or perhaps not very highly\n     appreciated, for the tenant states that not a single \"Friend\"\n     has availed himself of it during the whole time he has resided\n     there. Here is shown the study of George Fox in all its\n     pristine plainness and simplicity. On one side of the hall is\n     an orchard, looking almost coeval with the building. The house\n     stands high, and the upper windows command an extensive and\n     beautiful prospect. The meetinghouse is a neat plain building,\n     in perfect repair, still used by the Friends at Ulverstone and\n     the neighbourhood for religious worship. Over the door is the\n     following inscription, \"_Ex dono G.F. 1688_.\" There is a\n     burial-place surrounded with trees attached to the chapel.\n\n     George Fox did not reside constantly at Swartmoor after his\n     marriage. The greater part of his time was spent in itinerancy.\n     He  travelled nearly over the whole of Great Britain, and\n     several parts of America in the exercise of his ministry. After\n     encountering innumerable sufferings, oppositions, and\n     afflictions, this indefatigable missionary departed this life on\n     the 13th of November 1690, in the 67th year of his age, at a\n     house in White Hart Court, London. He was interred in the\n     \"Friends Burying-Ground,\" near Bunhill Fields.\n\n     The author is aware that the following remarkable account of \"a\n     special interposition\" has been attributed to other names and\n     later dates, and is recorded as having happened to individuals\n     at different places both in England and Ireland. The same fact\n     attaching itself to different localities and persons--probably\n     according to the caprice or partialities of the several\n     narrators--is, as he has found in the course of his researches,\n     no unusual occurrence. He does not attempt to decide in favour\n     of any of the conflicting claims or authorities, but merely to\n     give the tale as it exists, selecting those places and\n     circumstances which are most suitable for his purpose.\n\n\nThe supremacy of a special Providence, guiding and overruling the\naffairs of men, is a doctrine which few will have the hardihood to\nwithstand and still less to deny. It is interwoven with our very\nnature, and seems implanted in us for the wisest and most beneficent\nof purposes. It is a doctrine full of comfort and consolation; our\nstay and succour in the most appalling extremities. There does seem,\nat times, vividly bursting through the most important periods of our\nexistence, a ray from the secret place of the Most High. We see an\nopening, as it were, into the very arrangements and councils of the\nskies; we catch a glimpse of the machinery by which the universe is\ngoverned; the wheels of Providence are for a moment exhibited,\npalpable and unencumbered by secondary causes, while we, stricken\nprostrate from the consciousness of our own insignificance,\nacknowledge with awe and admiration the protecting power of which we\nare so unworthy.\n\nOf the special interference we have just noticed the following\nnarrative, true as to the more important particulars, is a striking\ninstance; events, apparently happening out of the ordinary way, seem\nbrought about by this direct interposition at a period when the most\neminent display of human foresight and sagacity would have been\nunavailing.\n\nOne chill and misty evening in the year 1652, being the early part of\na wet and, as it proved, a tardy spring, two strangers were benighted\nin attempting to cross the wild mountain ridge called Cartmel Fell.\nThey had proposed taking the most direct route from Kendal to\nCartmel; having, however, missed the few points which indicated their\ntrack, they had for several hours been beating about in the\nexpectation of finding some clue to extricate themselves, but every\nattempt seemed only to fix them more inextricably in a state of doubt\nand bewilderment. A dense fog had been rapidly accumulating, and they\nbegan to feel something startled with a vague apprehension of a\nnight-watch amongst the hills, unprovided as they were with the\nrequisite essentials for either food or lodging.\n\nThe elder of the two, though not more than midway between thirty and\nforty years old, was clad in a strange uncouth garb of the coarsest\nmaterials, and his lank long hair hung matted and uncombed upon his\nshoulders from a \"brim\" of extravagant dimensions. This style of dress\nwas not then recognised as the distinctive badge of a religious sect,\nas it is now of the people called \"Quakers,\" or, as they are more\nfavourably designated, \"Friends.\" The person of whom we speak was the\nfounder of this society, George Fox, who, only about five years\nprevious to the date of our story, after much contemplation on\nreligious subjects, took upon himself the public ministry. In the year\n1650 he was imprisoned at Derby for speaking publicly in the church\nafter divine service; on being brought before a magistrate, he bade\nthe company \"_tremble at the word of the Lord_;\" the expression was\nturned into ridicule, and he and his friends received the appellation\nof \"_Quakers_.\"\n\nHis appearance was stout and muscular; and his general demeanour of\nthat still, undisturbed aspect which, if not one of the essentials of\nhis own religion, is at least looked upon as its greatest ornament,\nbetokening the inward grace of a meek and quiet spirit. \"He was,\" says\nJohn Gough, the historian of this people, \"a man of strong natural\nparts, firm health, undaunted courage, remarkable disinterestedness,\ninflexible integrity, and distinguished sincerity. The tenor of his\ndoctrine, when he found himself concerned to instruct others, was to\nwean men from systems, ceremonies, and the outside of religion in\nevery form, and to lead them to an acquaintance with themselves by a\nmost solicitous attention to what passed in their own minds; to direct\nthem to a principle of their own hearts, which, if duly attended to,\nwould introduce rectitude of mind, simplicity of manners, a life and\nconversation adorned with every Christian virtue, and peace, the\neffect of righteousness. Drawing his doctrine from the pure source of\nreligious truth, the New Testament, and the conviction of his own\nmind, abstracted from the comments of men, he asserted the freedom of\nman in the liberty of the gospel against the tyranny of custom, and\nagainst the combined powers of severe persecution, the greatest\ncontempt, and keenest ridicule. Unshaken and undismayed, he persevered\nin disseminating principles and practices conducive to the present and\neverlasting well-being of mankind, with great honesty, simplicity, and\nsuccess.\"\n\nThe companion of this reformer was arrayed in a more worldly suit; a\nmulberry-coloured cloak and doublet, with a hat of grey felt, that,\nfor brevity of brim, would almost have vied with that of the brass\nbasin worn by the knight of the rueful countenance, whose history may\nbe consulted at length in the writings of that veracious historian,\nDon Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. His movements were of a more\nirregular and erratic nature than comported with the well-ordered and\nequable gait of his companion. The rarely-occurring remarks of the\nlatter were anything but explicit as to the state of his feelings in\ncontemplation of an event, the possibility of which increased with\nevery step--a night's lodgings in these inhospitable wilds. The sun\nwas now evidently beneath the horizon; darkness came on with frightful\nrapidity; and they had, as yet, no reason to divest themselves of so\ndisagreeable an anticipation. To one in the full glare of daylight, or\nwith a sound roof-tree over his head and a warm fire at his elbow, the\nidea of a night-vigil may not appear either unpleasant or\nextraordinary; but, wrapped in a sheet of grey mist, the wet heath\noozing beneath his feet, with the cold and benumbing air of the hills\nfor his supper, there could be little question that he would be apt to\nregard it as a condition not far removed from the extremity of human\nsuffering; especially if at the same time he had just exchanged a snug\nfireside and an affectionate neighbourhood of friends for these\nappalling discomforts.\n\n\"I know not what we shall do,\" said the younger traveller. \"It never\nentered into my head beforehand to imagine the possibility of such an\nevent. Surely, surely, we are not to live through a whole night in\nthese horrid wilds. Pray, do speak out, and let me at least have the\ncomfort of a complaint, for we are past consolation.\"\n\n\"I have been ruminating on this very matter,\" replied the other; \"and\nit does appear that we are as safe in this place verily as though we\nwere encompassed with walls and bulwarks. Methinks, friend, thou\nspeakest unadvisedly; in future, when thee knowest not what to\ndo--wait! The more thee pulls and hauls, and frets and kicks, depend\non it thou wilt be the less able to extricate thyself thereby. We are\nnot left quite without comfort in this dreary wilderness; here is a\ngoodly and a well-set stone, I perceive, just convenient. Verily, it\nis a mercy if we get a little rest for our limbs. Many a meek and holy\ndisciple, of whom the world was not worthy, has ere now been fain of a\nslice of hard rock for his pillow.\"\n\n\"And, in truth, we are as likely as the holiest of 'em to refresh\nourselves all night on a stone bolster,\" pettishly replied the\nunthankful youth, as he seated himself beside his friend.\n\nIt was not long ere a slight breeze began to roll the mist into\nirregular masses of cloud. The dense atmosphere appeared to break, and\na star twinkled for a moment, but disappeared as suddenly as it came\nforth. Ralph Seaton, the younger of the pedestrians, pointed out the\nfriendly visitant to his companion. It seemed as though the eye of\nmercy were beaming visibly upon them.\n\n\"I have seen it,\" said the man of quiet endurance; \"and now gird up\nthy loins to depart. The fog will rapidly disperse; and it may be that\nsome distant light will guide us to rest and shelter.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking the mist coiled upwards, driving rapidly across\nthe sky in the shape of a heavy scud. A few stars twinkled here and\nthere through the lucid intervals, \"few and far between;\" but they\nwere continually changing place, closing and unfolding as the wind\nmingled or separated their shapeless fragments.\n\n\"It is even as I said. Seest thou yonder light?\"\n\n\"I see not anything,\" replied Seaton.\n\n\"Just beneath that bright star to our left?\" again inquired the elder\ntraveller.\n\n\"I only see a dark hill rising there abruptly against the lowering\nswell of the sky.\"\n\nOur \"Friend\" was silent for a space, when he replied in a tone of deep\nsolemnity--\n\n\"It is the inward light of which I have spoken to thee before; a token\nof no ordinary import. To-night, or I am deceived, we are called on\nto pass through no common allotment of toil and tribulation. Oft hath\nthis light been outwardly manifest, and as often has it been the\nprecursor of some sharp and fiery trial! Again! But thou seest it not.\nYet mayest thou follow in my steps. Take heed thou turn not either to\nthe right hand or to the left. But\"----The speaker's voice here grew\nfearfully ominous and emphatic.\n\n\"Hast thou courage to do as I shall bid thee? I must obey the will of\nthe Spirit; but unless thou hast faith to follow the light that is\nwithin me, rather pass the night on that cold unsheltered rock than\ndraw back from His witness. Remember, it is no slight peril that\nawaits us.\"\n\nNot without a struggle and certain waverings, which indicated a faith\nsomewhat less implicit than was desirable on such an occasion, did the\ndisciple promise to obey--ay, to the very letter--every command that\nmight be given. Peradventure, a well-founded apprehension of spending\nthe night companionless on the cold and wet dormitory to which his\nevil stars had conducted him, had some influence in this\ndetermination. Suffice it to say, never did disciple resolve more\nfaithfully to obey than did our young adventurer in this perilous\nextremity.\n\nTheir path now appeared to wind precipitately down a steep and narrow\ndefile, through which a rapid torrent was heard foaming and tumbling\nover its rugged bed. Following the course of the stream to a\nconsiderable distance, a rude bridge was discerned, sufficiently\nindicating a path to some house or village in that direction. The wind\nwas rising in sharp and heavy gusts. The moon, not yet above the\nhills, was brightening the dark clouds that hung behind them like a\nhuge curtain. The sky was studded, in beauteous intervals, with hosts\nof stars. This light enabled them to follow a narrow footpath, which,\nabruptly turning the head of a projecting crag, showed them a distant\nglimmer as though from some friendly habitation. Seaton bounded past\nhis more recondite companion; and it was not long ere a fierce growl\nchallenged him as he approached nearer to the dwelling. He threw open\nthe door, and discovered what was sufficiently distinguishable as a\npublic-house, a homely interior, dignified by the name of tavern. Two\ngrim-looking men sat before a huge pile of turf, glowing fiercely from\nthe wide expanse appropriated to several uses beside that of fireplace\nand chimney. Liquor and coarse bread were near them on a low\nthree-legged table; while Seaton, overjoyed at his good fortune and\nhappy escape, thought the rude hut a palace, and the smell of turf\nand oat-cake a refection fit for the gods.\n\n\"Be quiet, Vixen.\" The fierce animal, at this rebuke from her\nmistress, slunk into a dark corner beside the chimney, whence two\nhideous and glaring eyes were fixed on the strangers for the rest of\nthe evening. Wherever Seaton turned, he still beheld them, intently\nwatching, as though gloating on their prey. The female who had thus\nspoken did not welcome her guests with that cheerful solicitude which\nthe arrival of profitable customers generally creates. She bustled\nabout unceasingly; but showed neither anxiety nor inclination to offer\nthem any refreshment. Short and firm-set in person, she looked more\nmuscular than was befitting her sex. Her hair was grizzled, and the\nstraggling tresses hung untrammelled about her smoke-dried and\nhard-lined visage. Her features wore a dubious and unpleasant aspect,\ncalculated to create more distrust than seemed desirable to their\nowner. Every effort, however, to disguise their expression only\nrendered them the more forbidding and repulsive.\n\nNear the turf-stack, by the chimney, sat a being to all appearance in\na state of mental derangement almost approaching to idiotcy. His eye\nrested for a moment, with a vacant and undefined stare, upon the\nstrangers; then, with a loud shrill laugh, which made the listeners\nshudder, he again bent his head, basking moodily before the blaze. The\nmoment Seaton had thrown down a light portmanteau that he carried, the\ndame, with a low tap, summoned two stout fellows from an inner room,\nwho, with a suspicious and over-acted civility, inquired the\ndestination and wishes of their guests. The elder of the travellers,\nnow coming forward as spokesman, inquired about the possibility of\nobtaining lodgings for the night, and was informed that a room,\ndetached from the rest, was generally used as a guest-chamber on all\nextra occasions.\n\n\"There's a bed in 't fit to streek down the limbs of a king,\" said one\nof the gruff helpers; \"and maybe the gentlemen will sleep as sound\nhere as they could wish. Rabbit thee, Will, but the luggage will break\nthy back. Have a care, lad. Let me feel: it's as light as a church\npoor's-box. The de'il's flown awa' with aw the shiners, I think; for\nit's lang sin' I heard a good ow'd-fashioned jink in a traveller's\npack.\"\n\nThis was said more by way of comment than conversation, as he handled\nthe stranger's valise.\n\nThe features of these men exhibited a strange mixture of ferocity and\nmirth. Savage, and almost brutal in their expression, still an\natmosphere of fun hovered about them--a Will-o'-the-wisp sort of\nplayfulness, unnatural and decoying, like the capricious gambols of\nthat renowned and mischievous sprite.\n\nThe Quaker seated himself on a low bench before the fire. He took from\nhis neck a huge handkerchief, spreading it out on his knees. He then\ndrew off a pair of long worsted stocking-boots; leisurely untied his\nshoes, and extending his ample surface in the most convenient manner\nto the blaze, appeared, with eyes half-shut, pondering deeply some\ninward abyss of thought, yet not wholly indifferent to the objects\naround him. His tall and bony figure looked more like some stiff and\nimitative piece of mechanism than a living human frame with flexible\narticulations, so fashioned was every motion of the body to the formal\nand constrained habits and peculiarities of the mind. Seaton had\nobserved, with no slight uneasiness, the suspicious circumstances in\nwhich they were placed; but he was fearful of betraying his mistrust,\nlest it should accelerate the mischief he anticipated. He looked\nwistfully at his friend; but there was no outward manifestation that\ncould elucidate the inward bent of his thoughts. The keen expression\nof his eye was not visible; but his other features wore that\nimperturbable and stolid aspect which suited the stiff and unyielding\nsubstance of his opinions. Seaton was now reminded of his supper by an\ninquiry from the female as to their intentions on that momentous\nsubject. A \"flesh pye,\" as she termed it, was drawn from its lair--a\ndark hole used as a cupboard--and set before the guests. The very name\nsounded suspicious and disgusting. In the present state of his\nfeelings the most trivial circumstance was sufficient to keep alive\nthe apprehensions that haunted him. He endeavoured to rally himself\nout of his fears, and had in some measure succeeded, thrusting his\nknife deep into the forbidden envelope. At that moment a slight\nrustling caused him to look aside. The idiot was gazing on him. He\nshrank from this unexpected glance; and the knife loosened in his\ngrasp. He thought the creature made a sign with his finger, forbidding\nhim to eat. It might be fancy; but nevertheless he felt determined not\nto touch the food; and the former, with that natural cunning which, in\ncharacters of this description, almost assumes the nature of instinct,\nagain appeared crouching over the blaze, and incapable either of\nobservation or intelligence. This transaction passed unnoticed by the\nrest of the party; and Seaton, afraid that some horrible and unnatural\nfood had been set before him, secretly motioned to his friend, who,\napparently unheeding, helped himself to a portion of the mysterious\ndish. For a moment it occurred to Seaton that the cunning half-wit,\napprehensive lest too great a share of the savoury victuals should\nfall to their lot, had contrived to forbid this appropriation. After a\nfew mouthfuls, however, he observed that his friend had as little\nrelish for the provision as himself, remarking that a rasher of bacon\nwould be preferred, if the hostess could furnish him with this\ndelicacy. A whisper was the result of this request; but, in the end, a\nsavoury collop was set upon the table. Beer was added, as a matter of\ncourse; but neither of them partook of the beverage. Though Seaton, to\nall appearance, drank a portion, yet his fears got the better of his\nfatigue; and some apprehension of treachery made him careful to convey\naway the liquor unobserved. Fox now drew up his gaunt figure in the\nattitude which indicated a change of position. With great deliberation\nhe rose, and addressed the hostess--\n\n\"Canst thee show us to bed?\"\n\nAnswering in the affirmative, she snatched up a light, and leading the\nway across a narrow yard, she pointed out a small step-ladder outside\nthe building. Giving the candle into the hands of the grave personage\nwho followed her, she left them after bidding \"Good-night!\"\n\nThey scrambled up the ladder, entering the room appropriated to their\nuse. It was low, and of scanty dimensions. The walls were bare; and\nthe damp oozed through chinks and crevices, where the wind met with\nslight interruption, though it clamoured unceasingly for admission.\nThe only furniture in the apartment was a low bedstead, on which a\nstraw mattress reposed in all the accumulated filth of past ages. A\ncoverlid of coarse woollen partly concealed a suit of bed-linen that\nwould have stricken terror amongst a tribe of Esquimaux. Neither party\nappeared wishful to tempt the mysteries that were yet unseen, or to\ndivest himself of clothing. They flung their luggage on the floor, and\nsat upon it, each awaiting the first word of intercourse from his\ncompanion. After a while there was a heavy groan from the Quaker; and\nSeaton something hastily intimated his suspicions respecting the\noccupation and pursuits of the party below.\n\n\"I am of the like persuasion with thyself,\" was the reply. \"Verily,\nthe warning was not in vain. This night may not pass ere faith shall\nhave its test. I have had a sore struggle. Our safety will be granted;\nbut through inward guidance rather than from our own endeavours. Yet\nmust we use the means.\"\n\n\"I see no way of escape,\" returned Seaton, \"provided they be what we\nhave unhappily too good cause to apprehend. Unarmed, and without the\nmeans of defence, how can we cope with men whose object, doubtless,\nwith the robbery, will be the concealment of their crime?\"\n\n\"Follow my example. It is thine only chance for deliverance. Question\nme not; but be silent, and obey. I have said it.\"\n\nWhile the speaker relapsed into one of his usual reveries, Seaton cast\nhis eyes inquiringly round the room. Their feeble light was ready to\nexpire. The rude gusts rocked the frail tenement \"as if't had agues;\"\nand the walls groaned beneath their pressure. There was a small\ncasement, stuffed with paper and a matchless assortment of\nparti-coloured rags, near the roof, directly over the bed. He ascended\nsoftly to examine the nature of this outlet; but, to his further\nalarm, he found it guarded outside with iron bars. This was a direct\nconfirmation of his surmises. A cold shudder crept over him. He felt\nalmost stiffening with horror as he looked down upon his thoughtful\ncompanion, doomed, he doubted not, as well as himself, to fall a prey\nto the assassin. He gazed wildly round the apartment, as if with some\ndesperate hope of deliverance. His head grew dizzy; objects seemed to\nflit past him; and more than once he fancied that footsteps were\ncreeping up the ladder. This acute burst of agony subsiding, he\nlistened to the short and rapid whirl of the wind eddying by; and\nnever had the sound fallen upon his ear so fearfully. It seemed like\nthe wail of a departing spirit, or like some funeral dirge, moaning\nheavily and deep through the sudden pauses of the blast. He threw\nhimself on the bed. Fatigue and long abstinence had enervated his\nframe. Nature, forced almost beyond the limit of endurance, had become\npassive, and almost incapable of suffering. A deep slumber stole upon\nhim, yet could he not escape the horrors by which he was surrounded.\nDaggers reeking in blood--spectres covered with hideous\nwounds--murderers on the rack--gibbets, and a thousand forms,\nshapeless and unimaginable, crowded past with inconceivable rapidity.\nA huge figure approached. In its hand a weapon was uplifted, as if to\ndestroy him. He made a vehement effort to escape; but was holden,\nwithout the power of resistance. Just as it was descending he awoke.\nFor a while he was unable to recollect precisely the nature of his\nsituation. The apartment was quite dark. He groped confusedly about\nhim, but to no purpose. At that instant a ray seemed to glide from the\ncasement. It was a moonbeam struggling through that almost impervious\ninlet. By this light he beheld a figure intently gazing towards the\nwindow. At the first glance he did not recognise his companion; but,\nas he started from the couch, the former approached him, and, laying\none hand on his shoulder, whispered that he should be still. He\nobeyed, and remained motionless. The reason for this admonition was\nsoon apparent. He heard a slight pattering at intervals on the few\nbrittle fragments which the window yet retained. Seaton at first\nthought it might be the rain, especially as the wind had considerably\nabated; but he soon found there must be some other cause, from the\nrattling of sand and other coarser materials upon the floor and bed.\nHe crept close to the window, looking out below, but was unable to\nfind out the reason of this disturbance. Suddenly a volley of pebbles\nbounded past his face, and the moon shining forth at the same instant,\na figure was distinguished anxiously attempting to arouse and excite\ntheir attention. To his great astonishment he recognised the wayward\nbeing whose glance had startled him so disagreeably a few hours\nbefore. He recollected the idiot's former signal, and felt convinced\nthat this was a more direct and friendly interference. Seaton\ncarefully pulled away a portion of the stuffing, and was thus enabled\nto bring his head closer to the bars. This movement was observed; and\nwith an admonition to silence, the strange creature pointed to the\nground, at the same time he appeared as if urging them to escape.\nSeaton comprehended his meaning; but the iron fastenings were an\napparently insurmountable impediment. He laid hold of one of the bars\nwith considerable force; and to his great joy it yielded to the\npressure. Apparently there was no other individual beneath, or this\nfriendly warning would not have been given. It seemed as if the\ntenants of the hovel were too secure of their prey to set a watch. He\ndescended cautiously to his companion. A few whispers were sufficient\nto convey the intelligence. Again he mounted to the window; and, on\nlooking down, found that their providential monitor had disappeared.\nThere was no time to be lost. Seaton again tried the bar, and\nsucceeded in removing it. Another was soon wrenched from its hold, and\na few minutes more saw him safely through the aperture, from which he\nlet himself down with little difficulty to the ground. His companion\nimmediately followed; and once more outside their lodging, a new\ndifficulty presented itself. Seaton knew of no other path than the one\nby which they had previously gained the cottage; and this would, in\nall probability, afford a leading track to their pursuers, who might\nbe expected shortly to be aware of their escape. But he was relieved\nfrom this dilemma by his companion making a signal that he should\nfollow. \"Remember thy promise,\" said he. Seaton was prepared to obey,\nfeeling a renewed confidence in the discretion of his guide. Turning\ninto a pathway near the place where they had alighted, their course\nwas towards a river, which they beheld at no great distance twinkling\nbrightly in the moonbeams. They cautiously yet rapidly proceeded down\na narrow descent, fear hastening their flight, for they expected every\nmoment to hear the footsteps of their pursuers. In a little while they\nturned out of the road, and, by a circuitous path, which the guide\nseemed to tread with unhesitating confidence, they came to the river's\nbrink. By the brawling of its current, and the appearance it\npresented, the water was evidently shallow, and might be crossed\nwithout much difficulty. Seaton was preparing to make the attempt, but\nwas prevented by his comrade.\n\n\"I have some inward impression that we may not cross here. We shall be\npursued; and our adversaries will imagine that we have passed over\nwhat is doubtless the ford of this Jordan. I know not why, but we must\nfollow its banks, and for some distance, ere we pass.\"\n\nSeaton urged the danger and folly of this proceeding, and proposed\ncrossing immediately, but met with a decided and unflinching refusal\nfrom his companion. They now kept along the river's brink, but with\nmuch difficulty. The rain having swollen the waters, they were often\nforced to wade up to the knees through the little creeks and rivulets\nthat intersected their path. They journeyed on for a considerable\ntime in silence, when the elder traveller made a sudden pause.\n\n\"It is here,\" said he. Seaton looked on the river; but the broad and\ndeep wave rolled past with frightful impetuosity. The moonbeams\nglittered on a wide and rapid flood, whose depths were unknown, but to\nwhich, nevertheless, it seemed that they were on the point of\ncommitting themselves.\n\n\"The river is both wide and deep!\" said the youth.\n\n\"Nevertheless, we must cross,\" replied his more taciturn companion.\nWithout further parley the latter plunged boldly into the stream.\nUrged on by his fears, and preferring death in any shape to the death\nthat was pursuing him, Seaton followed his example. For some time they\nstruggled hard with the full sweep of the current; and it seemed\nlittle short of a miracle when they arrived, almost breathless and\nexhausted, on the opposite side.\n\n\"Praised be His name who hath given strength! Though deep waters have\nencompassed us, yet His arm is our deliverance.\"\n\nWith a holy and ardent outpouring of soul did this good man render\nthanksgivings unto Him whose hand had been so visibly stretched out\nfor their protection. Just as he had made an end of speaking, a\ndistant but distinct howl was borne down upon the wind. They listened\neagerly, as the sound evidently grew nearer. It was like the short but\nstifled cry of a hound in full chase.\n\n\"Peril cometh as a whirlwind,\" said George Fox; \"but fear not--a way\nwill be left for our escape!\"\n\n\"It is that malicious hound!\" replied Seaton shuddering, as he\nremembered the beast which had gazed so intently on him, and which was\nevidently trained for the present purpose.\n\n\"We must climb up to those tall bushes with all speed,\" said the\ncompanion of his flight, at the same time leading the way with\nconsiderable haste and agility.\n\nFrom this height they saw, at some distance up the river, three men on\nhorseback, preceded by a large hound, who, true to the scent, was\nfollowing steadily on their footsteps. They approached rapidly to the\nplace where the fugitives had gone over, when the dog made a dead\nhalt, and looked wistfully across.\n\n\"Loo, loo!\" said the foremost rider, \"hie on, lass!\" But the beast\nwould not move.\n\n\"Sure now, Mike,\" said he, as the others came up, \"if they've taken\nthe water at this unlucky hole, they'll need no drownin' by this\nanyhow.\"\n\n\"It's the brute, bad luck to her,\" replied his comrade. \"She's on the\nwrong scent. Why they're over the ford by this, and we shall have the\nbloody thief-catchers here before we can open the door for 'em.\"\n\n\"If the bitch had followed my nose, instead of her own beautiful\nscent,\" said the remaining speaker, \"we should ha' been over the ford\ntoo, long ago. They'd as soon think of swimming o'er the bay in a\ncabbage-leaf as cross at this place. Back, back; and we'll shoulder\n'em yet, my darlings. Come along, boys--one of you take the ford, an'\nwatch the road over the hill. Have a care, now, that the rogues be not\nskulking round the bog. I'll keep the road hereabout; an' thou, Mike,\nlay to with the hound when thou art on the other side. Maybe they'll\nnot find it just so easy to beat us in the hunting while we've a leg\nto lay on after them.\"\n\nThe worthy triumvirate here withdrew. The animal was with much\ndifficulty forced from her track; but by the help of a stout cord she\nwas dragged off, yelping and whining, to the great joy of their\nintended victims. Seaton could not but recognise the very finger of\nProvidence, which had pointed out the means of preservation. No other\nway was left apparently for their escape. Whatsoever course they had\ntaken, save this, must have inevitably thrown them into the very toils\nof their pursuers; and he determined to follow, fearlessly and without\nquestion, the future impulses of his companion.\n\n\"Shall we attempt to flee, or must we tarry here a space?\" he\nhesitatingly inquired.\n\n\"Nay, friend,\" said his guide, \"I wis not yet what we shall do; but\nmethinks we are to abide here until morning!\"\n\nSeaton shivered at this intimation. His clothes were drenched, and his\nwhole frame stiffened and benumbed with cold. His position, too,\ncrouching amongst decayed branches and alder twigs, was none of the\nmost eligible or easy to sustain. He felt fully resolved, however, to\nfollow the leadings of his friend, being convinced that his ultimate\nsafety depended on a strict adherence to this determination.\n\nThe country was very thinly inhabited, and their enemies were in\npossession of the only outlets by which they could escape to the\nnearest village. Aided, too, by the sagacity of the dog, their track\nwould inevitably be discovered before daylight enabled them to find\nshelter. These considerations were too important to be overlooked, and\nSeaton quietly resolved to make himself as comfortable as\ncircumstances would permit. He wrung out the wet from his clothes,\nchafed his limbs, and ere long, to his inexpressible relief, the first\nsymptoms of the dawn were visible in the east. Just as a glowing rim\nof light was gliding above the horizon, they ventured to peep forth\ncautiously from their retreat. To their great mortification, they saw,\nat a considerable distance, a horseman stationed on the brow of a\nneighbouring hill, evidently for the purpose of a more extended\nscrutiny. Signals would inevitably betray their route should they\nemerge from their concealment; and escape now seemed as hopeless as\never.\n\nIn this fresh difficulty Seaton again sought counsel from his friend,\nwho replied with great earnestness--\n\n\"There is yet another and a more grievous trial;\"--he lifted up his\neyes, darkening already with the energy of his spirit;--\"but I trust\nour deliverance draweth nigh. We must return!\"\n\n\"Return?\" cried Seaton, his lips quivering with amazement. \"Whither?\nNot to the den we have just left?\"\n\n\"Even so,\" said the other with great composure.\n\n\"Then all hope is lost!\" mournfully returned the inquirer.\n\n\"Nay,\" replied his companion, \"but let me ask what chance, even\naccording to thine own natural and unaided sense, there is of\ndeliverance in our present condition? Hemmed in on every hand, without\na guide, and strangers to the path we should take, if the watchman\nfrom the hill miss our track, there is the hound upon our scent!\"\n\nThere was no gainsaying these suggestions; but still a proposal that\nthey should return to the cabin, whence they had with such pains and\ndifficulty made their escape, in itself was so absurd and inexplicable\na piece of manoeuvring, that common sense and common prudence alike\nforbade the attempt. Yet, on the other hand, common sense and common\nprudence appeared to be equally unavailing as to any mode of escape\nfrom the toils in which they were entangled.\n\nAgain he determined to follow his friend's guidance: who, addressing\nhimself immediately to the task, made the best of his way to the ford\nwhich he had refused to cross the preceding night. They now took the\ndirect road to the house. The morning was sharp and clear. Seaton felt\nthe cold and raw atmosphere cling to his frame, already chilled to an\nalarming degree; but the excitation he had undergone prevented further\nmischief than the temporary inconvenience he then suffered. As they\ncame nearer the hut his very faculties seemed to escape from his\ncontrol. A sense of danger, imminent and almost insupportable, came\nupon him. Bewildered, and actuated with that unaccountable but\ninstinctive desperation which urges on to some inevitable doom, he\nrushed wildly into the dwelling. It was not as they had left it.\nSeveral horses were quietly standing by the door; and a party, who had\nmerely called for the purpose of half-an-hour's rest and refreshment,\nwere then making preparations to depart. Seaton took one of them\naside, and disclosed the terrible circumstances we have related. By a\njudicious but prompt application of their forces they prevented any\none from leaving the house, and were prepared to seize all who should\nreturn thither. A close search soon betrayed the quality and calling\nof its inmates. A vast hoard of plunder was discovered, and proofs too\nabundant were found that deeds had been there perpetrated of which we\nforbear the recital. The old woman was seized; and her capture was\nfollowed by the apprehension of the whole gang, who shortly after met\nwith the retribution merited by their crimes.\n\nThe maniac proved to be a son of the old beldame. At times, the cloud\nunhappily clearing from his mental vision had left him for a short\nspace fearfully cognisant of the transactions he was then doomed to\nwitness. On that night to which our history refers a sudden\nprovidential gleam of intelligence flashed upon him, and an unknown\nimpulse prompted his interference in behalf of the unfortunate, and,\nas he thought, unsuspecting victims. Ere leaving the country they saw\nhim comfortably provided for; and, as far as the nature of his malady\nwould permit, his mind was soothed, and his darkest moments partly\nrelieved from the horrors which humanity alone could mitigate, but not\nprevent.\n\n     [15] _Vide_ West's _Antiquities of Furness_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEMON OF THE WELL.\n\n       \"Avaunt, thou senseless thing!\n     Can graven image mimic life, and glare\n     Its stony eye-balls; grin, make mouths at me?\n     Go to, it is possessed;--some demon lurks\n     Within its substance.\"\n\n\n     Peggy's well, the subject of our engraving, is near the brink\n     of the Ribble, in a field below Waddow Hall; Brunckerley\n     Stepping-stones not being far distant, where several lives have\n     been lost in attempting to cross, at times when the river was\n     swollen by a rapid rise, which even a day's rain will produce.\n     These calamities, along with any other fatal accidents which\n     happened in the neighbourhood, are usually attributed to the\n     malevolence of Peggy. The stepping-stones are alluded to in our\n     first volume as the place where King Henry VI was taken, after\n     escaping from Waddington Hall.\n\n     Some stones are still visible at low water; but whether these\n     are the original \"Hippins,\" or the foundations of a wooden\n     bridge which succeeded them, and was borne down by the ice at\n     the breaking up of the frost in the year 1814, is not known.\n\n     The stone image by the well, depicted in our engraving, has\n     been the subject of many strange tales and apprehensions, being\n     placed there when turned out of the house at Waddow, to allay\n     the terrors of the domestics, who durst not continue under the\n     same roof with this misshapen figure. It was then broken,\n     either from accident or design, and the head, some time ago, we\n     have understood, was in one of the attic chambers at Waddow\n     Hall.\n\n\nOne loud, roaring, and tempestuous night--the last relics of the year\n1660--some half-dozen boon companions were comforting themselves\nbeside a blazing fire, and a wassail-cup, at the ingle of a\nwell-ordered and well-accustomed tavern within the good borough of\nClitheroe, bearing on its gable front, over a grim and narrow porch, a\nmarvellous portraiture apparently of some four-footed animal, by\ncommon usage and consent denominated \"The Bull.\" What recked they of\nthe turmoil that was abroad, while good liquor lasted, and the troll\nand merry tale went round? The yule-log was blazing on the hearth,\nand their cups were bright and plenished.\n\n[Illustration 10: PEG O'NELLY'S WELL, NEAR CLITHEROE.\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._\n_Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\"'Ods bodikins, Nic--and that's a parson's oath,\" said a small waspish\nfigure from the farther chimney-corner, in a sort of husky wheezing\nvoice, \"I'll lay thee a thimblefull of pins thou dar'na do it.\"\n\n\"And I'll lay thee a grey lapstone, an' a tachin-end to boot, that I\nrun ower t' hippin-stones to-night, and never a wet sole; but a buss\nand a wet lip I'll bring fro' the bonniest maiden at Waddow!\"\n\n\"Like enough, like enough, though thou hast to brag for't,\" said the\nfirst speaker tauntingly--an old customer of the house, and a compiler\nof leathern extremities for the good burghers and their wives.\n\n\"Give o'er your gostering,\" said another; \"_Non omnes qui citharam\ntenent, sunt citharoedi_.[iii] Many talk of Robin Hood who never shot from\nhis bow. Know ye not 'tis Peggy's year, and her oblation hath not been\nrendered? Eschew therefore the rather your bravery until this night be\noverpast.\"\n\nThis learned harangue betrayed the schoolmaster, who was prone to make\nGaffer Wiswall's chimney-side a temporary refuge from the broils and\ndisturbances of his own, where his spouse, by way of enticing him to\nremain, generally contrived either to rate him soundly or to sulk\nduring their brief communion.\n\n\"Who cares for Peg?\" said the hero who had boasted of his\nblandishments with the maids. \"She may go drown herself i' the Red Sea\nfor aught I care!\"\n\nThis heretical, unbelieving, and impious scorner was a man of shreds\nand patches, a pot-valiant tailor, whose ungartered hosen, loose\nknee-strings, and thin shambling legs, sufficiently betokened the\nsedentary nature of his avocations. \"I wonder the parson hasn't gi'en\nher a lift wi' Pharaoh and his host ere this,\" continued he.\n\n\"Or the schoolmaster,\" said that provoking little personage, the first\nspeaker, whose sole aim was to throw the apple of discord amongst his\nfellows.\n\n\"And pray who may this lady be whom ye so ungallantly devote to\nperdition?\" inquired a stranger from behind, who had hitherto been\nsilent, apparently not wishful to join the hilarity of those he\naddressed. The party quesited was in the midst of a puff of exhalation\nmore than usually prolonged when the question was put, so that ere he\ncould frame his organs to the requisite reply the pragmatical tailor,\nwhose glibness of tongue was equalled only by his assurance, gave the\nfollowing by way of parenthesis:--\n\n\"Plague on't, where's t'ou bin a' thy life, 'at doesn't know Peg\nO'Nelly, man?\"\n\n\"Deuce tak' thee for a saucy lout,\" said the sutor; \"I'll brak' thy\nspindle-shanks wi' my pipe-stump. Be civil if thou can, Nicky, to thy\nbetters. Sir, if it please ye to listen, we'll have ye well instructed\nin the matter by the schoolmaster here.\" He cast a roguish look at the\npedagogue as he spoke. But I pray you draw in with us, an' make one\nwi' the rest.\"\n\nThe scholar adjusted himself, passed one hand thoughtfully upon his\nbrow, and with a gentle inclination commenced with a loud hem, or\nclearance of aught that might obstruct the free communication of his\nthoughts.\n\n\"Peg, or Peggy, as some do more euphoniously denominate her, was maid,\nwoman, or servant--_ancilla_, _famula_, _ministra_, not _pedissequa_,\nor one who attends her mistress abroad, but rather a servant of all\nwork, in the house yonder at Waddow, many years past. Indeed, my\ngrandmother did use to speak of it as _ex vetere fama_--traditionary,\nor appertaining unto the like.\"\n\n\"I tell thee what, gossip, if thee doesn't get on faster wi' thy tale,\nPeggy's ghost will have a chronicle of another make. I can see Nic's\ntongue is yammering to take up a stitch i' thy narrative,\" interrupted\nthe leathern artificer.\n\n\"And I'd bring it up in another guess way,\" said Nicholas, tartly,\n\"than wi' scraps and scrapings fro' gallipots, and remnants o' mass\nbooks.\"\n\n\"Pray ye, friends, be at peace a while, or I may be dealt with never a\nword to my question,\" said the stranger beseechingly.\n\n\"Go on,\" rejoined the peremptory occupant of the chimney-corner; \"but\nlet thy discourse be more akin to thy text.\"\n\nThe schoolmaster, thus admonished, again set forward.\n\n\"As I was a-saying precedent or prior to this unseasonable\ninterruption--_medium sermonem_--I crave your mercy, but I was born,\nas I may say, with the Latin, or the _lingua latialis_ in my mouth,\nrather than my mother-tongue; so, as I was a-saying, this same Peggy,\n_filia_ or daughter to Ellen, if I mistake not, seeing that Peg\nO'Nell doth betoken, after the manner and use of these rude\nprovincials, that the genitrix or _mater_ is the genitive or\ngenerator, being\"----\n\n\"Now a murrain light on all fools, coxcombs, and\"----\n\n\"Tailors' shins--hang thee, for thou hast verily split mine wi' thy\ngilly-pegs. They're as sharp as a pair of hatchets,\" said an\nunfortunate neighbour who had the ill-luck to encounter the gyrations\nof these offensive and weapon-like appendages to the trunk of Nicholas\nSlater, who, in his great ardour and distress at the floundering and\nabortive attempts of the scholar, threw them about in all directions,\nto the constant jeopardy and annoyance of those more immediately\nwithin their sphere of operation.\n\n\"Keep 'em out o't gait then,\" said the testy aggressor, angry at the\ninterruption, being fearful of losing so lucky an opportunity.\n\n\"Peg O'Nelly, sir, was a maid-servant once at Waddow, killed first,\nand then drowned i' the well by one o' the men for concubinage, as the\nparson says; and so for the wrong done, her ghost ne'er having been\nlaid, you see she claims every seventh year an offering which must be\nsummat wick--and\"----While he hesitated another took up the thread of\nhis narrative.\n\n\"This is the last night o' the year, you see,\" said the other in\ncontinuation; \"and we be just thinking to bid good-bye to th' old\nchap, and greet th' new one with a wag of his paw, and a drink to his\nweel-doing. But the first cause o' this disturbance was by reason of\nits being Peggy's year, and as she hasn't had her sop yet, we thought\nas how it would be no bad job to get rid o' this drunken tailor here,\nand he might save some better man; so we have been daring him to cross\nt' hippin-stones to-night; for there is but an hour or two to spare\nbefore her time's up.\"\n\n\"It is not too late,\" said the stranger, with great solemnity. Every\neye was bent upon him. He still sat in the broad shadow projected by\none huge chimney-corner, his face overhung by a broad felt hat, girt\nwith a band and buckle; a drooping draggled feather fell over its\ncrown. His whole person was so curiously enveloped in a loose\ntravelling cloak that nothing but a dark unshapely mass, having some\nresemblance to the human form, could be distinguished. Concealment\nwas evidently the object. Every one was awed down into silence. The\nfew words he had spoken seemed to have dried up, or rather frozen at\nits surface, the babbling current of their opinions, that ran, whilom,\nwith unceasing folly and rapidity.\n\n\"Silence!\" cried the sutor from the opposite ingleside.\n\nThis command operated like a charm. The ice was broken, and the\ncurrent became free. Without more ado, as if in opposition to the\nself-constituted authority from the high-backed chair, the guests,\nwith one exception only, commenced with a vigorous discharge of \"airy\nmissiles,\" which by degrees subsided into a sort of desultory\nsharp-shooting; but their words were neither few nor well applied. It\nwas evident that a gloom and disquietude was upon the assembly. There\nwas a distinct impression of fear, though a vague notion as to its\ncause--a sort of extempore superstition--a power which hath most hold\non the mind in proportion as its limits and operations are least known\nor understood. The bugbear owing its magnitude and importance to\nobscurity and misapprehension, becomes divested of its terrors when it\ncan be surveyed and appreciated.\n\n     \"_Te misereat, miserescat, vel commiserescat mei,_\"\n\nquoted the schoolmaster, who, before he could find an equivalent in\nhis mother-tongue, was tripped up by the nimble constructor of\nraiment.\n\n\"The dule and his dam are verily let loose on us,\" said he.\n\n\"Our Lady and her grace forefend!\" cried he of the awl and lapstone,\nwhose pipe having unaccountably been extinguished, was just in the act\nof being thrust down into the red and roaring billets when he beheld a\nblue flame hovering on them; a spiral wreath of light shot upwards,\nand the log was reduced to a mass of glowing ashes and half-burnt\nembers. At this critical moment the stranger deliberately approached\nthe hearth. He threw a whole flagon of liquor wilfully upon the waning\nfaggots, and in a moment fiz, splutter, and smoke proclaimed that the\nwarfare of the elements, like many others, had ended in the\ndestruction of both the contending belligerents. The yule-log was\nextinguished. There was a general rush, and a consternation of so\nunequivocal a nature, that tables, benches, platters, and drinking\nutensils were included in one vast overthrow. Some thought they saw\nthe glowing emblem of Yule transferred to the stranger's eyes, which\ntwinkled like twin loopholes to the furnace within.\n\n\"I have thee now!\" said he; but who this unfortunate might be whom\nthey had so left, even in the very claws of the Evil One, they knew\nnot, nor did they care to inquire. Each, too happy to escape, rushed\nforth hatless and sore dismayed into the street, with all the horrors\nof a pelting and pitiless night upon his head, and thought himself\nwell off by the exchange, and too much overjoyed that his own person\nwas not the victim in the catastrophe.\n\nIn the morning Isabel, the landlord's ward, and his coal-black steed\nwere amissing!\n\nNow, it was but a mile or so from this ancient borough to Brunckerley,\nor Bromiley hippin (stepping) stones, across the Ribble, where, upon\nthis insecure but long-used mode of transit, the steps of our\nforefathers were guided over the ford. These same stepping-stones were\nquite as often the instruments or executioners of Peggy's vengeance as\nthe well itself dignified by her name. It need not, therefore, be a\nmatter of surprise that when the appalling and fearful events of the\npreceding night were bruited forth in the public thoroughfares upon\nNew-Year's morning--a season when news-carriers and gossips, old and\nyoung, are more particularly prone to a vigilant exercise of their\ntalents and avocations--we say it need not be a source of either\nsuspicion or surprise that many of these conduit-pipes of\nintelligence, even before the day was broad awake, did pour forth an\noverwhelming flood of alarm and exaggeration. According to these\nveracious lovers of the marvellous, shrieks were heard about the\nrequisite time, and in the precise direction where it must needs\nfollow that Isabel was just in the act of being whisked off by one of\nPegg's emissaries, and that ere now she was doubtless offered as one\nof the septennial sacrifices to her revenge.\n\nIt was a brave and comely morning, and a brave sight it was to see old\nand young go forth to the river on that blessed day. The crisp and icy\nbrink of the brawling Ribble was beset by groups of idle folk, some\nanxiously looking out for symptoms or traces of the body, others\noccupied with rakes and various implements for searching the unknown\nregions beneath the turbid and angry waters. Beyond were the antlered\nand hoary woods of Waddow, every bow laden with the snows of\nyestereven, sparkling silently in the broad and level sweep of light,\npouring in one uninterrupted flood over the wide and chilly waste--a\nwilderness of snow, a gay and gorgeous mantle glittering on the bosom\nof death and desolation.\n\nGaffer Wiswall was there. The old man almost beside himself with\ngrief, heart-stricken with the blow, felt alone, a scathed trunk,\ndoomed to survive when the green verdure of his existence had\ndeparted.\n\nWet and weary were the searchers, and their toil unremitting, but the\nbody was not found. The \"Well,\" Peg O'Nelly's Well, was tried, with\nthe like result. Surely this was a visitation of more than ordinary\nspite and malignity. Hitherto the bodies of the victims, with but few\nexceptions, had been rendered back to their disconsolate survivors,\nthe revengeful ghost apparently satisfied with their extinction; but\nit is now high time to make the attempt, if possible, to rid\nthemselves of her persecutions.\n\n\"Look here!\" said one of the bystanders, pointing to the river's\nmargin; \"there hath gone a horse, or it may be two, along these\nslippery banks, but a few hours ago, and the track seems to come from\nthe river.\"\n\n\"Let us see to the other side,\" said another, \"if there be a fellow to\nit.\" And, sure enough, on the opposite bank, there were footmarks\ncorresponding thereto, as though one or more adventurous horsemen had\nswam the swollen waters recently, a little higher up than the ford,\npursuing their slippery way by the very margin, along the woods, for\nsome distance, when their track was lost amid these deep and almost\npathless recesses.\n\n\"Mercy o' me,\" said one, \"it is deep enough thereabouts to drown the\ncastle and hill to boot. Neither horse nor man could wade that\nhurly-burly there last night, for the waters were out, and the footboy\nfrom Waddow told me that nobody could even cross the hippin-stones at\neight o'clock. He came round by the bridge.\"\n\n\"But if the beasts could swim?\" said another, of more knowledge and\nshrewdness than the rest.\n\n\"Swim!--Go to!\" said the small leathern-aproned personage whose\nfunctions we have before adverted to at the bright and merry ingle of\nold Wiswall; \"neither man nor beast could have held breast against the\ntorrent.\"\n\nThis was a complete negation to the whole. Nevertheless something had\ncrossed, whether cloven-footed or not they were unable to distinguish,\ninasmuch as the demon, or whatsoever it might be, had taken the\nprecaution to make its passage in a pair of horse-shoes. The\nprobability was, that Peggy had varied the usual mode of her\nproceedings, and sent a messenger with a strong arm and a fiery steed\nto seize her victim.\n\n\"We're none on us safe,\" cried one, \"fro' this she div--div--Save us!\nI'd like to ha' made a bad job on't.\"\n\n\"The bloody vixen is ne'er satisfied,\" said an old gossip, whose nose\nand chin had been gradually getting into closer fellowship for at\nleast a long score of winters. \"I'll hie me to Bet at the Alleys for a\ncharm that'll drive aw t' hobgoblins to the de'il again. When I waur a\nwee lassie, the scummerin' dixies didn't use to go rampaging about\nthis gate. There was nowt to do, but off to t' priest, an' th' job\nwaur done. Now-a-days, what wi' new lights, doctrines, an' lollypops,\nAnabaptists an' Presbyterians, they're too throng wranglin' wi' one\nanother to tak' care o' the poor sheep, which Satan is worrying and\nhurrying like hey go mad, and not a soul to set the dog at him, nor a\ncallant to tak' him by t' horns, an' say 'Boh!'\"\n\nIt seems \"the good old times,\" even in those days, were objects of\nregret, still clung to with fondness and delight--reversing the\ndistich; for--\n\n     \"Man never is, but always _has been_, blest!\"\n\nIt is a principle in our very nature that we should look back with\nyearnings to our youthful years, when all was fresh and joyous; when\nour thoughts were in all the prime, the spring-tide of their\nexistence, and our emotions, young and jocund as ourselves, bubbled\nforth fresh and clear as the mountain-spring from its source. The\nchange is not in the objects around us; it is in ourselves. Looking\nthrough the medium of our own jaded and enervated feelings, we fancy\nall things have the same worn-out aspect, and contrast the present\nwith the freshness and vigour of our former existence.\n\nTurn we now to the former inmates at Waddow, an old-fashioned building\nin that old-fashioned age, now re-edified and re-built. It is\nbeautifully situated on a slope on the Yorkshire side of the Ribble,\nbeyond the \"hippin-stones\" we have named.\n\nIn a low, dark chamber, panelled with dingy oak, into which the\nmorning sun burst joyously, its garish brightness ill assorting with\nthe solemnity and even sadness of the scene, there sat an elderly\nmatron, owner and occupier of the place. The casements were so beset\nwith untrimmed branches and decayed tendrils that her form looked dim\nand almost impalpable, seen through the mist, the vagrant motes\nrevelling in the sunbeams. It seemed some ghostly, some attenuated\nshape, that sat, still and stately, in that gloomy chamber. Before her\nstood a female domestic, antique and venerable as herself, and the\nconversation was carried on scarcely above a whisper, as though\nsilence brooded over that mansion, rarely disturbed by voice or\nfootstep.\n\n\"I heed not these idle tales. A hammer and a willing hand will pound\nyon bugbear into dirt,\" said the dame. \"If there be none else, I'll\ntry what the hand of a feeble but resolute woman can do. Yon\nDagon--yon graven image of papistrie, which scares ye so, shall be\nbroken for the very beasts to trample on.\"\n\n\"But the dins last night were\"----\n\n\"Tell me not of such folly. When yonder senseless thing is gone, you\nshall be quiet, maybe, if the rats will let ye. Send Jock hither, and\nlet Jim the mason be sent for, and the great iron mallet. Quick,\nMause, at my bidding. We shall see whether or not yonder grim idol\nwill dare to stir after it is cast down.\"\n\nWith a look of surprise, and even horror, at this impious intent, did\nthe ancient housekeeper move slowly forth to execute her commands.\n\nThe innocent cause of all this broil was a certain stone figure,\nrudely sculptured, which, time out of mind, had been the disturbing\nbut undisturbed inmate of an obscure corner in the cellar beneath an\nuninhabited wing of the mansion at Waddow. Superstition had invested\nthis rude misshapen relic with peculiar terrors; and the generation\nhaving passed to whom its origin was known, from some cause or another\nit became associated with Peggy's disaster, who, as it was currently\nbelieved, either took possession of this ugly image, or else employed\nit as a kind of spy or bugbear to annoy the inhabitants of the house\nwhere she had been so cruelly treated. There did certainly appear some\nconnection between Peggy's freaks and this uncouth specimen of\nprimitive workmanship. Though bearing evident marks of some rude\neffigy, the spoliation of a religious house at some reforming, or, in\nother words, plundering, era--the ideal similitude probably of a\nRomish saint--yet, whenever Peggy's emissaries were abroad and a\nvictim was to be immolated, this disorderly cast-out from the calendar\nwas particularly restless; not that any really authenticate, visible\ncases were extant of these unidol-like propensities to locomotion, but\nnoises and disturbances were heard for all the world like the uncouth\nand awkward gambols of such an ugly thing; at least, those who were\nwiser than their neighbours, and well skilled in iconoclastics, did\nstoutly aver that they had heard it \"clump, clump, clump,\" precisely\nlike the jumping and capering of such a misshapen, ill-conditioned\neffigy, when inclined to be particularly merry and jocose. Now this\ncould not be gainsaid, and consequently the innocent and mutilated\nrelic, once looked upon as the genius or tutelary guardian of the\nhouse, was unhesitatingly assigned to the evil domination of Peggy. It\nmight be that the rancour she displayed was partly in consequence of\nan adequate retribution having failed to overtake her betrayer, and\nthe family, then resident at Waddow, not having dealt out to him the\njust punishment of his deserts. Thus had she been permitted to pervert\nthe proper influences and benevolent operations of this mystic\ndisturber to her own mischievous propensities; and thenceforth a\nmalignant spirit troubled the house, heretofore guarded by a saint of\ntrue Catholic dignity and stolidity.\n\nBut it seemed the time was now come when these unholy doings were to\nbe put an end to. The present owner of Waddow, tired, as we have seen,\nof such ridiculous alarms, and the terrors of her domestics, and\nwishful to do away with the evil report and scandal sustained thereby,\nwas now resolved to dissipate these idle fears, to show at once their\nfolly and futility.\n\n\"Well, Mause, the old lady will have her way, I know; but if she\ndoesn't rue her cantrips, my name's not Jock; that's all.\" And here\nthe speaker stamped with a heavy clouted foot upon the kitchen-hearth,\nwhither the lady's message had been conveyed.\n\n\"Thou maun get thy hammer and pick, lad, and soon, too, I tell thee,\"\nsaid Mause.\n\n\"I'll do aught 'at she asks me; but--but--to run like some goupin'\nwarlock to the whame o' destruction, wi' one's een open, it's what no\nChristian will do that hasn' forsworn his baptism.\"\n\n\"Maun I tell her so?\" inquired Mause, with a significant emphasis.\n\n\"Naw, naw; no' just soa; but thee maun--wait a bit; let's see.\" Here\nhe began to beat about anxiously for an excuse, which did not present\nitself with the same facility as the expression of his unwillingness\nto undertake the job. \"Eh me!--Jock Tattersall--herd and bailiff now\nthese twenty years--that I should be brought to sich a pass; an' aw'\nthrough these plaguy women. Well, well; but if a good stiff lie,\nMause, would sarve my turn, I wouldna' care so mich. Hears to me, owd\nwench; tell mistress I'm gone wi' t' kye to water, Peg's Well being\nfrozen up.\"\n\n\"Tell her thysel',\" said the indignant Mause; \"an' then one lie may\nsarve. I'll no go to the dule upo' thy shouthers!\"\n\n\"There's Bob i' the yard yon; winnat he do for her instead?\"\n\n\"I tell thee what, Jock,\" said Mause, \"mistress'll ha't done in her\nown way; so we may as weel budge sooner as later. But let's a' go\ntogether, an' I warrant our dame will be the first, an' she'll stand\ni' th' gap if aught should happen. Besides, courage comes wi' company,\nthee knows, an' there's a round dozen of us.\"\n\nThis proposal, in the present exigency, seemed the best that could be\nadopted. The whole household were full of misgivings about the result;\nyet, sheltered under the authority of their mistress, and themselves\nnot consenting to the deed, they trusted Peggy would consider it in\nthe same light, and if she should break forth upon them, doubtless she\nwould possess sufficient discrimination to know the real aggressor,\nand wreak her vengeance where it was due.\n\nMause was despatched to their mistress, who, after a short period,\nstarched and pinned, her aspect as stiff and unyielding as her\ndisposition, consented to take the lead, and shame the unwillingness\nand cowardice of her domestics. Immediately behind walked, or rather\nlagged, the executioner with his weapons, looking more like unto one\nthat was going to execution. Mause came next, then the remainder of\nthe household, not one of them disposed to quarrel about precedency.\nThe room to which they were tending was low, dark, and unfurnished,\nsave with the _exuviae_ of other parts of the premises. Rats and lumber\nwere its chief occupants. A few steps accomplished the descent, the\nchamber having less of the nature of cellarage than that of a dairy,\nwhich, in former times, and until a more eligible situation had been\nfound, was the general use and appropriation to which it was allotted.\nSeldom visited, Peggy, or rather her mysterious representative,\nreigned here without molestation or control. At times, as we have\nbefore seen, the image, awaking from its stony slumber, played the\nvery shame amongst the chattels in the lumber-room.\n\nIts activity and exertions against \"social order\" were now destined to\nbe forever ended. Irrevocable was the doom, and the lowering aspect of\nthe proud dame of Waddow, as the door unclosed, and a faint light from\nthe loophole opposite revealed her enemy in all the mockery of\nrepose--grim, erect, and undisturbed--showed the inflexibility of her\npurpose.\n\n\"Now to work,\" said she; \"come hither with thy torch, Hal; why dost\nloiter so? and where's Jock and the mason with the tools?\" But Jock\nand his compeer were loth to come, and the lady's voice grew louder\nand more peremptory. \"Shame on ye, to be cow'd thus by a graven\nimage--a popish idol--a bit of chiselled stone. Out upon it, that\nnature should have put women's hearts into men's bosoms. Nay, 'tis\nworse than womanhood, for they have the stouter stomach for the\nenterprise, I trow. Bring hither the hammer, I say. Doth the foul\napprehension of a trumpet terrify you that has been dead and rotten\nthese hundred years?\"\n\nThus did the sturdy dame strive to quell their fears and stimulate\nthem to the attack. Yet they lingered, and were loth to begin. Nay,\none whispered to his fellow that the image grinned and frowned\nhorribly during this harangue, and made mouths at the trenchant dame.\n\n\"It's no use,\" said Jock; \"I darena strike!\"\n\n\"Thou craven kestril!\" said she, angrily; \"and what should ail thee to\nshy at the quarry? Give me the weapon.\" And with that she seized the\nhammer as though rendered furious by the pusillanimity of her\nattendants. The whole group were paralysed with terror. Not a word was\nspoken; scarcely a breath was drawn; every eye was riveted upon her,\nwithout the power of withdrawal. They saw her approach, as though\nendowed with tenfold strength, and lending the whole weight of her\nlong, thin arm to the blow, with a right good will added thereto, she\ndealt a powerful stroke at the head of this dumb idol. A headless\ntrunk tumbled on the floor; but with that there came a shriek, so\nwild, woeful, and appalling, that the cowardly attendants fled. The\ntorch-bearer threw down the light, and the whole of the domestics,\nwith dismal outcries, rushed pell-mell through the narrow passage;\nfearful, inconceivable horror urging their flight. The dame was left\nalone, but what she saw or heard was never divulged; an altered woman\nshe looked when she came forth, like one of the old still portraits\nthat had slipped down from its frame in the gloomy oaken chamber. She\nspoke not again even to Mause that day, but seemed as if bent on some\ndeep and solemn exercise. Abstracted from every outward impression,\nshe sat, the image of some ancient sibyl communing with the inward,\nunseen pageantries of thought--the hidden workings of a power she\ncould not control. Towards night she seemed more accessible. Naturally\naustere and taciturn, she rarely spoke but when it was absolutely\nnecessary; yet now there was a softened, a subdued tone of feeling,\nand even a bland expression in her address, which for years had not\nbeen felt. Some bitter, some heart-searing disappointment, had dried\nup the sources of feeling, and left her spirit withered, without\nnurture, and without verdure, without so much as a green spot in the\nuntrodden wilderness of her existence.\n\n\"I've seen him, Mause,\" said she, as though half in earnest,\nhalf-musing, when the faithful domestic came to warn her mistress that\nthe time of rest was at hand.\n\n\"Seen who, my lady?\"\n\n\"Bless thee, silly wench, I've seen William. Nay, nurse, it was thy\nboy, as thou didst use to call him; and as sure as these aged eyes\nhave wept themselves dry at his departure and decease, I saw his\nvision this morning i' the image-chamber.\"\n\n\"Eh! the good saints guide and preserve us,\" said the aged menial,\ncrossing herself very devoutly, more by way of conjuration or\ncounter-charm, than from any proper feeling of reverence or faith in\nthe mystic symbol of our redemption. \"There's death at the door, then,\nsure enough,\" she continued; \"aw this gramarye and foretokening isn't\nfor nought; so who's to pay for it?\"\n\n\"When the light was gone,\" said the dame, as though scarcely heeding\nthe interpolation of her domestic, \"I stayed a brief space; but what\npassed\"----Here she raised her dim and hollow eyes for a moment; \"no\nmatter now, Mause; suffice it that my nephew, who was drown'd seven\nlong years ago, stood before me!\"\n\n\"But young master, Heaven rest his soul, what can he want from yonder\nbright mansion of glory, where you always said he was gone,\" replied\nMause, \"that he should come again to this pitiful world? Eh me! that\nPeggy should ha' claw'd so fair a victim.\"\n\n\"Peace, Mause; never would I believe it. Nor even now will I, for one\nmoment, apprehend that Heaven would put any of its creatures, for whom\nits care is continually going forth, into the power of a base and\nvindictive harlot--that the All-merciful and All-good would render up\nan innocent victim to her malice. Better worship Moloch and the\ndevils, unto whom our forefathers did offer a vain and cruel\nsacrifice. No, Mause! believe me, our faith forbids. The light of\nrevealed truth shows no such misrule in the government of the Deity.\nThe powers of evil are as much the instruments of good in His hand as\nthe very attributes of His own perfections. And yet, strange enough\nthat my devoted William should appear at the very time, and in the\nvery place, when the destruction of the ugly image was accomplished,\nas though the charm were then broken, and he were set free! I am\ndistressed, bewildered, Mause; the links are too strong to be undone\nby my feeble and unassisted reason. That he was reckoned by common\nreport as a doomed one to that vindictive ghost, I know; and that the\nmutilation of yonder image should apparently have called forth his\nvery substance from the dark womb where he had lain, transcends my\nimperfect knowledge. Beshrew me, but I could readily become tinctured\nwith the prevailing belief, did not my firm hold on the goodness and\nthe omnipotence of the great Ruler of all sustain my faith and forbid\nmy distrust.\"\n\n\"I know not what wiser heads may think; but if I'd seen his wraith\nrising fro' the image, I should ha' thought--what I do yet--and\nso\"----\n\n\"Tarry with me through the night, Mause. This vision haunts me\nstrangely, and I do feel more heavy and debilitate than I have been\nwont.\"\n\nWhether the shock was too great or too sudden for a frame so stubborn\nand unyielding, we know not; but that the firmest often feel more\nintensely the blows and disasters which others, by yielding to them,\ndo evade, needeth not that we set forth, inasmuch as it is too plain\nand demonstrative to require illustration. On that same night, Mause,\nawakening from a short and broken slumber, looked on her mistress, and\nlo, she was a corpse!\n\nThis event, according to the popular belief, would doubtless add\nanother to the list of Peggy's victims, and was looked upon as a\nterrible token from the demon against all who should hereafter have\nthe temerity or presumption to interfere with her proceedings.\n\nThe following day it was noised abroad, and the survivors were mindful\nto have the entrance to this fearful chamber walled up, and thus\nprevent any further mischief or interference.\n\nTowards eventide, or ere the lights were renewed in the death-chamber,\nthere came a gentle knock at the hall-door. An aged domestic answered\nthe summons; but with a scream, she fled as from the face of an enemy.\nA footstep was heard in the hall. Slowly it ascended the stairs. They\ncreaked and groaned, every step seeming to strike with a cold shudder\nto the heart. They verily thought that the house was beset by a whole\nsquadron of infernals, who had sent a messenger for the body of their\nmistress. The tramp of the mysterious visitor was heard in the\ndeath-chamber. Moans and bewailings were distinctly audible; and\nMause, who was in the room, came down with a face colourless and wan,\nas though she had seen a ghost. She could not articulate, save one\nharrowing word--\n\n\"William!\" she cried, and pointed upwards. Seven years ago had he been\ndrowned, according to general belief, one fearful night, in crossing\nthe river by Bromiley or Brunckerley hippin-stones. Nephew and\nheir-presumptive to the lady of Waddow, he had left his home that\nevening writhing under her malediction; for he had in an evil hour, as\nshe thought, formed a base-born attachment to an orphan living with\nGaffer Wiswall, and generally looked upon as his daughter. It was this\ncurse which clave like a band of iron about the breast of the proud\ndame of Waddow; for, in the morning light, when there came news to the\nhall that he had been seen swept down by the ravening flood--perishing\nwithout hope of succour--she sat as though stupefied, without a murmur\nor a tear, and her stricken heart knew not this world's gladness\nagain. Solitary and friendless, this fair creation seemed blotted out,\nand she became fretful and morose. All her earthly hopes were centred\nin this boy, the offspring of a sister, and they were for ever gone!\nMause only had the privilege of addressing her without a special\ninterrogation. The appearance, or it might be, the apparition of her\nbeloved nephew, seemed again to open the sluices of feeling and\naffection; to soften and subdue the harshness that encrusted her\ndisposition; but it was only the forerunner of an eternal change--the\nherald of that inexorable tyrant, Death!\n\nDarkness was fast gathering about them; but the whole household were\nhuddled together in the kitchen, none daring to venture forth to their\noccupations. A long hour it seemed, while every moment they were\nexpecting some further visitation. The fire was nigh extinguished, for\nwho durst fetch the billet from the stack? The conversation, if such\nmight be called the brief and scanty form of their communications, was\nkept up in a sort of tremulous whisper, every one being frightened at\nthe sound of his own voice. How long this state of things might have\nlasted we know not, inasmuch as the terrible footsteps were again\nheard upon the stairs--the same slow and solemn tread. They heard its\ndescent into the hall. It became louder, and the fearful vision was\nevidently approaching. The sound was now in the narrow passage close\nto them. The next moment a form was presented to their view, carrying\na taper, and recognised by the major part of the group; it being the\nvery semblance of their deceased \"young master,\" as he was generally\ncalled, changed, it was true, but still sufficiently like him, when\nliving, to be distinguished from any other. One loud cry announced\ntheir discovery of the phantom.\n\n\"Why tarry here?\" said the intruder. \"Yonder corse hath need of the\ndeath lights;\" and with that he disappeared. Yet, however needful it\nwas that the usual offices should be rendered to the departed, there\nwas no one bold enough to perform the duty. Nevertheless the lights\nwere kindled by some invisible hand in the lady's chamber that night;\nand, by whomsoever the office was fulfilled, the corpse was not\nwithout a watcher, and a faithful one, till daylight came softly on\nthe couch, driving away the darkness and the apprehensions it\nexcited.\n\nIt was past midnight ere the domestics retired to rest, or rather to\ntheir chambers; so fearful were they of another visit that, by a\nlittle care and management, they contrived so that none should be left\nalone till morning arose before them, bright and cheerful,\ndissipating, in some measure, their former terrors.\n\nSoftly and cheerily broke that morning sun upon the frosty and\nembossed panes of Gaffer Wiswall's dwelling; but the light brought no\ncheer, no solace unto him. The old man was now a withered, a sapless\ntrunk, stripped of the green verdure which had lately bloomed on its\nhoary summit. His daughter, as he loved to call her--and he had almost\ncheated himself into the belief--was ravished from him, and the staff\nof his declining years had perished.\n\nHe was sitting moody and disconsolate, and, like the bereaved mother\nin Israel, \"refusing to be comforted,\" when a stranger entered, and,\nwithout speaking, seated himself by the broad ingle, opposite the\ngoodman, who was looking listlessly forth into the blazing faggots,\nbut without either aim or discernment. The intruder was wrapped in a\ndark military cloak; his hat drawn warily over his forehead,\nconcealing his features beneath the broad and almost impervious\nshadow.\n\nWiswall awoke from his study, and with a curious eye, seemed silently\nto ask the will and business of the stranger; but he spoke not. The\nold man, surveying his guest more minutely, inquired--\n\n\"Be ye far ridden this morning, Sir Cavalier?\"\n\n\"Not farther than one might stride ere breakfast,\" was the reply, but\nin a low, and, it seemed, a hasty tone, as though impatient of being\nquestioned, and preferring to remain unnoticed.\n\nThe tapster's instincts were still in operation. With the true spirit\nof his calling, he inquired--\n\n\"From the army, sir?\"\n\n\"Ay, from the Grand Turk, an' thou wilt.\"\n\n\"The king, they say, hath a fairer word for the dames than for those\nstout hearts who won him his crown,\" said the victualler, seemingly\nconversant in the common rumours that were abroad. \"The sparks about\ncourt,\" continued he, \"do ruffle it bravely among the buxom dames and\ntheir beauteous\"----Here his daughter's bright image came suddenly\nupon his recollection, and the old man wept.\n\n\"Why dost weep, old man?\" inquired his guest.\n\n\"Alas! I had a daughter once, a match fit for the bravest galliard\nthat sun e'er shown upon. She was the wonder and dismay of all that\nlooked on her. She loved a soldier dearly, and her mouth would purse\nand play, and her eye would glisten at a cap and plume; and yet the\nveriest prude in all Christendom was not more discreet.\"\n\n\"Mayhap her sweetheart was a soldier, and abroad at the wars; so that\nthese were but the outgoings of hope and expectation for his return.\"\n\n\"Her sweetheart, marry! she had once--but--he was ta'en from us. The\nyoung heir of Waddow, as we always called him, at the hall yonder, was\nher true love; but one night, seven long bitter years back, the flood\nswept him away: we never saw him again, but Isabel's hope was for ever\nblighted!\"\n\n\"And the body--was it not found?\"\n\n\"Nay, for the current was swift, and bore him hence. The demon--she\nhath ta'en mine, as the next dainty morsel for her ravening appetite.\"\n\n\"'Tis seven years since I first sought my fortune as a soldier. I\nserved my king faithfully. With him I went into exile. He hath\nreturned, and here I come to redeem my pledge.\"\n\nThe stranger threw off his cloak, and the astonished and almost\nincredulous tapster beheld the nephew of the dame now heir to the\ninheritance of Waddow.\n\n\"Though swept rapidly down the stream on that dreadful night when I\nfled, heedlessly fled, from the denunciations of her who had supplied\na parent's place from my infancy, I escaped, almost by a miracle, at a\nconsiderable distance below the ford, where I attempted to cross; yet,\nknowing her inflexible disposition--for she had threatened to leave me\npenniless--I resolved to seek my fortune as a soldier until I should\nbe enabled to wed with better prospects for the future. I contrived to\nassure Isabel of my safety, but I strictly enjoined secrecy. I was not\nwithout hope that one day or another, appearing as though I had risen\nfrom the dead, I should win a reluctant consent, it might be, to our\nunion. A long exile was the only recompense for my loyalty. The\nrestoration hath rendered me back, and I have redeemed my pledge. At\nmy urgent entreaty the other night, the first of my return, she\naccompanied me, and we have plighted our vows at the same altar. I\ntook her privily to my former home. Knowing a secret entrance to the\nchamber where the image is deposited, I concealed her there, safe, as\nI thought, from molestation, until I had won the consent of her who\nwas my only friend. To my horror and surprise she discovered me there,\nand the screams of Isabel had nigh betrayed her presence; but it was\nevident she thought the grave had given back its dead. I could not\nthen undeceive her, and when I returned she was a corpse! Dying\nwithout will, I am now the lawful heir to yon good inheritance, and\nIsabel is the proud mistress of Waddow!\"\n\nThis unlooked-for intelligence was almost overwhelming; the old man's\nframe seemed hardly able to bear the disclosure. He wept like a child;\nbut the overflow of his joy relieved the oppressed heart, full even to\nbursting.\n\nYet Peggy was not without a sacrifice, according to popular belief,\nwhich sacrifice was offered in the person of the late defunct at\nWaddow. Indeed, according to some, it were an act of unbelief and\nimpiety to suppose any other, and only to be equalled by that of the\nattack made by this resolute dame upon Peggy's representative--an\noutrage she so dearly atoned for by her own death.\n\nThe headless trunk was, however, removed some years afterwards to its\npresent site by the brink of \"the Well,\" where, having fallen upon\nevil and unbelieving times, it is desecrated to the profane uses of a\nresting-place for cans unto the merry maidens who come thither at\nmorning and eventide to draw water.\n\nMany are the victims now recorded to the capricious malevolence of\nPeggy; and though deprived of her domicile at Waddow, still her\nvisitations are not the less frequent; and whether a stray kitten or\nan unfortunate chick be the sufferer, the same is deemed a victim and\na sacrifice to the wrath of Peggy's _manes_.\n\n\n[Illustration: ULVERSTONE SANDS.\n_Engraved by Edw^d Finden._\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SANDS.\n\n     \"It is the shout of the coming foe,\n       Ride, ride for thy life, Sir John;\n     But still the waters deeper grew,\n       The wild sea-foam rushed on.\"\n\n     --_Old Ballad._\n\n     The following account of an excursion over the sands, from Mr\n     Baines's _Companion to the Lakes_, will give a very accurate\n     idea of the mode in which travellers accomplish this\n     interesting, though sometimes perilous journey, over the bare\n     sands of the Bay of Morecambe. Taking a horse at Lancaster, and\n     setting out at the same time with the \"Over-sands\" coach, he\n     says--\n\n     \"We arrived at Hest Bank, on the shores of Morecambe Bay, three\n     miles and a half from Lancaster, about five in the afternoon.\n     Here a little caravan was collected, waiting the proper time to\n     cross the trackless sands left bare by the receding tide. I soon\n     saw two persons set out in a gig, and, following them, I found\n     that one of them was the guide appointed to conduct travellers,\n     and the other a servant who was driving his master's gig to the\n     Cartmel shore, and was to return with the horse the same\n     evening. He had of course no time to lose, and had begun his\n     journey at the earliest possible hour. We found the sands firm\n     and level, except the slight wrinkles produced by the ripple of\n     the waves; but they were still wet, having only just been left\n     by the sea. The guide appeared to drive with caution, and in no\n     place went farther than a mile from land. We had a good deal of\n     conversation, and I found him intelligent and communicative. His\n     name is Thomas Wilkinson. He is a tall, athletic man, past the\n     middle age, and bears marks of the rough weather he has been\n     exposed to in discharging the duties of his post during the\n     winter months. In stormy, and more especially in foggy weather,\n     those duties must be arduous and anxious. It is his business to\n     station himself at the place where the river Keer runs over the\n     sands to the sea, which is about three miles from Hest Bank, and\n     to show travellers where they may pass with safety. The bed of\n     the river is liable to frequent changes, and a fresh of water\n     after rain may, in a very short time, convert a fordable place\n     into a quicksand. When we came to the river, he got out of the\n     gig, and waded over to ascertain the firmness of the bottom, the\n     water being about knee-deep. Having escorted us a little\n     farther, till we saw the guide for the Kent at a distance, and\n     having pointed out the line we should keep, he left us to\n     return to his proper post. We gave him, as is usual, a few\n     pence; for though he is appointed by government, his salary is\n     only L10 a-year, and he is, of course, chiefly dependent on what\n     he receives from travellers.\n\n     \"These sands are called the Lancaster Sands, and the guide said\n     that they were at present eleven miles over, from Hest Bank to\n     Kent's Bank, but that he had known them when he could pass\n     directly over in not more than seven miles. The tide forms a\n     channel in the sand, which has been gradually coming nearer the\n     shore for some years past, and has obliged persons crossing to\n     take a longer circuit. It was now the spring-tide, and the\n     sands we were travelling upon would, at high-water, be\n     seventeen feet below the surface of the sea.\n\n     \"The day was exceedingly fine, and the prospects, in crossing\n     over the sands, were splendid. The whole coast of the bay, from\n     Peel Castle round to the shore beyond Lancaster; the stern\n     crags of Warton and Arnside Fells, on the right; farther\n     eastward, the well-known form of Ingleborough, whose broad\n     head, not apparently of very great elevation, is still visible\n     from every considerable hill in Lancashire, Westmoreland, and\n     Cumberland, and seems to lift itself in serene and unchanging\n     majesty over the neighbouring hills; the broken and picturesque\n     shores of the Kent, beautifully wooded, and forming a vista to\n     the eye;--the fells of Cartmel, rising in the mid-distance,\n     their sides hung with forests, and several ornamental parks\n     lying round their base; and above, and far beyond them, the\n     noble chain of the Westmoreland and Cumberland mountains, whose\n     lofty summits, clothed with light, formed a sublime barrier\n     stretching along the northern horizon. Such are the principal\n     features of a prospect which is not the less beautiful because\n     it rises from the level expanse of the sands, and which was to\n     me the more interesting from the novelty of my own situation.\n\n     \"The Ulverstone coach, several gigs, and some persons on\n     horseback, had followed us at a little distance, keeping the\n     track left by the wheels of the vehicle which conveyed the\n     guide. When Wilkinson left us, we rode on two or three miles\n     before we came to the channel of the Kent, and there we found a\n     guide on horseback, who had just forded the river from the\n     opposite side. The guide stationed here has long gone by the\n     name of the Carter, and it is difficult to say whether the\n     office has been so called from the family in which it has been\n     vested, or the family have assumed their official title as a\n     cognomen; but it is certain that for many ages the duties of\n     guide over the Lancaster Sands have been performed by a family\n     named Carter, and have descended from father to son. The\n     present possessor of the office is named James Carter, and has\n     lately succeeded his father. He told me that some persons said\n     the office of guide had been in his family five hundred years,\n     but he did not know how anybody could tell that; and all he\n     could say was, that they had held it 'for many grandfathers\n     back, longer than anyone knew.' The salary was only L10 a-year\n     till his father's time, when it was raised to L20; yet I should\n     suppose that the office is a rather productive one, as the family\n     have accumulated some property.\n\n     \"The Carter seems a cheerful and pleasant fellow. He wore a\n     rough greatcoat and a pair of jack-boots, and was mounted on a\n     good horse, which appeared to have been up to the ribs in the\n     water. When we came to him, he recommended us to wait till the\n     arrival of the coach, which was nearly a mile distant, as the\n     tide would then be gone farther out. I asked if there had been\n     any accidents in this place lately; to which he replied, that\n     some boys were drowned two years ago, having attempted to pass\n     when the tide was up, in defiance of warnings; but that, with\n     that exception, there had not been any accidents for a\n     considerable time. When the coach came up we took the water in\n     procession, and crossed two channels, in one of which the water\n     was up to the horses' bellies. The coach passed over without\n     the least difficulty, being drawn by fine tall horses. Arrived\n     at the other side, the man of high genealogy received our\n     gratuities, and we rode on, keeping close to a line of rods\n     which have been planted in the sand to indicate the track, and\n     which have remained there for many months. We shortly met the\n     coach from Ulverstone, and several other vehicles, and as we\n     proceeded the views of the estuary and the distant mountains\n     became still more beautiful and interesting. Three or four\n     miles brought us to Kent's Bank, on the Cartmel shore. I infer\n     that the river is not fordable for any long period, as the\n     guide told the servant whom I have mentioned that he must\n     return in an hour if he wished to pass over again that evening.\n\n     \"The peninsula formed by the Kent and the Leven is three miles\n     over; and, after passing it, I came to the latter river, the\n     sands of which are of the same breadth, and must be crossed to\n     reach Ulverstone.\"\n\n     These sands are reckoned more dangerous than the former, as the\n     channel of the river is frequently shifted.\n\n     It is safest to cross at spring-tides; the water then is more\n     completely drained out, and the force of the tide sweeps the\n     bottom clean from mud and sediment.\n\n     Here another guide on horseback escorts travellers over.\n\n     The views up the Leven are fully as picturesque, though not\n     quite so extensive, as those at the mouth of the Kent. A bold,\n     woody promontory, seen in our engraving, projects into the\n     river at the mouth of the ford, narrowing it to less than half\n     the breadth. The two ridges of the Cartmel and Ulverstone\n     Fells, the former clothed with wood and the latter with\n     verdure, run up inland, and carry the eye back to the\n     mountains, round the head of Coniston Water and Windermere. On\n     the Ulverstone shore, to the left of the town, are the grounds\n     of Conishead Priory, which adorn with their rich woods and\n     lawns the gently-waving side of the hill; and the mouth of the\n     Leven opens out to the Bay of Morecambe, the shores of which\n     are visible to a great extent.\n\n\nThe sands forming the Bay of Morecambe, covered by the sea at high\nwater, are crossed every day by travellers whose time or inclination\nleads them to choose this route rather than one more circuitous, and\nnearly thrice the distance, inland. Yet the sands are by no means\nwithout danger, especially to the uncautious or unwary. Scarcely a\nyear passes without some loss of lives, generally owing to the\nobstinacy or foolhardiness of the victims. Guides are appointed to\nconduct strangers across this trackless waste, whose duty it is to\nexamine daily, on the receding of the tide, the several routes by\nwhich passengers may accomplish their journey. The places where danger\nis to be apprehended are the fordings of the several rivers or\nwatercourses, which, even when the sands are bare, still pour forth a\nconsiderable stream to the ocean. These fords are continually changing\nby reason of the shifting of the sands, so that one day's path may on\nthe morrow prove a dangerous and impassable quicksand.\n\nThe principal guide has a small annuity from government, and is\nobliged, in all weathers, to perform this disagreeable but\nhighly-important duty. The priory of Conishead was charged with this\noffice over the Leven or Ulverstone sands, and the guide whom they\nappointed, besides perquisites, had an allotment of three acres of\nland, with fifteen marks per annum. Henry the Eighth, on the\ndissolution of the monasteries, charged himself and his successors\nwith the payment of a certain sum to the person that should be guide\nfor the time being, by patent under the seal of the duchy of\nLancaster. Such was the importance and the idea of danger attached to\nthis journey, that on a little rocky island midway between the shores\nof Cartmel and Furness, there stood a small chapel or oratory built by\nthe monks of Furness, where prayers were daily offered for the safety\nof travellers then occupied in this perilous attempt. Yet these,\ncalled the Ulverstone sands, are scarcely more than three miles\nacross, whilst the well-known Lancaster sands are nine miles, from the\ncircuitous line of the track, though it is said that the shorter\npassage is the more dangerous. That the longer journey is not\nunattended with risk may be inferred from the accidents which have\noccurred, as well as from the fact, that carriages are sometimes left\nto the mercy of the coming tide, the passengers making their escape in\nthe best manner they are able.\n\nOur tale hath reference to one of these perilous adventures, long\nyears ago; and as neither plot nor story is evolved, the reader is\nwarned, if he so please, that he leave the few following pages unread,\nunless he be of a temper not liable to suffer disappointment thereby.\n\nThe night was beautifully calm: the moon just sinking upon the verge\nof the distant waters, where the Bay of Morecambe, the great estuary\nso called, according to some authorities, by Ptolemy, opens out into\nthe broad channel of the Irish Sea.\n\nThe stars shone down, keen, bright, and piercing,--\"fixed in their\neverlasting seat,\"--ever presenting the same aspect, the same order\nand disposition, through all the changes of this changing and mutable\nworld. The scene was peculiarly inviting--so calm, so placid, the\nwhole wide and visible hemisphere was without a blot. Nature, like a\ndeceitful mistress, looked so hypocritically serene, that her face\nmight never have been darkened with a cloud or furrowed by a frown. So\nwinning was she withal, that, though the veriest shrew, and all\nuntamed and ungovernable in her habits and conditions, this night she\nbecame hushed and gentle as the soothed infant in its repose.\n\nThe same night came down to the Kent side, intending to set out on\ntheir perilous march over the sands of the bay, divers travellers,\nwell mounted for the occasion. Yet were their steeds much harassed,\nweltering in mud and foam, by reason that their journey had been both\nlong and hasty, and their business urgent, nor were they yet without\napprehension of pursuit. They looked wistfully down towards the west,\nwhere the moon hung over the ocean's brim, a red ensanguined crescent,\nas if about to dip her golden bowl into the raging deep, or mayhap to\nlaunch her glittering bark on that perilous tide. For, in good sooth,\nthe travellers on that same day, having forded the estuaries of the\nDuddon and the Leven, were barely in time for their passage across the\nsands of the Kent, their destination being the tower of Arnside,\nstanding on a round rocky peninsula, little more than two miles from\ntheir present station. Yet was the way perilous, though they had time\nsufficient for their purpose. The river Kent, or Ken, which, when the\ntide hath receded from the bay, followeth often at a considerable\ndepth and speed, was at this period much swollen by reason of the late\nswells and freshes from the hills. Moreover, the tide would ere long\npress back the waters towards their source, and but few hours should\nelapse ere the ocean itself would roll over and obliterate every trace\nof their intended path. Yet though sure and undeviating was the peril\nbefore them, another more imminent and perchance not less remote,\nawaited them from behind. They were pursued. Hot and hasty was the\nchase, and their blood alone would slake the vengeance of their\nadversaries.\n\nPausing ere the first plash was heard in the heavy sands beneath the\nshore, the foremost horseman of the party thus held discourse. Those\nthat followed were likewise armed, and to all appearance were\nfollowers or retainers of the chief, who had been with them upon some\nforay or predatory excursion.\n\n\"We are between fire and water, I trow; but what of that? We must e'en\ncross.\"\n\n\"And how if the fog of yesternight should come again, or we should\nmiss our track?\"\n\n\"Tush, Harry, with thine evil croak. There will be time enough to\ndiscourse with danger when it comes. Besides, I would know it\nblindfold, and the night doth bear no token of either distemper or\ndisquiet.\"\n\n\"Thou art passing careless of our jeopardy. It were better, even now,\nthat we follow the track by the coast. My counsel was set at naught,\nor we had gone forward by Cartmel, and missed this perilous pathway of\nthe sea.\"\n\n\"And with it met the enemy at my gate; or, peradventure, having passed\non thither before us, we should have found them in quiet possession of\nour good fortalice yonder. Truly it were a precious entertainment! We\nshould have Lenten fare, I trow, where they be lords o' the feast.\"\n\n\"Our steeds, I think, would have outstripped them, even by way of the\nforest and the bridges, but\"----\n\n\"Thou reckonest not for delay by the hill-paths and the morass, let\nalone the weary miles that we should have to ride. Tut, man, they\nfancy not of our crossing this little brooklet here, because I misled\nthem ere we departed; and they are now mightily sure of cutting off\nour retreat, and getting at the tower before us. How the knaves will\nslink back when they find the gate barred in their teeth. Forward, Sir\nHarry, and let the Cumberland wolves take the hindmost!\"\n\nThey dashed down the slope into the heavy mud by the beach, and soon\nthe little band might have been seen moving like dark specks on the\nsandy waste, even though night had come on, so clear and unsullied was\nthe atmosphere.\n\nThe wind, which through the day had blown light, but piercing, from\nthe north, seemed all at once to become more bland and genial. A\npause was felt; then a veering to and fro, like the flapping sail, ere\nthe big canvas comes bellying before the wind; a pause, created by one\nof those occult and uncomprehended operations of nature, to be\nunderstood only in the secret recesses of her power, where all the\ngerms of being are elaborated, but whither the most daring and exalted\nof human capacities never penetrated.\n\nIt was near the turn of the tide, and the wind, obeying her spell, as\nthough at the call of that mighty wizard, was gradually veering\ntowards the sea, and shortly would ride on with the rolling billows,\ndriving forward, like some proud charioteer, the dark waters of the\nAtlantic in its progress.\n\nThe travellers were pricking on their way discreetly, the channel of\nthe river just before them, rippling pleasantly over some quiet star,\nthat seemed to sink deep within its bosom.\n\nTo their right was the voice of the restless and mystic ocean, obeying\nthe fiat of Him who hath fixed its bounds--at too great a distance now\nto excite other feelings than those of their own impotence, and the\nimmensity by which they were surrounded. I know of no sound to be\ncompared to it. There is nought in the wide range of our intelligence\nthat can produce the dread, the almost terrific expansion which it\nseems to create in the mind, save it be the dizzy view over some dark\nand unfathomable abyss--an impression that comes over us like the\ndread unutterable anticipations of eternity!\n\nSuddenly a thin white vapour was seen obscuring the brightness in the\nwest. Then came a cloud-like haze, scudding on the very surface of the\nstream, wherein the plash of horses' feet announced their entrance.\nThey rode slowly on, but the channel was deep, and it seemed as though\nsome sleight and witchery was about them, for the mist became so dense\nthat the clouds seemed to have dropped down to encompass and enfold\nthem. The stream gradually became deeper, until the foremost horse was\nwading to the belly, labouring and snorting from the chillness and\noppression upon his chest.\n\n\"'Tis an unlucky and an embarrassing escort that we are favoured\nwith,\" said the rider. \"The wind, too, whiffles about strangely. 'Tis\non my face, now, and verily I think the stream will ne'er be crossed.\nI trust we are not wading it down towards the sea.\"\n\n\"Troth but we be, though,\" hastily replied his friend, after looking\ndown, bending as low as possible to observe his horse's feet, where\nhe could just discern the gouts of foam as they ran right before,\ninstead of passing them from left to right.\n\n\"Put back--put back, and soon!\" he cried, in great alarm; for the mist\nbewildered them strangely. They did put back, but instead of all\nobeying the same impulse, some of the party, finding themselves on\nopposite sides of the stream, were plunging and replunging into it, to\nrejoin their comrades, every one calling out for his neighbour to\nfollow; so that, in the end, the whole party were so confused that, on\nbeing gathered together once more on the sand, they really knew not on\nwhich side of the stream they stood, nor which way to move. They\nseemed like persons discoursing in a dream, and the mist hung about\nthem so closely that they could not, even by dismounting, see the\nmarks of their own footsteps. They felt that they were standing on a\nbank of sand, which they knew must inevitably, and ere long, be\ncovered by the raging tide, even then, perhaps, on its way to\noverwhelm and devour them. But this was the utmost of their knowlege,\nfor the direction in which to proceed, or the bearing of either shore,\nwas beyond their knowledge or apprehension. They would now have been\nglad to retrace their steps, but this, alas! they knew not how to\naccomplish. To remain would be certain destruction; to go on, might\nonly be hastening to meet it. But move they must, as the only chance\nof escape; yet opinions were as various as the points of the compass.\nOne was for going to the right, another to the left, another straight\nforward; so that, what with arguing and wrangling, they became more\nbewilderd and uncertain than ever.\n\n\"I do verily believe we have not yet crossed the river,\" said one.\n\n\"Not come across!\" replied another; \"why we've been through and\nthrough, to my own certainty, at least thrice.\"\n\n\"Thrice in thy teeth!\" said his angry opponent; \"and so I'll go\nforward.\"\n\n\"And I'll go back,\" was the reply. But the precise idea they had\nformed of these opposite and important determinations was more than\neither of them could explain; even though they had been ever so\ncertain upon these points, to proceed in a straight line in any\ndirection was impossible, without some object by which to direct their\ncourse. Ever and anon was heard a heavy plunge into the stream, but\neven this token had ceased to avail them, for its course could not be\nascertained. The tide was now arresting its progress, and the water\nmoved to and fro in every direction, according to the various impulses\nit received. The wind, too, was light and treacherous; its breath\nseemed to come and go, without any fixed point by which they could\nfeel either its arrival or departure. In this dilemma, and without any\nclue to their extrication, harassed and confounded, they were like men\nbereft of their senses, and almost at their wits' end. Still they\nclung instinctively about each other, but their conduct had now taken\nthe opposite extreme. Before, all was bustle and activity, everybody\ngiving directions, hallooing, shouting, and so forth. Now, they were\nsilent, and almost stationary, stupefied, distracted. There is a\nfascination in danger. I have known those who never could look down a\nprecipice without a horrible impulse to leap over the brink. Like the\nscared bird, almost within the gripe of its destroyer, yet unable to\nflee, so had they lost, apparently, all power of escape. It was a\nsilence more awful even than the yellings of despair. Its horrid gripe\nwas on every heart; every bosom withered beneath its touch. The nature\nof the most courageous appeared to change; trembling and perplexity\nshook the stoutest frame; yet suddenly and unexpectedly was the\nsilence broken, and the spell that bound them dissolved.\n\n\"Hark!\" said every voice together; \"a bell, by the blessed Virgin!\"\nThe sound roused them from their stupor. Hope again visited the\nprison-house of the spirit.\n\n\"On, on!\" said their leader.\n\n\"On, on!\" was re-echoed on every side; but they were still attempting\nto escape in different directions. Scarcely two of them were agreed as\nto the place whence the sound proceeded. Yet it came on, at stated\nintervals, a long, deep, melancholy knell, almost terrific in their\npresent condition. Another council was attended with the same\nresults--opinions being as varied as ever. Still that warning toll had\nsome connection with their fellow-men, some link, which, however\nremote, united them to those who were now slumbering in happiness and\nsecurity. Yet of their true course and bearing they were as ignorant\nas ever.\n\n\"Now, by'r lady,\" said one, \"there's either witch or wizard at the\ntail o' this. Haven't I passed this very place to and fro, man and\nboy, these twenty years, and never went away by a yard's space, right\nor left. Now\"----\n\n\"Right well, Humphry Braithwaite, should I know it too, and yet we\nmight be in a wilderness for aught I can distinguish, either land-mark\nor sea-mark. Hush, I'm sure that bell is from the right.\"\n\n\"Nay, I hear it yonder, to the left, if I'm not witched.\"\n\n\"Thee'rt gone daft, man, 'tis----Well, if the sound binna from both\nsides, right and left! I hear it behind me now.\"\n\n\"We must be moving,\" said the leader. There's no chance for us here.\nWe can but meet the enemy at the worst, and there are three chances of\nescaping for one of drowning, which way soever we take, at a blind\nventure. Then let us away together; and may the Virgin and St Bees be\nour helper!\"\n\nBut there were some who would rather trust to their own guidance; and\nwhat with the indecision of one, the obstinacy of another, and the\ntimidity of a third, he soon found himself with only one companion,\nbesides his good grey steed, when he flung the reins to his control,\nand spurred forward.\n\nReckless, almost driven to desperation, he committed his way to the\nbeast's better discretion, as he thought, goading on the jaded animal\nincessantly, his fellow-traveller still keeping behind, but at no\ngreat distance. They halted after a space; but how long it is\nimpossible to say. Hours and minutes, in seasons of pain or\nexcitement, are, in the mind's duration, arbitrary and conventional.\nTo measure time by the state of our feelings would be as futile as an\nattempt to measure space by the slowness or impetuosity of our\nmovements. Hours dwindle into minutes, and minutes are exaggerated\ninto hours, according to the circumstances under which the mind moves\non. We are conscious of existence only by the succession of our\nfeelings. We are conscious of time only by its lapse. Hence we are apt\nto make the same measure serve for both; and, as our own dispositions\npredicate, so doth time run fast or slow. True it is that time cannot\nmeasure thought. The mind notes but the current and passage of its own\nfeelings; they only are the measure of existence and the medium of\nidentity.\n\n\"Halt, Lord Monteagle!\" cried his companion from behind; \"I hear the\nsea before us. Hush, and use thine own senses, if they be worth the\ntrial.\"\n\nThe other listened, but it was only for one moment; the next saw him\nwheel round, urging on his flight in the opposite direction, for he\nknew, or his senses were rendered deceptive through terror, the sound\nof the coming tide.\n\n\"Halt, Lord Monteagle!\" again cried the horseman from behind; \"for\nthe water is deeper at every plunge. Halt, I say, for the love\nof\"----The sound died on the speaker's lip, for he was overwhelmed and\nsickening with the dread anticipation of death.\n\n\"On one side or the other, then, I care not which,\" cried the foremost\nrider.\n\n\"To the right, and Heaven grant us a safe deliverance!\"\n\nAway went the panting steeds; but the waters increased; yet were they\npowerful animals, and they swam boldly on amid the roar and dash of\nthe rising waves. Still it was with difficulty they could breast the\ntorrent. The courageous beasts braced every sinew to the\nwork--instinctively grappling with danger--every effort was directed\nto their escape. Suddenly a loud shout was heard, and something dark\nrose up before them. It might be the hull of some vessel, that was\napproaching an ark of safety. This thought was the first that crossed\nthem. But they felt a sudden shock and a vibration, as though their\nsteeds had struck the land.\n\nThey saw, or it was a deception produced by agitation or excitement,\nthe dark outline of the beach, and men hurrying to and fro with\nlighted torches. They galloped on through the waves, and a few moments\nbrought them safely upon the hard, loose pebbles of the shore.\n\nJoyful was the recognition; for those who had come to their succour\nwere the party from whom they had separated, who had luckily gained\nthe shore before them. But what was their surprise when they found\nthey had been galloping to and fro almost within a stone's throw of\nthe beach opposite the place of their destination! Yet such was their\nstate of bewilderment that it was an even hand but they had put about\non the other side, and attempted to return across the channel. In that\ncase no human help could have rescued them from destruction, for the\ntide already had overtaken them, and it was only their close proximity\nunto the shore which enabled the horses to regain their footing, and\nbear them safely to land.\n\nIt seems that their pursuers were still outdone, for their stronghold\nwas open to receive them; and the enemy, foiled in their expectations,\nreturned with all speed into Cumberland, lest during their absence\nsome more dangerous foe from the Borders should lay waste their\npossessions.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE RING AND THE CLIFF]\n\n\n\n\nTHE RING AND THE CLIFF.\n\n     \"And still I tried each fickle art,[ii]\n       Importunate and vain;\n     And while his passion touched my heart,\n       I triumphed in his pain.\"\n\n     --GOLDSMITH.\n\n     Having in vain attempted to ascertain the locality of the\n     following tradition, we suspect that it may have strayed\n     originally from another county, though it has taken root in our\n     own.\n\n     The only place that could by any possibility answer the\n     description which marks the catastrophe is the high ridge above\n     Broughton, in Furness; and even here it would be difficult to\n     point out any single spot which would exactly correspond in\n     every particular.\n\n     The Lancashire coast, with here and there an exception, is one\n     low bank or ridge of sand, loosely drifted into hillocks of but\n     mean height and appearance; only preserving their consistency\n     by reason of the creeping roots of the bent or sea-mat weed\n     (_Arundo arenaria_)[16] which bind the loose sands together,\n     and prevent them from being dispersed over the adjoining\n     grounds. On the opposite coast fancy might often recognise\n     those very cliffs to which our story alludes; perpendicular,\n     bare, and almost inaccessible, with rents and chasms, where\n     little difficulty would be found in pointing out the exact\n     features represented in this tradition.\n\n\nOn the sea-coast, where a wild bare promontory stretches out amidst\nthe waves of the Irish Channel, is a small hamlet or fishing station.\nIts site is in the cleft of a deep ravine, through which a small\nstream lazily trickles amid sand and sea-slime to the little estuary\nformed by the sea at its mouth. Between almost perpendicular cliffs\nthe village lies like a solitary enclosure, where the inhabitants are\nseparate and alone--aloof from the busy world--their horizon confined\nto a mere segment of vision. The same ever-rolling sea hath swung to\nand fro for ages in the same narrow creek, at the sides of which rise\na cluster of huts, dignified with the appellation of village--some of\nthese ornamented about and upon the roofs with round patches of the\nyellow stone-crop and house-leek, that never-failing protection\nagainst lightning and tempest, according to indubitable testimony set\nforth by Master Nicholas Culpepper in his _Herbal_.\n\nThe strong marine odour, so well known to all lovers of sea-side\nenjoyments, may here be sensibly appreciated; for the pent-up effluvia\nfrom the curing of fish, marine algae, and other products of the coast,\nabundantly strengthen the reminiscences connected with this solitary\nand secluded spot.\n\nIt was on a cold, grey morning in October that two individuals were\nloitering up a narrow path from the hamlet which led to the high main\nroad, passing from village to village along the coast; branches from\nwhich, at irregular intervals, penetrated the cliffs to the different\nfishing stations along the beach. The road, on rising from the\nvillage, runs along the summit, a considerable height above the sea;\nterrific bursts through some rocky cleft reveal the wide ocean rolling\non from the dim horizon to the shore. Here and there may be seen the\nwhite sail, or the hull of some distant bark, gliding on so smooth and\nsilently as to suggest the idea of volition obeyed without any visible\neffort. Rising from the ravine, the road passes diagonally up the\nsteep. At the period of which we speak, ere it reached the main line\nof communication through the country, a reft or chasm in the steep\nwall towards the sea--a nearly perpendicular rent--left the mountain\npath without protection, save by a slender paling for the space of a\nfew yards only. Nothing could be more dreary and terrific. Through\nthis dizzy cleft--the sides bare and abrupt, without ledge or\nprojection--the walls, like gigantic buttresses, presenting their\ninaccessible barriers to the deep--the distant horizon, raised to an\nunusual height by the point of sight and position of the spectator,\nseemed to mingle so softly and imperceptibly with the sky that it\nappeared one wide sea of cloud stretching to the foot of the cliff.\nFrom that fearful summit the billows were but as the waving of a\nsummer cloud, undulating on the quiet atmosphere. The fishing bark,\nwith its dun, squat, picturesque sail, looked as though floating in\nthe sky--a fairy boat poised on the calm ether.\n\nAs we before noticed, two persons were loitering up this path. They\npaused at the brink of the chasm. It might be for the purpose of\ngazing on the scene we have just described; but the lover's gaze was\non his mistress, and the maiden's eye was bent on the ground.\n\n\"'Tis even so, Adeline. We must part. And yet the time may come,\nwhen----But thou art chill, Adeline. The words freeze ere they pass my\nlips, even as thine own; for I never yet could melt the frost-work\nfrom thy soul. Still silent? Well. I know thy heart is not another's;\nand yet thou dost hesitate, and linger, and turn away thy cold grey\neyes when I would fain kindle them from mine. Nay, Adeline; I know\nthou lovest me. Ay! draw back so proudly, and offer up thine and thy\ntrue lover's happiness for ever on the altar of thy pride.\"\n\n\"Since thou knowest this heart so well,\" retorted the haughty maiden,\n\"methinks it were a bootless wish to wear it on thy sleeve, save for\nthe purpose of admiring thine own skill and bravery in the\nachievement.\"\n\n\"Thou wrongest me, Adeline; 'tis not my wish. Say thou art mine; we\nare then safe. No earthly power shall part us. But I warn thee,\nmaiden, that long years of misery and anguish will be our portion\nshould we separate while our troth is yet unplighted. This ring,\" said\nhe, drawing off his glove, \"is indifferently well set. The bauble was\nmade by a skilful and cunning workman. The pearls have the true orient\ntinge, and this opal hath an eye like the hue of the morning,\nchangeable as--woman's favour. How bright at times!--warm and radiant\nwith gladness, now dull, cold, hazy, and\"----unfeeling, he would have\nsaid, but he leaned on the slender barrier as he spoke, and his eye\nwandered away over the dim and distant wave, across which he was about\nto depart. Whether he saw it, or his eye was too intently fixed on the\ndark and appalling future, we presume not to determine.\n\n\"A woman's favour, like thy similes, Mortimer, hath its colour by\nreflection. Thou seest but thine own beam in't; the hue and temper of\nthy spirit. We have no form nor feeling of our own, forsooth; we but\ngive back the irradiation we receive.\"\n\n\"Thou canst jest, Adeline. Thy chillness comes upon my spirit like the\nkeen ice-wind; it freezes while it withers.\"\n\nThe maiden turned aside her head, perhaps to hide a gleam of\ntenderness that belied her speech.\n\n\"Adeline, dark hours of sorrow are before thee! Think not to escape.\"\n\nHe seized her hand.\n\n\"Shouldst thou wed another, a doom is thine--a doom from which even\nthought recoils.\"\n\nHe looked steadfastly upon her, but the maiden spoke not; a tear\nquivered through her drooping eyelashes, and her lip grew pale.\n\n\"But I must away,\" continued Mortimer. \"Yonder bark awaits me,\" and he\ndrew her gently towards the brink. \"It will part us, perhaps for ever!\nNo, no, not for ever. Thou wilt wed--it may be--and when I\nreturn--Horror!\"\n\nHe started back, as from a spectre which his imagination had created.\n\n\"That ring--take it. Let it be thy monitor; and should another seek\nthy love, look on it; for it shall warn thee. It shall be a silent\nwitness of thy thoughts--one that will watch over thee in my stead;\nfor the genii of that ring,\" said he, playfully, \"are my slaves.\"\n\nBut she returned the pledge.\n\n\"I cannot. Do not wind the links around me thus, lest they gall my\nspirit; lest I feel the fetters, and wish them broken!\"\n\n\"Then I swear,\" said Mortimer, vehemently, \"no hand but thine shall\nwear it!\"\n\nHe raised his arm, and the next moment the ring would have been\nhurled into the gulf, but ere it fell he cast another glance at his\nmistress. Her heart was full. The emotion she sought to quell quivered\nconvulsively on her lip. He seized her hand; but when he looked again\nupon the ring it was broken!\n\nBy what a strange and mysterious link are the finest and most subtle\nfeelings connected with external forms and appearances! By what unseen\nprocess are they wrought out and developed; their hidden sources, the\nsecret avenues of thought and emotion, discovered--called forth by\ncircumstances the most trivial and unimportant! Adeline turned pale;\nand Mortimer himself shuddered as he beheld the omen. But another\ntrain of feelings had taken possession of her bosom; or rather her\nthoughts had acquired a new tendency by this apparently casual\ncircumstance; and true to the bent and disposition of our nature, now\nthat the slighted good was in danger of being withdrawn, she became\nanxious for its possession. She received the token. A slight crack\nupon its rim was visible, but this fracture did not prevent its being\nretained on the hand.\n\nAfter this brief development their walk was concluded. They breathed\nno vows. Mortimer would not again urge her. A lock of hair only was\nexchanged; and shortly the last adieu was on their lips, and the broad\ndeck of the vessel beneath his feet, whence he saw the tall cliff sink\ndown into the ocean, and with it his hopes, that seemed to sink for\never into the same gulf!\n\nSome few years afterwards, on a still evening, about the same time of\nthe year, a boat was lowered from a distant vessel in the offing.\nThree men pulled ashore as the broad full moon rose up, red and dim,\nfrom the mist that hung upon the sea. The roll of the ocean alone\nbetokened its approach. Its melancholy murmur alone broke the\nuniversal stillness. The lights came out one by one from the village\ncasements. The cattle were housed, and the curs had crept to the\nhearth, save some of the younger sort, who at intervals worried\nthemselves, fidgeting about, and making a mighty show of activity and\nwatchfulness.\n\nOne of the passengers stepped hastily on shore. He spoke a few words\nto the rowers, who threw their oars into the boat, fastening her to\nthe rocks. Afterwards they betook themselves to a tavern newly\ntrimmed, where, swinging from a rude pole, hung the \"_sign_\" of a\nship--for _sign_ it could only be called--painted long ago by some\nself-initiated and village-immortalised artist, whose production had\nonce been the wonder of the whole neighbourhood.\n\nA roaring blaze revealed the whole interior, where pewter cups and\nwell-scoured trenchers threw their bright glances upon all who wooed\nthese dangerous allurements at \"The Ship.\"\n\nBut the individual whom the rowers had put ashore withstood these\ntempting devices. He strode rapidly up the path, and paused not until\nhe approached the cliff where the agony of one short hour had left its\ndeep furrows for ever on his memory.\n\nThe incidents of that memorable day were then renewed with such\nvividness that, on a sudden, writhing and dismayed, he hurried forward\nin the vain hope, it might seem, of flying from the anguish he could\nnot control.\n\nA dark plain stone house stood at no great distance, and hither his\nfootsteps were now directed. A little gate opened into a gravel walk\nsweeping round an oval grass plat before the door. He leaned upon the\nwicket, as though hesitating to enter. By this time the moon rode high\nand clear above the mist which was yet slumbering on the ocean. She\ncame forth gloriously, without a shadow or a cloud. The wide\nhemisphere was unveiled, but its bright orbs were softened by her\ngaze. The shadows, broad and distinct, lay projected on a slight\nhoar-frost, where a thousand splendours and a thousand crystals hung\nin the cold and dewy beam. Bright, tranquil, and unruffled was the\nworld around him--but the world within was dark and turbulent--tossed,\nagitated, and overwhelmed by the deep untold anguish of the spirit.\n\nThe tyrant sway of the passions, like some desolating invader, can\nmake a paradise into a desert, and the fruitful places into a\nwilderness. How different to Mortimer would have been the scene viewed\nthrough another medium! His soul was ardent, devoted, full of high and\nglorious imaginings; but a blight was on them all, and they became\nchill and decayed--an uninformed mass, without aim or vitality.\n\nHe was afraid to proceed, lest his worst suspicions might be\nconfirmed. He had heard----But we will not anticipate the sequel.\n\nA loud barking announced the presence of an intruder, but the\nsagacious animal, when he had carefully snuffed out a recognition,\nfawned and whined upon him, running round and round towards the house,\nwith gambols frolicsome and extravagant enough to have excited the\nsmiles of any human being but Mortimer.\n\nAs he approached he heard a soft, faint melody from within. It was her\nvoice;--he could not be mistaken, though years had passed by;--though\nthe dull tide of oblivion had effaced many an intervening record from\nthe tablet of his memory, those tones yet vibrated to his soul. His\nheart thrilled to their impression like two finely-modulated strings,\nwhich produce a corresponding sympathy upon each other. He listened,\nalmost breathless. The recollection came like a track of fire across\nhis brain. Memory! how glorious, how terrible art thou! With the wand\nof the enchanter thou canst change every current of feeling into joy\nor woe. The same agency--nay, the same object--shall awaken the most\nopposite emotions. The simplest forms and the subtlest agents are\nalike to thee. Nature seems fashioned at thy will, and her attributes\nare but the instruments of thy power.\n\nThe melody that he heard was a wild and mournful ballad which he had\nonce given to Adeline, when the hours flew on, sparkling with delight,\nand--she had not forgotten him!\n\nThe thought was too thrilling to endure. His brain throbbed with\necstacy. Unable to restrain his impatience, he applied hastily to the\ndoor. Such was the excitement under which he laboured that the very\nsound made him start back: it struck so chilly on his heart. Then came\nan interval of harrowing suspense. He shuddered when he heard the\napproaching footsteps, and could with difficulty address the servant\nwho stood inquiring his errand.\n\n\"Is--is Adeline within?\"\n\nThe menial silently surveyed the inquirer, as though doubtful in what\nmanner to reply, ere he answered--\n\n\"My mistress is at home, sir.\"\n\nMortimer stepped into the hall. The servant threw open the door\nannouncing his name, and Mortimer was in the presence of Adeline.\n\nThe meeting was too sudden for preliminary forms and courtesies. There\nwas no time for preparation. The blow was struck, and a thousand idle\ninquiries were perhaps saved; but Adeline, after one short gaze of\nastonishment and dismay, covered her face; a low groan escaped her,\nand she threw herself convulsively on the chair.\n\nMortimer hastened to her relief, but she shrank from his touch. She\nspoke not; her anguish was beyond utterance.\n\n\"Adeline!\"\n\nShe shuddered as though the sound once more awakened the slumbering\nechoes of memory.\n\n\"Leave me, Mortimer,\" she cried. \"I must not\"----\n\n\"Leave thee!\" it was repeated in a tone that no words can describe.\nInquiry, apprehension, were depicted in his look as if existence hung\non a word; while a pause followed, compared with which the rack were a\nbed of roses. The silence was too harrowing to sustain.\n\n\"And why? I know it all now,\" cried the unhappy Mortimer; and the\nbroad impress of despair was upon his brow, legibly, indelibly\nwritten.\n\n\"I am here to redeem my pledge; and thou! O Adeline! Why--why? Say how\nis my trust requited? Were long years too, too long, to await my\nreturn? I have not had a thought thou hast not shared. And yet thou\ndost withhold thy troth!\"\n\n\"It is plighted!\"\n\n\"To whom?\"\n\n\"To my husband?\"\n\nThough anticipating the reply, the words went like an arrow to his\nheart. We will not describe the separation. With unusual speed he\ndescended the path towards the village. He rushed past the cleft with\naverted looks, fearful that he might be tempted to leap the gulf. He\nentered the tavern; but so changed in manner and appearance that his\ncompanions, fearful that his senses were disordered, earnestly\nbesought him to take some rest and refreshment.\n\nIn the end he was persuaded to retire to bed. But ere long fever and\ndelirium had seized him; and in the morning he was pronounced by a\nmedical attendant to be in extreme danger, requiring the interposition\nof rest and skill to effect his cure.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was in the cold and heavy mist of a December evening that a female\nwas seated upon the tall cliff above the chasm we have described. As\nthe solitary gull came wheeling around her, she spoke to it with great\neagerness and gesticulation.\n\n\"Leave me--leave me!\" she cried. \"I must not now. Poor wanderer! art\nthou gone?\" With an expression of the deepest bitterness and\ndisappointment, she continued, \"Why, oh, why didst thou take back thy\npledge? Nay, it is here still; but--alas! 'tis broken. Broken!\" and a\nscream so wild and pitiful escaped her, it was like the last agony of\nthe spirit when riven from its shrine. Her hair wet with the drizzly\natmosphere hung about her face. She suddenly threw it aside, as if\nlistening.\n\n\"'Tis he! Again he comes. My--no, no; he _was_ my lover! I have none\nnow. I have a husband; but--he is unkind. Alas! why am I thus? I feel\nit! O merciful Heaven! my brain leaps; but I am not--indeed I am not\nmad!\"\n\nSaying this, she bounded down the cliff into the path she had left,\nwith surprising swiftness. Returning, she was met by her husband, with\ntwo servants, who were in search. He chid her harshly--brutally. He\nthreatened--ay, he threatened restraint. She heard this; but he saw\nnot the deep and inflexible purpose she had formed. Horror at the\napprehension of confinement, which, in calmer intervals, she dreaded\nworse than death, prompted her to use every artifice to aid her\nescape. She was now calm and obedient, murmuring not at the temporary\nattendance to which she was subjected. She sought not the cliff and\nthe deep chasm; but would sit for hours upon the shore, looking over\nthe calm sea, with a look as calm and as deceitful.\n\nVigilance became relaxed; apprehension was lulled; she was again left\nto herself, and again she stole towards the cliff. Like to some guilty\nthing, she crept onward, often looking back lest she should be\nobserved. Having attired herself with more than ordinary care, before\nleaving her chamber she unlocked an ivory casket with great caution,\ntaking thence a ring, which she carefully disposed on her forefinger.\nShe looked with so intense a gaze upon this pledge--for it was the\npledge of Mortimer--that she seemed to be watching its capricious\nglance, like the eye of destiny, as if her fate were revealed in its\nbeautiful and mystic light.\n\nSunset was near as she approached the cliff. She paused where the\nchasm opened out its deep vista upon the waters. They were now\nsparkling in the crimson flush from a sky more than usually brilliant.\nBoth sky and ocean were blent in one; the purple beam ran out so pure\nalong the waves, that every billow might now be seen, every path and\nfurrow of the deep.\n\nAdeline climbed over the rail. She stood on that extreme verge, so\nfearful and abrupt that it might have rendered dizzy a stouter head\nthan her own.\n\n\"This night are we married, Mortimer. The _ring_ and the _cliff_!\"\n\nThe ring at this moment shot forth a tremulous brightness; probably\nfrom participation with the glowing hues by which it was surrounded.\n\n\"The genii of that ring--said he not so?--they will bear me to him.\nOur couch is decked, and the bridal hymn----Hark!\"\n\nIt was only the sound from some passing skiff that crept along the\nwaters, but Adeline thought she heard the voice of her lover.\n\n\"He calls me; when will he return?\"\n\nShe looked anxiously on the ring, as though expecting a reply; but she\nsaw its bright hues diminish, and gradually grow dim in the dull grey\nlight which displaced the gaudy sunset.\n\n\"Oh, why art thou gone so soon?\" Her heart seemed full, as though in\nthe very agony of separation.\n\n\"I must away. His bark is on the deep; and he will not return.\"\n\nShe buried her head in her lap, and wept. But suddenly she started up;\nshe looked on the distant wave as though she beheld some object\napproaching. She again climbed upon the rail, and gazed eagerly\nthrough the twilight on the billows, now foaming back in triumph with\nthe returning tide. Her features were yet beautiful, though wasted by\ndisease; and as she gazed, a smile, rapturous and bright, passed over,\nlike a sunbeam on the dark billows. She waved her hand.\n\n\"I have waited for thee. Bear me hence. Haste! Oh, haste! They are\nhere.\"\n\nShe listened. Her countenance grew more pale and agitated. Voices were\nheard, and footsteps evidently approaching. She recognised the hated\nsound of her pursuers. Agony and despair were thy last ministers,\nunhappy victim! She wrapped her cloak closer to her form, and, with\none wild and appalling shriek, leaped that dizzy height, by the foot\nof which her mangled remains were shortly discovered.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the family of ---- is a ring, taken from the finger of a female\nancestor of the house who leaped from \"_The Lady's Cliff_,\"--for such\nit continues to be called; and it is still said to be haunted by her\nspirit. The ring was found uninjured, save by a crack through the rim,\nwhere it seems bent by a sudden stroke. Superstition attaches strange\nstories to this relic. True enough, at times it appears almost gifted\nwith intelligence; though perhaps the answer, intimated by the\nbrilliancy or dimness of the stone, may often be construed according\nto the thoughts or wishes of the inquirer. It is kept in a little\nivory box, and preserved with great care. It is said there never was a\nquestion propounded to this oracle--if done with a proper spirit, with\na due and devout reverence, and a reliance on its wondrous\nefficacy--but the ring, by its brightness or its gloom, shadowed forth\nthe good or evil destiny of the querent.\n\nMortimer recovered. In this village, many years afterwards, lived an\nold man, whose daily walk was to the cliff. From that height he would\ngaze until the last hue of evening died upon the waves. He then\nreturned, with a vacant and down-cast look, sad and solitary, to his\ndwelling. He was buried there in the churchyard; and a plain-looking\nstone, with the initials C. M., still marks the spot called THE\nSTRANGER'S GRAVE.\n\n     [16] Many a fertile acre has been covered with\n     sand and rendered useless which might have been preserved by\n     sowing on its confines the seeds of this plant. The Dutch have\n     profited by a knowledge of its efficacy; Queen Elizabeth\n     prohibited the extirpation of it. As soon as it takes root a\n     sandhill gathers round it; so that wherever it is planted it\n     gives a peculiar character to the coast. This grass or reed is\n     manufactured into mats, baskets, &c. A legislative enactment,\n     however, in 1742, was issued for its preservation. The Scottish\n     Parliament likewise protected it, together with _Elymus\n     arenarius_, or upright sea-lyme grass.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE DEAD MAN'S HAND]\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEAD MAN'S HAND.\n\n     \"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,\n       And dry those pearly tears;\n     For see, beneath this gown of grey,\n       Thy own true love appears.\"\n\n     --PERCY'S _Reliques_.\n\n     Bryn Hall, the scene or rather the solution, of the following\n     tradition, is now demolished. It was the ancient seat of the\n     Gerards, by virtue of marriage between William Gerard, about\n     the year 1280, with the daughter and sole heir of Peter de\n     Bryn. It was built in a quadrangular form with a spacious\n     courtyard, to which admittance was gained by a narrow bridge\n     over the moat surrounding the whole fabric. The gatehouse was\n     secured by massy doors well studded with iron; a\n     curiously-carved porch led to the great hall, where, on the\n     chimney-piece, were displayed the arms of England, not older\n     than the reign of James I. A railed gallery ran along one side,\n     on which persons might stand to observe the entertainments\n     below without mingling in them. It was supported by double\n     pillars in front of pilasters, forming arches between,\n     profusely ornamented by rich carved work. Most of these\n     decorations, together with the carved wainscots, were taken to\n     embellish Garswood Hall, near Ashton, a few miles distant,\n     where the family resided after their removal.\n\n     In the windows were some armorial bearings of painted glass, the\n     first quarterings beginning with the Leighs of Lyme, instead of\n     Gerard or Bryn, as might have been expected. Here was a Roman\n     Catholic chapel, and a priest who continued long after the\n     family had departed, having in his custody the hand mentioned\n     in the following pages. It is still kept by them, or rather by\n     the priest, who now resides at Garswood. Preserved with great\n     care in a white silk bag, it is still resorted to by many\n     diseased persons, and wonderful cures are said to have been\n     wrought by this saintly relic. It is called the Hand of Father\n     Arrowsmith--a priest who is said to have been put to death at\n     Lancaster for his religion in the time of William III. When\n     about to suffer, he desired his spiritual attendant to cut off\n     his right hand, which should then have the power to work\n     miraculous cures on those who had faith to believe in its\n     efficacy. Not many years ago, a female, sick of the smallpox,\n     had it lying in bed with her every night for six weeks, in order\n     to effect her recovery, which took place. A poor lad, living in\n     Withy Grove, Manchester, afflicted with scrofulous sores, was\n     rubbed with it; and though it has been said he was miraculously\n     restored, yet, upon inquiry, the assertion was found incorrect,\n     inasmuch as he died in about a fortnight after the operation.\n\n     Not less devoid of truth is the tradition that Arrowsmith was\n     hanged for witnessing a good confession. Having been found\n     guilty of a misdemeanour, in all probability this story of his\n     martyrdom and miraculous attestation to the truth of the cause\n     for which he suffered was contrived for the purpose of\n     preventing the scandal that might have come upon the Church\n     through the delinquency of an unworthy member.\n\n     One of the family of the Kenyons attended as under-sheriff at\n     the execution; and it is said that he refused the culprit some\n     trifling favour at the gallows, whereupon Arrowsmith denounced\n     a curse upon him--to wit, that whilst the family could boast of\n     an heir, so long they should never want a cripple: which\n     prediction was supposed by the credulous to have been literally\n     fulfilled.\n\n\nWhat a strange and appalling history would be that of superstition!\nhow humiliating, how degrading to the boasted dignity of our nature!\nIn all ages this teeming source of error has yielded abundantly all\nvarieties of phantasms--the sublime, the solemn, the horrible, and the\nridiculous--a mildew, a blight, on the fairest blossoms of truth; an\nexcrescence; a coat of rust, which eateth as a canker, and makes\nreligion, which was given as a blessing and a boon to our perishing\nrace, a burden and a curse. And yet neither good nor evil is unmixed.\nSuch is the nature even of our most baneful impressions that instances\ndo arise where good may come from so corrupt a source. The connection\nbetween material and immaterial, between mind and matter, so operates,\nthat sometimes, and in proportion to the strength of the impression, a\nchange is wrought by the mere control of the mind over the bodily\nfunctions.\n\nTo this operation may be ascribed the wonder-workings of these latter\ndays. We do not question the effects thereby produced; but totally,\nunhesitatingly, deny the cause. Imagination at times doth so usurp the\nmastery over the animal and bodily faculties, that she has been known\nto suspend their ordinary processes, and to render the frame\ninsensible even to the attacks of pain itself.\n\nIn one of the northern divisions of the county--we know not the\nprecise situation, nor is it needful to our purpose that we\ninquire--there dwelt a comely maiden, who, at a period of little more\nthan twenty summers from her birth, found herself in the undisturbed\npossession, if not enjoyment, of an abundant income, with a domain of\nmore than ordinary fertility and extent. Her parents dying during the\nperiod of her youth, she, as the only offshoot of the family, held her\ndominion uncontrolled. That the possessor of such an abundant stock of\nliberty should wish to wear a chain is verily a marvel not easily\nresolved. But so it was; and she seemed never so well pleased as when\nthe links were firmly riveted. The forging of this invisible chain was\na work performed in secret. She felt her thrall, but she sighed not to\nbe free! For, alas! a grievous malady had seized her. The light of her\neyes--a brisk and winning gallant, in the shape of a male cousin--had\ndeparted. He went out to the wars, as was reported, and Ellen refused\nto be comforted. He knew not, peradventure, of her liking towards him.\nHe was of a different creed, moreover--a Catholic--and she had, in the\nsovereignty of her caprice, treated him with something of\npetulance--he thought scorn. What a misfortune, that two fond hearts\nshould have wanted an interpreter!\n\nShe sat one evening in her bed-chamber, and Bridget her maid, a little\nRoman Catholic orphan, who had served her from a child, was busily\nengaged in preparing her mistress for the night's repose. Now Bridget\nwas a zealous believer in saints, miracles, and the like; and Ellen\nwould often disport herself gently on the subject.\n\n\"I wish I could believe in thy legends and thy saints' gear; it would\nverily be a comfortable disposition of my thoughts in all extremity to\nhave a hope of a special interference.\"\n\n\"And why not?\" said Bridget, who confessed thrice a-year, and knew the\nmarvellous histories of a dozen saints by rote.\n\n\"Because,\" said her mistress, \"I did not imbibe thy faith with my\nmother's milk as thou hast done. 'Tis part of thy very nature, wench;\nand thou couldst not but act in conformity thereto.\"\n\n\"There have we the better of our birthright. But, nevertheless, those\nwho repent and turn to the true faith have the same privileges; yet it\nis hard, as well it may be, to bend their stubborn nature to this\nbelief. How comfortable to have one's sins struck from the calendar,\nand to know that we are holy again as a little child, besides ailments\nof the body innumerable that are cured whenever we can bring our faith\nto its full exercise!\"\n\n\"Well, Bridget, if I were a good Catholic as now I am an unbeliever\nand heretic, dost think that St Somebody, or whoever I might take a\nfancy to for the purpose, would be propitiated by a few prayers and\ngenuflexions, and restore me to health and--and\"----\n\nShe faltered in her speech; the banter died away on her lips; memory\ngave a sudden twinge, and her heart grew dark under the dim cloud that\nwas passing over.\n\n\"I'd answer for it, if you were a good Catholic, that Father O'Leary\nwould cure you as readily as he did Davy Dean's sow, that went mad,\nand bit her master.\"\n\n\"But seeing that I am neither a good Catholic nor even Davy Dean's\nsow, is there a saint in the whole calendar would think it worth while\nto work a miracle on such a wicked unbeliever as I am?\"\n\n\"There's one way, as I've heard tell; that if ye take a sprig of St\nJohn's wort, and say three _credos_ over it and a _paternoster_, and\nlay it under your pillow, you shall dream of the remedy by which a\ncure may be wrought.\"\n\nEllen did not immediately reply to this suggestion, for she thought\nthat no special revelation was needed to point out a remedy.\n\n\"I would give the world if I had it to know what my cousin William is\ndoing,\" said she in a musing fit, as though some sudden fancy had\ncrossed her.\n\n\"And why may you not?\" said the ready-witted maid; \"yea, as sure as St\nPeter's at Rome, and that's not to be gainsaid either by Turk or\ninfidel.\"\n\n\"What, dost thou learn these crotchets in thy creed?\" said Ellen.\n\n\"Nay,\" replied the other, \"it is a bit of conjuration not enjoined by\nthe Church; a kind of left-handed intercourse which we get by stealth\nfrom other guess-folk, I reckon, than the holy saints.\"\n\n\"Am I to dream of this too?\"\n\n\"Why, nay; you may be wide awake for that matter; but you must just\ntake a phoenix feather in one hand, a cockatrice tooth in your mouth,\nand breathe on the glass, when, as the breath departs, they say your\ntrue love will appear therein.\"\n\n\"But he is not my true love, wench; and so I may not bind him with\nsuch spell, mayhap.\"\n\n\"How know ye that, fair mistress?\"\n\n\"Go to; thou dost wound and vex me with thy questions. Hath he not\nbeen gone these five months, and never a word, good or bad, hath been\nrendered to me? Nay, did he not, ere he went, so deport himself with\nmost cold and supercilious arrogance, and even with neglect and\ndisdain?\"\n\n\"Because in your own bright self, lady, he had the first example; for\nof all the gay sparks that fluttered about you there was never a one\no' them that had to endure such chilling looks and so haughty a\nbearing as were usually reserved for him.\"\n\n\"Hold thy tongue; thou dost presume too much, methinks, upon thy\nformer freedoms, wench. I like not such unguarded speech.\"\n\nBridget was silent at this rebuke; and, whatever was uppermost in her\nthoughts, no more was said that night.\n\nThe following days Ellen was much worse. The disease appeared to be\nrapidly gaining strength, and the maiden seemed doomed to an early\ngrave.\n\n\"And isn't it a silly thing for one like you to die so soon?\" said\nBridget; \"I can ask for you, what I would not have the face to ask for\nmyself.\"\n\nEllen smiled. The hectic flush was apparently on her cheek; and the\nfever that fed it was on her vitals; at least, so said the village\nchroniclers by whom it was told.\n\nWhat was the precise nature of the request that Bridget made the next\nSunday from her patron saint, we know not; but she seemed mightily\noccupied therewith; and if ever there was faith in such an\nintercessor, Bridget felt assured that her patron would intercede on\nbehalf of her mistress, though a heretic and unbeliever. But St\nBridget was told, in all likelihood, that Ellen must necessarily be a\nconvert to the true faith should a miracle be wrought in her favour.\n\nThe following morning Bridget was early at the bedside of her\nmistress, with a countenance more than usually indicative of some\nimportant communication. But Ellen was the first to break silence.\n\n\"I have had a strange dream last night.\"\n\n\"So I guessed,\" said Bridget, with a face of great importance; \"and\nwhat said the holy saint, my good kind patron?\"\n\n\"Bless thy silly face, it was no woman saint that I saw.\"\n\nBridget looked sad and chop-fallen at this intimation; she was fearful\nthat her prayers were unheeded.\n\n\"There came, as I thought in my dream,\" said Ellen, \"a long-robed\npriest to my bedside.\"\n\n\"Sure enough, then, St Bridget--blessings on her wherever she\nbe!--sent him.\"\n\n\"Prithee, be quiet, and listen. He stood there, methought, and when I\nasked him of his errand, he raised his right arm, and I saw that the\nhand was wanting, being taken off at the wrist. I marvelled\nexceedingly at this strange apparition; but as I was a-going to\nquestion him thereon I awoke. I know not why, but the vision sorely\ntroubled me, especially when again going to sleep, for it was repeated\nthrice.\"\n\n\"It's a riddle,\" said Bridget, \"and one with a heavy meaning in it,\ntoo, if we could find it out.\"\n\n\"Verily, I think so,\" said Ellen; \"for the impress doth not pass away\nlike that from ordinary dreams; but rests with a deep and solemn power\nupon my spirit, such as I can neither throw off nor patiently endure.\"\n\n\"I'll unriddle it for you, or go a pilgrimage to our Lady at Loretto,\"\nsaid Bridget, determined not to be behindhand in her curiosity. So she\nset her woman's wits immediately to work; yet she saw her mistress\ndaily losing strength, and no clue was obtained by which to know the\ninterpretation of the vision. She consulted her confessor; but he was\nequally at a loss with herself, and knew not the nature of the dream,\nnor its meaning.\n\nOne day Mistress Bridget brought in a tall beggar woman, dumb, or\npretendedly so, and apparently deaf. She made many signs that the gift\nof foreknowledge was in her possession, though she seemed herself to\nhave profited little by so dangerous an endowment. Ellen, being\npersuaded by her maid, craved a specimen of this wonderful art. The\nhag, a smoke-dried, dirty-looking beldame, with a patch over one eye,\nand an idiotic expression of face, began to mutter and make an odd\nnoise at the sight of the sick lady. She took a piece of chalk from\nher handkerchief, and began her work of divination. First she drew a\ncircle on the floor, as a boundary or frame, and within it she put\nmany uncouth and crabbed signs; but their meaning was perfectly\nunintelligible. Under this she sketched something like unto a sword,\nthen a hideous figure was attached to it, with a soldier's cap on his\nhead. Before him was a heart, that seemed to hang, as it were, on the\npoint of this long sword; which when Ellen saw she changed colour, but\nattempted to smile; yet she only betrayed her agitation. The dumb\noperator drew one hand across her own breast, and with the other\npointed to the lady; which appeared to Ellen as though intimating that\na soldier had won her heart, and that this was the true cause of her\nillness. Such an interpretation, perchance, was but the conscious\nmonitor speaking from within, as it invested this unmeaning\nhieroglyphic with the hue and likeness of its own fancies. But more\nmarvellous still was the subsequent proceeding. Having revealed the\ncause, it seemed as though she were about to point out, obscurely as\nbefore, the method and means of cure. When she had drawn the long\nunshapely representation of a cloak, above it was placed something\nlike unto a human head, without helm or other covering; and to this\nfigure two arms were added; one having a huge hand, displayed proper,\nas the heralds say, the other arm entirely destitute of this useful\nappendage. Ellen at once remembered her dream, and watched the process\neven with more interest than before.\n\nThe hand which should have been attached to the wrist was now drawn\ndistinct from the rest, as though grasping a heart wounded by the\nsword; and doubtless the interpretation, according to Bridget's\nopinion, was, that the application of a hand, which had been severed\nfrom the body, would alone cure the disease under which she pined. The\ndumb prophetess did not communicate further on the subject; and after\nhaving received her bounty, she departed.\n\n\"How very strange!\" said Ellen.\n\n\"Marvellous enough,\" said the maid; \"but St Bridget hath doubtless\nsent her to your help. Nay, peradventure, it was St Bridget herself!\nSave us, what a kind, good creature she must be!\"\n\nHere she crossed herself with great fervour, forgetting that even a\nsaint among womankind would hardly feign herself dumb.\n\n\"There is some mystery about this hand,\" thought Ellen; but where to\nseek for a solution was a mystery of equal magnitude with the rest.\nBridget was sure, from the disclosures already vouchsafed, that the\nneedful directions would not be withheld.\n\nEllen felt restless and disturbed for a while after this event; but\nher sensations were again reverting to their ordinary channel when one\nmorning she awoke in a fearful trepidation. She said that the figure\nof a human hand was visible, in her slumbers; that it led the way,\npointing to an old house like a fortified mansion, with a moat and\ngatehouse before the main entrance. As she followed, the hand seemed\nto twine its fingers about her heart, and for that time she felt\nrelieved of her pain. So vividly was the scene impressed upon her\nimagination that she felt assured she should recognise the building\nagain, and especially the interior, where, in a stately chamber, the\nmiraculous cure was performed. Bridget rubbed her hands, and capered\nabout for joy.\n\n\"The name of St Bridget be praised!\" said she, and vowed twenty things\nin a breath; but the principal of these was an embroidered petticoat,\nwhich vow she expected her mistress would enable her to fulfil.\nIndeed, she had long set her mind upon this lustrous piece of attire,\nand was waiting, somewhat impatiently, the time when it should be\nallotted to her. So audibly had she made her vow that Ellen was\nreminded of her pertinacity in still hoarding this precious and\ncoveted piece of finery, which Bridget looked upon as an unwarrantable\ndetention of her perquisites.\n\nThe cunning maid having obtained the garment for her patron saint,\nwhat harm was there in wearing it, a while at least, for her sake?\n\nAffairs went on for a little time in this dubious state; but the\ncontinued and increasing illness of Ellen made it expedient that a\nchange of air should be attempted, and the journey accomplished by\nshort and easy travel. The family coach was brought out, and Mistress\nBridget, invested with the dignities of her office, went forth as\nattendant of the body, and principal conductor of stores and packages.\n\nJourneying southwards at a slow pace, pausing to take a look where\nthere was any object worth the attention, they came one afternoon,\nabout the fourth day from their departure, to Wigan. When they had\njourneyed thence a mile or so, as they were passing down a jolting\nroad, Bridget, whose curious eye was ever on the look-out, suddenly\nexclaimed, at the same time pointing through the window--\n\n\"I declare if there is not the dummy again yonder!\"\n\nEllen beheld the dumb sibyl, whose predictions were not forgotten.\nBridget, by her looks, seemed to ask leave to stop the carriage and\nhold another conference with the woman; and Ellen, whom illness had\nrendered somewhat passive in such matters, did not make any\nopposition. Having accosted this walking oracle, Bridget curtsied with\ngreat reverence, peradventure fancying that St Bridget herself might\nbe again embodied before her; but the beldame went straight to the\ncarriage, addressing herself to the invalid within by pointing to her\nbreast, and making divers motions of the like signification, which\nwere not easy to be understood, even by the party for whom they were\nintended. The prophetess seemed fully to comprehend that her symbolic\nrepresentations were unintelligible, and no fitting place being at\nhand whereon they could be readily portrayed, she strove with the\ngreater vehemence to explain her meaning. There appeared a more than\nordinary anxiety on her part to communicate something of importance;\nand the travellers looked as though fully aware of it. Her most\nunequivocal signs, however, were to this purport--that they should not\nproceed farther. Ellen, impelled by fear and curiosity, spoke aloud--\n\n\"Surely we are not to remain here at the beck of this woman!\"\n\nThe one-eyed sibyl nodded an affirmative. This, at any rate, helped\nthem to an easier mode of communication, finding that she was not\ndeaf, as they had hitherto supposed.\n\n\"And whither shall we proceed?\"\n\nThe woman here pointed to a narrow lane on the right of the main road\nthey were pursuing.\n\n\"Truly that seems but an indifferent path. Wherefore should we turn in\nthither?\" inquired Ellen.\n\nAgain the prophetess pointed to her own breast, and then at the bosom\nof the invalid.\n\n\"By this token I understand that in so doing I am to expect some\nrelief.\"\n\nAgain nodded the officious intruder.\n\n\"But how shall that relief be obtained?\"\n\nThe woman here lifted up her hand, again pointing towards the path by\nwhich they should proceed.\n\n\"Go and see, I suppose thou wouldst say,\" said Ellen.\n\nAnother affirmatory nod was the answer.\n\n\"Wilt thou be our guide?\"\n\nThe person addressed here darted a look at Ellen which seemed to\nexpress pleasure at the request, if pleasure it might be called that\ncould irradiate such an aspect. She put out her hand for the customary\nlargess ere setting forward as their guide on the expedition. Some\ndifficulty now arose by reason of the straitness of the path; but\ntheir dumb leader hastened up the lane with unusual speed, beckoning\nthat they should follow. From this signal it appeared that there was\nsufficient room, and the postilion addressed himself to proceed by so\nunusual a route.\n\nThey went forward for about a mile with little difficulty; but a\nsudden turn, almost at right angles with their course, presented an\nobstacle which the driver hesitated whether or not to encounter; but\nit was impossible to return, though they were not without serious\nfears that the weird woman might lead them on to a situation from\nwhich they could not extricate themselves. Still she beckoned them\nforward, until they emerged into another and a wider road, on which\nthey travelled without further impediment.\n\nEllen, whose eyes were abundantly occupied, suddenly assumed a look of\ngreater fixedness and intensity. For a while she seemed nearly\nspeechless with amazement. At length she cried--\n\n\"'Tis there!--There!\"\n\nBridget looked forth, but saw nothing worthy of remark save an old\ngatehouse over a dark lazy moat, secured by heavy wooden doors.\n\nThis gatehouse was apparently the entrance to a court or quadrangle,\nenclosed by buildings of wood and plaster of the like antiquity. Their\nguide stood on the bridge, as though to intimate that their wanderings\nwould here terminate.\n\n\"I have seen it before,\" said Ellen, with great solemnity and emotion.\nBridget perhaps fancied her mistress's thoughts were wandering\nstrangely, and was just going to recommend rest and a little of the\nmedicine she carried, when Ellen again spoke, as though sensible of\nsome incoherency in her remark:--\"In my dreams, Bridget.\"\n\n\"St Bridget and the Virgin be praised! Is this the house you saw\nwhen\"----\n\n\"The very same. I should know it again; nor should I forget it if I\nwere to live to the age of the patriarchs.\"\n\n\"It's an evident answer to my prayers,\" said Bridget; and here the\ndevout enthusiast began to recite internally some holy ejaculations,\nwhich, if they did not possess any positive efficacy, were at least\nserviceable in allaying the excitement under which she laboured.\n\nEllen determined to alight and witness the issue of the adventure; so\nin due time these forlorn damsels were seen advancing over the bridge\nunto this enchanted castle.\n\nThe beldame knocked loudly at the gate, and immediately she sprang\nback; but when the travellers again looked round she was gone!\n\nNow were they in a precious dilemma. Two females before a stranger's\ngate; the warder a-coming, when their business would of necessity be\ndemanded. A tread, every footstep of which might have been passing\nover them, was close at hand. The bolts shrieked; the gate shook, and\na curious face peeped forth to inquire their errand. Bridget, whose\nready tongue rarely refused its office, replied--\n\n\"Is there a Catholic priest hereabout? for we would fain have a word\nwith one of that persuasion.\"\n\nThe grim warder smiled.\n\n\"Ye have not far to go for such an one,\" said he; \"but ye be far-off\ncomers, I reckon, or ye would have known Bryn Hall belike, the\ndwelling-place of the noble house of Gerard, that hath never been\nwithout a priest and an altar therein.\"\n\nHe threw the gate wide open, and invited them to follow; after which\nhe led them through a clumsily-ornamented porch into the great hall,\nat the end of which was a low gallery, supported by pillars and\npilasters richly and profusely carved. From these arches were sprung,\nand a flight of stairs at one end led to the upper chambers.\n\nTheir guide preceded them into a small wainscoted room, fitted up as a\nstudy, or perhaps an oratory in those days. A wooden crucifix, with a\nrepresentation of the Saviour carved in ivory, was placed in a recess,\noccasionally covered by a green curtain. Shelves laden with books\noccupied the farther end of the room, and writing materials were laid\nupon an oak trestle or table, before which sat a tall white-haired\npersonage in a suit of sables, to whose further protection the porter\nleft his charge.\n\nEllen had suffered herself to be led passive hitherto by her maid; but\nwhen she saw that they were now fairly committed to the disposal of\nthe priest, for so he appeared, she felt uneasy and anxious to\ndepart. The room and the whole scene were vividly brought to her\nrecollection; for she fancied that, at one time or another, she had\nbeen present in a similar place.\n\nBridget curtsied to the holy father, who, doubting not that either a\ncase of conscience or a need-be for confession brought these strangers\nto his presence, began the usual interrogatories.\n\n\"Here is a sick person, most reverent sir, who would have the benefit\nof your prayers,\" said Bridget. The pale and wasting form that was by\nher side sufficiently corroborated this reply.\n\n\"Daughter, the prayers of the church are for the penitent and\nbelieving; hast thou made shrift and a clear confession?\"\n\nBridget was prepared for this question.\n\n\"She is not of the faith; but, peradventure, if aid be vouchsafed, she\nshall be reclaimed.\"\n\n\"If she have faith, I will cure her malady. What sayest thou?\" He\nfixed his clear grey eye upon her, and Ellen felt as though some charm\nwere already at work, and a strange tingling went through her frame.\nShe stammered out something like an assent, when the priest carefully\nproceeded to unlock a little cabinet, inlaid with ivory and gold, from\nwhich he took out a white silk bag that diffused a grateful perfume\nthrough the chamber. He offered up a prayer before he unloosed the\nstrings; after which, with great formality and reverence, he drew\nforth a human hand, dried and preserved, apparently by some mysterious\nprocess, in all its substance and proportions. Ellen was dumb with\nastonishment. Bridget could with difficulty refrain from falling on\nher knees before this holy relic; and her delight would easily have\nrun over in some form of religious extravagance had it been suffered\nto have free vent. To this relic, doubtless, had the predictions\nreferred: and she doubted not its power and efficacy.\n\n\"This rare and priceless thing,\" said the priest, \"was once the right\nhand of an English Martyr, Father Arrowsmith by name, put to death for\nhis holy profession. In consideration whereof, it is permitted, by the\nwill of the Supreme, that an honourable testimony be rendered to his\nfidelity by the miracles that it doth and shall work to the end of\ntime. Rub it thrice on the part affected, and mark the result. If thou\nreceive it with humility and faith, trusting in Heaven, from whence\nalone the healing virtue doth flow--these holy relics being, as it\nwere, but the appointed channels and conduits of His mercy--thou shall\nassuredly be healed.\"\n\nBut Ellen was at some loss to know the precise situation of her\ncomplaint, until she recollected the picture drawn by the dumb\nfortune-teller, who described the heart alone as touched by this\nmiraculous hand. Yet, in what manner to make the application was a\nmatter of some difficulty.\n\nBridget again relieved her from the dilemma.\n\n\"If it so please your reverence, the seat of the complaint is not\nvisible. Suffer us to use it privately. We will not carry forth nor\nmisuse this precious keepsake; for I have been brought up in the\nnurture of the Holy Church, and am well instructed in her ceremonies.\"\n\n\"I fear not for the harm that can happen to it, by reason of ungodly\nor mischievous devices. If taken away, it would assuredly return\nhither. Should the lady have some inward ailment, let her lay it as\nnear as may be to the part where she feels afflicted, and keep it\nthere for a space, until she findeth help.\"\n\nThe two visitors were then shown into another chamber; and here\nBridget, with great devoutness, and a firm faith in its efficiency,\nplaced the dead cold hand upon her mistress's heart. Ellen shuddered\nwhen she felt its death-like touch. It was either fancy, or something\nmore, but she really felt as though a load were suddenly taken\naway--an oppression, an incubus, that had continually brooded over\nher, was gone. Surprised, and lightened of her burden, she returned\ninto the oratory, and gave back the relic, along with a liberal\noffering into the hands of the priest. He said there would scarcely be\noccasion for a repetition of the act, as it was evident the faith of\nthe recipient had wrought its proper work.\n\nThe day by this time being far spent, the priest begged permission to\nintroduce Ellen to Lady Gerard, who, he said, would be much gratified\nto afford them entertainment, and, if need were, shelter for the\nnight. On hearing the name of her visitor, this kind lady would take\nno denial, but expressed herself warmly on the folly and imprudence of\nan invalid being exposed to the night air; and Ellen, delighted with\nthe change she felt, was all compliance and good-nature. After a\nlittle hesitation, she suffered her first refusals to be overcome, and\nthe night wore on with pleasant converse. By little and little Lady\nGerard gained the confidence of Ellen, who seemed glad that she could\nnow speak freely on the subject nearest to her heart.\n\n\"It is marvellous enough,\" continued Lady Gerard, \"that you should\nhave been conducted hither; for in this house there is a magic mirror,\nwhich may, peradventure, disclose what shall relieve your anxiety. On\nbeing looked into, after suitable preparations, it is said--for I\nnever tried the experiment--to show wondrous images within its charmed\nsurface; and like the glass of Cornelius Agrippa, of which we have a\ntractate in the library chamber, will show what an absent person is\ndoing, if the party questioning be sincere, and anxious for his\nwelfare.\"\n\n\"I have long wished,\" said the blushing Ellen, \"that I might see him\nof whom our evening's discourse hath, perchance, been too much\nconversant. I would not for worlds that he knew of my wish; but if I\ncould see him once more, and know the bearing of his thoughts toward\nme, I could now, methinks, die content.\"\n\n\"This very night, then, let us consult the oracle,\" said Lady Gerard;\n\"but there must not be any witness to our exploit; so while away your\nimpatience as best you may until I have made the needful preparations\nfor our adventure.\"\n\nEllen could not repress her agitation when, after waiting alone for a\nlittle time, her kind hostess came to summon her to the trial. She was\nconducted up the staircase before mentioned, and through a corridor of\nsome length. The lamp grew pale and sickly in the cold wind of the\ngalleries they trod. Soon, however, they paused before a low door.\nLady Gerard pressed her finger on her lip, in token of silence. She\nthen blew out the light, and they were involved in total darkness.\nTaking hold of Ellen's arm, which trembled excessively within her own,\nshe opened the door, but not a ray was yet visible. She was conducted\nto a seat, and Lady Gerard whispered that she should be still.\nSuddenly a light flashed forth on the opposite side, and Ellen saw\nthat it came from a huge antique mirror. A form, in male attire, was\nthere discernible. With a slow and melancholy pace he came forward,\nand his lips seemed to move. It was--she could not be mistaken--it was\nher cousin William! She thought he looked pale and agitated. He\ncarried a light which, as it glimmered on his features, showed that\nthey were the index of some internal and conflicting emotion. He sat\ndown. He passed one hand over his brow, and she thought that a sigh\nlaboured from his lips; but as she gazed the light grew dim, and ere\nlong the mirror, ceasing to be illuminated, again left them in total\ndarkness. A few minutes elapsed, which were swollen to long hours in\nthe estimation of the anxious and wondering inquirer. Her companion\nagain whispered that she should await the result in silence. Suddenly\nthe light flashed out as before, and she saw the dumb fortune teller\ninstead of the individual she expected. Her features were more writhen\nand distorted than ever; and she seemed to mutter, it might be, some\nmalignant spell, some charm, the operation of which was for some\nunknown and diabolical intent. Ellen shuddered as the weird woman took\na paper-roll from her bosom. Unfolding it, there was displayed the\nfigure of her lover, as she supposed, kneeling, while he held out his\nhands toward the obdurate heart which he in vain attempted to grasp.\n\n\"I have wronged him,\" said Ellen, in a whisper to her companion; \"if I\ninterpret these images aright, he now sighs for my favour; and--would\nthat we had known each other ere it was too late!\"\n\n\"He knows now,\" said Lady Gerard; and immediately the dumb prophetess\nwas at her side. She threw off a disguise, ingeniously contrived, and\nEllen beheld her cousin William! The magic mirror was but an aperture\nthrough the wainscot into another apartment, and the plot had been\narranged in the first place by Mrs Bridget, who had been confederate\nwith the handsome but somewhat haughty wooer, having for his torment a\nmaiden as haughty and intractable as himself. Thus two loving hearts\nhad nigh been broken for lack of an interpreter. William's absence had\ntaken deeper hold on Ellen's finely-tempered frame than was expected;\nand it was with sorrow and alarm that he heard of her illness. His\ndistant relative, Lady Gerard, to whom he had retired for a season,\nspake of the marvellous hand, which, he was sure, being a devout and\npious Catholic, would cure any disease incident to the human frame. It\nwas absolutely needful that a cure should be attempted, along with\nsome stratagem, to conquer the yet unbroken obstinacy in which, as\nwith a double panoply, Ellen had arrayed herself. The result of the\nexperiment has been shown. She was united to her cousin ere a few\nmonths were old, and the \"merrie spring\" had melted in the warm lap of\nsummer.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOST FARM;\n\nOR, THE HAUNTED CASKET.\n\n     \"And when of me his leave he tuik,\n        The tears they wat mine ee,\n      I gave tull him a parting luik,\n        'My benison gang wi' thee;\n      God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart,\n        For gane is all my joy;\n      My heart is rent, sith we maun part,\n        My handsome Gilderoy.'\n\n     \"Of Gilderoy sae 'fraid they were,\n        They bound him mickle strong,\n      Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,\n        And on a gallows hung.\n      They hung him high aboon the rest,\n        He was sae trim a boy;\n      Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,\n        My handsome Gilderoy.\"\n\n\nOn the flat, bare, sandy coast, near to Southport, now a modern\nbathing-place of great resort, described in the first series of this\nwork, might be seen, some few years ago, a ruined barn, cottage, and\nother farmyard appurtenances, around which the loose and drifting sand\nwas accumulated, covering, at the same time, some acres of scanty\npasture, once held under lease and occupation by an honest fisherman,\nwho earned a comfortable, if not an easy subsistence, from his\namphibious pursuits. The thatched roofs were broken through--the walls\nrent and disfigured--all wore the aspect of desolation and decay. Long\ngrass had taken root, flourishing luxuriantly on the summit, though\nsurrounded by a barren wilderness, a wide and almost boundless ocean\nof sand. The ruin was the only fertile spot in this dreary waste.\nThough painful and melancholy the aspect, still, as the sea-breeze\ncame softly over, sighing gently on its time-worn furrows, and on the\nnodding plumes that decorated the crest of this aged and hoary relic\nof the past, the sensation, though pleasing, became mournful; the\nheart seemed linked with the unknown, the mysterious events of ages\nthat are for ever gone--feelings that make even a luxury of grief,\nprompted by that within us, \"the joy of sorrow;\" something more\nhallowed, more cherished in the heart's holiest shrine, than all the\nglare and glitter of enjoyment--the present bliss--which we prize only\nwhen it departs.\n\n[Illustration: THE LOST FARM, NEAR SOUTHPORT.\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._\n_Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\nMany years ago, this humble tenement was the abode of George Grimes,\nthe fisherman to whom we have just alluded. It was a dwelling one\nstory only from the ground, as the general use was in these regions,\nere modern edifices, staring forth in red, white, and green--their\nbold and upstart pretensions outfacing and supplanting the lowly but\npicturesque abodes of the aboriginal inhabitants--had overtopped and\novershadowed these meek, rural, and primitive displays of\narchitectural simplicity.\n\nGrimes, we repeat, was of that amphibious class, common upon every\ncoast, combining the occupations incident to land and water in his own\nproper person. Half-fisherman, half-farmer, he ploughed the seas with\nhis keel, when upon land his coulter was out of use. He was nigh\nsixty, and had long settled down into that quiet nap-like sort of\nexistence, when the passions are lulled, scarcely visible, as they\ncreep over the stagnant current of life. He was hale and hard\nfeatured; the lines on his visage betokening, if need were, a stern,\ndecisive, and obstinate bent in his disposition, that might have\nissued in deeds of high and noble daring had its possessor been thrown\ninto circumstances favourable to the display. As matters stood, George\nwas master of his own household. Here none questioned his authority;\nno profane, irreverent approach ever awakening the dormant energies of\nhis character, or thwarting the current, visible only by opposition.\n\nHis wife was a round, brown, heavy-cheeked, dark-eyed dame, with a cap\nwhite as the whitest goose of the flock that marched every morning\nfrom her barn-doors to the common, where, by some little pool, a\nscanty and close-bitten herbage formed their daily subsistence. She\nwore a striped apron; the blue lines would have vied with the best\nWigan check for breadth and distinctness. Her good-humoured mouth,\nreverse from her husband's, was usually puckered up at the corners\ninto an expression of kindness, benignity, and mirth--the contrast\ngreatly aided by proximity; for though George Grimes was benevolent\nand kind-hearted at the bottom, yet he was by no means apt to let\nthese gentler feelings rise to the surface.\n\nAn only daughter was now passing within the precincts of womanhood.\nHer complexion, red, and--not white, reader--but of that rich,\nhealthy, and wholesome tinge, perfect as an example of the real\nEnglish brunette. Her face exhibited a beautiful modification of her\nfather's hard and determined expression, blended with her mother's\ngentleness and placidity. A smile of thrilling sweetness would\nsometimes pass upon her calm and thoughtful countenance, always\nbeautiful--if such a term can be allowed in speaking of a brown, rosy,\nplump, and well-conditioned girl, of good stature, whose form had not\nbeen squeezed into shape, nor her linsey woolsey flourished into\nflounce and farthingale. Her hair hung in bright clusters on her brow;\nfresh from Nature's toilet, their wild untutored elegance was singular\nand bewitching. Indeed, Katherine, or \"Kattern,\" as she was more\ngenerally called, was the cynosure of this clime--a jewel, that needed\nnot the foil of its homely setting; the envy and admiration of the\nwhole neighbourhood--well known at church, and at Ormskirk market,\nwhere she attended weekly--at the latter place to dispose of her\nproduce. Here she was the torment of many a rustic, unable to conquer,\nor even to understand, the power by which his heart was taken captive.\n\nAvarice was the besetting sin of her father. He was always fearful of\nbecoming poor, and \"not paying his way,\" as he called it. Yet was it\nsuspected that George Grimes had a \"powerfu'\" hoard, concealed both\nfrom his family and friends. Money he doated on. It was an undoubted\nfact that many a shining face went into the coffer of old Grimes that\nwas never again seen performing the common everyday functions of\ncurrency and traffic.\n\nHe was always a-dreaming, too, that he had found treasure. Often he\nwould spend the greater part of a morning tide in pacing the brink of\nthe boiling waves, hoping to find there some coinage of his brain that\nhad been his dream on the preceding night. Southport then existed not,\nat least in name. No gay and laughing crowds fluttered on the margin\nof the deep. No lines of well-trimmed \"green-eyed\" houses looked on,\nnor boats with their dancing pennons and bright forms shone gallantly\non the waves. All was bleak, bare, and unappropriated. The very air\nseemed tenantless, save when the solitary gull came sailing on heavily\nwith the approaching tide, screaming over the gorge she beheld rising\non the billows. The loud lunge of the sea was interrupted solely by\nthe cry of the fisherman, and the \"cockler's\" whistle, plying his\nscanty trade among the shoals and sandbanks about the coast. It is\nscarcely possible to conceive a situation more desolate and\nuninviting. Hills of arid sand skirting the beach, without vegetation\nor enclosure, except where the withered bent and little golden-starred\nstone-crop gave their own wild and peculiar aspect to the scene. The\nshore is flat and unbroken to the very horizon, where the tide,\nretreating to its extreme verge, throws up a dim sparkle in the\ndistance--Nature even here displaying her never-ceasing round of\nreproduction and decay, of advance and retrocession.\n\nWe had almost forgotten that there was another inmate of the\nhousehold--a tall, thick-browed, high-cheeked menial, whose coarse\nhabiliments displayed a well-proportioned shape, and shoulders of an\nathletic width. He had been engaged at the farm barely twelve months\nbefore the date of our narrative; and, at the first, a more egregious\nsimpleton, as to farming and fishing operations, never drew a net or\nwhistled at the plough-tail. Yet he came well recommended by a\nCatholic gentleman in the neighbourhood as a stout servant of all\nwork, who would serve Grimes honestly and for moderate wages. He had\none excellence or defect, as it might be--that which we impute to one\ndumb from his birth, but not deaf. He perfectly understood what was\nspoken, though, to make known his wishes, he was obliged to have\nrecourse to signs or writing. In the former accomplishment he seemed\nto be well skilled, for he often elucidated his meaning by rude\nsketches in chalk upon the floor and table. There was a mystery about\nhis appearance he cared not to divulge. His country and connections,\ntoo, were equally unknown. By the neighbours it was often suspected\nthat he dealt with the Evil One. The \"evil eye\" was sometimes\nattributed to him; and the signs and chalkings were supposed to be\nmystic emblems of the future, into the hidden secrets of which he had\nthe power of directing his inquiries.\n\nHe was apt in learning, and served George Grimes diligently and\nfaithfully. He soon became acquainted with the various duties of the\nfarm; and could unreef a sail or make a net with the best labourer in\nthe parish.\n\nHis only companion was Katherine. She taught him to knit, and to make\nnets; directed him how to find the best peats, and showed him where\nthe rabbits burrowed and the larks and lapwings made their nests.\nSometimes the instructress and her pupil would sit on the sandhills,\nand watch the sun sink down upon the ocean; sometimes they would\ngather shells, when the day's work was over, and string them in\nfantastic chaplets, which \"_Dummy_\" was very expert in contriving. He\ncould converse with Kattern without difficulty. He had taught her his\nvocabulary of signs, and the maiden liked to observe his strange\nremarks and inquiries on passing events.\n\nIn the forenoon of a dark, threatening, and squally day, just before\nhigh tide, Grimes and his assistant had trudged towards the beach,\nintending to go out with the boat for a little while. The weather\nhaving been stormy of late, supplies were becoming scanty, and he\nwanted a few fish for their own use. They proposed to take the smaller\nboat only, hoping to be back with the next flood.\n\nToiling through the sand-drifts, they came to an opening between the\nhills, which looked immediately on the beach. The sky was black and\nheavy on the horizon towards the south-west. Round hard-edged clouds\nrode on from the main body, like flying squadrons, \"grim couriers\" of\nthe storm. Here and there, through an opening in the clouds, the sky\nwas of a deep, vivid, and intense blue, contrasting wildly with the\nrolling forms that tumbled about in turbulent confusion over the whole\nhemisphere. The sea was rising in breakers over the banks, hillocks of\nwhite foam riding on the crest of the billows, while the margin of the\nwaves boiled and frothed like some vast cauldron.\n\nThe old man was not in a particularly complaisant mood that day. He\nwas cross and snappish at trifles; irritable and out of humour with\nhimself. As he waded through the narrow defile, the dumb assistant\nbehind him whistled faintly, and perhaps inadvertantly. The fisherman\nlooked back with a furious glance.\n\n\"Thou staring buzzard, is't not enough to see sich a bellyful o' wind\ni' brewing but thou must whistle for more to keep it company? Hang\nthee for a he-witch; I never hear that accursed piping but the wind\nfollows, like sea-gulls to the garbage.\"\n\nHe had just turned a corner of the hill, when, looking round, he cried\nin a tone of terror and amazement--\n\n\"How now, Dick? Why, the boat is gone! what prank next? Thou careless\nunthrift, ill-luck follows i' thy wake. She has slipped anchor, and\nthe little _Kitty_ is gone to the Manx herring-boats. I am ruined,\nthou limb of Old Nick! thou chub! thou\"----\n\nEpithets were accumulating with prodigious force, when Dick,\nhalf-closing his eyes, pointed to something dark, like a small boat,\nin the offing.\n\n\"What's yon thee'rt pointing at? A porpoise-back, I warrant. Ay, shake\nthy head, fool; 'twill bring my bonny _Kitty_ back. Why, thou'rt\nstaring like a bit-boomp in a gutter catching frogs!\"\n\nSoon, however, the black speck became less ambiguous. George beheld a\nwhite stern heaving up and down. He ran forward as if to accelerate\nher return, crying out to his companion--\n\n\"A murrain catch thy tail, thou hast ever a longer sight than beseems\nthee. But she's coming, sure enough, whatever she be.\"\n\nThe old man gazed in wonder and suspense. He saw a sail unfurl, and\nthe bark--his own little tight, trim vessel--come prancing on the\nwhite billows toward the shore. Soon he observed, sitting therein,\nperfectly at his ease, and unmindful of the near approach to, and the\nportentous menaces of, the owner, a figure clad in a garment of grey\nfrieze, and a dark hairy cap on his head. One hand grasped the helm,\nand in the other he held the sheet, while he managed the boat with the\nmost seamanlike skill and composure. His eye was fixed alternately on\nthe shore and on the vane at the masthead as he came dancing through\nthe surf, until he ran right upon the sands, where the boat grounded,\nand he sprang out upon the beach. The astonishment of Grimes can\nhardly be conceived when, without once deigning to notice him, away\nwent the stranger, vouchsafing neither thanks nor acknowledgments.\n\n\"Holloa, friend!\" cried the incensed owner; \"your disposition be freer\nthan welcome, methinks. Holloa, I say, whither away so fast?\" cried he\nimpatiently, quickening his pace; but the stranger altered not his\ngait in the least, plodding steadily onwards, without appearing to\nnotice the angry inquiries of his pursuer.\n\nSoon the quick long strides of George Grimes brought him alongside of\nthe person he addressed. Crossing before him, and almost intercepting\nhis progress, he exclaimed--\n\n\"How now, friend? I'd be bold to know what thou be'st. I'm mightily\nbeholden to thee for this favour.\"\n\nA malicious grin quivered on his pale and angry countenance; but the\nstranger was unmoved. He merely waved his hand, as though kindly\nadmonishing the inquirer to depart and leave him unmolested.\n\n\"Nay, good man; I'm not so soon put off. Prithee, save thy wit, for\nI'm not i' the humour for a jest this morning.\"\n\nA melancholy smile accompanied the reply.\n\n\"Friend,\" said he, \"I am beholden to thee for thy boat; and if thou\nart seeking conditions for the hire, I am willing to return its\nequivalent. Will this content thee?\"\n\nHere George saw a bit of gold twinkling in the stranger's hand, which,\nlike a beam on the dark waters, cleared his brow immediately.\n\nHe doffed his bonnet with great humility; but he was still curious\nabout the matter, and more particularly as to what errand could have\nbeen requisite that boisterous morning. He stammered out some inquiry,\nand the stranger replied--\n\n\"Seek not to know; 'tis a doomed thing and accursed. I would have\ngiven thrice my revenue long ago, to have been rid o' the pest. But\nthe wave hath swallowed it--for ever, I would earnestly pray; and I am\nagain free!\"\n\nSaying this, he passed on, leaving the astonished fisherman gaping\nmute with wonder, until a projecting sandhill shut him out from their\nsight. During this interview the dumb assistant was busily engaged\nwith the boat, disposing of the nets and other implements, though at\nthe same time evidently keeping a wary eye towards the stranger.\n\nThe little bark was soon afloat, the wind again filled the sails, and\nshortly she was seen flying over the billows in defiance of \"wind,\nwater, and foul weather.\"\n\nGrimes only purposed to cast the nets a mile or two from shore, for a\ngood haul at that period was easily obtained much nearer the coast\nthan is now practicable, the fish being driven away, as the\ninhabitants superstitiously but firmly believe, by the quarrels that\nhave taken place amongst the fishermen.\n\nThe bark went merrily on, leaping over the waves, with the old mariner\nat her helm, and his dumb servant by the mainsheet. The wind was\nblowing more steadily; the short and squally gusts had increased into\na roaring gale, driving right ahead from the west. To work, however,\nthey went, when, after a haul or two, the old man being engaged with\nthe tackling, up came something in the net--at least old Grimes saw it\nglittering amongst the fish when he turned round, and it could have\ncome from none other quarter than the sea.\n\nGrimes drew it forth, and a fair and weighty casket it was, apparently\nuninjured. It was ornamented in the arabesque or antique fashion,\ninlaid with great care and skill. He grasped the prize; he poised it,\nto ascertain its gravity. It seemed to be both heavy and well-filled.\n\nThis at last was the treasure he had often dreamt about, and the old\nman was almost frantic with joy. He hugged the unlooked-for messenger\nof wealth and good-fortune, and, putting the vessel about, made all\nsail for land.\n\nOnce more anchored as near the beach as the retiring tide would allow,\nGrimes was too much engaged with his prize to notice that \"Dummy\" took\nanother route to the farm. Alone with his bundle, and a pelting storm\nat his heels, the old man came to his dwelling. His early appearance\nwas unexpected, but the women, little used to question his movements,\nimmediately set about preparing for dinner. Depositing the casket,\nwhich was locked, in the oaken chest or ark at his bedside, he\npurposed to break it open when he had procured the means, without\nharming the exterior.\n\nThe storm was rapidly gaining strength; the wind blew a hurricane; the\nthunder rolled on, louder and more frequent; and the rain came down in\ntorrents. It was not an ordinary tempest, but more like one of those\ntropical tornadoes, when the elements--fire, air, and water--seem to\nmingle in universal uproar, fighting and striving for the mastery.\n\n\"I think, o' my conscience, this wind is raised by the ould one,\" said\nthe elder female. Scarcely were the words uttered when the room seemed\nin a blaze, and a clap of thunder followed: so loud and appalling,\nthat it made the very walls to rock and the whole fabric to reel with\nthe stroke. The fisherman grew pale; the stranger's words rang in his\nears. Was it the _casket_ that he had committed to the deep, and of\nwhich he spake with such horror and execration? Strange as was the\nidea, yet he could not get rid of it; there seemed some connection\nbetween this fearful agony of nature and the mysterious treasure\nbeneath his roof. The pipe fell from his mouth, and he sat listening,\nas he fancied, to the awful denunciations mingled with the howling\nstorm, as though he had not power to move or to avert his gaze from\nthe window.\n\n\"Bless me, I had forgotten you were by yourself, father,\" said\nKatherine. \"He will be almost drowned, if he has not ta'en shelter.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" muttered Grimes; \"he left me on the shore. He might ha'\nbeen here long since.\" The rain and wind abated for a brief space,\nwhen old Isabel appeared to be listening near the chamber door, where\nGrimes had left the casket.\n\n\"Mercy! what's that, George?\"\n\nThe fisherman was immediately all eye and ear; his head bent towards\nthe door, which stood ajar.\n\n\"Who is there in the chamber?\" inquired the old woman. \"I hear it\nagain.\"\n\n\"Hear! what?\" replied he, in great agitation.\n\n\"Something like an' it were a-whispering there,\" replied the dame.\n\nBut a gust of wind again overwhelmed every other sound in its\nprogress. Grimes thought he had heard a whisper that made his blood\nfreeze, and the very flesh to creep over his bones with terror.\n\nBut Katherine fearlessly entered; she looked cautiously about, but all\nwas still, and she returned. Ere she closed the door, however, she\nheard a soft whisper, as though behind her. Naturally courageous, she\nimmediately went back, but all was quiet as before; nor could she find\nthat any person had been concealed in the apartment. She opened the\nchest where Grimes had stowed his booty, and seeing the casket, she\ntook it up, running hastily into the adjoining room.\n\n\"Why, father, what a pretty fairing you have brought me. I'se warrant,\nnow, you would not have told me on't till after the wakes, if I had\nnot seen it.\"\n\nThe old man looked as if he had seen a ghost. The whispers he had\nheard were, foolishly enough perhaps, connected in his mind with the\npresence of this mysterious thing.\n\n\"Take it back--back, wench, into the chest again. It was not for thee,\nhussy. A prize I fished up with the nets to-day.\"\n\n\"From the sea. Oh me! it is--it is unholy spoil. It has been dragged\nfrom some wreck. Cast it again to the greedy waters. They yield not\ntheir prey without a perilous struggle,\" said the girl.\n\nThe fisherman was silent. He looked thoughtful and disturbed, while\nKatherine went back to put the treasure into its hiding-place.\n\n\"I wonder what that whispering could be?\" thought the maiden, as she\nopened the old chest. Ere the lid was pulled down, she cast one look\nat the beautiful but forbidden intruder, and she was sure--but\nimagination is a potent wizard, and works marvellously--else she was\nsure that a slight movement was visible beneath the casket. She flung\ndown the lid in great terror; pale and trembling, she sprang out of\nthe room, and sat down silent and alarmed. Again the mysterious\nwhispers were audible in the momentary pauses of the blast.\n\n\"Save us!\" said the elder female; \"I hear it again.\"\n\nBounce flew open the door of the bed-chamber, and--in stalked their\ndumb assistant, as though he had chosen this mode of ingress, through\nthe window of the sleeping-room, rather than through the house-door.\n\n\"Plague take thee! Where hast thou been?\" said the old woman, partly\nrelieved from her terrors. Yet was the whispering precisely as\nincomprehensible as before. The dumb menial that stood before her was\nobviously incapable even of this act of incipient speech.\n\n\"Where hast thou been, Dick?\" inquired Grimes, seriously. But the\nformer pointed towards the beach.\n\n\"How long hast thou been yonder?--in the chamber, I mean.\"\n\nDick here fell into one of his ordinary fits of abstraction, from\nwhich neither menace nor entreaty could arouse him. As the old man\nturned from the window he saw a blaze of light flashing suddenly upon\nthe wall. The yard was filled with smoke. Rushing forth, the inmates\nfound the barn thatch on fire, kindled probably by the lightning. The\nrain prevented it from extending with much rapidity; and Grimes,\nmounting on the roof, soon extinguished the burning materials before\nmuch damage had been the result. Misfortunes verily seemed to crowd\nupon each other; and that unlucky casket, doubtless, was the cause.\nWhen the old man, with his dame, returned into the house, Katherine\nwas nowhere to be found. The \"Dummy,\" too, was unaccountably absent.\nAnxious and wondering, they awaited, hoping for their appearance at\ndinner; but their meal was cheerless and unvisited. Evening came,\nserene, deceitful as ever--but their child did not return. They went\nout to make inquiries, but could find no clue to aid them in the\nsearch. Katherine had never stayed from home so late. The parents were\nnigh distracted. There was evidently some connection between the\ndisappearance of their servant and her own absence. Fearful surmises\nensued. Suspicion strengthened into certainty. The casket was\nforgotten in this fearful distress; and, after a fruitless search,\nthey were forced to return.\n\nOn the third night after this occurrence, Grimes and his disconsolate\nhelpmate were sitting by the turf embers in moody silence, broken only\nby irregular whiffs from the pipe--the old man's universal solace.\nAfter a longer pull than usual, he abruptly exclaimed--\n\n\"Three days, Isabel, and no tidings of the child. Who will comb down\nmy grey hairs now, or read for us in the Book o' nights? We must\nlinger on without help to our grave; none will care to keep us\ncompany.\"\n\n\"Woe's me!\" cried the dame, and she wept sore; \"my poor child! If I\nbut knew what was come to her, I think i' my heart I would be\nthankfu'. But what can have happen'd her? unless it be Dick indeed;\nand yet I think the lad was honest, though lungeous at times, and\nodd-tempered. By next market, surely, we shall ha' tidings fra' some\nend. But I trow, 'tis that fearsome burden ye brought with you,\nGeorge, fra' the sea, that has been the cause of a' this trouble.\"\n\nGrimes started up. He threw the ashes from his pipe, and, without\nsaying a word, went into the bed-chamber. Lifting up the chest-lid, he\nsaw the casket safe, and apparently undisturbed. He drew it fearlessly\nforth, and vowed that he would throw it into the sea again, without\nfurther ado, on the morrow. It felt much lighter, however, than\nbefore; but not another night should it pass under his roof; so he\nthrew it beside a turf-heap in the yard. His heart, too, felt lighter\nas he cast the abominable thing from him; and he was sure it was this\nmischievous inmate alone that had wrought such woe in his hitherto\nhappy and quiet household.\n\nMorning came; and Grimes, for the first time since his loss, took the\nboat, committing himself alone with the haunted casket on the sea. It\nwas a lovely morning as ever sun shone upon; the waters were\ncomparatively smooth; and the tide brought one of those refreshing\nbreezes on its bosom, so stimulating and healthful to the invalid.\n\nBut Grimes thought not of the brightness or beauty of the morning.\nWith the helm in his hand, one light sail being stretched out to the\nwind, he was steering through the intricate channel, and amongst the\nsandbanks which render the coast so dangerous even to those best\nacquainted with its perils.\n\nHe stood out to a considerable distance, intending to have depth and\nsea-room enough to drown his burden.\n\nThe breeze was fair, the sea was bright, and the mariner sailed on. He\ndetermined, this time at least, that the casket should be sent far\nenough out of harm's way.\n\n\"If that plaguy thing had been down deep enough before,\" thought he,\n\"this mischief had not happened.\" He looked at it, and thought again,\n\"How very sad to part with so beautiful a treasure.\" He had not\nobserved before that the lid was unlocked. He might as well peep\nbefore it should be hidden for ever beneath the dark billows. He\nlifted up the rim of the coffer cautiously; he trembled as the hinges\ngave way; and--it was empty!\n\n\"I am a fool!\" thought he; \"a downright fool. An empty box can have\nnothing to do with\"----\n\nBut, as if to belie his own conclusions, and to convince him that\nperil, and misfortune must attend the presence of that mysterious\nthing, he having just quitted the helm for a more convenient\nexamination, a sudden squall nearly upset the boat. Fortunately she\nrighted, but not before most of the movables were tossed out,\nincluding the cause of all his troubles. This at any rate was lucky,\nand cheaply purchased with the loss and breakage of his marine stores.\n\nThe tide was still coming in, though nearly at the height, and Grimes\nfloated merrily to land. After hauling the boat ashore, he stood for\na moment looking towards the sea, when he saw, dancing like a spectre\non the very edge of the wave that broke in a thousand bubbles at his\nfeet, the identical box he had taken such pains to commit to the safe\nkeeping of that perilous deep. It was evidently pursuing him. He would\nhave fled, but fear had arrested his footsteps. He did not recollect\nthat the box was now empty, and floated from its own buoyancy.\n\n\"It will not drown,\" thought he. After a little reflection he resolved\nto dispose of it in some other manner.\n\n\"It will haunt me as long as it is above ground. I'll bury it.\" In\npursuance of this wholesome resolve, he took it home again. Digging a\ndeep grave in the peat-moss behind this cottage, he thrust in the\nobject of his apprehensions, trusting that he was now safe from its\npower.\n\nBut noises horrid and unaccountable disturbed him. Demons had surely\nchosen his dwelling for their head-quarters. Nor day nor night could\nhe rest--fancying that a whole legion of them were haunting him. He\nseemed to be the sport and prey of his own terrors; and with a heavy\nheart he resolved to quit, though suffering a grievous loss by the\nremoval.\n\nThe story of the haunted casket, with many additions and improvements,\nsoon got abroad. No one dared to pass the house after nightfall, and\n\"The Lost Farm\" has ever since been tenantless.\n\nGrimes removed to another in a few weeks; but his happiness and his\nhopes were for ever dissipated by the mysterious intruder. Hearing no\ntidings from his daughter, he determined, several weeks after the\nadventure, to sally forth in quest of intelligence.\n\nIt was a cold blustery morning when the old man set out on his errand.\nHe was clad in a coarse blue frieze coat, with the usual complement of\nlarge white-plated buttons. His head was sheltered by an oil\ncase-covered hat, tied down with a blue and white check handkerchief,\nand he held a long stick before him at arm's length, on which his\nsorrowful and drooping frame hung more heavily than usual. He had\ngrown a dozen years older at least in less than as many weeks; and\nwhen he came to Church Town, having taken the bypath through the\nhills, he was fain to rest himself a while at the inn-door. Before it\nstood several carts on their way towards Preston, whither they were\nbound for the disposal of their produce on the morrow. Grimes thought\nhe might as well make some inquiries there; Katherine having at times\nvisited that remote town to make purchases. He would have company too\nif he went with the carts, and a lift now and then if he were tired;\nso, throwing down his bundle, he entered the house intimating his wish\nthat they should join company.\n\n\"To Preston, lad?\" said a jolly carter, holding a pewter pot that\nseemed as if glued to his hard fist. \"Rare doings there, old one.\nWhat! thee wants to look at the fun, I warrant. Why, the rebels ha'\nbeen packed off to Lunnun long sin'; but we han had some on 'em back\nagain; that is, thou sees, their Papist heads were sent back i' pickle\ninto these parts, and one on 'em grins savagely afore the Town Ha'.\"\n\nGrimes knew little of political niceties, or whether kings _de facto_\nor _de jure_ were better entitled to the throne.\n\nThe late disturbances had not reached these districts; so that the\nrebellion of 1745 might as well have happened in Kamtschatka or Japan\nfor any personal knowledge that old Grimes had of the matter.\n\n\"Rebels!\" said he; \"I have heard a somewhat of this business; though I\nknow nothing, and care less about them cannibals.\"\n\n\"Then what be'st thee for in such a hurry to Preston?\"\n\n\"I had a daughter, but she has left me, the staff and comfort of my\nold age, when I stood most in need of the prop!\" Here the old man drew\nhis hat over his brows, partly turning aside.\n\n\"Cheer up, friend,\" saith another; \"thy daughter, maybe, is gone wi'\nPrince Charlie, when he piped through Preston 'Hie thee, Charlie, hame\nagain!'\"\n\nThis malicious sally raised a loud laugh; but the old man heard it\nwith great agony and consternation; for though a bow drawn at a\nventure--a chance expression merely, intended as a clever hit at the\nwomen's expense, who had followed in the train of the rebels--Grimes\nconstrued the passage literally; and from that time it ran continually\nin his head, that his daughter's absence would be found to have some\nconnection with these events.\n\n\"Hang thy jibes!\" said the first speaker, for whom this piece of wit\nwas more especially intended; \"hang thee, I'll knock thy neck\nstraight; pepper me but I will!\"\n\nThis worthy had a wife, who incontinently had contributed to augment\nthe rebel train when the Prince, in far different plight, on the 27th\nof November 1745, passed through Preston, on his route to London,\npiping \"The king shall have his own again.\"\n\nA fray was nigh commencing--a circumstance not at all unusual in those\nturbulent times--but the master of the band speedily interfered,\nthreatening displeasure and a wholesome discipline to his refractory\nservants.\n\nGrimes accompanied them on their journey, riding, walking, and\ngossiping, at irregular intervals; during which he learned much news\nrelating to the aspect and circumstances of the time, the names of the\nleaders, and those attainted and condemned, in this hasty and\nill-timed rebellion. A considerable number of Lancashire partisans,\nofficers of the Manchester regiment, commanded by Colonel Townley, had\nbeen conveyed to London, and tried for high treason, in July 1746.\nSome were reprieved and pardoned; others were executed, with all the\nhorrid accompaniments prescribed by the law. The heads of Townley and\none Captain Fletcher were placed upon Temple Bar. The heads of seven\nothers, having been preserved in spirits, were at that time\nornamenting posterns and public thoroughfares in Manchester, Preston,\nWigan, and Carlisle, to the great comfort of the loyal and\nwell-disposed, and the grievous terror of the little children who\npassed in and out thereat. Others, the noble leaders of this short and\nill-acted tragedy for the benefit of the selfish and bigoted Stuarts,\nsuffered death; while others escaped, amongst whom was the titular\nEarl of Derwentwater, supposed to have been conveyed secretly aboard\nship for Scotland.\n\nIn these rebellions, it may generally be said, that in the county of\nLancaster, Catholics as well as Protestants displayed a firm\nattachment to the reigning family. Instances of defection were very\nrare; and, when they occurred, might be imputed to some peculiarity in\nthe situation of the delinquents rather than to party or religious\nfeelings. The romantic attempt of the young Chevalier, as displayed in\nthis rebellion, had in it something imposing to ardent and\nenthusiastic minds; and those who embraced his cause south of the\nTweed were principally young men of warm temperament, whose\nimaginations were dazzled by the chivalrous character of the\nenterprise.[17]\n\nAbout the close of day, the towers of \"proud Preston\" were seen rising\nabove the broad sweep of the river below Penwortham Bridge. The\nsituation chosen by our ancestors for the erection of \"_Priest's\nTown_\"--so called because the majority of its inhabitants in former\ntimes were ecclesiastics--evinces the discriminating eye of a priest,\nand shows that, whether the religious orders selected a site for an\nabbey or for a city, they were equally felicitous in their choice.\nPlaced at a convenient distance from the sea, upon the elevated banks\nof one of the finest rivers in England, with a mild climate and a dry\nsoil, and commanding a rich assemblage of picturesque views, in one of\nthe most interesting portions of Ribblesdale, the spirit of St Wilfred\nhimself, to whom the parish church is dedicated, and who was the most\naccomplished ecclesiastic of his age, must have animated the mind that\nfixed upon this spot.[18]\n\nGrimes, adjusting his satchel and other appendages, trudged warily on,\naccording to the directions he had procured from his guides, in\nrespect to lodgings. His route lay up Fishergate; and on his way, near\nthe Town Hall, his progress was interrupted by a dense crowd. The\nsoldiers and local authorities were just conveying a prisoner of some\nnote from the hall of justice to head-quarters at the Bull Inn, under\na strong guard.\n\nGrimes, impelled by curiosity, and likewise having an idea that it\nmight be one of the rebels, with whom he still connected the\ndisappearance of his daughter, thrust himself, edgeways, into the\ncrowd; his primitive appearance causing no slight merriment amongst\nthe bystanders.\n\nGuarded by soldiery and a bevy of constables before and behind, came a\ntall, muscular figure, attired in a ragged suit--probably a disguise,\nand not of the most reputable or becoming description. He looked\nhaggard and dejected--harassed, in all likelihood, by long watching\nand fatigue. His hair was intensely black, surmounted by a coarse cap\nor bonnet, such as the mechanics then wore at their ordinary\noccupations.\n\nThe old man looked steadfastly at the prisoner.\n\n\"Surely it cannot be!\" said he half-aloud. He pressed into the\nforemost rank, and near enough to receive a lusty blow from one of the\nconstables; but not before he had, with an exclamation of joy and\nastonishment, recognised the features of his former servant and dumb\ninmate at the farm.\n\nGrimes, caring not a whit for the blow, in his ready and imprudent\nzeal stepped up to the leader of the party, thinking there was\ndoubtless some mistake in the person they had seized, and anxious,\ntoo, for an opportunity of speaking with the prisoner anent his\nerrand.\n\n\"Stand back!\" said the official representative gruffly.\n\n\"Friend, I know thy prisoner well. He was lodged and victualled at my\nhouse not six weeks agone.\"\n\n\"The ---- he was; then we may as well try a hand with thee too,\" said\nthe constable.\n\nBut the simplicity and openness of the old man was his protection; for\nthe constable walked on, without deigning to bend his truncheon to\nsuch low and inglorious enterprise.\n\n\"But look thee,\" said the pertinacious and unsuspecting fisherman, \"he\nis my servant; and you are i' the wrong to capture him without my\nprivity.\"\n\n\"And who art thou?\" inquired another of these myrmidons of justice,\neyeing Grimes and the cut of his habiliments from head to foot. \"I do\nbethink me thou art i' the roll. Thee would make a grim fixture for a\npole here hard by.\" He looked significantly towards the reward of\ntreason hung in front of the Town Hall above them.\n\n\"Like enough!\" said the other, taking the offender by the collar; who,\nastonished beyond measure at this proceeding, was unable for a while\nto give such an account of himself as to satisfy the officers and\nregain his liberty. The prisoner looked at him, but did not betray the\nleast symptom of acknowledgment.\n\n\"Ill-mannered varlet!\" thought the old man; \"but what can they be\na-wanting with our Dummy?\"\n\nStill urged on by the crowd, he resolved to see an end of the\nbusiness; so, pushing with them through the gateway of the inn, he\ncame so near the prisoner as to touch him gently by the sleeve during\nthe press and scuffle in the entry. For a moment--and it was a glance\nobserved by the fisherman alone--the pale features of the unfortunate\nrebel showed a glimpse of recognition; but immediately they relapsed\ninto their former stern though melancholy expression.\n\nBeing much amazed at this conduct, the old man could not forbear\nexclaiming--\n\n\"Varlet!--my daughter--thou\"----But the prisoner was out of sight and\nhearing, and the crowd were driven from the gateway. Grimes heard a\nfew of the bystanders speaking of some great man that was taken, and\nof the reward that would be obtained for his apprehension; but the old\nfisherman smiled at their ignorance. He knew better. It was none other\nthan his dumb retainer at the farm; and he set his wits to work--no\ndespicable auxiliaries at a pinch--in order to procure an interview.\n\nIn vain he attempted to persuade such of the crowd as would give him a\nhearing of the real state of the case, and the great injustice of the\nman's arrest. But they listened to him with impatience and suspicion.\nThe old man was doubtless either crazed or guilty as one of the rebel\npartisans.\n\n\"I tell thee what, old crony; if thou dost not change thy quarters, we\nwill lay thee by the heels i' the cage, presently. Budge! move, quick;\nor\"----Here the speaker, a little authoritative-looking personage,\nwould have made a movement corresponding to the words; but Grimes,\nperceiving that he was not to be trifled with, unwillingly drew aside\nout of harm's way.\n\nHungry, weary, and dispirited, the old man inquired his way to an\nobscure lodging in one of the wynds near the market. It was a low,\ndismal-looking tavern, wherein sat two or three unwashed artificers,\ndrinking beer and devouring the news.\n\n\"I'm right fain he's taken,\" said one of the politicians, whose black\nleathern apron and smutty face betokened his occupation. \"There's but\nold Lovat, they say, now, to chop shorter by a handful of brains.\nProud Preston, say I, for ever. Hurra!\"\n\n\"Ay, and the mayor's wife too, say I; and may she never want a pair of\ngarters to tuck round a rebel's neck!\" replied a little giggling,\ngood-humoured fellow, who seemed to imbibe ale as he drew his\nbreath--both being vitally necessary to his existence.\n\n\"She's a rare wench, and would sooner see a rebel hanged, than bod her\nnose at a basin of swig and roasted apples.\"\n\n\"She played the husband's part to some purpose when Charles Edward\nlevied the tribute forsooth, Mr Mayor being gone to look after his\nchildren, by Longridge; but old Sam the beadle says he was afeard o'\nthe wild Highlanders, and slunk out of the way.\"\n\nWhilst this conversation was going on Grimes untied his handkerchief,\ndoffed his stocking boots, and embracing his satchel, drew forth a\npiece of hard, unsavoury cheese, and some barley-cake, with which he\nproceeded to entertain, if not satisfy, his stomach. A glass of beer\nfinished this frugal repast, when the old man retired into the shadow\nof a huge projecting chimney, ruminating on the perplexities by which\nhe was encompassed, and on the possibility of his final extrication.\nOpposite to him, in the shadow, as if shunning observation, sat\nanother person who appeared wishful to avoid any intercourse with the\nguests. Grimes stretched his gaunt figure on a bench beside the\nhearth, as though desirous to let in the dark waters of oblivion upon\nhis spirit.\n\nThe hostess was bustling in and out, doubtless impatient at this\nprolonged stay when the cup was empty; and, in one of these inspectory\nvisits, the old man addressed her, scarcely raising his contemplative\ngaze from the embers, where he had been poking his eyes out for the\nlast half-hour.\n\n\"I want a bed for the night, good dame.\"\n\n\"We have none to spare,\" said the dissatisfied landlady--\"for such\nguests as thee,\" perhaps she would have added, but the stranger from\nthe opposite corner interrupted her.\n\n\"He shall have mine: I can lie on the squab.\"\n\nThe voice of the speaker was soft and musical, apparently in a\ndisguised tone.\n\n\"You're very kind, sir,\" said the hostess; \"but this over-thrifty\ncustomer may find other guess places i' the town; unless, indeed, he\nchooses to pay handsomely for the lodging.\"\n\n\"And then, maybe,\" said the stranger, \"the siller would find out a bed\nto lie in.\"\n\n\"I could lend him mine, perhaps,\" returned the accommodating landlady.\n\n\"Then here's a crown,\" said the other, \"and let the old man be both\nfed and bedded. I have money enough; and his purse, I think, is not\noverstocked with provision, if we may guess by the lining of his\nwallet.\"\n\nThe dame, growing courteous in an instant, promised as good a bed as\nKing George himself slept in that blessed night. The astonished\nfisherman could hardly credit his senses. He thanked his stars for\nthis unexpected interposition; nor would he refuse the gift, though\nfrom the hands of a stranger.\n\nThe latter shortly afterwards retired to rest; and the political\nweaver and blacksmith, having settled the hanging, drawing, and\nquartering of the unfortunate prisoner, not without a full and\nminute-description of this disgusting and barbarous, though to them\ndiverting process, called for a parting cup, to drink confusion to the\nrebels and a speedy dismissal to the Chevalier.\n\nOld Grimes retired also; and in a low wide room, white-washed and\nbare-walled, containing a broken chair, two-thirds of a table, and a\nbed without tester, covered with a thick blue quilt, was deposited the\nmortal fabric of the weary fisherman.\n\nHe could not sleep for a considerable time; the strange events he had\nwitnessed, the excitement he had undergone, together with the rude\nbrawls beneath his window, prevented him from closing his eyes until\npast midnight. He heard not a few loyal home-made songs, by the\nred-hot braggarts, pot-valiant and full of \"gentle minstrelsie,\" as\nthey trolled lustily past his lodging. Amongst many others, the\nfollowing seemed an especial favourite:--\n\n                     1.\n     \"Down wi' the Papists an' a', man,\n       Down wi' the priest and confession;\n     Down wi' the Charlies an' a', man,\n       And up wi' the Duke an' the nation.\n\n                     2.\n     \"There's Townley, an' Fletcher, an' Syddal,\n       And Nairn, wi' his breeks wrang side out, man;\n     Some ran without breeks to their middle,\n       But Charlie ran fastest about, man.\"\n\nAfter a while, the sounds began to mingle confusedly with the images\nfloating on his own sensorium. He felt as though unable to separate\nthem: ideal forms took up the real impressions, and arrayed themselves\nso cunningly withal, that to his mind's eye the image of his daughter\nseemed to approach. The brawling ceased; the room was lighted up. It\nwas his own chamber, and Katherine sprang towards him, smiling as she\nwas wont, for her usual \"Good-night.\" \"God bless thee, my child!\" said\nhe, as he threw his arms about her. Starting up, awake, at the sound\nof his own voice, he found that he had not grasped a shadow; but a\nbeing, real and substantial, was in his embrace. Grimes was horribly\nalarmed.\n\n\"Father, it is I,\" said a soft whisper. It was the voice of his\ndaughter.\n\n\"Hush!\" said she; \"be silent, for your life and mine. You shall know\nall; but not now. Fear not for me. I'm safe; but I will not leave\n_him_--my companion--yonder unfortunate captive. Help me, and I'll\ncontrive his rescue.\"\n\n\"_Thy_ companion, wench! why, how is this? Art\"----\n\n\"Honest and true, as he is faithful. We may yet be happy as we once\nwere, when this fearful extremity is past. Say no more; we may be\noverheard. Now aid me; for without our help he is lost! and, oh,\nrefuse not this one, perhaps this last request of thy child!\"\n\nShe fell upon his neck, and the old man was moved to an unwonted\nexpression of tenderness; for truly his daughter was dearer to him\nthan any earthly object; and still dearer in the moment when the lost\none was restored.\n\n\"To-morrow night,\" said the maiden, \"bring your boat, with four stout\nrowers, to the quay at Preston Marsh. Let me see; ay, the moon is near\ntwo days old, and the tide will serve from nine till midnight. You\nknow the channel well, and wait there until I come.\"\n\n\"Kattern, thou shall go with me. I'll not leave thee now.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the faithful girl; \"I must not; I _will_ not. There is\nlife depending on my endeavours. Father,\" continued she, throwing her\narms round the old man's neck, who now sobbed aloud, \"hear me; no\npower shall force me to leave him now in misery and misfortune. I\nwould move the very stones for his rescue; and cannot I move thee?\"\n\n\"Well, Kattern, I am a silly and a weak old body, and thou--But thou\nart disguised. Where didst get that coat? and--I declare--trousers.\nFor shame, wench!\"\n\n\"Nay, you shall know all, father, when I return; when we have\ndelivered him, and not before.\"\n\nThe old man was too much overjoyed not to promise the requisite\nattendance.\n\n\"My life depends on 't, father; so good-night.\"\n\n\"Stay--stay, wench--a moment!\"\n\nBut a light step, and the sound of a gently-closing door, announced\nher departure; and Grimes was forced to remain, where he lay sleepless\non his pallet, impatiently awaiting daybreak.\n\nWith the first peep of dawn was old Grimes astir; and the lark was but\njust fluttering from the dew when the quaint, angular form of the\nmariner was again seen plodding towards the coast.\n\n\"Since that plaguy box came into my fingers, I've had neither rest nor\nluck. I'll ne'er meddle with stray goods again while I live!\" and in\nthis comfortable determination he continued, thinking of his bonny\nKattern to lighten the toil of his long and lonesome journey.\n\nThe same day the sun lighted early on the towers and gables of \"Proud\nPreston.\" Longridge Fell threw off its wreath of mist; but on the\nriver a long and winding vapour followed its course, everything\nbetokening one of those pure, exhilarating days that so rarely visit\nour watery and weeping regions.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe mayor was but just awakened; yet Mrs Mayor had long been\nvigilantly engaged in household and political affairs (for she ruled\nthe civic power in Preston's thrice happy borough), when a stranger\ncame on some business of importance.\n\n\"What is your will, my good friend?\" inquired the mayoress, taking off\na light pair of shagreen-mounted spectacles; for being of that\ndebatable age when time is hardly known by his advances on the person,\nhaving just mounted these helps occasionally, as she said, when\nmending a pen or sewing fine work, she cared not to show that they\nwere in use at other seasons more germane to their purpose.\n\n\"I would have a word in private with the mayor.\"\n\n\"Mr Mayor has no words in private that come not through his lady's\near. Once more, your business?\"\n\n\"I must see him, and alone,\" said the intruder.\n\n\"_Must_ see him?\" replied the female diplomatist; \"I tell you that you\nshall not see him before I am acquainted with the cause. I hear your\nmaster on the floor above,\" said she to a servant who had just\nentered; \"tell him he need not hurry down; breakfast is not yet\nready.\"\n\nThe servant retired as he was bid; but, having heard more of the\nforegoing colloquy than his mistress intended, the message, as\ndelivered to his worship, was of an opposite tenor from what he had\nbeen charged with. The stranger continued firm in his determination\nnot to divulge his errand; and the anxiety of the ruling power to\nascertain his motive would not suffer her to dismiss him.\n\nGreat was the disappointment and dark the storm on the lady's brow,\nwhen, beslippered and begowned, came in hastily the chief magistrate\nof this ancient borough.\n\n\"A word in your worship's ear,\" said the stranger; \"my time is short\nand the affair is urgent.\"\n\n\"Speak out; my wife shares the burdens of this office, and,\nindeed\"----\n\n\"But, sir, I crave an audience in private. Should you not grant my\nrequest, there be other ears shall have the benefit of what is meant\nfor your own.\"\n\nThe magistrate quailed before the terrors of his wife's frown; but\nhowever dangerous the duty--and it was fraught with no ordinary\nperil--still, in his official capacity, he could not refuse to grant\nthe stranger a private interview.\n\nThe mayor was a round, full-eyed personage, whose cheek and nose\ndisplayed the result of many a libation to the jolly god.\nShort-legged, short-breathed, and full-paunched, he strode, quick and\nlaborious, like a big-bellied cask set in motion, as if glad to\nescape, into a small back chamber, furnished with two stools, a desk,\nand sundry big books--implements in use only as touching his private\naffairs.\n\n\"Now, sir,\" said his majesty's vicegerent, puffing from unwonted\nexertion, \"it is my lot to fill the civic chair in these troublous\ntimes; and truly my portion is not in pleasant places; but I am loyal,\nsir, loyal. The king has knighted many a servant less worthy than\nmyself; and, but that Mrs Mayor is looking forward to the title, there\nwould be little good-will to the office from 'my lady' that is to be.\nNow, sir.\"\n\nThe garrulous and ambitious minister of justice here paused, more for\nlack of breath than words or will to utter them; and the stranger, who\nhad hitherto kept his hat just below his chin, waiting for a pause in\nthis monologue, replied--\n\n\"My message respects your prisoner.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, go on. Proceed, sir, I say. What! can't you speak? Why\nstand there as if stricken dumb in our presence?\"\n\nThe stranger did proceed the moment that an interval was granted.\n\n\"I am brief, your worship.\"\n\n\"Brief--brief--so am I; and my lady--that is, Mrs Mayor--though she\nlikes that I should, in some sort, furnish my tongue to an\nacquaintance with the speech, so that I often speak of and to her as\nsuch, you observe, that when it may seem good unto his Majesty's\npleasure, knighting my poor honesty\"--here he made a slight\nobeisance--\"the words may fall trippingly off the tongue, as though we\nwere used to the title, and wore our honours like they who be born to\nthem, sir. Proceed, sir. Why stand dilly-dallying here? Am I to wait\nyour pleasure?\"\n\n\"Mine errand is simply this:--A plot is laid for the escape of your\nprisoner on his way to London; so that, unless means be taken to\nhinder it, he will be liberated.\"\n\n\"Escape!--what?--where? We will raise the soldiery. How say you? I\nwill tell my lady instantly. Escape! If he escape I am undone. My\nknighthood--my knighthood, sir, is lost for ever; and my lady--she\nwill ne'er look kindly on me again.\"\n\nHere the little man arose, and, in great agitation, would have sought\ncounsel from his wife, but the stranger prevented him.\n\n\"This must not be; 'tis for your ear alone. Stay!\"\n\nHis worship was too much alarmed to resist; and the other led him\ngently from the door.\n\n\"If you will be guided by me you may prevent this untoward event. Let\nhim be conveyed with all speed aboard the king's ship that is in the\nIrish Channel yonder; so shall you quit your hands of him, and\nfrustrate the plans of his confederates. This must be done secretly,\nor his friends may get knowledge of the matter, who have had a ship\nlong waiting for him privily on the coast to convey him forthwith to\nScotland.\"\n\n\"I will about it directly. Dear me, I have left my glasses. The\ntown-clerk must be apprised. The jailer--ay, good--thinkest thou he\nhad not best be committed to jail?\"\n\n\"Peradventure it will be prudent to do this. I will bear your orders\nto the town-clerk for his removal.\"\n\n\"What, immediately?\"\n\n\"When your worship thinks best; but I would recommend despatch.\"\n\n\"I will about it instantly. There--there--take this. I shall be at the\nclerk's office myself shortly. Tell Mr Clerk to be discreet until I\ncome.\"\n\nThe little twinkling eyes of the functionary were overflowing at the\ngood fortune which revealed to him alone this vile Popish treason.\nThus happily frustrated by himself, it would doubtless be the means\nof raising him from plebeian ranks to the honours of knighthood,\nperhaps further. His head grew dizzy at the prospect. He shook the\nstranger by the hand, who bowed and withdrew.\n\nSoon a little antiquated clerk, with green spectacles mounted in huge\nblack rims, and a skin like unto shrivelled parchment, was seen\naccompanying the stranger to the inn.\n\nThe bolts opened to this demi-official, and they were at once ushered\ninto the prisoner's chamber. He had already arisen, and was pacing the\napartment in great haste.\n\n\"We come, sir,\" said the clerk, \"to announce your removal; but first\nwe search for plots. This rebel's disguise--where, sayest thou, is it\nconcealed?\"\n\n\"Upon his person,\" said the stranger.\n\n\"Pray doff that noble suit, sir,\" said the jocose purveyor of justice.\n\nThe prisoner, with an angry scowl, in which both grief and\nastonishment were mingled, silently obeyed the mandate; and displayed,\nunderneath these coarse habiliments, a complete suit of female\napparel--the very clothes worn by Katherine Grimes at the time of her\ndisappearance.\n\n\"A well-contrived disguise, sir, truly. I wot you can suddenly change\nyour gender at a pinch,\" said the clerk, chuckling at his own\nimpertinence. But the prisoner, no longer dumb, as aforetime at the\nfarm, answered, in a voice that awed even this presuming minion, with\nall the attributes of both law and power at his grasp.\n\n\"Why call you me sir, Sir Knave? I own no nicknames, and I answer to\nnone. My title is Derwentwater.\"\n\n\"The titular earl, truly; but now Charles Ratcliffe, since your\nbrother was\"----\n\n\"Hanged, thou wouldst say,\" said the unfortunate and attainted peer,\ninterrupting him; \"it was his lot, as I pray thine may be, when the\nking shall have his own again. Silence!\" continued he, in a commanding\ntone, as one accustomed to be obeyed. \"I own it was my purpose to\nescape; but there is treachery in the camp--treachery in our own\nbosom--treachery\"--here he cast a keen glance at the stranger--\"ay,\nwhere our best feelings were cherished. I have leaned on a spear, and\nit hath pierced me! deeper than I thought--in this hard and seared\nheart.\"\n\nA strong and painful emotion came over his dark features; he clenched\nhis hands; but the stranger betrayed no symptoms of compunction.\n\n\"Now, sir, I am ready,\" said the earl; \"make my fetters tight; or\nperhaps I may be spared that indignity.\"\n\nBut the proud Earl of Derwentwater would not stoop to propitiate.\n\n\"Nay, bind them, and I will be prouder of their insignia than of all\nthe honours, all the trappings, that George Guelph can bestow.\"\n\n\"We have orders merely for your safe keeping in the jail,\" said the\nclerk; \"to which the proper officers will see you conveyed.\"\n\nHe was accordingly removed to the town jail, then situated to the west\nof Friargate. This building had been formerly a Franciscan convent of\nGrey Friars, or Friars Minor, built by Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, son\nof Henry III., in 1221, to which Robert de Holland, who impeached\nThomas, Earl of Lancaster, for high treason, contributed largely, and\nwas buried there. In its original state it was a small collegiate\nbuilding, with a chapel attached to its quadrangular cloisters. By the\nmutations of time, it became the residence of the Breares of\nHammerton, in Bowland; next a house of correction, until the prison at\nthe bottom of Church Street was erected in 1790.\n\nThe clerk, being more particular in his inquiries than his worship,\naddressed the stranger as follows when their mission was ended:--\n\n\"Thou hast given good evidence of this plot, and too full of\ncircumstance and confirmation to be disbelieved. The name is Oswald\nthou sayest, and one of the party who have plotted for his rescue?\"\n\n\"I have told thee of this before,\" replied the stranger, sullenly.\n\n\"What should prompt thee to betray him?\"\n\n\"The same that prompts thee to minister to the hangman's trade--gold!\"\n\n\"Humph!\" replied the other drily, wiping his spectacles; \"and what\nwill satisfy your craving?\"\n\n\"Why, thinkest thou that I deserve not a reward for my loyalty and\nreadiness to reveal this plot? I will to London with the prisoner; the\nking will not fail to grant me great largess for what this proud\nlack-land calls my treachery.\"\n\n\"Why an it be a noose mayhap: for my part,\" continued the greedy and\ndisappointed man of law, \"I have touched never a doit of the bounty,\nthough I have got many a sound rating, and am harder worked than a\ngalley-slave, without even so much as a 'thank ye' for my pains. The\nmayor himself, who dreams he shall be knighted, may whistle a duet\nwith 'my lady' as he calls her, as long as a county precept, or ere\nhis title be forthcoming, though it be only a puff of empty breath.\nThere's no luck in being loyal; neither honour nor honesty thrive\ntherein. But 'tis the spoke that's uppermost; and so are we.\"\n\n\"Thinkest thou that I may get no share of the reward for his\napprehension?\" inquired the avaricious betrayer.\n\n\"Yes; Judas's reward, maybe, who sold his Master,\" said the\nindomitable clerk, much diverted by his own talents for tormenting.\n\"Hold--I bethink me thou mayest claim the earl's linsey-woolsey gown\nand petticoats.\"\n\nA loud laugh proclaimed that he had fully appreciated his own wit;\nthough the stranger made no comments thereon.\n\n\"To-night, thou sayest, a boat will be in readiness, one hour before\nmidnight and by the mayor's orders?\"\n\n\"Yes; arrangements will be made, and soon after daylight we shall have\nour prisoner safe aboard the king's cruiser,\" replied the stranger,\n\"for I know her bearing to a league.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt with us then?\"\n\n\"Why, ay, if they will grant me a free passage. I would fain see him\nsafe at head-quarters.\"\n\n\"I know not but thou art right; though, rest thee satisfied, he shall\nbe sufficiently guarded.\"\n\nThe worthies here separated--one to his indictments and his desk, the\nother to gloat on the mischief he had either committed or prevented.\n\nAbout an hour before midnight a heavy jarring sound announced to the\nprisoner that the time was at hand for his departure.\n\n\"Quick--quick, sir,\" said the jailer; \"the mayor and his posse will\nsee you safe aboard.\"\n\n\"The mayor! Wherefore comes he to swell the procession?\"\n\n\"A prisoner of your rank and influence must be well looked after, I\nguess. The mayor will see you safely afloat, sir, and then he may go\nhome with a quiet heart. He has had sore misgivings on account of your\nsafety.\"\n\nThe earl accompanied his keeper; a close carriage was at the gate,\nwell guarded. Mr Mayor and his green-eyed clerk took their seats with\nthe prisoner: and the heavy vehicle rumbled dismally through the now\ndeserted streets, wakening many a drowsy burgher as it passed.\n\nThey gained the low landing-place without interruption, having taken\nthe precaution to chain the legs and wrists of their prisoner to\nprevent escape. The mayor and his shadow, the gossiping clerk, stepped\nout first, the carriage being well guarded on each side. Conducted\nalong a jet or wooden pier, they saw a fishing-boat lying beneath. The\nwaves flapped heavily on her sides, beating to and fro against the\npier. Four rowers were leaning silently on their oars, awaiting the\narrival of their cargo; their dark, low-crowned hats heaving above the\ndim light which yet lay upon the water.\n\nThe wind howled in the rising sail, and the creaking cordage whistled\nthrough the block. The sail was hoisted. The wind was fresh, and the\nrowers raised their oars. The earl was lifted into the boat by two of\nthe attendants. The jailer next stepped in; three other myrmidons of\njustice followed.\n\n\"You know the offing well, my lads, I guess?\" said the jailer.\n\n\"Ay, ay, sir,\" replied several voices.\n\n\"Where is the king's cutter?\" said he, addressing the stranger, who\nwas already in the boat.\n\n\"Lying to, between us and the Peel of Fouldrey,\" replied he.\n\n\"This is a strange boat I think,\" said the inquisitive jailer.\n\n\"We came with fish to market from Church Town,\" was the reply.\n\n\"One of your own men engaged her,\" said the stranger; \"and these have\ngrumbled long and hard enough, that they should have the ill-luck to\nbe pressed into this disagreeable service.\"\n\n\"I would you had laid your paws on some other boat. We shall ha' na'\nluck after this,\" said the elder of the seamen. \"You may hire another\nnow, and welcome.\"\n\nBut there were none at hand. The jailer, with a hearty curse at his\ninsolence, bade him be silent and push off.\n\n\"Hast thou gotten the memorial touching my poor services to the king?\"\ninquired the trenchant mayor.\n\n\"Have ye gotten the warrant safe, and the prisoner in close custody?\"\ninquired the clerk.\n\nBut the boat pushed from shore, and the answer was scarce heard,\nmingling with the rush of the waves and the hollow wind, while the\ntrampling of horses and the rumbling of the coach announced the\ndeparture of Preston's high and illustrious ruler and his learned\nclerk: one to dream of swords, knights, and drawing-rooms; the other\nto soar through those mystic regions, sublime and\nincomprehensible--the awful, inscrutable forms, fictions, and\nsubtleties of law.\n\nThe boat soon gained the mid-channel. The wind was favourable, and the\ntide, beginning to return, swept them rapidly down the river. The\nstranger, at whose instigation this plan had been adopted, lay in the\nlittle cabin, or rather coop, wrapped in a fisherman's coat,\napparently asleep. Derwentwater sought not repose; he sat, moody and\nsilent, in a deep reverie, unconscious or insensible to all but his\nown dark and untoward fate.\n\nThe loud dash and furrowing of the wave, the roar of the wind, and the\ncry of the boatman as he gave the soundings, were often the only\naudible sounds. No one was inclined to converse, and the roll and\npitching of the boat when they approached the river's mouth made the\njailer and his friends still less willing to disturb their comrades.\n\nAfter nearly four hours the lights of the little fishing hamlet of\nLytham were passed, and they were fast entering upon the open sea. The\nstranger came out of the cabin, stationing himself by the steersman.\nThey were evidently on the look-out for signals. It was not yet\ndaybreak, and the wind was from the north, a bitter and a biting air,\nthat made the jailer's teeth to chatter as he raised himself up to\nexamine their course and situation as well as the darkness would\npermit.\n\n\"How long run we on through these great blubbering waves ere we end\nour voyage? This night wind is worse than a Robin Hood's thaw.\"\n\n\"We will hoist signals shortly,\" was the reply; \"if the ship is within\nsight, she will answer and bring to.\"\n\n\"Have ye any prog[iv] aboard?\" inquired the officer.\n\nA bottle was handed to him. He drank eagerly of the liquor, and gave\nthe remainder to his assistants.\n\n\"I wish with all my heart,\" said he, \"the prisoner were safe out of my\ncustody, and I on my way back. I had as lief trot a hundred miles on\nland bare-back as sit in this confounded swing for a minute. How my\nhead reels!\"\n\nHe leaned against one of the benches, to all appearance squeamish and\nindisposed.\n\nA faint light now flickered on the horizon and disappeared. Again. It\nseemed to rise above the deep. They were evidently approaching towards\nit, and the stranger spoke something in a low tone to the steersman.\n\n\"Yonder it be, I reckon,\" said the jailer, lifting up his head on\nhearing an unusual bustle amongst the crew. \"I am fain to see it, for\nI am waundy qualmish dancing to this up-an'-down tune, wi' nought but\nthe wind for my fiddle.\"\n\n\"And who pays the piper?\" asked a wavering voice from below.\n\n\"Thee Simon Catterall, bumbailiff, catchpole, thieftaker, and\"----\n\nHere a sudden lurch threw the jailer on his beam-ends. A pause was the\nresult, which this worthy official was not inclined to interrupt.\n\nA light hitherto concealed, was now hoisted up to the masthead. This\nwas apparently answered by another signal at no great distance.\n\n\"Friends!\" said the stranger; \"and now hold on to your course.\"\n\nThey had passed the banks and were some leagues from shore. Morning\nwas feebly dawning behind them, when the dark hull of a ship, rapidly\nenlarging, seemed to rise out, broad and distinct, from the thin mist\ntowards the west. The loud and incessant moan of the waves, the dash\nand recoil of their huge tops breaking against the sides of the\nvessel, with voices from on board, were distinctly heard, and\nimmediately the boat was alongside.\n\nThe transfer of their cargo was a work of more difficulty, partly\nowing to the clumsiness and unseamanlike proceedings of the men who\nhad charge of the prisoner, and partly owing to the light being yet\ntoo feeble for objects to be distinctly seen. A considerable interval\nin consequence elapsed ere the jailer, his assistants, and their\ncharge were hoisted on the deck, not of a trim, gallant war-ship, well\ngarrisoned and appointed, but of a lubberly trading vessel, redolent\nof tar, grease, and fish-odours, bound for merry Scotland.\n\n\"Yoh-o-ih! There--helm down--back maintopsail. So, masters, we had\nnigh slipped hawser and away. Why, here have we been beating about and\nabout for three long nights; by day we durst not be seen in-shore. Yon\ncruiser overhauls everything from a crab to a crab-louse. What! got\npart of your company in the gyves! Where is the earl?\"\n\n\"Here!\" said the prisoner, coolly.\n\n\"Hold, captain,\" cried the wondering jailer, \"the vessel goes not on\nher voyage until I and two of my friends here depart with the boat; we\ngo not farther with our prisoner. The remaining two will suffice to\nsee him delivered up at head-quarters. Yet, this cannot be.\" Here the\nbewildered officer looked round. \"I have a warrant to commit this\nrebel unto the safe keeping of--ay, the captain of his majesty's\ncutter, the _Dart_. But this,\" surveying the deck with a suspicious\nglance, \"is as frowsy and fusty a piece of ship-timber as ever stowed\ncoals and cods' tails between her hatches. I pray we be not nabbed!\"\nsaid he in a supplicating tone to his head craftsman.\n\nThe prisoner himself seemed as much surprised as any of the group; but\nthe stranger, now addressing him, unravelled the mystery.\n\n\"My lord; I am no traitor; though until now labouring under that\nimputation; but you are amongst friends. Thanks to a woman's wits, we\nare, despite guards, bolts, and fetters, aboard the vessel which was\nwaiting for us when you were surprised and seized, unfortunately, as\nwe were trying our escape towards the coast. With the aid of my\nparent, I have been at last successful. You are now free!\" It was\nKatherine who said this.\n\nShe changed her hitherto muffled voice as she continued:--\"Captain, we\nhave nabbed as cunning a jailer as ever took rogue to board in a stone\ncrib. We will trouble thee to use thy craft; undo these fetters,\nprithee. He must with you, captain, till you can safely leave him and\nhis companions ashore; but use him well for his vocation's sake. My\nlord, through weal and woe I have been your counsellor--your friend;\nbut we must now part--'tis fitting we should. While you were in\njeopardy, that alone could excuse my flight. Should better times\ncome!\"----Her voice faltered; she could not proceed; and old Grimes\ndrew his hat over his face.\n\n\"Father,\" said Katherine, \"you will take me to our home again. I will\nbe all to you once more; and to my mother, now that _he_ is safe.\"\n\nOne kiss from the gallant earl, and the high-minded, though low-born,\nmaiden stepped into the boat. One wave of the hand, when the morning\nmist interposed its white veil, and parted them for ever;--yet not\nbefore old Grimes, taking a last survey of the vessel, was quite sure\nhe saw the magician of the casket looking at him over the ship's side.\nIn all probability his fancy had not deceived him; the affair of the\ncasket, though supposed by the fisherman to be altogether of a\nsupernatural nature, was, in all likelihood, a means of supplying the\nearl with money and information to aid his escape.\n\nThe subsequent history of this unfortunate but misguided chieftain,\nwhose daring and audacious bravery was worthy of a better cause and a\nmore disinterested master, is but too well known.\n\nThe vessel, being ill equipped and hardly sea-worthy, was pursued--the\nearl taken, and an ignominious death gave to the world assurance of a\ntraitor.\n\n\n[Illustration: THE MAID'S STRATAGEM]\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAID'S STRATAGEM;\n\nOR,\n\nTHE CAPTIVE LOVER.\n\n     \"Let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword,\n     and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit\n     enough to lie straight in my bed.\"\n\n     --_Twelfth Night._\n\n     The following tale is perhaps the most apocryphal in our\n     series. There has been considerable difficulty in fixing its\n     locality: and, indeed, we are hardly sure that the names,\n     dates, and places we have hit upon, will answer to the facts in\n     every particular. We have done our best to verify it, and have\n     succeeded, we trust, in the attempt, more to our reader's\n     satisfaction than our own.\n\n\n\"There be more fools than farthingales, and more braggarts than\nbeards, in this good land of ours. A bald-faced impertinent! it should\ncost the grand inquisitor a month's hard study to invent a punishment\nfor him. This pretty morsel! Hark thee, wench; I'll render his\nlove-billet to thine ear. Listen and be discreet.\n\n     \"'If my sighs could waft the soft cargo of their love to thy\n     bosom, I would freight the vessel with my tears, and her sails\n     should be zephyr's wings, and her oars love's fiercest darts.\n     If I could tell but the lightest part of mine agony, your heart,\n     though it were adamant, would melt in the furnace of my speech,\n     and your torture should not abate till one kind glance had\n     irradiated the bosom of your most unhappy, and most wretched of\n     lovers,\n\n     ANTONIO.'\n\n\"Now for the _post scriptum_. If thy sighs be as long as thine\nears,----help the furnace they are blown through. Again.\n\n     \"'If one ray of compassion lurks in your bosom, lady, let those\n     radiant fingers illuminate your pen, touching one little word\n     by way of answer to this love-billet, though it were but as a\n     rope thrown out in this overwhelming ocean of love to keep from\n     sinking your unhappy slave. These from my dwelling at ----.'\n\n\"O' my troth, answer thou shalt have, and that quickly, on thy fool's\npate. Dost think, Marian, it were not a deed worth trying, to quell\nthis noisome brute with a tough cudgel?\"\n\n\"It were too good for him,\" replied the maid; \"but if you will trust\nthe rather to my conceits, lady, we will make this buzzard spin. He\nshall dance so rare a coarnto[v] for our pastime; beshrew me, but I would\nnot miss the sport for my best holiday favours.\"\n\nBut we leave the beauteous Kate and her mischief-loving maiden, to\nplot and machinate against the unsuspecting lover. It behoveth us,\nmoreover, to be absent for a somewhat grave and weighty reason, to\nwit, that when women are a-plotting, another and a more renowned\npersonage--the _beau ideal_ of whose dress and personal appearance,\naccording to the testimony of a reverend divine, consists of a black\ncoat and blue breeches--generally contrives to be present, as was by\nthat learned dignitary umquhile set forth in a well-known ditty, of\nwhich the veracity is only equalled by the elegance and propriety of\nthe subject, and the classical dignity of its composition.\n\nLeaving them, though in somewhat dangerous company, we just glance at\nthe lover, whose epistle to the proud maiden proved so galling to her\nhumours.\n\nMaster Anthony Hardcastle was the only son of a substantial yeoman of\ngood repute long resident in ----. Dying he left him, when scarcely at\nman's estate, the benefit of a good name, besides a rich store of\nsubstance, in the shape of broad pieces, together with lands and\nlivings. The sudden acquisition of so much loose wealth to one whose\nutmost limit of spending money aforetime had been a penny at Easter\nand a groat at Michaelmas, did seem like the first breaking forth of\na mighty torrent, pent up for past ages, forming its own wild and\nwilful channel, in despite of all bounds and impediments. His\neducation had been none of the most liberal or extensive; and,\nastonished at his own aggrandisement, he found himself at once\nelevated into an object of importance ere he could estimate his own\nrelative insignificance in the great world around him. Thus he became\nan easy prey to the hordes of idlers and braggarts with whom he\nassociated. He had been to town, kept company with some of the leading\ncut-and-thrust bullies of the day; but Nature had denied him the\nheadstrong boldness, the desperate recklessness of disposition,\nrequisite for this amiable occupation. His infirmity had consequently\noften led him to play the coward. At the same time it probably was the\nmeans of restraining him from many of those evils into which his\nlavish and simple disposition might have been enticed, and he was now\nsettling down quietly in the character of a good-natured,\nwell-furnished simpleton. Fond of dress and a gaudy outside, he aimed\nat ladies' hearts through the medium of silken cloaks and ponderous\nshoe-buckles;--designing to conquer not a few of the fair dames with\nwhom he associated. But, alas! the perversity of woman had hitherto\nrendered his efforts unavailing; still an overweening opinion of his\nown pretensions to their favour prevented him from giving up the\npursuit, every succeeding mishap in no wise hindering him from\nfollowing the allurements of the next fair object that fluttered\nacross his path. He had heard of the wit and beauty of Kate Anderton,\nonly daughter to Justice Anderton of Lostock Hall, a bluff and honest\nsquire who spent his mornings in the chase and his evenings in the\nrevel incident thereto; a man well looked upon by his less\ndistinguished neighbours, being of a benevolent disposition, and much\ngiven to hospitality. Kate's disposition was fiery and impetuous, but\ntempered withal so pleasantly by the sweetness of a naturally tender\nand affectionate spirit, that you loved her the better for these sharp\nand wayward ingredients, which prevented that sweetness from cloying.\n\nMaster Anthony, hearing of this goodly maiden, found himself, after\nsecretly beholding her, moved to the exploit of winning and wearing in\nhis bosom so precious a gem, which many a high-flown gallant had\nessayed to appropriate. He began the siege by consulting the most\napproved oracles and authorities of the time for the construction of\nlove-billets. The cut and fashion of the paper, too, were matters of\ndeep and anxious consideration. Folded and perfumed, the missile was\ndespatched, and the result was such as we have just seen.\n\nUpon this memorable day, it then drawing on towards eventide, Anthony,\nfull of solicitude and musing on the fate of his billet, was spreading\nhimself out, like a newly-feathered peacock, in the trim garden behind\nhis dwelling. A richly-embroidered Genoa silk waistcoat and\namber-coloured velvet coat glittered in the declining sun, like the\nchurch weathercock perched just above him at a short distance from the\nhouse.\n\nThe mansion of Squire Anderton lay a few miles off; yet there had been\nsufficient time for the return of his trusty valet, who was the bearer\nof this love-billet. Several times had he paced the long straight\ngravel walk stretching from the terrace to the Chinese temple, and as\noften had he mounted the terrace itself to look out for the well-known\nfigure of Hodge, ere the hind was descried through a cloud of hot\ndust, urging on his steed to the extremity of a short but laborious\ntrot. Needless were it to dwell upon the anxiety and foreboding with\nwhich he awaited the nearer approach of this leaden-heeled Mercury. To\nlovers the detail would be unnecessary, and to others description\nwould fail to convey our meaning.\n\n\"I ha't, measter.\"\n\n\"What hast thou brought, Hodge?\"\n\n\"A letter.\"\n\n\"Quick--quick, fellow. Canst not give it me?\"\n\n\"Ay, i' fackens; but where is it?\"\n\nGreat was the consternation depicted in the flat and vapid face of the\nboor as he fumbled in his pocket, turned out the lining, and groped\ndown incontinently \"five fathom deep,\" into his nether appendages; but\nstill no letter was forthcoming.\n\n\"She gi'ed me one, though; an' where it is----I'se sure it waur here,\nan'----Bodikins if those de'ilments hanna twitched it out o'\nmy----Thoose gigglin' wenches i' th' buttery took it when I waur but\nputting my nose to the mug the last time, for a lift i' the stirrup.\"\n\nTerrible was the wrath and disapprobation evinced by Master Anthony at\nthis disaster. He had nigh despoiled the curls of his new wig, which\nwere become twisted and awry with choler.\n\nPatiently to endure was the business of Hodge; and his master's fury\nhaving \"sweeled\" down into the socket, a few hasty flashes just\nglimmered out from the ignited mass, ere it was extinguished.\n\n\"But thou hadst a letter--dolt--ass!\"\n\n\"Ay, master, as sure as I am virtuous and well-favoured.\"\n\n\"Then is the lady kindly affected towards my suit? But oh, thou\ngull--thou dunderpate--thou losel knave, to lose one line moved by her\nsweet fingers. Get in; I'll not defile my rapier with beating of thee.\nThanks to the lady thou hast just left; her condescension so affecteth\nmy softer nature that I could not speak an angry word without weeping.\nMarch, rascal, and come not into my presence until thou art bidden,\nlest I make a thrust at thee with my weapon. O Katherine! my life--my\nlove,--'my polar star, my axle; where all desire, all thought, all\npassions turn, and have their consequence!'\"\n\nAnthony had picked up this scrap from the players, with whom he had\nsmoked, and committed the usual delinquencies, not peculiar to that\nage of folly and licentiousness.\n\n\"I'll go dream of thee where there be a bank of flowers. Here let me\nlose myself in a delirium of sweets.\"\n\nChoosing a fair position, he squatted down upon a ripe strawberry bed,\nand great was the dismay with which he beheld the entire ruin of his\nbest puce-coloured breeches. So sudden was the dissipation of his\ncomplacency, that he determined to beat Hodge forthwith; to which\nthrifty employment we commend him, whilst we address ourselves to the\nfurther development of our story.\n\nNear to the lower extremity of the village dwelt a maiden whose bloom\nhad been wasted, and whose matchless hopes were always frustrated ere\ntheir accomplishment. Many a simpering look had she cast towards the\ngoodly raiment of Master Anthony, and some incipient notion was\nentertained that the indweller at the big house was not averse to a\npeep, now and then, more tender than usual, at the window of Mrs\nBridget Allport. When a boy, Anthony had been a sort of spoiled pet of\nthe maiden, who was then opening into bloom, and the bud of promise\nbreaking forth in all its pride and loveliness. While Anthony's legs\nwere getting rounder, and his face and figure more plump and\ncapacious, the person of Mistress Bridget was, alas! proceeding,\nunluckily, in a manner quite the reverse. Anthony's love had not\nquickened into fruition with his growth: but the lady kept a quick\nand wary eye upon his movements, and many a pang had his flattering\nfavours caused in her too susceptible heart.\n\nDistantly related to the family, she sometimes visited Lostock Hall;\nand at the period when our narrative begins she was located therein.\n\nKate had long been aware of her likings and mishaps, and was no\nstranger to her predilection for Master Anthony Hardcastle.\n\nThe first overt act of mischief resulting from the plots of Kate and\nher maid was a smart tap at the door of Mistress Bridget, her\nbed-chamber, where she was indulging in reverie and romance; but the\nday being hot, she had fallen asleep, and was dreaming of \"hearts,\ndarts, and love's fires.\" She started from this mockery of bliss at\nthe summons.\n\n\"Prithee, Marian, what is it?\"\n\n\"A billet from--I don't care to tell who!\"\n\n\"A billet, sayest thou?--eh!--who can it be? What! It is--go away, my\ngood Marian; I cannot--oh! when will my poor heart----'_Waft a cargo\nof love to thy bosom._' '_Melt in the furnace._' Dear, delightful\npassion! How pure! Just like mine own, I declare. '_Harder than\nadamant._' Nay, thou wrongest me. Prithee, Marian, who--where is he?\"\n\n\"A trusty messenger is below.\" She dropped a handsome curtsy.\n\n\"Give me my tablets and my writing-stool. O Marian! little did I think\nof this yesterday. When I was telling thee of--of--oh, I am\ndistraught!\"\n\nShe commenced a score of times ere something in the shape of a\ncommunication could be despatched.\n\n\"There--there; let it be conveyed quick. Nay, I will see him myself.\nLead me to him, girl. I will say how--and yet, this may look too bold\nand unmaidenly. Take it, good girl, and say--what thou thinkest best.\"\n\nLightly did the laughing maiden trip through the great hall into the\nbuttery, where Hodge was ambushed along with a huge pie, fast\nlessening under his inspection. Her intention was not to have given\nhim the billet, but she was suddenly alarmed at the approach of\nMistress Bridget. Fearful lest the deception might be discovered, she\nhastily gave Hodge the precious deposit, trusting to some favourable\nopportunity when she might extract the letter from his pouch. An\noccasion shortly occurred, and Hodge was despatched, as we have seen,\nbilletless, and unconscious of his loss.\n\nThe lover was sore puzzled how to proceed. It was possible--nay, more\nthan probable--that the message might have appointed a meeting; or\ntwenty other matters, which he was utterly unable to conjecture,\nwoman's brain being so fertile in expedients; and if he obeyed not her\ninjunctions it might be construed amiss, and unavoidably prove\ndetrimental to his suit. Should he send back the messenger? She would\nperhaps laugh at him for his pains; and he was too much afraid of her\ncaprice to peril his adventure on this issue. A happy thought crossed\nhis brain; he capered about his little chamber; and could hardly\ngovern himself as the brilliant conception blazed forth on his\nimagination. This bright phantasy was to be embodied in the shape of a\nserenade. It would be more in the romantic way of making love--would\nstimulate her passions--powerfully enlist her feelings in his favour,\nand doubtless bring on something like an appointment, or a permission,\nat any rate, to use a freer intercourse.\n\n\"To-morrow night,\" said he, rubbing his hands and stroking his soft\nround chin, for be it understood, gentle reader, the youth was of a\ntender and fair complexion, with little beard, save a slight blush on\nhis upper lip. He was not ill-favoured, but there was altogether\nsomething boyish and effeminate throughout his appearance, which\nseemed not of the hue to win a lady's love. He could twang the guitar,\nand had at times made scraps of verse, which he trolled to many a\ndamsel's ear, but to little purpose hitherto.\n\nOn the morrow he watched the sun creep lazily up the sky, and more\nlazily down again. The old dial seemed equally dilatory and unwilling\nto move. He had sorted out his best and most ardent love sonnet, and\nstrummed as many jangling tunes as would have served a company of\nmorris-dancers and pipers for a May festival. Twilight came on apace.\nThe moon was fast mounting to her zenith. No chance of its being dark;\nso much the better--it would enable the lovers to distinguish each\nother the more easily.\n\nHodge had long been ready, and the steeds duly caparisoned. At length,\nreckoning that his arrival would take place about the time the lady\nhad retired to her chamber, he set forth, accompanied by his trusty\nesquire. The road lay for some distance over a long high tract of\nmoorland, while beautifully did the bright stars appear to shoot up\nfrom the black, bleak, level horizon. The moon seemed to smile\nsuspiciously upon them, and even Hodge grew eloquent beneath her\nglance.\n\n\"It's brave riding to-night, master; one might see to pick up a tester\nif 'twere but i' the way. Well, I does like moonlight, ever since\nMargery came a-living at the parson's.\"\n\n\"Peace, sirrah!\" Anthony was conning inwardly, and humming the soft\nditty by which he proposed to excite his mistress' ear. \"I think thou\nart mine evil destiny, doomed everlastingly to be my plague and\nannoyance.\"\n\n\"Body o' me, but you're grown woundily humoursome of a sudden,\"\nmuttered the other at the lower end of his voice. \"I waur but saying\nas how Margery\"----\n\nHodge here received another interruption. A stray ass, turned out to\nbrowse on the common, seemingly actuated thereto by sympathy or\nproximity of either man or beast, burst into one of those hysterical,\nthough exquisite cadences, which defy all imitation, and at the same\ntime produce an extraordinary and irresistible effect on the animal\neconomy.\n\n\"That is all along of thy prating,\" said the meditative lover, when\nthe \"_strain_\" was concluded. \"It bodes no good; and I'd as lief see a\nmagpie, and hear a screech-owl, as one of those silly beasts. The\nsalutation of an ass by night is ever held a sound of ill-omen; and\nlo! there be two of ye, reckoning thine own ugly voice.\"\n\n\"Then may two bode good, if one bode ill, as the maids say of the\nmagpies,\" replied the indefatigable attendant.\n\n\"I'll cudgel thine infirmity out o' thee. Hold thy tongue! Hadst thou\nnot been left me by my father, a precious bequest, I had sent thee a\npacking, long ere thou hadst worn a badge in my service.\"\n\nThe rest of their journey was accomplished in comparative silence,\nuntil a short ascent brought them to a steep ridge, down which the\nroad wound into the valley. It was a scene of rich and varied beauty,\nnow lighted by a bright summer moon. A narrow thread of light might be\nseen twining through the ground below them, broken at short intervals,\nthen abruptly gliding into the mist which hung upon the horizon.\nLights were yet twinkling about, where toil or festivity held on\ntheir career unmitigated. A mile or two beyond the hill they were now\npreparing to descend lay a dark wood, extending to the shallow margin\nof the adjacent brook. Above this rose the square low tower of Lostock\nHall; clusters of long chimneys, irregularly marked out in the broad\nmoonlight, showed one curl of smoke only, just perceptible above the\ndark trees, intimating that some of the indwellers were yet awake. Ere\nlong a bypath brought them round to a fence of low brushwood, where a\nlittle wicket communicated with the gardens and offices behind.\n\n\"Here stay with the beasts until I return,\" said Anthony, deliberately\nuntying the cover wherein reposed his musical accompaniment.\n\n\"And how long may we kick our heels and snuff the hungry wind for\nsupper, master?\"\n\n\"Until my business be accomplished,\" was the reply.\n\nMaster Anthony commenced tuning, which aroused the inquiries of\nseveral well-ordered and decently-disposed rooks who were not given to\ndisturb their neighbours at untimely hours, and were just at the\nsoundest part of their night's nap.\n\n\"These villainous bipeds do fearfully exorbitate mine ear,\" said the\nagonised musician. \"'Tis not in the power of aught human to harmonise\nthe strings.\"\n\nThe clamour increased with every effort, until the whole community\nwere in an uproar, driving the incensed wooer fairly off the field.\nTrusting that he should be able to eke out the tune in spite of these\ninterruptions, he hastened immediately to his destination. He crossed\na narrow bridge and passed through a gap into the garden, taking his\nstation on one side of the house, where he commenced a low prelude by\nway of ascertaining if the lady were within hearing, and likewise the\nsituation of her chamber. To his inexpressible delight a window,\nnearly opposite the tree under which he stood, was gently opened, and\nhe could distinguish a figure in white moving gently behind the\ndrapery. He now determined to try the full power of his instrument,\nand warbled, with no inconsiderable share of skill and pathos, the\nfollowing ditty:--\n\n     \"Fair as the moonbeam,\n     Bright as the running stream,\n       Sparkling, yet cold;\n     In Love's tiny fingers\n     A shaft yet there lingers,\n\n     \"And he creeps to thy bosom, and smiles, lady.\n       Soon his soft wings will cherish\n         A flame round thine heart,\n       And ere it may perish\n         Thy peace shall depart.\n\n           Oh listen, listen, lady gay;\n             Love doth not always sue;\n           The brightest flame will oft decay,\n             The fondest lover rue, lady!\n               The fondest lover rue, lady!\"\n\nAt the conclusion he saw a hand, presently an arm, stretched out\nthrough the casement. Something fell from it, which glistened with a\nsnowy whiteness in the clear moonlight. He ran to seize the\ntreasure--a scrap of paper neatly folded--which, after a thankful and\ncomely obeisance towards the window, he deposited in his bosom. The\ncasement was suddenly closed. The lover, eager to read his billet,\nmade all imaginable haste to regain the road, where, mounting his\nsteed, he arrived in a brief space, almost breathless with\nanticipation and impatience, at his own door. The contents of the\ndespatch were quickly revealed in manner following:--\n\n     \"I know thine impatience; but faith must have its test. Send a\n     message to my father; win his consent to thy suit; but as thou\n     holdest my favour in thine esteem come not near the house\n     thyself ere one month have elapsed. Ask not why; 'tis\n     sufficient that I have willed it. Shouldst thou not obey, I\n     renounce thee for ever.\n\n     \"This shall be the test of thy fidelity.\n\n     KATHERINE.\"\n\nHe kissed the writing again and again; he skipped round the chamber\nlike unto one demented; and when the old housekeeper, who was in a\nsore ill-temper at being deprived of her accustomed allowance of rest,\ncame in to know his intentions about supper, he bade her go dream of\nlove and give supper to the hogs.\n\nThe morning found Anthony early at his studies. A letter, painfully\nelaborated, was despatched in due form \"To Master Roger Anderton,\nthese;\" and the lover began to ruminate on his good fortune. The terms\nwere hard, to be sure, and the time was long; but women, and other\nlike superior intelligences, will not bear to be thwarted; at least,\nso thought Master Anthony Hardcastle, as he threw his taper legs over\nthe opposite chair, screwing his forbearance to the test.\n\nThe same day an answer was received, briefly as follows:--\n\n     \"Though thy person and qualifications be unknown to me, yet\n     have I not been ignorant of the respect and esteem which thy\n     father enjoyed. Shouldst thou win my daughter's favour, thou\n     shall not lack my consent, if thou art as deserving as he whose\n     substance thou hast inherited.\"\n\nLeaving to Anthony the irksome task of minuting down the roll of time\nfor one unlucky month, turn we to another personage with whom it is\nhigh time the reader should be acquainted. At Turton Tower, a few\nmiles distant, dwelt a cavalier of high birth, whose pedigree was\nsomewhat longer than his rent-roll. To this proud patrician Kate's\nfather had long borne a bitter grudge, arising out of some sporting\nquarrel, and omitted no opportunity by which to manifest his\nresentment. Dying recently, he had left an only son, then upon his\ntravels, heir to the inheritance and the feud with Anderton.\n\nShortly after his return, Kate, being on a visit in the neighbourhood,\nsaw him; and as nothing is more likely to excite love than the\nbeholding of some forbidden object, unwittingly, in the first\ninstance, she began to sigh; and with each sigh came such a warm gush\nof feeling from the heart as did not fail to create a crowd of\nsensations altogether new and unaccountable. On his part the feeling\nwas not less ardent, though less inexplicable, at least to himself,\nand a few more glances fixed them desperately and unalterably in love.\nHopeless though it might be, yet did the lovers find a sad and\nmournful solace in their regrets, the only sentiment they could\nindulge. They had met, and in vows of secrecy had often pledged\nunintermitting attachment.\n\nLove at times had prompted some stratagem to accomplish their union,\nfor which the capricious and unforgiving disposition of the old\ngentleman seemed to afford a fair excuse. It is a most ingenious and\nsubtle equivocator that same idle boy, and hath ever at hand\npalliatives, and even justifications, in respect to all crimes done\nand committed for the aiding and comforting of his sworn lieges. And\nthus it fell out, Kate's wits were now at work to make Anthony's suit\nin some way or another subservient to this object. Once committed to a\npurpose of such duplicity, no wonder that contrivances and plots not\naltogether justifiable should ensue; and Kate's natural archness and\nvivacity, coupled with the mischievous temper of her maid, gave their\nproceedings a more ludicrous character than the dignity of the passion\nwould otherwise have allowed.\n\nThe month was nigh spent when Hodge one morning entered the chamber of\nhis master, who sat there dribbling away the time over a treatise on\narchery.\n\n\"How now, sirrah?\"\n\n\"Please ye, master, Mistress Kate is to be wed on the feast of St\nCrispin; an' I'm a-thinking I've no body-gear fitting for my\noccupation.\"\n\n\"Married, sayest thou?--to whom?\"\n\n\"Nay, master, an' ye know not, more's the pity if it be not to your\nhonour.\"\n\n\"To me, sayest thou?\"\n\n\"They ha' so settled it, belike; and I thought, if it would please ye,\nto order me new boots and a coat for the wedding.\"\n\n\"Peace!--where gattest thou the news?\"\n\n\"At the smithy. I was but just getting the mare shoed, and a tooth\nhammered into the garden rake.\"\n\n\"It is wondrous strange!\" replied Anthony, musing; \"but women are of a\nsubtle and unsearchable temper. She did appoint me a month's\nabstinence. Sure enough, the feast thou hast named happeneth on the\nvery day of my release. She hath devised this plot for my surprise!\nExcellent!--and so the rumour hath gotten abroad? Now, o' my troth,\nbut I like her the better for't. Go to; a new suit, with yellow\ntrimmings, and hose of the like colour, shall be thine: thou shalt be\nchief servitor, too, at my wedding.\"\n\nAnthony seemed raving wild with delight. He resolved that the jade\nshould know of his intelligence, and he would attack the citadel by a\ncounterplot of a most rare and excellent device. To this end he\nresolved on going to the hall the night preceding his appointment; in\nthe meantime diligently maturing his scheme for the surprise and\ndelight of the cunning maiden.\n\nWith the evening of an unusually long and tedious day, whose minutes\nhad been spun to hours, and these hours into ages, did Master Anthony\nHardcastle, accompanied by his servant, set forth on this perilous\nexploit. Upon a rich and comely suit, consisting of a light blue\nembroidered vest, and a rich coat of peach-coloured velvet, with\nbag-wig and ruffles, was thrown a dark cloak, partly intended as a\ndisguise, and partly to screen his gay habiliments from dust and\npollution.\n\nThey passed slowly on for an hour or two, dropping down to the little\nwicket as aforetime, above which the crows were again ready with the\nusual inquiries. The squires being left with the steeds, Master\nAnthony once more scrambled over the garden hedge, and sustained his\nperson in a becoming attitude against the pear-tree whence he had so\nsuccessfully attacked and carried the citadel on his former visit. He\nnow beheld, with wonder, lights dancing about in the house, frisking\nand frolicking through the long casements like so many\njack-o'-lanterns. Indeed, the greater part of the mansion seemed all\na-blaze, and of an appalling and suspicious brightness. Sounds,\nmoreover, of mirth and revelry approached his ear. He would instantly\nhave proceeded to ascertain the cause of this inauspicious\nmerry-making had not Kate's injunction kept him aloof. The noise of\nminstrelsy was now heard--symptoms of the marriage-feast and the\nbanquet. More than once he suspected some witchery, some delusion of\nthe enemy to beguile him by enchantments. However, he resolved to be\nquiet; and, for the purpose of a more extended vision, he climbed, or\nrather stepped into, the low huge fork of the tree. From this tower of\nobservation he kept a wary eye, more particularly towards the window\nwhence the billet was thrown, expecting to behold some token of his\nmistress's presence. But this chamber seemed to be the dullest and\ndarkest in the whole house; not a ray was visible. It seemed shut out,\nimpervious to the gladness which irradiated the bosom of its\nneighbours.\n\nA white cur now came snarling about the bushes; then, cautiously\nsmelling his way to the tree, suddenly set up a yell so deafening and\ncontinuous that he roused some of the revellers within. Two men\nstaggered from the house, evidently a little the worse in their\narticulation by reason of the potations they had taken.\n\n\"Quiet, Vick! Hang thy neck, what's a matter? Eh! the pear-tree? It's\nthe thief again--and before the fruit's ripe. Bodikins! but we'll\ncatch thee now, 'r lady. We'll have a thong out of his hide; split me,\nif we ha'n't!\"\n\nThe men approached as cautiously as their condition would permit;\nwhile Anthony, overhearing the latter part of their dialogue, sat\nsomewhat insecurely on his perch.\n\n\"Dan, get th' big cudgel out o' t' barn. I see a some'at black like,\nan' fearsome, i' th' tree.\"\n\nProbably they had imbibed courage with their liquor, otherwise the\nblack \"somewhat\" in the tree might have indisposed them for this\ndaring attack.\n\n\"I'll have a blow at it, be't mon or devil, hang me.\"\n\nAnthony pulled his cloak tightly about him; and while the weapon was\nproviding he entertained serious thoughts of surrendering at\ndiscretion; but the effect which this premature disclosure might have\non his mistress's determination towards him retarded the discovery;\nand he was not without hope of eluding the drunken valour of the\nbrutes.\n\n\"Now gie't me, Dan--Tol de rol--\n\n     'An' back and sides go bare, go bare.'\"\n\nApproaching to the attack, Barnaby brandished his cudgel to the time\nand tune of this celebrated alehouse ditty. The concluding flourish\nbrought the weapon waving within a very concise distance of the goodly\nperson of Master Anthony Hardcastle.\n\n\"Murder!--Villains!\" cried the terrified lover, unable to endure the\nmenacing aspect of this fearful invader; \"I'm Master Anthony, ye sots,\nye unthrifts--your master, is to be; and I--I'll have ye i' the stocks\nfor this.\"\n\n\"Bodikins and blunderkins? hear'st him, Dan? Why, thou lying\nlackpenny, I'll soon whack the corruption out o' thee. Master Anthony,\nindeed! he be another guess sort of thing to thee, I trow. Thee be'st\nhankering after the good things hereabout; but I'll spoil thy\nliquorish tooth for tasting. Come, unkennel, vermin!\"\n\n\"I am Master Anthony, friend, as safe as my mother bore me. If thou\nlackest knowledge, go ask Hodge with the horses at the back gate.\"\n\n\"Then what be'st thou for i' the pear-tree? Na, na; Master Anthony is\ngone home a great whiles back. He's to marry young mistress i' the\nmorn, an' we're getting drunk by participation. There's for thee! I\ntalks like ou'd Daniel the schoolmaster.\"\n\nSorely discomposed with the infliction of this vile contumely, Anthony\nwas forced to descend. Nothing, however, would convince the clowns of\ntheir mistake. He showed them his glossy raiment; but their intellects\nwere too confused for so nice a discrimination; they consequently\nresolved to hold him in durance until the morrow, when their master\nwould bring him to account for this invasion of his territory. But who\nshall depict the horror and consternation of the unhappy lover, on\nfinding them seriously bent on his incarceration in a filthy den, used\nheretofore as a receptacle for scraps and lumber, near the stables.\nRemonstrance, entreaty, threats, solicitations, were equally\nunavailing. He demanded an audience with the justice.\n\n\"Thee'll get it soon enough, I warrant thee. And thee may think well\no' the stocks; but th' pillory is no more than I'll be bound for. The\nlast we catched, Jem Sludge, we belaboured in such fashion as I verily\nthink he waur more like a midden' nor a man when he got his neck out\no' th' collar. Come along--it's not to th' gallows, this bout, my\npretty bird. Lend him a whack behind, Dan, if he do not mend his\npace.\"\n\nA rude blow was here administered to the unfortunate captive. He cried\nout lustily for help; but the inquirers from the hall made merry at\nhis captivity, rejoicing that the thief was now safely in the trap.\n\nOn the following morning, the eventful day of his daughter's bridal,\nthe justice rose earlier than he was wont. His features wore a tinge\nof anxiety as he paced the room with sharp and irregular footsteps.\nSuddenly he was disturbed by approaching voices, and a sort of\nsuppressed bustle along the passage. On opening the door he saw Daniel\nand his doughty companion, Barnaby, whose red eyes and hollow cheeks\nbetokened their too familiar indulgence in past festivities.\n\n\"We've catched him at last, master.\"\n\n\"Who? What dost stand agape for?\"\n\n\"Why, a rogue 'at was robbing the gardens.\"\n\n\"A murrain light on both of ye! I cannot be chaffed with such like\nmatters now.\"\n\n\"But your worship,\" cautiously spake Dan, \"he be the most comical\nthing you ever clapped eyes on. He says he be Master Anthony, your\nworship's new son that is to be to-day.\"\n\n\"How sayest thou? I think thy wits are the worse for bibbing o'\nyesternight.\"\n\n\"Nay, your worship's grace, but we'll e'en fetch him. He's pranked out\ngaily; and a gay bird he be for your honour's cage.\"\n\nTwo or three domestics now entered, leading in their prisoner. His\nwoe-begone looks were angrily bent on his conductors. He shook off\ntheir grasp, approaching the owner of the mansion where he had been so\nevil-entreated. His hair, released from its bonds, dangled in\nprimaeval disorder above his shoulders. His goodly raiment, no longer\nhidden, was rumpled and soiled, like the finery of a stage wardrobe.\nIndeed, the Squire guessed he was one of the village players that had\nbeen foraging for his supper after a scanty benefit.\n\n\"How now, braggart? What evil occupation brings thee about my house?\nWhat unlucky hankering, sirrah, brings thee, I say, a-robbing of my\ngrounds and poultry-yards? Methinks thou hast but a sorry employment\nfor thy gingerbread coat.\"\n\n\"I came, sir, to wed your daughter,\" replied Anthony, simpering, and\nwith great modesty.\n\n\"My daughter!\" cried Anderton, in a voice of thunder; \"and pray may I\ninquire to whom I am beholden for this favour?\"\n\n\"To Master Anthony Hardcastle,\" said the lover, drawing himself up\nproudly, and casting a glance of triumph and defiance at his\ntormentors.\n\n\"Whew!\" cried the other; \"why, Master Anthony is no more like thee,\nthou tod-pate, than thou to St George or the dragon of Wantley. A rare\ndevice, truly--a cunning plot--a stage-trick to set the mob agape!\nWhy, thou puny-legged Tamburlane!--thou ghost of an Alexander!--how\ndarest thou confront me thus? Now, i' lady, but I've a month's mind to\nbelabour the truth out o' thee with a weapon something tough and\ncrabbed i' the tasting.\"\n\nAnthony's face lengthened inordinately at this unexpected rebuke, and\na latent whimper quivered about the corners of his pale and pursy\nmouth. Sobs and protestations were useless; there seemed a base\nconspiracy to rob him even of his name and identity. He vowed, that\nthe period of his proscription being past, Kate was hourly expecting\nhim, and his appearance overnight was but to execute a little\nstratagem for her surprise. This explanation but served to aggravate;\nand in vain did he solicit an interview with the lady, promising to\nabide by her decision.\n\n\"Why, look thee,\" said the justice; \"Anthony Hardcastle, whom thy\nlying tongue and figure most woefully defame, hath been our guest\noftentimes during the past month, and truly his gallant bearing and\ndisposition have well won my consent. No marvel at my daughter's love!\nBut thou!--had she stooped from her high bearing to such carrion, I'd\nhave wrung your necks round with less compunction than those of two\nbase-bred kestrils.\"\n\nAnthony was dumb with astonishment. The whole transaction had the\naspect of some indistinct and troubled dream, or rather some delusion\nof the arch-enemy to entangle and perplex him. At this moment tripped\nin the pert maiden, whose share in the machinations we before\nintimated. She looked on the bewildered lover with a sly and equivocal\nglance. Craving permission to speak, she said--\n\n\"'Tis even so, your worship; this interloper is none other than the\nvery person he represents; and here come those who will give the\nriddle its proper answer.\"\n\nImmediately came in the blushing Kate, led in by a tall and comely\ngentleman, whom her father recognised as the real Anthony.\n\n\"We come but to crave your blessing,\" said this personage, bending\ngracefully on his knee, whilst Kate seized the hand of her parent.\n\n\"Forgive this deceit:\" she looked imploringly at the old man, who\nseemed too astonished to reply: \"it was but to win my father's\nknowledge and esteem for the man to whom my vows are for ever\nplighted.\"\n\n\"Nay, start not,\" said the bridegroom; \"I but borrowed this ill-used\ngentleman's name, as I knew none other mode of access to your presence\nthan the disguise that his _suit_ afforded; and from him I now crave\nforgiveness.\"\n\n\"And I knew,\" said Kate, glancing round towards the real Anthony,\n\"that the man of my choice would be yours, could I but contrive you\nshould hold a fair judgment between them, as you now do this day.\"\n\nA reconciliation was the result; but ere a \"little month was old\" were\nseen at the same altar, and with the same object, Master Anthony\nHardcastle and Mistress Bridget Allport.\n\n     [17] _Vide_ Baines's _Lancashire_, vol. i. p. 78.\n\n     [18] _Vide_ Baines's _Lancashire_, vol. ii. p. 504.\n\n\n[Illustration THE SKULL HOUSE]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SKULL HOUSE.\n\n     \"That skull had a tongue in't that could sing once.\"\n                                     --_Hamlet._\n\n     Wardley Hall, in the manor of Worsley, is an ancient building\n     about seven miles west from Manchester. It was an old seat of\n     the Downes family, and afterwards of Lord Barrymore. A human\n     skull was formerly shown here, beside the staircase, which the\n     occupiers would not permit to be removed. This grim fixture, it\n     was said, being much averse to any change of place or position,\n     never failed to punish the individual severely who should dare\n     to lay hands on it. If removed or buried, it was sure to\n     return, so that in the end each succeeding tenant was fain to\n     endure its presence, rather than be subject to the terrors and\n     annoyances consequent upon its removal. Its place was a square\n     aperture in the wall; nor would it suffer this opening to be\n     glazed, or otherwise filled up, without creating some\n     disturbance. It seemed as if those rayless sockets loved to\n     look abroad, peradventure on the scenes of its former\n     enjoyments and reminiscences. It was almost bleached white by\n     exposure to the weather, and many curious persons have made a\n     pilgrimage there even in late years. Several young men from\n     Manchester once going on this errand, one of them, unobserved\n     of his fellows, thought he would ascertain the truth of the\n     stories he had heard. For this purpose he privately removed the\n     skull to another situation, and left it to find its way back\n     again. The night but one following, such a storm arose about\n     the house, that many trees were blown down, the roofs were\n     unthatched, and the tenants, finding out the cause, as they\n     supposed, replaced the skull, when these terrific disturbances\n     ceased.\n\n     The occurrences detailed more fully in the following pages are\n     usually assigned as the origin of this strange superstition.\n\n\n\"I wonder what that hair-brained brother of mine can be doing. No\nfresh brawl, I hope,\" said Maria Downes to her cousin Eleanor, as they\nsat, mopish and disquieted enough, in a gloomy chamber of the old hall\nat Worsley.\n\n\"I hope not, too,\" replied Eleanor; and there was another long and\noppressive silence.\n\nIt was in the dusk of a chill, damp November evening. The fire shot\nforth a sharp uncertain glimmer, and the dim walls threw back the\nillumination.\n\n\"I know not why,\" said Maria, \"but my spirits are very sad, and\neverything I see looks mistrustful and foreboding!\"\n\nSo thought her cousin; but she did not speak. Her heart was too full,\nand a tear started in her eye.\n\n\"Would that Harry had eschewed the frivolities and dissipations of\nyonder ungodly city; that he had stayed with us here, in safe and\nhappy seclusion. I have hardly known pleasure since he went.\"\n\nEleanor's bosom again responded to the note of agony that was wrung\nfrom her cousin, and she turned her head to hide what she had too\nplainly betrayed.\n\n\"Since that unhappy fray in which peradventure an innocent and\nunoffending victim was the result of Harry's intemperance, the bloody\noffence hath been upon my soul--heavier, I do fear, than upon his own.\nBut unless he repent, and turn aside from his sinful courses, there\nwill, there must, come a fearful recompense!\"\n\n\"Do not sentence him unheard,\" said Eleanor; but her words were\nquivering and indistinct. \"It was in his own defence, maybe, however\nbitterly the tidings were dropped into your ear. Sure I am,\" said she,\nmore firmly, \"that Harry was too kind, too gentle, to slay the\ninnocent, and in cold blood!\"\n\n\"Nay, Eleanor, excuse him not. It may be that the foul deed was done\nthrough excess of wine, the fiery heat of debauch, and amid the\nbeastly orgies of intemperance; but is he the less criminal? I tell\nthee nay; for he hath added crime to crime, and drawn down, perchance,\na double punishment. He is my brother, and thou knowest, if possible,\nI would palliate his offence; but hath it not been told, and the very\nair of yon polluted city was rife and reeking with the deed, that\nHarry Downes, the best-beloved of his father, and the child of many\nhopes, did wantonly, and unprovoked, rush forth hot and intemperate\nfrom the stews. Drawing his sword, did he not swear--ay, by that\nHeaven he insulted and defied, that he would kill the first man he\nmet, and--oh, horror!--was not that fearful oath fulfilled?\"\n\nEleanor had covered her face with her hands--a convulsive sob shook\nher frame; but though her heart was on the rack, she uttered no\ncomplaint. Maria, inflexible, and, as some might think, rigid, in\nthose principles of virtue wherein she had been educated, yet sorrowed\ndeeply for her cousin, who from a child had been her brother Harry's\nplaymate, and the proofs of mutual affection had been too powerful,\ntoo early, and too long continued, to be ever effaced. Timid as the\nfrighted fawn, and tender as the wild flower that scarce bent beneath\nher step, she lay, a bruised reed; the stem that supported her was\nbroken. Her fondest, her only hopes were withered, and the desolating\nblast of disappointment had passed upon her earliest affections. Her\nlittle bark, freighted with all a woman's care and tenderness, lay\nshivered with the stroke, disabled and a wreck!\n\nJust as the short and murky twilight was expiring, and other lights\nwere substituted, there came a loud summons at the outer gate, where a\nstrong barrier was built across the moat. The females started, as\nthough rendered more than usually apprehensive that evil tidings were\nat hand. But they were, in some measure, relieved on hearing that it\nwas only Jem Hazleden, the carrier from Manchester, who had brought a\nwooden box on one of his pack-horses, which said box had come all the\nway from London by \"Antony's\" waggon. Maria thought it might be some\npackage or present from her brother, who had been a year or two in\ntown, taking terms; but a considerable period had now passed since\ntidings were sent from him. She looked wistfully at the box, a clumsy,\nill-favoured thing, without the least symptom of any pleasant\ncommunication from such a source; so different from the trim packages\nthat were wont to arrive, containing, maybe, the newest London chintz,\nor a piece of real brocade, or Flanders lace of the rarest\nworkmanship.\n\n\"No good lurks in that ugly envelope,\" thought she; and, stooping\ndown, she examined the direction minutely. It was a quaint crabbed\nhand--not her brother's, that was certain; and the discovery made her\nmore anxious and uneasy. She turned it over and over, but no clue\ncould be found, no index to the contents. It would have been easy,\nmethinks, to have satisfied herself on this head, but she really felt\nalmost afraid to open it, and yet----At any rate, she would put it off\ntill the morrow. She was so nervous and out of spirits that she\npositively had not courage to open a dirty wooden box, tied round with\na bit of hempen cord, and fastened with a few rusty nails. She ordered\nit to be removed to her bed-chamber, and morning, perchance, would\ndissipate these idle but unpleasant feelings. She went to bed, but\ncould not sleep; the wind and rain beat so heavily against the\ncasement, and the recent excitement kept her restless and awake. She\ntried various expedients to soothe and subdue her agitation, but\nwithout effect. The rain had ceased to patter on the windows, but the\nwind blew more fiercely and in more violent gusts than before. The sky\nwas clearing, and a huge Apennine of clouds was now visible as she\nlay, on which the moonbeams were basking gloriously. Suddenly a ray\nglided like a spirit into the chamber, and disappeared. Her eyes were\nat that moment directed towards the mysterious box which lay opposite,\nand her very hair moved with horror and consternation; for in that\nbrief interval of light she thought she saw the lid open, and a grisly\nhead glare out hideously from beneath. Every hair seemed to grow\nsensitive, and every pore to be exquisitely endued with feeling. Her\nheart throbbed violently, and her brain grew dizzy. Another moonbeam\nirradiated the chamber. She was still gazing on the box; but whether\nthe foregoing impression was merely hallucinatory, an illusion of the\nfeverish and excited sense, she knew not, for the box was there,\nundisturbed, grim, silent, and mysterious as before. Yet she could not\nwithdraw her eyes from it. There is a fascination in terror. She could\nhardly resist a horrible desire, or rather impulse, to leap forth, and\nhasten towards it. Her brow felt cold and clammy; her eyes grew dim,\nand as though motes of fire were rushing by; but ere she could summon\nhelp she fell back senseless on her pillow.\n\nMorning was far advanced ere she felt any returning recollection. At\nfirst a confused and dream-like sensation came upon her. Looking\nwildly round, her eyes rested on the box, and the whole interval came\nsuddenly to her memory. She shuddered at the retrospect; but she was\ndetermined, whether it had been fancy or not, to keep the secret\nwithin her own breast, though more undetermined than ever to break\nopen the fearful cause of her disturbance. Yet she durst not seek\nrepose another night with such a companion. Her apprehensions were not\neasily allayed, however disposed she might be to treat them as trivial\nand unfounded.\n\n\"Will you not open yonder package that came last night?\" inquired\nEleanor, as they were sitting down to breakfast. Maria shuddered, as\nthough something loathsome had crossed her. She shook off the reptile\nthought, which had all the character of some crawling and offensive\nthing as it passed her bosom.\n\n\"I have not--that is, I--I have not yet ordered it to be undone.\"\n\n\"And why?\" said Eleanor, now raising her soft blue eyes with an\nexpression of wonder and curiosity on her cousin. \"It did not use to\nbe thus when there came one of these couriers from town.\"\n\n\"'Tis not from Harry Downes; and--I care not just now to have the\ntrouble on't, being jaded and out of spirits.\"\n\n\"I will relieve you of the trouble presently, if you will permit me,\"\nsaid Eleanor, who was not without a secret hope, notwithstanding\nMaria's assertion, that it was a message of gladness from Harry, with\nthe customary present for his sister, and perhaps a token of kindness\nfor herself.\n\n\"Stay!\" said Maria, laying her hand on Eleanor as she rose, whilst\nwith a solemn and startling tone she cried, \"Not yet!\" She sat down;\nEleanor, pale and trembling, sat down too; but her cousin was silent,\nevidently unwilling to resume the topic.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" said she, when urged; but all further converse on the\nsubject was suspended.\n\nMaria, as the day closed and the evening drew on apace, gave orders\nthat the box should be removed into a vacant outbuilding until\nmorning, when, she said, it might be opened in her presence, as it\nprobably contained some articles that she expected, but of which she\nwas not just then in need.\n\n\"It's an ugly cumbersome thing,\" said Dick, as he lugged the wearisome\nbox to its destination. \"I wonder what for mistress dunna break it\nopen. Heigho!\"\n\nHere he put down his burden, giving it a lusty kick for sheer\nwantonness and malice.\n\n\"What is't sent here for, think'st 'ou?\" said Betty the housemaid, who\nhad followed Dick for a bit of gossip and a sort of incipient liking\nwhich had not yet issued on his part into any overt acts of courtship\nand declaration. It was nigh dark, \"the light that lovers choose;\" and\nBetty, having disposed herself to the best advantage, awaited the\nreply of Dick with becoming modesty.\n\n\"How do I know the nature o' women's fancies? It would be far easier\nto know why there's a change o' wind or weather than the meaning o'\ntheir tricks and humours.\"\n\n\"I know not what thee has to complain on,\" said Betty. \"They behaven\nbetter to thee nor thou deserves.\"\n\n\"Hoity, toity, mistress; dunna be cross, wench. Come, gie's a buss an'\nso\"----\n\n\"Keep thy jobbernowl to thysel',\" said the indignant Betty, when she\nhad made sure of this favour. \"Thy great leather paws are liker for\nBecky Pinnington's red neck nor mine,\" continued she, bridling up, and\ngiving vent to some long-suppressed jealousy.\n\n\"Lorjus days; but thou's mighty quarrelsome and peevish; I ne'er\ntouch'd Becky's neck, nor nought belongin' to her.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said Betty, withdrawing herself from the approaches of her\nadmirer. \"Some'at knocks!\"\n\nDick hastened to the door, supposing that somebody was dodging them.\n\n\"'Tis somethin' i' that box!\" said Betty; and they listened in the\nlast extremity of terror. Again there was a low dull knock, which\nevidently came from the box, and the wooers were certain that the old\none was inside. In great alarm they rushed forth, and at the\nkitchen-chimney corner Dick and his companion were seen with blanched\nlips and staring eyes, almost speechless with affright.\n\nNext morning the story was bruited forth, with amendments and\nadditions, according to the fancy of the speaker, so that, in the end,\nthe first promulgers could hardly recognise their own. The\ngrim-looking despatch was now the object of such terror that scarcely\none of them durst go into the place where it stood. It was not long\nere Maria Downes became acquainted with the circumstance, and she\nthought it was high time these imaginary terrors should be put an end\nto. She felt ashamed that she had given way to her own apprehensions\non the subject, which doubtless were, in part, the occasion of the\nreports she heard, by the seeming mystery that was observed in her\nmanner and conduct. She determined that the box should be opened\nforthwith. It was daylight, be it remembered, when this resolution was\nmade, and consequently she felt sufficiently courageous to make the\nattempt.\n\nBut there was not one amongst the domestics who durst accompany her on\nthis bold errand--an attack, they conceived, on the very den of some\nevil spirit, who would inevitably rush forth and destroy them.\n\nAlone, therefore, and armed with the necessary implements, was she\nobliged to go forth to the adventure.\n\nThe terrified menials saw her depart; and some felt certain she would\nnever come back alive; others did not feel satisfied as to their own\nsafety, should their mistress be the victim. All was terror and\ndistress; pale and anxious faces huddled together, and every eye\nprying into his neighbour's for some ground of hope or confidence.\nSome thought they heard the strokes--dull, heavy blows--breaking\nthrough the awful stillness which they almost felt. These intimations\nceased: and a full half-hour had intervened; an age of suspended\nhorror, when--just as their apprehensions were on the point of leading\nthem on to some desperate measures for relieving the suspense which\nwas almost beyond endurance--to their great joy, their mistress\nreturned; who, though appearing much agitated, spoke to them rather\nhastily, and with an attempt to smile at their alarm.\n\n\"Yonder box,\" said she, passing by, \"is like to shame your silly\nfears. Some wag hath sent ye a truss of straw--for a scrubbing wisp,\nmaybe.\" But there was, in the hurried and unusual hilarity of her\nspeech, something so forced and out of character, that it did not\nescape even the notice of her domestics. Some, however, went\nimmediately to the place, and after much hesitation lifted up the lid,\nwhen lo! a bundle of straw was the reward of their curiosity. By\ndegrees they began to rummage farther into the contents; but the whole\ninterior was filled with this rare and curious commodity. They could\nhardly believe their eyes; and Dick, especially, shook his head, and\nlooked as though he knew or suspected more than he durst tell; a\ncommon expedient with those whose mountain hath brought forth\nsomething very like the product of this gigantic mystery.\n\nDick was the most dissatisfied with the result, feeling himself much\nchagrined at so unlooked-for a termination to his wonderful story, and\nhe kept poking into and turning about the straw with great sullenness\nand pertinacity. His labours were not altogether without success.\n\n\"Look! here's other guess stuff than my lady's bed straw,\" said he, at\nthe same time holding up a lock of it for the inspection of his\ncompanions. They looked and there was evidently a clot of blood! This\nwas a sufficient confirmation of their surmises; and Dick, though\nalarmed as well as the rest, felt his sagacity and adroitness\nwonderfully confirmed amongst his fellows. They retired, firmly\nconvinced that some horrible mystery was attached thereto, which all\ntheir guessing could not find out.\n\nAt night, as Dick was odding about, he felt fidgety and restless. He\npeeped forth at times towards the outhouse where the box was lying,\nand as he passed he could not refrain from casting a glance from the\ncorner of his eye through the half-closed door. The bloody clot he had\nseen dwelt upon his imagination; it haunted him like a spectre. He\nwent to bed before the usual hour, but could not sleep; he tossed and\ngroaned, but the drowsy god would not be propitiated. The snoring of a\nservant in the next bed, too, proved anything but anodyne or oblivion\nto his cares. He could not sleep, do what he would. Having pinched his\nunfortunate companion till he was tired, but with no other success\nthan a loud snort, and generally a louder snore than ever, in the end,\nDick, rendered desperate, jumped out of bed, and walked, or rather\nstaggered across the floor. He looked through the window. It was\nlight, but the sky was overcast, though objects below might readily be\ndistinguished. The outhouse where the box lay was in full view; and as\nhe was looking out listlessly for a few minutes he saw a female figure\nbearing a light, who was gliding down stealthily, as he thought, in\nthe yard below. She entered the building, and Dick could hardly\nbreathe, he was so terrified. He watched until his eyes ached before\nshe came out again, when he saw plainly it was his mistress. She bore\nsomething beneath her arm; and as Dick's curiosity was now\nsufficiently roused to overcome all fear of consequences, he stole\nquickly down-stairs, and by a short route got sufficiently on her\ntrack to watch her proceedings unobserved. He followed into the\ngarden. She paused, for the first time, under a huge sycamore tree in\nthe fence, and laid down her burden. She drew something from beneath\nher cloak, and, as he thought, began to dig. When this operation was\ncompleted she hastily threw in the burden, and filled up the hole\nagain; after which, with a rapid step, she came back to the house.\nDick was completely bewildered. He hesitated whether or not to examine\nimmediately into the nature of the deposit which his mistress seemed\nso desirous to conceal; but as he had no light, and his courage was\nnot then screwed up to the attempt, he satisfied himself at present\nwith observing the situation, intending to take some other opportunity\nto explore this hidden treasure. That his mistress's visit had some\nconnection with the contents of the mysterious box was now certain,\nand whatever she had concealed was part of its contents, a conclusion\nequally inevitable; but that she should be so wishful to hide it, was\na problem not easy to be explained without examination. Was it money?\nThe clotted blood forbade this surmise. A horrible suspicion crossed\nhim; but it was too horrible for Dick to indulge.\n\nWondering and guessing, he retraced his steps, and morning dawned on\nhis still sleepless eyelids.\n\nSome weeks passed by, but he found none other opportunity for\nexamination. Somebody or something was always in the way, and he\nseemed destined to remain ignorant of all that he was so anxious to\nascertain.\n\nAfter the arrival of the box Maria Downes never mentioned her brother\nunless he was alluded to; and even then she waived the subject as soon\nas possible, whenever it happened to be incidentally mentioned.\nEleanor saw there was an evident reluctance to converse on these\nmatters; and, however she might feel grieved at the change, in the end\nshe forbore inquiry.\n\nOne morning her cousin entered the breakfast-room, where Eleanor was\nawaiting her arrival. Her face was pale--almost deathly--and her lips\nlivid and quivering. Her eyes were swollen, starting out, and\ndistended with a wild and appalling expression.\n\nShe beckoned Eleanor to follow; silently she obeyed, but with a\ndeadly and heart-sickening apprehension. Something fearful, as\nconnected with the fate of her cousin Harry, was doubtless the cause\nof this unusual proceeding. Maria led the way up the staircase, and on\ncoming to the landing, she pointed to a square opening in the wall,\nlike unto the loophole of a turret-stair. Here she saw something dark\nobstructing the free passage of the light, which, on a closer\nexamination, presented the frightful outline of a human skull! Part of\nthe flesh and hairy scalp were visible, but the whole was one dark and\ndisgusting mass of deformity. She started back, with a look of\ninquiry, towards her cousin. Hideous surmises crowded upon her while\nshe beheld the features of Maria Downes convulsed with some untold\nagony.\n\n\"Oh, speak--speak to me!\" cried Eleanor, and she threw her arms about\nher cousin's neck, sobbing aloud in the full burst of her emotion.\nMaria wept too. The rising of the gush relieved her, and she spoke.\nEvery word went as with a burning arrow to Eleanor's heart.\n\n\"I have hidden it until now; but--but Heaven has ordained it. His\noffence was rank--most foul--and his disgrace--a brother's\ndisgrace--hangs on me. That skull is Harry's! Believe it as thou wilt,\nbut the truth is no less true. The box, sent by some unknown hand, I\nopened alone, when I beheld the ghastly, gory features of him who was\nonce our pride, and ought to have been our protection. My courage\nseemed to rise with the occasion. I concealed it with all speed until\nanother opportunity, when I buried this terrible memorial--for ever,\nas I hoped, from the gaze and knowledge of the world. I thought to\nhide this foul stain upon our house; to conceal it, if possible, from\nevery eye; but the grave gives back her dead! The charnal gapes! That\nghastly head hath burst its cold tabernacle, and risen from the dust,\nwithout hands, unto its former gazing-place. Thou knowest, Eleanor,\nwith what delight, when a child, he was accustomed to climb up to that\nlittle eyelet-hole, gazing out thereat for hours, and playing many odd\nand fantastic tricks through this loophole of observation.\"\n\nEleanor could not speak; she stood the image of unutterable despair.\n\n\"In that dreadful package,\" continued Maria, \"this writing was\nsent:--'Thy brother has at length paid the forfeit of his crimes. The\nwages of sin is death! and his head is before thee. Heaven hath\navenged the innocent blood he hath shed. Last night, in the lusty\nvigour of a drunken debauch, passing aver London Bridge, he encounters\nanother brawl, wherein, having run at the watchman with his rapier,\none blow of the bill which they carry severed thy brother's head from\nhis trunk. The latter was cast over the parapet into the river. The\nhead only remained, which an eye-witness, if not a friend, hath sent\nto thee!\"\n\nEleanor fell senseless to the ground, whence her cousin conveyed her\nto the bed from which she never rose.\n\nThe skull was removed, secretly at first, by Maria herself; but\ninvariably it returned. No human power could drive it thence. It hath\nbeen riven in pieces, burnt, and otherwise destroyed; but ever on the\nsubsequent day it is seen filling its wonted place. Yet was it always\nobserved that sore vengeance lighted on its persecutors. One who\nhacked it in pieces was seized with such horrible torments in his\nlimbs that it seemed as though he might be undergoing the same\nprocess. Sometimes, if only displaced, a fearful storm would arise, so\nloud and terrible, that the very elements themselves seemed to become\nthe ministers of its wrath.\n\nNor would this wilful piece of mortality allow of the little aperture\nbeing walled up; for it remains there still, whitened and bleached by\nthe weather, looking forth from those rayless sockets upon the scenes\nwhich when living they had once beheld.\n\nMaria Downes was the only survivor of the family. Her brother's death\nand deplorable end so preyed on her spirits that she rejected all\noffers of marriage. The estate passed into other hands, and another\nname owns the inheritance.\n\n\n\n\nRIVINGTON PIKE;\n\nOR,\n\nTHE SPECTRE HORSEMAN.\n\n         \"Are you a man?\n     Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that\n     Which might appal the devil.\"\n\n     --SHAKESPEARE.\n\n     This beacon stands on a conical hill, at an elevation of 1545\n     feet from the level of the sea. An immense pile of wood was\n     raised here when the alarm of the French invasion prevailed, at\n     the beginning of the present century.\n\n     Rivington Hall was for many ages the seat of one of the\n     Pilkingtons, of which family Fuller says--\"The Pilkingtons were\n     gentlemen of repute in this shire before the Conquest;\" and the\n     chief of them, then sought for after espousing the cause of\n     Harold, was fain to disguise himself as a mower; in allusion to\n     which the man and scythe was taken as their crest. James\n     Pilkington, a descendant, and Master of St John's, Cambridge,\n     was one of the six divines appointed to correct the Book of\n     Common Prayer; for which and other services he was in 1560\n     created Bishop of Durham. After the suppression of the great\n     northern rebellion in 1569, headed by the Earls of\n     Northumberland and Westmoreland, he claimed the lands and goods\n     of the rebels attainted in his bishopric. In support of this\n     claim he brought an action against the queen for a recovery of\n     the forfeited estates; and though his royal mistress was\n     accustomed to speak of unfrocking bishops, the reverend divine\n     prosecuted his suit with so much vigour and success that\n     nothing but the interposition of Parliament prevented the\n     defendant from being beaten in her own courts.\n\n     The present erection, the scene of our story, was built in the\n     year 1732, by Mr Andrews, the owner of Rivington Hall, whose\n     family have for many generations--with, perhaps, one\n     interruption only--had it in possession.\n\n\nThe evening was still and sultry. The clear and glowing daylight was\ngone, exchanged for the dull, hazy, and depressing atmosphere of a\nsummer's night. The cricket chirped in the walls, and the beetle\nhummed his drowsy song, wheeling his lumbering and lazy flight over\nthe shorn meadows.\n\n\n[Illustration: RIVINGTON PIKE.\n_Drawn by G. Pickering.\n_ _Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\nIt was about harvest-time--the latter end of August. The moors were\nclothed in their annual suit of gay and thickly-clustered blossoms,\nbut their bloom and freshness was now faded. Here and there a sad\nforetokening of dingy brown pervaded the once glowing brilliancy of\ntheir dye, like a suit of tarnished finery on some withering and\ndilapidated beau.\n\nA party of sportsmen had that day taken an unusually wide range upon\nthe moors, stretching out in wild and desolate grandeur through the\nvery centre of the county, near the foot of which stands the populous\nneighbourhood of Bolton-le-Moors. Rivington Pike, an irregularly\nconical hill rising like a huge watch-tower from these giant masses of\nirreclaimable waste, is a conspicuous and well-known object, crowned\nby a stone edifice for the convenience of rest and shelter to those\nwhom curiosity urges to the fatigue and peril of the ascent. The view\nfrom this elevated spot, should the day be favourable, certainly\nrepays the adventurer; but not unfrequently an envious mist or a\npassing shower will render these efforts unavailing, to scan the wide\ncreation--or rather but a circlet of that creation--from an\ninsignificant hillock, scarcely an atom in the heap of created matter,\nthat is itself but as a grain of dust in the vast space through which\nit rolls. But to our tale, or rather, it may be, to our task--for the\nauthor is now sitting in his study, with the twilight of as dull,\nhazy, and oppressive an atmosphere about him as beset our adventurous\nsportsmen at the close of their campaign; enervating and almost\nparalysing thought; the veriest foe of \"soaring fantasy,\" which the\nmere accident of weather will prevent from rising into the region\nwhere she can reign without control, her prerogative unquestioned and\nunlimited.\n\nThe party to whom we have just referred consisted of three\nindividuals, with their servants, biped and quadruped, from whom their\nmasters derived the requisite assistance during their useful and\narduous exploits--the results being conspicuous in the death of some\ndozen or two of silly grouse or red game, with which these hills are\ntolerably well supplied during the season. But alas! we are not\nsportsmen ourselves, and bitterly do we lament that we are unable to\ndescribe the desperate conflict, and the mighty issues of that\nmemorable day; the hopes, fears, and _fire-escapes_ of the whole\nparty: the consumption of powder, and the waste of flint, or the\ncomparative merits of Moll and Rover, we shall not attempt to set\nforth in our \"_veritable prose_,\" lest we draw down the wrath of some\ndisappointed fowler upon us for meddling with matters about which we\nare so lamentably ignorant, and we are afraid to say, in some measure,\nwilfully deficient. To the spoils, when obtained, it may be that we\nare less indifferent; and we hail, with favourable reminiscences and\nanticipations, the return of another 12th of August--an era which we\nwould earnestly and affectionately beseech our friends to remember\nlikewise, for purposes too interesting in the history of our domestic\narrangements to allow them willingly to forget.\n\nBut the August in which our narrative opens was many years ago--though\nnot precisely in the olden time--when the belief in old-world fancies\nand delights was not in danger of being blazed out by \"diffusions of\nuseful knowledge,\" which \"useful\" knowledge consists in dissipating\nsome of our most pleasant dreams, our fondest and most cherished\nremembrances. We are afraid a writer of \"Traditions\" must be looked\nupon with inconceivable scorn by those worthies whose aim is to throw\nopen the portals of Truth to the multitude; or, as the phrase goes,\nshe is to be made plain to the \"meanest capacity.\" For our own parts,\nwe were never enamoured with that same despotic, hard-favoured,\ncross-grained goddess, Truth: she \"commendeth not\" to our fancy; nor\nin reality is she half so worthy of their homage as her ardent and\nenthusiastic worshippers imagine. We are more than ever inclined to\nbelieve that imagination is the great source of our pleasures; and in\nconsequence we look not with an eye of favour on those who would\npersuade us that our little hoard of enjoyment is counterfeit, not\nbeing the sterling coin of sovereign and \"immutable truth.\"\n\nLittle did we imagine or anticipate that we should be so deviously\nbetrayed from our subject. We never had the temerity to speak of\nourselves before. Thoughts, wishes, and opinions were studiously\nconcealed; and if we have been led unwarily and unintentionally from\nthe subject in this our concluding effort, that very circumstance\nalone is a sufficient warranty against a repetition of the offence.\n\nThe day was fast closing when the party had surmounted the last hill\non their return to the valley. For the sake of proximity, they had\nspent the previous night in a little way-side tavern at the foot of\nthe descent; and they now looked down towards the place of their\ndestination, still some weary miles distant--their prospect partly\ninterrupted by the huge hill called the Pike, of which we have before\nspoken. From the elevation whereon they now stood the ascent was but\nshort to the summit of the beacon, though somewhat abrupt and\ndifficult of access. When they had gained the ridge overlooking the\nvalley, with the flat and fertile tract of low lands stretching out\ninto the dark and apparently interminable vista towards the coast, the\nelder of the sportsmen exclaimed--\n\n\"Now, Mortimer, mayhap you have never seen a storm in our wilds; but,\nif my judgment err not, this happy event is in a very auspicious train\nfor accomplishment.\"\n\nThe speaker looked towards the south, where the grim clouds were\nalready accumulated, evidently pouring out a copious blessing in their\nprogress. From the direction of the wind they too were threatened with\na speedy participation.\n\n\"These summer storms always make for the hills,\" continued he; \"and,\nlooking yonder, I apprehend that we are precisely in the very line of\nits path.\"\n\n\"I do like to watch the gathering of a storm, Pilkington,\" replied\nMortimer. \"Surely the outpouring vials of its wrath must be\nterrifically sublime in these regions. I would not miss so glorious a\nsight for the world.\"\n\n\"In a snug shelter maybe at our hostelrie below, with a mug of the\nright barley-bree buzzing at our elbow--oat-cake and cheese\nconformable thereto.\"\n\n\"Nay, here; with the sky opening above our heads, and the broad earth\nreeking and weltering under the wide grasp of the tempest. See! how\nthe crooked lightning darts between the coiled clouds, like a swift\nmessenger from yon dark treasure-house of wrath!\"\n\nThis was said by a third individual, named Norton, a young man who\nlived in the neighbourhood; a friend and former school-fellow of the\npreceding speakers--only one of whom, Mortimer, resided in a distant\ncounty, and was on a visit with Norton for the first time.\n\n\"Like a train of gunpowder, perhaps, thou meanest, Norton?\" said the\nless enthusiastic Pilkington, whose residence, too, was but a few\nmiles distant; \"and, furthermore, I warn ye all, that unless we can\nhouse, and that right speedily, we shall have the storm about our\nheads, and maybe lose our way if the mist comes on, or get soused over\nhead and ears in some bog-trap. We'll climb yonder hill, Norton,\nwhence we may survey the broil and commotion from our 'watch-tower in\nthe skies,' under a tidy roof and a dry skin. Thou mayest tarry here\nan thou wilt, and offer thyself a sacrifice on these altars of Jupiter\nPluvius.\"\n\nThe whole party--dogs, helps, and servants--were soon sheltered in the\nlittle square tower upon the summit, and the predictions of the elder\nand more experienced of them were soon verified. Almost on the\nentrance of the last of the group came down the deluge in one broad\nsheet, an \"even-down pour,\" so loud and terrible, accompanied by a\nburst of hail, that they were threatened with an immediate invasion of\ntheir citadel through several crevices in both roof and windows.\n\nA peal of thunder, loud, long, and appalling, shook their shelter to\nits base. The very foundations of the hill seemed to rock with the\nconcussion. Their lofty tabernacle hung suspended in the very bosom of\nthe clouds, big with their forky terrors. The lightning began to hiss\nand quiver, and the sky to open its wide jaws above them, as though to\ndevour its prey. The roar and rattle of the wind and hail, mingled\nwith the crash and roll of the contending elements, made the stoutest\nof them tremble, and silenced several loud tongues that were generally\nthe foremost in jest and banter.\n\n\"Well, Norton,\" said Pilkington, \"I reckon you are not in the mind to\ntry a berth abroad in this rude atmosphere during such an angry and\nmerciless disposition of your deity. 'Tis a _melee_, I imagine, to\nyour heart's content.\"\n\n\"Norton is hearkening to these rude tongues that do speak so lustily!\"\nsaid Mortimer. \"He can, peradventure, interpret their mystic voice.\"\n\nNorton was in the attitude of intense and earnest expectation or\ninquiry; his head slightly turned and depressed on one side, the\nopposite ear raised, so as to catch the most distinct impressions of\nsound. His eyes might have been listening too, yet his vision was\nabsorbed, and apparently withdrawn from surrounding objects. He was\nstanding near the window, and the workings of his countenance\nbetrayed a strange and marvellous expression of wonder and anxiety.\n\nIt grew still darker, and the rain came down in torrents. The\nthunder-cloud, as though attracted by the height of their situation,\nkept hovering over the hill, and often seemed to coil round, and wrap\nthem in its terrific bosom. Night, they knew, was about setting in,\nbut they were still unable to issue forth without imminent danger. The\nthick cloud by which they were enveloped would have rendered it a\nhazardous attempt to proceed under any circumstances.\n\n\"We are in excellent condition for a night's lodging in our good\nfortalice,\" said Pilkington: \"it hath stood many a close siege from\nthe elements, and will abide a stouter brush before it yields.\"\n\n\"But surely the storm is too violent to continue. I hope we may\nventure out ere it be long,\" said Mortimer, anxiously.\n\n\"Maybe the clouds will either be driven off or disperse. Should a\nbreeze spring up from the west, which is not unusual after such a\nturbulent condition of the atmosphere, it will clear us rapidly from\nthese lumbering masses of almost impregnable vapour. I think Norton is\nstill in close communion with the elements. I can yet see his outline\nby the window. I thought the last flash lighted on his visage as\nthough it would tarry there a while ere it departed!\"\n\nThe servants were huddled in a corner by the door, sitting on the\nground, with the dogs between their legs; the timid animals, terrified\nexceedingly at every thunder-peal, and shivering, as though from cold\nand distress. Suddenly one of them began to growl; and a short, sharp\nbark from another, with eyes and ears turned towards the entrance,\nseemed to announce the approach of an intruder.\n\nThe brutes now stuffed their officious noses in the crevice beneath\nthe door, but immediately withdrew them, evidently in great terror, as\nthey slunk back, trembling and dismayed, to the opposite side of the\nchamber, where they crouched, as if to screen themselves from\ncorrection.\n\n\"What ails the cowards?\" exclaimed Norton, who had apparently observed\ntheir proceedings by the scanty light that was yet left.\n\n\"They are witch'd, I think,\" said one of the men; \"or they've seen, or\nhaply smelt, a boggart.\"\n\n\"'Tis o'er soon for such like gear; they stir not abroad before the\nbats and owls be gone to bed,\" said another.\n\n\"Ay! your common everyday sort o' breein' darena' show their bits o'\nwizen cheeks by daylight; but there be some 'at will abroad at all\nhours, without fear o' being laid by the parson. The '_Spectre\nHorseman_' I think they ca' him. I've heard my granam tell as how it\nfeared neither sunshine nor shade, but\"----\n\nHere the speaker's voice failed him, every eye and ear being turned\ntowards the entrance. There seemed to come a sound from without, as\nthough a horse were urged to the utmost of its speed, his clattering\nhoofs driven to the very threshold, and there he paused, awaiting some\ncommunication from those within.\n\n\"Nought living or breathing,\" cried Mortimer, \"could come that bent.\nPerch'd as we are on this tall steep summit, 'tis not possible\nfor\"----\n\n\"Hush!\" said Norton. \"I verily think 'tis some adventure which I must\nachieve. What if I should turn giant-killer; this invisible steed\nbeing sent for mine especial use, whereon I may ride, like Amadis or\nSir Lancelot, or any other knight or knave o' the pack, delivering\ndamsels, slaying dragons and old wicked magicians, by virtue of this\ngood right arm alone.\"\n\n\"Thou art a strange enthusiast, Norton,\" said Pilkington. \"Thy love of\nthe marvellous will sooner or later thrust thee into some ridiculous\nor perilous scrape, from which not all thy boasted prowess can deliver\nthee unshent.\"\n\n\"Hark!\" said one of the servants in a whisper. Is not that a knock?\"\n\nThe loud uproar of the elements had suddenly abated, and the sound,\nfrom whatever source it might arise, was distinctly audible to the\nwhole group. A dull hollow blow seemed to vibrate round the walls, as\nif they had been struck with some heavy instrument. They seemed to\nbreathe the very atmosphere of terror. A strange feeling, portentous\nand unaccountable, pervaded every bosom. The quadrupeds too crept\nbehind their masters for protection. Fear, like other strong and\nunreasonable impulses, rapidly becomes infectious. In all likelihood,\nthe mere mention of the Spectre Horseman, together with their novel\nand somewhat dangerous situation, had disposed their minds for the\nreception of any stray marvels, however ridiculous or improbable. Yet\nthis impression could not extend to the trembling brutes, evidently\nunder the influence of alarm, and from a similar source.\n\nAnother blow was heard, louder than before. Those who were nearest\ncrept farther from the entrance; but Norton, as though bent on some\nwild exploit, approached the door. He raised the latch, and, as it\nswung slowly back, most of the party beheld a figure on horseback,\nmotionless before the opening. From the height they occupied this\nmysterious visitor was depicted in a clear bold outline against a mass\nof red angry-looking clouds, towards the south-east, on the edge of\nwhich hung the broad disc of the moon breaking through \"Alps\" of\nclouds, her calm sweet glance fast dissipating the wrath that yet\nlowered on the brow of Heaven. The intruder wore a dark-coloured\nvestment; a low-crowned hat surmounted his figure. His steed was black\nand heavily built. Probably, from the position whence he was seen,\nboth horse and rider looked almost gigantic. Not a word was spoken.\nThe stranger stood apparently immovable, like some huge equestrian\nstatue, in the dim and mystic twilight.\n\nNorton's two friends were evidently astonished and alarmed, but he\nscarcely evinced any surprise; some superior and unknown source of\nexcitement overpowered the fear he might otherwise have felt. Silence\ncontinued for a few moments, the strange figure remaining perfectly\nstill. Pilkington approached nearer to his friend, who was yet\nstanding near the threshold, gazing intently on the vision before him.\nHe whispered a few words over Norton's shoulder.\n\n\"Knowest thou this stranger, Norton?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied with great earnestness and solemnity; \"years have\ngone by since I saw him. Thou never knewest mine uncle; but that is\nhe, or one sense hath turned traitor to the rest. This very night,\ntwelve years ago--it was just before I left home for school\"----His\nvoice now became inaudible to his friend, who observed him, after a\ngaze of inquiry on the stranger, suddenly disappear through the\nopening. The door was immediately closed by a loud and violent gust.\nFlying open again with the rebound, the figure of Norton was seen\nrapidly descending the hill towards the south-east, preceded by the\nmysterious horseman. The light was too feeble for enabling them to\nascertain the course they took; but it seemed probable that Norton\nwas away over the hills with the unknown messenger. Their first\nimpulse was to follow; but the impossibility of overtaking the\nfugitives, and the near approach of night, would have rendered it a\nvain and probably a perilous attempt. Looking anxiously down the dark\nravine where Norton had so strangely disappeared, Pilkington was\nstartled by a voice from behind; turning, he saw it was the man who\nhad previously dropped those mysterious hints about the \"Spectre\nHorseman,\" which now vividly recurred to his memory and imagination.\n\n\"Master,\" said this personage, respectfully touching his cap, \"you had\nbetter not follow.\"\n\n\"Follow!\" said Pilkington, as though bewildered; and the words were\nbut the echo of his thoughts; \"follow!--I cannot--yet why should we\nnot make the attempt?\"\n\n\"Step in, if you please, sir. I should not like to speak of it here.\"\nHe said this hurriedly, in a tone of deep anxiety and apprehension,\nlooking wistfully around and over the dark hills, fearful, apparently,\nthat others were listening. Pilkington obeyed, but with reluctance.\nThe door was cautiously latched; and to prevent the wind, which now\nbegan to rise in louder gusts, from bursting this crazy barrier, a\nheavy stone was laid to the threshold.\n\n\"It is--let me see\"--said Martin, counting the lapse upon his fingers;\n\"ay,--ten--eleven--'tis twelve years ago, on this very night, St\nBartlemy's Eve, my father, a hale old man at that time of day, some'at\ngiven, though, to hunting and fowling a bit o' moonlights--and a fine\npenny he made on't, for many a week, selling the birds at Manchester.\nWell, as I was saying;--one evening before dusk--the sun had but just\ncooled his chin i' the water away yonder--he trudged off wi' the dogs,\nCrab and Pincher--two as cunning brutes as ever ran afore a tail. They\nmight ha' known the errand they were going on, sneakin' about wi' such\nhang-dog looks, which they always took care to put on when t' ould man\nbegan to get ready for a night's foraging. They would follow at his\nheels, almost on their bellies, for fear o' being seen by the Squire's\nmen; but when fairly astart for the game, they could show as much\nbreeding as the best-trained pointer i' the parish. I am getting sadly\nwide o' my story, your honour; but I used to like the cubs dearly, and\nmany a time I have played with 'em when I wasn't a bit bigger than\nthemselves. They came to a sad end, sir, like most other rogues and\nthieves besides, and\"----\n\n\"But we are not getting an inch nearer the end of the story all this\ntime,\" said Pilkington.\n\n\"True, your honour; but I'll piece to it presently. I was a great\nlubberly lad, I know, and tented the cattle then upon the moors. Well,\non this same night, as I was saying, my mother and the rest were gone\nto bed, my father was upon the hills, and I was watching at home,\nthinkin' maybe of the next Michaelmas fair, and many a fine bit of fun\nthereby. The fire was gone out, but I had lighted a scrap of candle,\nwhich sweeled sadly down, I remember, in the socket. Well, just as I\nwas getting sleepy I heard a scratch, and then a whine at the door.\n'What's to do now,' thinks I, 'that the dogs are here again so soon?'\nan' without more ado, I lifted the latch, when, sure enough, it was\nthem, dirty draggled beasts, they might ha' bin possed through a\nslutch-pit. 'Where's yere master?' says I;--the things took no heed to\nme, but began licking themselves, an' tidying their nasty carcases,\ntill the house verily reek'd again. 'So, friends,' says I, 'if ye're\nfor that gait, you may as well take a turn i' the yard,' an' without\nmore ado, I bundled 'em off, with a sound kick into the bargain. Well,\nyou see, I hearkened till my ears crack'd for my father's foot; but I\nheard nought except the crickets, and the little brook that runs\nbehind the house, for everything was so still I could have heard a\nmouse stir. I opened the door, and looked out, I think, into as clear\nand mellow a night as ever gazed down from the sky upon our quiet\nhills. Then I went to the gate, and looked up the road which takes you\ninto the little glen by a short path, away up to the high meadows; but\nI could neither see him, nor hear any likelihood of his coming. I\ncould ha' told his footstep amongst a thousand, and his cough, too,\nfor that matter. I felt myself growing all of a shake, an' the very\nhairs seemed crawling over my head; a pea might have knocked me down,\nand, for the life of me, I durst not venture farther--it was something\nso strange that the dogs should come back without their master--I was\nsure some mischief had happened to him. All at once it jumped into my\nhead that he had stuck fast in some of these bogs or mosses, and the\nrascal curs had left him there instead of their own pitiful carcases;\nbut that my father should be so forefoughten as to let himself be\nnabbed in one of these bog-traps I could hardly believe. Yet the\ndogs--ay, there was the mischief--and the lurching ne'er-do-weels\ncoming back in such dismal pickle. I went back to the house, for I\ndurst not stay abroad; and yet, when I was indoors, I could not bide\nthere neither; so I walked up and down the house-flags, like as I waur\ndazed. I durst not go to bed; so there I was, and for a couple of\nhours too, in a roarin' pickle, that I would not be steeped in again\nfor a' the moorgates between here and Chorley.\"\n\n\"Go on;--we've no loitering time now,\" said Pilkington; \"thy story\nsticks fast, I fear, like thy father i' the bog.\"\n\n\"Why, I was but rincing the evil thoughts out of my mind, as it were,\nfor they come about me like a honey-swarm at the thoughts on't; and I\ndon't just like their company at present, it minds me o' the time when\nthis plaguy chance befell my father.\"\n\n\"He did not tarry away for good and all, I reckon?\"\n\n\"You shall hear, sir, if you but gie me a taste o' the flask; for I\nfeel just like to go into a swoon, or some tantrum or another.\"\n\nMartin took a strong pull at the bottle, and, thus refreshed, he\nresumed his story.\n\n\"Well, you see as how I waited, and my mind was like as it might ha'\nbeen set on a pismire hillock, I waur so uneasy. The dogs, too, began\nto howl pitifully at the door, so I let the poor things in for a bit\no' company. I had not waken'd mother; for I kept thinking I'd wait a\nwhile longer, and a while longer, as I never in all my life liked to\nbring bad news. Well, it might be about two or three hours I went on\nat that gait, an' just as I was pondering as to whether I should go\nup-stairs or not, I heard something come with a quick step through the\ngate and up the flags to the door. It was not like father's foot,\nneither; it was so terrible sharp and hasty. I felt as if I'd been\nstrucken of a heap. My knees shook an' dither'd as if I'd had the\nague. Up goes the latch; for I could not stir--I was holden fast to\nthe floor. The door bangs open in a fearfu' hurry, and in comes my\nfather, as though 'Legion' had been at his heels. He looked pale, and\nalmost fleered out of his wits, so I made sure he had seen the bogle\nthat my granam used to frighten us with. 'Father, father,' says I, as\nsoon as I could speak, 'what's happened? ha' ye seen it?' He did not\nsay a word, but sat down in the big rocking-chair by t' hob-end, when\nhe tilted his head back, and began swingin' back'ard and for'ard,\nmoaning all the while as if he waur in great trouble. I looked at him,\nas well as I could, for I had lighted a whole candle a while before. I\nsat down, too, and not another word could I say. But, my conscience!\nwhat a racket the dogs made when they saw him! They jumped, and\nfrisked, and almost cried for joy, as though they had gi'en him up for\nlost, and were desperately fain, poor things, at his return. The first\nword he spoke was to these dummies; for they whined, wriggled, and\nwagged their tails, and licked his fingers, enough to have drawn words\nfrom a stone wa'. 'Ay, ay, ye sneaking rascals,' said he, 'ye left me\nwi' yere tails down low enough, and as fast as your legs could lilt ye\noff, when I was forefoughten wi''----Here he looked round, with a face\nso dismal and disturbed that I verily think I should not forget it if\nI waur at my last shrift. Taking this opportunity, as I may say, I\nventured a word or so. The old man gave me another of those terrible\nlooks before he spoke--'Eh, me!' said he, 'my days are but few now, I\nreckon. I've seen the'----He stopped and looked round again; then he\nsaid, almost in a whisper--'I've seen him, Martin!' 'I thought so,'\nsays I. 'I've seen the ould one, I believe,' says he; 'an' that's more\nnor I'll like to do again, or thee either. We've done wi' our\nnight-work now, an' the dogs may just go where they can get an honest\nbellyful.' You may be sure I was sadly fear'd. I durst not ask him how\nit happened that he should have snappered upon old Sootypaws; but in a\nwhile he saved me the speerin', and, as well as I can think, this was\nthe account of his misadventure:--\n\n\"'I was goin' up by the Pike,' said he, 'and a brave shower of\nmoonlight there was, weltering on the side of the hill, when, just as\nI got behind it there in the shadow, I thought I saw somethin' big and\nblack standing among a little clump of gorses afore me. I felt started\na somehow, but I rubb'd my forehead and eyes, and looked again. It did\nnot shift, so I thought I might as well make the best o' the matter,\nan' went for'ard without altering my speed. Well, what should I see\nwhen I got nearer, but a great spanking black horse, and a littleish\nman upon it, who seemed just waiting till I came up. I stood still\nwhen I got within a yard or two, expecting he would speak first, for I\nthought as how it might be some poor body belike that had lost his\nway in crossing the moors. But he did not say a word, which I thought\nmighty uncouth and uncivil. So making my best speech for the once,\nthough fearful it was some fellow watching to waylay me, I asked him\ncivilly how he did, and so on. Then I asked if he waur in want of a\nguide over the hills any way. The thing here set up a great rollickin'\nhorse laugh, that frightened my father worse than anything he said;\nbut he durst not turn back for fear he might follow, and happen to\ncatch him as he ran, so he stood still, dithering like a top all the\nwhile.\n\n\"'Canst show me the road to the Two Lads?'[19] he ask'd, as soon as he\nhad gotten his laugh out.\n\n\"'That can I,' says my father, 'as well as anybody i' the parish.' 'On\nwith thee, then,' says the devilkin, 'and don't mind picking your way,\nfriend, for my horse can tread a bog without wetting a hair of his\nfoot.' My father walked on, but the dogs kept a wary eye towards the\nstranger, he thought, and hung their tails, an' slunk behind, like as\nthey were mightily afeard on him. But it wasn't long afore my father\nbegan to wonder within himself what this unlikely thing could want\nthere at the Two Lads, which, as you know, is scarcely two miles off\nyonder, and on the highest and ugliest part of the whole commoning; a\nplace, too, which is always said to have a bad name sticking to it. He\ndurst not ask him his business though, and they went on without\nspeaking, until the Two Lads were just peeping out before them into\nthe clear soft moonlight. 'There they are,' said my father; 'and now\nI'll bid your honour good-night.' 'Stay,' said his companion: 'I may\nwant you a little while yet, so budge on, if you please.' Somehow my\nfather felt as though he durst not refuse, and however loth to such\ncompany, he trudged away till they came together to the spot. 'Now,'\nsays the little gentleman, 'lift up that big heap of stones there, and\nI'll tell you what to do with them.' 'Sir,' says my father, 'you are\nin jest, belike.' 'Not a bit of it,' replied the other; 'see, 'tis\neasy as flying.' Wi' that he leaps off his horse, and at one stroke of\nhis switch, up they went, jump, jump, jump, like a batch of crows from\na corn-field. The dogs set up a fearful howl, and, without once\nturning to see what was behind them, set off helter-skelter through\nbog and bush for the nearest, and left my father to himself with the\nfoul fiend. All at once it popped into his head the tales he had once\nheard about the '_Spectre Horseman_,' that was said to ramble about\nthese hills, sometimes in the air, sometimes on the ground, like the\ndark clouds and their shadows upon the soft grass, without ever a\nfootprint. My poor father could have wished the ground to gape and\nswallow him, he said, he was so frightened. Where the stones had been\nthere was a great hole gaping, like one of the mouths of the\nbottomless pit, and try how he would, he could not turn away his eyes\nfrom it. 'That's the place,' said this fearful thing; but my father\nwas ready to cower down with terror. He could not speak, but he\nthought he saw a great long black arm thrust out of the hole. 'Take\nwhat he gives thee,' says Blackface, 'and make haste.' But he might\nas well have spoken to the whins and gorses, for the chance of being\nobeyed. 'Take it!' said this ill-tongued limb of Old Harry, in a voice\nlike thunder. But my father could not stir, and then there waur\nshrieks, yells, and moans, and such noises as he had never heard. The\ncreature looked angry, and full of venom as a toad. 'I shall miss my\ntime,' said he; and with that he began to listen, for there came the\nsound of footsteps on the dark heather, and then the ugly thing did\nlaugh for very gladness. 'Go, fool,' he cried, 'here comes one better\nthan thee;' and with that he lent my father a kick that might have\nsent him across the valley, at a moderate calculation, had he not\nremembered an old witch charm which he mumbled as he fell. How long he\nlay there, and what happened the while, he did not know, but when he\nawoke, he saw the heap was in its place again, the moon looking down\nbright and beautiful as ever, as if she thought nothing particular had\ntaken place. He could hardly persuade himself that he had not dreamed\nan ugly dream, until he remembered the spot, and how he had been\nenticed, or rather forced there against his will. You may be sure he\nmade the best of his way home again, where he came in the condition I\nhave just told you. Not many days after we heard that a gentleman of\nno mean condition, that lived not many miles off--I have forgotten\nhis name--and who was supposed to be crossing the hills on that very\nnight, was lost. He never appeared afterwards. It was generally\nthought he was swallowed up in some bog, but my father always believed\nthat he had fallen into the clutches of that Evil One, from whom he\nhimself had escaped but with the skin of his teeth. From that time to\nhis dying day was he never known to ramble on the moors again; an\naltered man he became, sure enough, and our big Bible, with the\npictures in it, was brushed fro' the dust. He might be seen with the\nbook upon his knee at the doorstone on a summer's night, and the\nthird bench from the Squire's pew at Blackrod church never missed a\ntenant till my father was laid quietly down in the churchyard.\"\n\nDuring this recital there had been a close and almost breathless\nattention. As he concluded a buzz of agitation pervaded the group; not\na word was spoken for a little while until Pilkington exclaimed,\nslowly passing one hand over his brow--\n\n\"A marvellous delivery, which I might have been disposed to treat like\nother marvels, had not our own senses in some measure left with us a\nshow of truth, or probability at least, about the adventure, which,\nfor my own part, I find it difficult to throw off. Exaggerated and\nfull of improbabilities, I admit, yet the story hath some substratum\nof truth, no doubt by which it is supported. What it is, would be\ndifficult to ascertain, but the mystery or misapprehension, whatever\nit be, shall be cleared up, and that speedily.\"\n\n\"Doubtless,\" said Mortimer; \"but first let us return to our lodging.\nMarvels, being in the inverse ratio to truth, always appear greatest\nat a distance; and when the explanation comes, we may perhaps smile at\nour present embarrassment. The riddle is easy when solved.\"\n\n\"True; but how is that to be accomplished?\"\n\n\"Let us return to our quarters; we may perhaps find that our companion\nhas arrived there before us.\"\n\nPilkington shook his head incredulously. Indeed the whole affair had\nmade a much greater impression upon him than he was willing to allow,\neven to himself.\n\nThe moon lighted them on their path as they took the nearest route to\ntheir temporary sojourn. Many a cautious glance was cast behind, and\nmany a dark stone or bush--many a grotesque shadow--assumed the form\nthey feared to encounter. They arrived at their dwelling without\nmolestation, but--Norton was not there!\n\n\"Here is foul play somewhere,\" said Mortimer thoughtfully. \"Think you,\nPilkington, that we could find out our way in this quiet moonshine to\nthat same 'Two Lads' which Martin pointed out? I fancy the louts we\nhave about us durst not venture thither. Indeed I think it may be\nprudent to go unattended on several accounts.\"\n\n\"That is my opinion,\" said Pilkington; \"and as for poking out the way,\nI can do that readily. I cannot rest without making the attempt, at\nany rate.\"\n\n\"Let us not create any alarm, but steal quietly off when we have\nrefreshed ourselves,\" said Mortimer; \"we need not tell them of our\nintent.\"\n\n\"It were best,\" replied Pilkington, \"that we give these knaves a\ncaution first that they bruit not forth the adventure at present, or\nuntil we have more exact information as to the nature of the\nproceedings it may be needful to adopt.\"\n\nIt was not long ere they commenced their journey, traversing the\nhill-path in the requisite direction. By day, the pillars are easily\nseen from some parts of the valley below, and Pilkington had\nfrequently passed them in crossing the moors. A pretty accurate notion\nof their bearing was thus formed from the point whence they started.\n\nThe greater part of the way was trodden in silence. The rivulets were\nswollen with the heavy rains, and great care was necessary to attain\ntheir object in safety. The path was not devoid of danger at any time,\nby reason of the spongy and uncertain nature of the bogs, accumulated\nmasses of spumous unhealthy vegetation, showing patches of bright\ngreen verdure, holding water often to an unknown depth, and sometimes\nproving fatal to those who dare to venture upon this deceitful and\nperilous surface. By using great caution, and carefully ascertaining\nthe nature of the ground before them, they passed on, without further\ninconvenience than that of wading through bogs and ditches, climbing\nstone-walls and embankments, aided by the uninterrupted light of a\nblazing harvest-moon.\n\nThey had now accomplished the most fatiguing part of the ascent, the\ndark heathery crown of the mountain, whereon the moonbeams lay so\nbeautiful, as though nature were one vast region of universal\nsilence, for ever unbroken and undisturbed. It was like gazing on a\nstatue--there was the semblance of life, but all was silent and\nmotionless, the very stillness startling like a spectre.\n\nSoon they had passed through the creaking heather-bushes on the\nsummit, when they saw two rude pillars peeping up from the dark line\nof the horizon before them. A sensation, not unallied to fear, passed\nwith a sudden thrill across the deep, unseen sources of feeling--the\nsealed fountains of the spirit. They felt as though entering on\nmysterious or forbidden ground. The hour--the circumstances which led\nto their present situation--their companion's recent and unaccountable\ndisappearance, and the prevalent superstitions connected with this\nsolitary spot--all contributed to their present alarms with a force\nand poignancy unusual, and even appalling. They almost expected the\n\"_Spectre Horseman_\" to rush by, or to rise up suddenly before them,\nand forbid their further progress into his domains.\n\n\"I am not prone to pay much heed either to marvels or superstitions,\nand yet\"----said Mortimer, again pausing after a long silence.\n\n\"Why,\" said Pilkington, \"the very air feels rank with mystery.\nWhatever may be the cause, I never felt more i' the mood for an hour\nof devotion in my life.\"\n\n\"We may both have need for the exercise ere we depart hence, or my\nthoughts misgive me,\" replied Mortimer.\n\n\"It may be the mystery connected with our expedition which operates in\nits own nature upon the mind,\" said Pilkington. \"I feel, as it were,\nevery faculty impressed with some fearful and indissoluble spell. An\natmosphere, impervious, and almost impalpable, seems to oppress the\nspirit. Surely we are on the trail of some demon, and his subtle\ninfluence is about us.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Mortimer, starting aside with a shudder, as though a\nserpent stung him.\n\n\"Heardest thou aught, Mortimer?\"\n\n\"I thought there was a rushing past my ear.\"\n\n\"I heard it too,\" replied Pilkington, in a low and agitated tone; \"but\nI heard more, Mortimer. A voice, methought, distinct as thine own,\nswept by: '_Go not_,' was faintly uttered. I am sure I heard the\nwords.\"\n\n\"This place affects me strangely,\" said Mortimer; \"but I will not go\nback, though the very jaws of the pit were to interpose.\"\n\nSuddenly a mist gathered about them, not an unusual circumstance in\nthese mountain regions, but a sufficiently portentous one to fasten\nstrongly upon their imaginations, already predisposed to invest every\nappearance, however trivial, or according to the common course of\nevents, with supernatural terrors. A gust of wind soon curled the\nvapour into clouds, which swept rapidly on; sometimes with the\nmoonlight through their shattered rifts, then dark and impervious,\nshutting out the whole hemisphere, and wrapping them as with a cloak.\nStill they kept on their way, slowly, but in the direction, as near as\nthey could ascertain, towards the place where they hoped to find some\nclue to their search. They felt convinced, though neither of them\ncould state the nature of their convictions, that the mystery would\nhere terminate.\n\nThe wind came on now in heavier and more continuous gusts, like the\ndistant rumble of the ocean. They fancied other sounds were audible in\nthe blast; yells and howlings that seemed to approach nearer with\nevery successive impulse. A sound, like the rush of wings, brushed\npast them, and, instinctively, they grasped each other by the arm. A\nmoan was distinctly heard; then another, louder and more terrible. A\ncry of agony succeeded, then a shriek, so loud and appalling that a\ncry of horror involuntarily burst from their lips.\n\n\"Save us, Father of Mercy!\"\n\nIt was the cry of faith; a look fixed upon Him \"who is not slow to\nhear, nor impotent to save.\" The cloud rolled suddenly away,\nunfolding, as though for the disclosure of some mighty pageant. They\nsaw before them, and within a very few paces, the dark, heavy pillars,\nlooking more black and hideous in the garish light by which they were\nseen. A cloud or mist seemed to have rolled, as suddenly, from their\nmental vision; a weight was removed from their apprehensions. They\nfelt as though scarcely acting, previously, as free agents, but\nimpelled by some unseen power, to which every faculty and every\nthought was in thraldom.\n\nBeside one of the heaps lay a figure, prostrate and motionless. It was\nthe death-like form of Norton! He was, to all appearance, lifeless,\nwith hands clenched, and his whole attitude betokening some recently\ndesperate and painful struggle. They tried to arouse him, and a\ncordial with which they moistened his lips produced some slight\nsymptoms of returning consciousness; but the spark disappeared with\nthe breath that fanned it. The safest plan was evidently to attempt\nhis removal. With as little delay as possible they bore him gently\nbetween them; and as the first streak of daylight was dawning over the\nhills, they had the satisfaction to see him safely disposed of in\ntheir little hostelrie, whither a surgeon was speedily summoned from\nthe adjacent village. He was yet insensible, but life was not extinct;\nthe medical attendant pronouncing him in great jeopardy, from some\nviolent struggle and exertion, both of body and mind. Rest, and the\nmost careful attention, were absolutely necessary, lest, with\nreturning consciousness, reason should be disturbed, and the mind\nremain bewildered from the agitation previously undergone.\n\nFor several weeks this unfortunate victim, as they supposed, to his\nown vague and supernatural terrors, lay without showing the slightest\nsymptom of recognition. Groans and incoherent murmurs, after long\nintervals of silence, proclaimed that life was yet lingering on the\nthreshold of the tabernacle, unwilling for her flight. A cry of terror\nwould sometimes break forth, and his whole frame become violently\nconvulsed, while he seemed to exhaust himself in struggles to escape.\n\nWe will not prolong the recital, nor is it needful to relate how the\nfirst light glimpse broke through the clouds that had so long veiled\nhis spirit. Fearful were the first awakenings of the soul. Like the\nlast dread summons, it was not an awakening from oblivion. Every\nfaculty wore the dark impress of terror, though he remained apparently\nunconscious of the interval that had passed.\n\nPilkington and his friend were unremitting in their attentions. The\nissue was long doubtful; but in the end he recovered from the dread\nhallucination under which he laboured.\n\nWith restored health, he disclosed, to them only, the events which had\noccurred in the brief interval of their separation.\n\n\"I think I before told you,\" said he, reluctantly commencing the\nnarrative, \"that the figure who appeared so mysteriously at the door\nof our temporary shelter on the hill wore the very image of my uncle,\nwhom you never knew, Pilkington. You may conceive that my surprise was\nexcessive, though I cannot say that I felt so; but it will, in some\nmeasure, account for my apparent rashness and eager determination to\nfollow, when I inform you that it was just twelve years previously, on\nthat self-same night, the eve of St Bartlemy, when his unaccountable\ndisappearance on these moors, of which I have before spoken, threw\nconsternation and distress into the hitherto peaceful and happy\ncommunity with which he was associated. I need not recount the family\ndisasters and disagreements which his mysterious absence has\noriginated. No trace was left of his disappearance; nor could his body\never be discovered. The night prior to our excursion I saw him; but it\nwas in a dream. This circumstance, together with the place and the\nvery time, twelve years since his departure, was the cause of my\napparent thoughtfulness and abstraction prior to the appearance of our\nmysterious visitor. I felt an apathy; and, at the same time, a load\nupon my spirits for which I could not account. I remember that I was\nscarcely alarmed, or even surprised, when he presented himself; and\nthat I felt as though I had been waiting for his arrival--more under\nthe bewildering influence of a dream than the sober conceptions of\nwaking truth. I made no doubt but that the mystery would now be\nelucidated. I followed the retreating horseman, who, I saw, beckoned\nme forward, and occasionally seemed to chide my tardiness and want of\nspeed. I could not hear his voice, but I thought he pronounced my\nname. He descended the hill with considerable haste, and it was with\ndifficulty that I could now keep him in sight. Fully bent on the\ndiscovery, I resolved, if possible, let the consequence be what it\nmight, that I would follow. The storm had suddenly abated, and the\nclouds were rolling off in broken masses through the calm ether, from\nwhich the moon crept out, by whose aid I hoped to keep in view the\nobject of my pursuit.\n\n\"The path he now took led up the ascent on the opposite hill. I\nclambered up with some difficulty, but the flying horseman before me\nseemed to accomplish the work without either hesitation or\ninconvenience. He waited for me when he had surmounted the steepest\npart of the acclivity, and I grew more and more convinced that it was\nmy uncle's form, as I had seen him in my boyhood. Memory was\nsufficiently tenacious on this head; and knowing the great need, as it\nconcerned family affairs, that his fate should be clearly ascertained,\nI braved all hazards, and still followed this mysterious conductor. I\ndo not recollect I felt any apprehension that I was following a\nsupernatural guide; or that it might possibly be a phantom who was\nluring me on to misery and destruction. The mild, benevolent aspect\nof my relative was before me, and I could not associate an idea of\ndanger with the guide and protector of my youth.\n\n\"As I gained the brow of the hill I saw the dark form of the horseman\ndilated upon the wide, bare, uninterrupted horizon, in almost gigantic\nproportions. It might be the distance that caused this illusion, but\nthe huge black horse appeared to wax in magnitude with every step, and\nto become more fiend-like and terrible. Still I followed, and ere long\nI beheld the two pillars unto which our course was evidently tending.\nThey seemed to rise up from the earth like huge giants waiting for\ntheir prey. My guide, whom I had previously attempted to overtake,\nstood still when he reached them, awaiting my approach. With feelings\nstrangely akin to those of an ill-fated victim, urged by some\nresistless fascination into the very jaws of his destroyer, I drew\nnearer to the object of my hopes and apprehensions. I recognised the\nvery dress my uncle wore on ordinary occasions, and the strong\nsquare-built form that in my childhood I was accustomed to view with a\nparental regard. Yet was I disquieted with alarm and agitation.\nHorrible images rushed upon my brain. I seemed to be the sport and\nprey of some power I could not withstand--a power that apparently\nmight wield my very faculties at his will, and had already taken the\nreins of self-government into his own keeping. I began to fancy that\nit was some terrible vision by which I was harassed; and I well\nremember it was the precise feeling that haunts us in our dreams when\na horrible doom is approaching from which apparently there is no\nescape; and yet we feel as though assured some way will be opened for\nour deliverance. While we endure all the horrors of our situation, we\nknow of a surety that our miseries shall soon terminate. Yet a cloud\nwas gathering upon my soul, and objects assumed another hue seen\nthrough its wild and chaotic elements. With all the vagueness and\nuncertainty of a dream, I felt that I was awake!\n\n\"'Dost thou know me?' said the mysterious inquirer, in a tone which I\nimmediately recognised. Still there was an awful and thrilling\nemphasis in the expression which alarmed me more than before.\n\n\"'I know you,' I replied, 'as the friend and guardian of my youth;\nbut--to what end am I called hither, and why are you thus?'\n\n\"'My path is hidden!' said he, in a voice terrible and foreboding.\n\n\"'Tell me, where have you been? Is this your habitation?\nunless'--shuddering, I added in a low but energetic tone--'unless you\nare some evil one that hath ta'en his semblance to lure me to my\nhurt.'\n\n\"'When the moon rides o'er the blue south 'tis midnight; I will then\nreveal what thou hast desired, and the purpose of my coming.'\n\n\"'Art thou really he whose form thou bearest? Answer truly, as thou\ndost hope for my stay.'\n\n\"'I am!' he replied, in a tone so like that of my uncle that I was now\nsatisfied his very form was before me. Conjecture was vain as to the\nmotives that prompted this long and extraordinary concealment.\n\n\"'Promise, Norton, that thou wilt tarry here until my return!'\n\n\"'I will; but give me some pledge, some proof that thy being is real;\nthat thou comest not as a phantom to delude my hopes.'\n\n\"He stretched out his hand. I again felt the warm pressure of my\nearliest friend, whom I had so long mourned as dead. I would have\nembraced him, but he shrunk back, and I saw the black steed again\npreparing and impatient to depart.\n\n\"'Remember,' said he, in a hollow voice, 'at midnight I will return.'\n\n\"I leaned against the stone, determined to await the arrival of my\nmysterious relative, who would, I was convinced, on his return\nsatisfactorily elucidate his proceedings. Occupied with vain surmises\nand reflections, time passed on almost unperceived; and ere I was\naware the black steed was at my side. The rider suddenly dismounted. I\ndrew back, instinctively, as he approached; for I saw, in the still\nclear light of the unclouded moon, his countenance hideously distorted\nand almost demoniacal in its expression.\n\n\"'Thou art mine!' said he, laying one hand upon my shoulder; 'and thou\nshall know too soon my terrible secret.' He came nearer; I felt his\nbreath upon my face; it was hot and even scorching; I was unable to\nresist; he clung round me like a serpent; his eyes shot livid fire,\nand his lips--hideous, detestable thought--his lips met mine! His\nwhole spirit seemed diffusing itself throughout my frame. I thought my\nbody was destined to be the habitation of some accursed fiend--that I\nwas undergoing the horrid process of demoniacal possession! Though\ngasping, almost suffocating, for I could not disengage myself from his\ndeadly fangs, I exerted my utmost strength. One cry was to Heaven, but\nit was the last; the soul seemed to have exhausted herself with the\neffort. All subsequent and sensible impressions vanished; and I\nremember nothing save horrible incoherent dreams, wherein I was the\nsport and prey of demons, or my own body the dwelling-place of some\never-restless and malicious fiend! From the long night of\ninsensibility that ensued I would be thankful that reason has awaked\nwithout injury; and though fearful beyond the common lot of mortals\nhas been my destiny, yet I would render homage to that Power whose\nmight rescued me from the very grasp of the Evil One!\"\n\nThe listeners were appalled, horror-struck beyond measure, at this\nfearful narrative. Its mysteries they could not solve by any reference\nto the usual course of natural events; no key that nature holds would\nunlock this dark and diabolical mystery. To his dying day Norton\nfirmly believed that his uncle's body was the abode of some foul\nspirit, permitted to sojourn upon earth only on the fearful condition\nthat he should effect his entrance, at stated periods, into a living\nhuman frame, whose proper occupant he might be able to dispossess for\nthis horrible purpose. Many circumstances would seem to corroborate\nthis belief. The adventure of the old poacher, in particular,\nhappening precisely on the night of his uncle's disappearance, led\nNorton to conclude that the foul fiend was obliged to renew his\nhabitation upon every twelfth return of the holy festival of St\nBartholomew. That a solution so inconsistent with our belief in the\nconstant care and control of an all-wise and an all-powerful\nProvidence was incorrect, we need not be at any pains to prove in this\nera of widely-disseminated knowledge and intelligence. Still, a\nmystery, inscrutable under the ordinary operations of nature, appears\nto hang over the whole proceeding, and though a legend only, yet the\nevents bear a wonderful semblance and affinity to truth, even in their\nwildest details.\n\nIt is said that the \"_Spectre Horseman_\" appeared no more, and that\nhaving failed in fulfilling the terms by which his existence upon\nearth was, from time to time, permitted and prolonged, he was driven\nto his own place, where he must abide for ever the doom of those\nkindred and accursed spirits whose aim it is continually to seduce and\nto destroy.\n\n     [19] The Two Lads are heaps of loose stones, about\n     ten or twelve feet in height, set up, as the story goes, to\n     commemorate the death of two shepherd boys, who were found on\n     the spot after a long search, missing their way during a heavy\n     fall of snow. The tale is most probably incorrect; these mural\n     monuments have been gradually accumulated by the passers-by;--a\n     custom handed down from the most remote ages, and still\n     observed as an act of religious worship in the East. There is\n     little doubt but they are remnants yet lingering amongst us of\n     the \"altars upon every high hill,\" once dedicated to Baal, or\n     Bel, the great object of Carthaginian or Phoenician worship,\n     from which our Druidical rites were probably derived.\n\n\n\n\nMOTHER RED-CAP; OR, THE ROSICRUCIANS.\n\nA LEGEND OF THE NORTH.\n\n\nPART THE FIRST.\n\nIn the wild and mountainous region of East Lancashire, at the foot of\nthe long line of hills called Blackstonedge, and not far from the town\nof Rochdale, stood one of those old grim-looking mansions, the abode\nof our Saxon ancestors; a quiet, sheltered nest, where ages and\ngenerations had alike passed by. The wave of time had produced no\nchange; the name and the inheritance were the same, and seemingly\ndestined to continue unaltered by the mutations, the common lot of all\nthat man labours to perpetuate. This state of things existed at the\ndate of our story; now, alas! the race of its former possessors is\nextinct, their name only remains a relic of things that were--their\nformer mansion standing,[20] as if in mockery, amidst the hum of\nwheels, and in melancholy contrast with the toil and animation of this\nmanufacturing, money-getting district.\n\nBuckley Hall, to which we allude, is still an object of interest to\nthe antiquary and the lover of romance, telling of days that are for\never departed, when the lords of these paternal acres were the\noccupants, not impoverishers, of the soil from unrecorded\nages--constituting a tribe, a race of sturdy yeomanry attached to\ntheir country and to the lands on which they dwelt. But they are nigh\nextinct--other habits and other pursuits have prevailed. Profuse\nhospitality and rude benevolence have given place to habits of\nbusiness as they are called, and to a more calculating and\nenterprising disposition. The most ancient families have become\nabsorbed or overwhelmed by the mighty progress of this new element,\nthis outpouring of wealth as from some unseen source; and in many\ninstances their names only are recognised in these old and rickety\nmansions, now the habitation of the mechanic and the plebeian.\n\nMany of these dwellings remain--a melancholy contrast to the trim\nerections, the symbols of a new race, along with new habits and forms\nof existence, sufficiently testifying to the folly and the vain\nexpectations of those who toil and labour hard for a long lease with\nposterity.\n\nThis mansion, like the rest of our ancestral dwellings of the better\nsort, was built of wood, on a stone basement. The outside structure\ncuriously vandyked in a zigzag fashion with wooden partitions, the\ninterstices were filled with wicker-work, plastered with well-tempered\nclay, to which chopped straw imparted additional tenacity. When newly\nembellished, looking like the pattern, black and white, of some\ndiscreet magpie perched on the wooden pinnacles terminating each\ngable, or hopping saucily about the porch--that never-failing adjunct\nto these homely dwellings. Here, on a well-scoured bench, the master\nof the house would sit in converse with his family or his guests,\nenjoying the fresh and cheering breeze, without being fully exposed to\nits effects. The porch was universally adopted as a protection to the\nlarge flagged hall called the \"house-part,\" which otherwise might have\nbeen seriously incommoded by the inclement atmosphere of these bleak\ndistricts. On one side of the hall, containing the great fireplace,\nwas the \"guest parlour.\" Here the best bed was usually fixed; and\nhere, too, all great \"occasions\" took place. Births, christenings,\nburials--all emanated from, or were accomplished in, this family\nchamber. Every member was there transmitted from the cradle to the\ngrave. The low wide oaken stairs, to the first bending of which an\nactive individual might have leaped without any such superfluous\nmedia. The naked gallery, with its little quaint doors on each side,\nhatched in the usual fashion, this opening into the store-room, that\ninto the servants' lodging, another into the closet where the choicest\nconfections were kept. Opposite were the bed-chambers, and at the\nextremity of the gallery a ladder generally pointed the way to a loft,\nwhere, amongst heaps of winter stores, dried roots, and other\nvegetables, probably reposed one or two of the male servants on a\nstraw mattress, well fortified from cold by an enormous quilt.\n\nOur description will apply with little variation to all. We love\nthese deserted mansion-houses that speak of the olden time, its good\ncheer and its rude but pleasant intercourse; times and seasons that\nare for ever gone, though we crave pardon for indulging in what may\nperhaps find little favour in the eyes of this generation, whose hopes\nand desires are to the future, who say the past is but the childhood\nof our existence: it is gone, and shall not return. But there are yet\nsome who love to linger on the remnants, the ruins of a former state,\nwho look at these time-honoured relics but as links that bring them\ninto closer communion with bygone ages, and would fain live in the\ntwilight of other years rather than the meridian splendour of the\npresent. But we must not be seduced any further by these reflections;\nour present business concerns the legend whose strange title stands at\nthe head of this article.\n\nIn one of the upper chambers at Buckley Hall before named, and not\nlong ago, was an iron ring fixed to a strong staple in the wall; and\nto this ring a fearful story is still attached. The legend, as it is\noften told, is one of those wild improbable fictions, based on facts\ndistorted and embellished to suit the taste of the listener or the\nfancy of the narrator. It will be our task to make out from these\nimaginative materials a narrative divested as much as possible of the\nmarvellous, but at the same time retaining so much as will interest\nand excite the reader and lover of legendary lore.\n\nIt was in one of those genial, mellow, autumnal evenings--so dear to\nall who can feel their influence, and so rare a luxury to the\ninhabitants of this weeping climate--when all living things wear the\nhue and warmth of the glowing atmosphere in which they are enveloped,\nthat two lovers were sauntering by the rivulet, a \"wimpling burn\"\nthat, rising among the bare and barren moorlands of this uncultivated\nregion, runs past Buckley Hall into the valley of the Roch.\n\nIt was near the close of the sixteenth century, in the days of good\nQueen Bess, yet their apparel was somewhat homely even for this era of\nstuffed doublets and trunk-hose. Such unseemly fashions had hardly\ntravelled into these secluded districts; and the plain, stout, woollen\njacket of their forefathers, and the ruffs, tippets, stays, and\nstomachers of their grandmothers, formed the ordinary wear of the\nbelles and beaux of the province. Fardingales, or hooped petticoats,\nwe are happy to say, for the sake of our heroine, were unknown.\n\n\"Be of good cheer,\" said the lover; \"there be troubles enow, believe\nme, without building them up out of our own silly fears--like boys\nwith their snow hobgoblins, terrible enough in the twilight of fancy,\nbut a gleam of sunshine will melt and dissipate them. Thou art sad\nto-night without reason. Imaginary fears are the worst to cope withal;\nhaving nor shape nor substance, we cannot combat with them. 'Tis hard,\nindeed, fighting with shadows.\"\n\n\"I cannot smile to-night, Gervase; there's a mountain here--a\nforeboding of some deadly sort. I might as soon lift 'Robin Hood's\nBed' yonder as remove it.\"\n\n\"No more of this, my dearest Grace; at least not now. Let us enjoy\nthis bright and sunny landscape. How sharply cut are those crags\nyonder on the sky. Blackstonedge looks almost within a stride, or at\nleast a good stone's-throw. Thou knowest the old legend of Robin Hood;\nhow that he made yonder rocks his dormitory, and by way of amusement\npitched or quoited huge stones at a mark on the hill just above us,\nbeing some four or five miles from his station. It is still visible\nalong with several stones lying near, and which are evidently from the\nsame rock as that on which it is said he slept.\"\n\n\"I've heard such silly tales often. Nurse had many of these old\nstories wherewith to beguile us o' winter nights. She used to tell,\ntoo, about Eleanor Byron, who loved a fay or elf, and went to meet him\nat the fairies' chapel away yonder where the Spodden gushes through\nits rocky cleft,--'tis a fearful story,--and how she was delivered\nfrom the spell. I sometimes think on't till my very flesh creeps, and\nI could almost fancy that such an invisible thing is about me.\"\n\nWith such converse did they beguile their evening walk, ever and anon\nmaking the subject bend to the burden of their own sweet ditty of\nmutual _unchanging_ love!\n\nGrace Ashton was the only daughter of a wealthy yeoman, one of the\ngentry of that district, residing at Clegg Hall, a mile or two\ndistant. Its dark low gables and quiet smoke might easily be\ndistinguished from where they stood. It was said that the Cleggs, its\noriginal owners, had been beggared and dispossessed by vexatious and\nfraudulent lawsuits; and the Ashtons had achieved their purpose by\ndishonesty and chicane. However this might be, busy rumour gave\ncurrency and credit to the tale, though probably it had none other\nfoundation than the idle and malevolent gossip of the envious and the\nunthinking.\n\n\n[Illustration \"THE THRUTCH,\" NEAR ROCHDALE.\n_Drawn by G. Pickering._\n_Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]\n\n\nThey had toiled up a narrow pathway on the right of a woody ravine,\nwhere the stream had evidently formed itself a passage through the\nloose strata in its course. The brook was heard, though hidden by the\ntangled underwood, and they stopped to listen. Soothing but melancholy\nwas the sound. Even the birds seemed to chirp there in a sad and\npensive twitter, not unnoticed by the lovers, though each kept the\ngloomy and fanciful apprehensions untold.\n\nSoon they gained the summit of a round heathery knoll, whence an\nextensive prospect rewarded their ascent. The squat, square tower of\nRochdale Church might be seen above the dark trees nestling under its\ngrey walls. The town was almost hidden by a glowing canopy of smoke\ngleaming in the bright sunset--towards the north the bare bleak hills,\nundulating in sterile loneliness, and associating only with images of\nbarrenness and desolation. Easterly, a long, level burst of light\nswept across meadow, wood, and pasture; green slopes dotted with\nbright homesteads, to the very base apparently of, though at some\ndistance from, Blackstonedge, now of the deepest, the most intense\nblue. Such a daring contrast of colour gave a force and depth to the\nlandscape, which, had it been portrayed, would, to critical eyes\nperhaps, have outraged the modesty of Nature.\n\nThe sky was already growing cold and grey above the ridge opposed to\nthe burning brightness of the western horizon, and Grace Ashton\npointed out the beautiful but fleeting hues of the landscape around\nthem. Her companion, however, was engrossed by another object. Before\nthem was an eminence marking the horizon to the north-west, though not\nmore than a good bowshot from where they stood. Between this and\ntheir present standing was a little grassy hollow, through which the\nbrook we have described trickled rather than ran, amidst moss and\nrushes, rendering the ground swampy and unsafe. On this hill stood\n\"Robin Hood's coit-stones;\" and on the largest, called the\n\"marking-stone,\" a wild-looking and haggard figure was crouched. Her\ngarments, worn and tattered, were of a dingy red; and her cap, or\n_coiffure_ as it was then called, was of the same colour. Her head was\nbent forward beyond the knee, as though she were listening towards\nthe ground, or was expecting the approach of the individuals who now\ncame suddenly, and to themselves unexpectedly, in view. Her figure, in\nthe glow of that rich autumnal sky, looked of the deepest crimson, and\nof a bloody and portentous aspect.\n\n\"What strange apparition is yonder,\" said Gervase Buckley, \"on the\nhill-top there before us? Beshrew me, Grace, but it hath an evil and a\nrancorous look.\"\n\nBut Grace, along with a short scream of surprise, betrayed, too, her\nrecognition of the object, and clung with such evident terror to her\ncompanion that he turned from the object of his inquiries to gaze on\nhis mistress.\n\n\"What!\" said he, \"hath yonder unknown such power? Methinks it hath\nmoved thee strangely. Speak, Grace; can that hideous appearance in any\nway be linked with our destiny?\"\n\n\"I am ignorant as thou. But its coming, as I have heard, always\nforebodes disaster to our house. Hast not heard of a Red Woman that\nsometimes haunts this neighbourhood? I never saw her until now, but\nI've heard strange and fearful stories of her appearing some years\nago, and blighting the corn, poisoning the cattle, with many other\ndiabolical witcheries. She is best known by the name of 'Mother\nRed-Cap.'\"\n\n\"I've heard of this same witch in my boyhood. But what should we fear?\nShe is flesh and blood like ourselves; and, in spite of the prevailing\nbelief, I could never suppose power would be granted to some,\ngenerally the most wicked and the most worthless, which from the rest\nof mankind is capriciously withholden.\"\n\n\"Hush, Gervase; thou knowest not how far the arch-enemy of mankind may\nbe permitted to afflict bodily our guilty race. I could tell thee such\ntales of yonder creature as would stagger even the most stubborn of\nunbelievers.\"\n\n\"I will speak to her, nevertheless. Tarry here, I prithee, Grace. It\nwere best I should go alone.\"\n\n\"Oh, do not--do not! None have sight of her, as I've heard, but\nmischief follows. What disaster, then, may we not expect from her evil\ntongue? I shudder at the anticipation. Stay here. I will not be left;\nand I cannot cross this dangerous swamp.\"\n\nBuckley was, however, bent on the adventure. His natural curiosity,\ninflamed by forbidden longing after the occult and the mysterious, to\nwhich he was too prone, even though sceptical as to their existence,\nrendered him proof against his mistress' entreaties.\n\nProbably from situation, or rather, it might be, the distance was\njudged greater than in reality it proved, but the form before them\nlooked preternaturally enlarged, and as she raised her head her arms\nwere flung out high above it like withered and wasted branches on each\nside. Trembling in every limb, Grace clung to her lover, and it was\nafter long persuasion that she suffered him to lift her over the\nmorass, and was dragged unwillingly up the hill. As though she were\nthe victim of some terrible fascination, her eyes were constantly\nriveted on the object. A raven wheeled round them, every moment\nnarrowing the circle of its flight, and the malicious bird looked\neager for mischief.\n\nAs they approached nearer to the summit, this ill-omened thing, after\nhaving brushed so close that they felt the very breath from its wings,\nalighted beside the Red Woman, who hardly seemed to notice, though\nwell aware of their proximity.\n\nThey paused when several paces distant, and she rose up suddenly,\nextending both arms, apparently to warn them from a nearer approach.\nHer skinny lips, rapidly moving to and fro, and her dark withered,\nbony, and cadaverous features, gave her more the appearance of a\nliving mummy or a resurrection from the charnel-house than aught\ninstinct with the common attributes of humanity.\n\nBuckley was for a moment daunted. The form was so unlike anything he\nhad ever seen. He was almost persuaded of the possibility that it\nmight be some animated corpse doomed to wander forth either for\npunishment or expiation. Her lips still moved. A wild glassy eye was\nfixed upon them, and as she yet stood with extended arms, Gervase,\nalmost wrought to desperation, cried out--\n\n\"Who art thou? Thy business here?\"\n\nA hollow sound, hardly like the tones of a human voice, answered in a\nslow and solemn adjuration--\n\n\"Beware, rash fools! None approach the Red Woman but to their\nundoing.\"\n\n\"I know no hindrance to my free course in this domain. By whose\nauthority am I forbidden?\" said he, taking courage.\n\n\"Away--mine errand is not to thee unless provoked.\"\n\n\"Unto whom is thy message?\"\n\n\"To thy leman--thy ladye-love, whom thou wilt cherish to thine hurt.\nLeave her, ay, though both hearts break in the separation.\"\n\n\"I will not.\"\n\n\"Then be partaker of the wrath that is just ready to burst upon her\ndoomed house.\"\n\n\"I told thee,\" said Grace, \"she is the herald of misfortune! What woe\ndoes she denounce? What cruel judgment hast thou invoked upon our\nrace?\" cried she to this grim messenger of evil.\n\n\"Evil will--evil must! I will cling to ye till your last sustenance be\ndried up, and your inheritance be taken from ye.\"\n\n\"Her fate be mine,\" said Buckley, indignantly. \"Her good or evil\nfortune I will share.\"\n\n\"Be it so. Thou hast made thy choice, and henceforth thou canst not\ncomplain.\"\n\nShe stretched out her two hands, one towards Clegg Hall, the abode of\nthe maiden, and the other towards Buckley, her lover's paternal roof,\nfrom which a blue curl of smoke was just visible over the rising\ngrounds beneath them.\n\n\"A doom and a curse to each,\" she muttered. \"Your names shall depart,\nand your lands to the alien and the stranger. Your honours shall be\ntrodden in the dust, and your hearths laid waste, and your habitations\nforsaken.\"\n\nIn this fearful strain she continued until Buckley cried out--\n\n\"Cease thy mumbling, witch. I'll have thee dealt with in such wise thy\ntongue shall find another use.\"\n\nTurning upon him a look of scorn, she seemed to grow fiercer in her\nmaledictions.\n\n\"Proud minion,\" she cried, \"thou shall die childless and a beggar!\"\n\nThe cunning raven flapped his great heavy wings and seemed to croak an\nassent. He then hopped on his mistress' shoulder, and apparently\nwhispered in her ear.\n\n\"Sayest thou so?\" said the witch. \"Then give it to me, Ralph.\"\n\nThe bird held out his beak, and out popped a plain gold ring.\n\n\"Give this to thy mother, Dame Buckley. Say 'tis long since they\nparted company; and ask if she knows or remembers aught of the Red\nWoman. Away!\"\n\nShe threw the ring towards them. Both stooped to pick it up. They\nexamined it curiously for a short space.\n\n\"'Tis a wedding-ring,\" said Buckley, \"but not to wed bride of mine.\nWhere was this\"----\n\nHe stopped short in his inquiry, for lifting up his eyes he found the\ndonor was gone!\n\nNeither of them saw the least trace of her departure. The stone\nwhereon she sat was again vacant. All was silent, undisturbed, save\nthe night breeze that came sighing over the hill, moaning and\nwhistling through the withered bent and rushes at their feet.\n\nThe shadows of evening were now creeping softly around them, and the\nvalley below was already wrapped in mist. The air felt very chill.\nThey shuddered, but it was in silence. This fearful vision, for such\nit now appeared to have been, filled them with unspeakable dread.\n\nGervase yet held the ring in his hand. He would have thrown it from\nhim, but Grace Ashton forbade.\n\n\"Do her bidding in this matter,\" said she. \"Give it thy mother, and\nask counsel of the sage and the discreet. There is some fearful\nmystery--some evil impending, or my apprehensions are strangely\nmisled.\"\n\nThey returned, but he was more disturbed than he cared to acknowledge.\nHe felt as though some spell had been cast upon him, and cowed his\nhitherto undaunted spirit.\n\nThey again wound down beside the rivulet into the meadows below, where\nthe mist alone pointed out the course of the stream. The bat and the\nbeetle crossed their path. Evil things only were abroad. All they saw\nand felt seemed to be ominous of the future. As they passed through a\nlittle wicket to the hall-porch, Nicholas Buckley the father met them.\n\n\"Why, how now, loiterers? The cushat and the curlew have left the\nhill, and yet ye are abroad. 'Tis time the maiden were at home and\nlooking after the household.\"\n\n\"We've been hindered, good sir. We will just get speech of our dame,\nand then away home with the gentle Grace. Half-an-hour's good speeding\nwill see her safe.\"\n\n\"Ay--belike,\" said the old man. \"Lovers and loiterers make mickle\nhaste to part. Our dame is with the maids and the milkpans i' the\ndairy.\"\n\nThe elder Buckley was a hale hearty yeoman, of a ruddy and cheerful\ncountenance. A few wrinkles were puckered below the eyes; the rest of\nhis face was sleek and comfortably disposed. A beard, once thick and\nglossy, was grown grey and thin, curling up short and stunted round\nhis portly chin. Two bright twinkling eyes gave note of a stirring and\nrestless temper--too sanguine, maybe, for success in the great and\nbusy world, and not fitted either by education or disposition for its\nsuspicions or its frauds. Yet he had the reputation of a clever\nmerchant. Rochdale, even at that early period, was a well-known mart\nfor the buyers and sellers of woollen stuffs and friezes. Many of the\nmost wealthy merchants, too, indulged in foreign speculations and\nadventures, and amongst these the name of Nicholas Buckley was not the\nleast conspicuous.\n\nThey passed on to the dairy, where Dame Eleanor scolded the maids and\nskimmed the cream at the same moment, by way of economy in time.\n\n\"What look ye for here?\" was her first inquiry, for truly her temper\nwas of a hasty and searching nature; somewhat prone, as well, to\ncavilling and dispute, requiring much of her husband's placidity to\nfurnish oil for the turbulent waters of her disposition.\n\n\"Thou wert better at thy father's desk than idling after thine\nunthrifty pleasures: to-morrow, maybe, sauntering among the hills with\nhound and horn, beating up with all the rabble in the parish.\"\n\n\"Nay, mother, chide not: I was never made for merchandise and\nbarter--the price of fleeces in Tod Lane, and the broad ells at\nManchester market.\"\n\n\"And why not?\" said the dame, sharply; \"haven't I been the prop and\nstay of the house? Haven't I made bargains and ventures when thou hast\nbeen idling in hall and bower with love-ditties and ladies' purfles?\"\n\nShe was now moved to sudden choler, and Gervase did not dare to thwart\nher further--letting the passion spend itself by its own efforts, as\nhe knew it were vain to check its torrent.\n\nNow Dame Eleanor Buckley was of a sharp and florid\ncountenance--short-necked and broad-shouldered, her nose and chin\nalmost hiding a pair of thin severe lips, the two prominences being\nclose neighbours, especially in anger. In truth she guided, or rather\nmanaged, the whole circle of affairs; aiding and counselling the\nspeculations of her husband, who had happily been content with the\nproduce and profit of his paternal acres, had not his helpmate, who\ninherited this mercantile spirit from her family, urged her partner to\nsuch unwonted lust and craving for gain.\n\nA huge bundle of keys hung at her girdle, which, when more than\nusually excited, did make a most discordant jingle to the tune that\nwas a-going. Indeed, the height and violence of her passion might be\npretty well guessed at by this index to its strength.\n\nWhen the storm had in some degree subsided, Gervase held up the ring.\n\n\"What's that, silly one? A wedding-ring!\"\n\nShe grew almost pale with wrath. \"How darest thou?--thee!--a ring!--to\nwed ere thou hast a home for thy pretty one. Ye may go beg, for here\nye shall not tarry. Go to the next buckle-beggar! A pretty wedding\ntruly! When thou hast learned how to keep her honestly 'twill be time\nenough to wed. But thou hast not earned a doit to put beside her\ndower, and all our ready moneys, and more, be in trade; though, for\nthe matter o' that, the pulling would be no great business either. But\nI tell thee again, thy father shall not portion an idler like thyself\nand pinch his trade. Marry, 'tis enough to do, what with grievous sums\nlost in shipwrecks, and the time we have now to wait our returns from\no'er sea.\"\n\nShe went on at this rate for a considerable space, pausing at last,\nmore for lack of breath than subject-matter of discourse.\n\n\"Mother,\" said he, when fairly run down; \"'tis not a purchase--'tis a\ngift.\"\n\n\"By some one sillier than thyself, I warrant.\"\n\n\"I know not for that; I had it from a stranger.\"\n\n\"Stranger still,\" she replied sharply, chuckling at her own conceit.\n\n\"Look at it, mother. Know you such a one?\"\n\nThe dame eyed it with no favour, but she turned it over with a curious\nlook, at the same time lifting her eyes now and then towards the\nceiling, as some train of recollection was awakening in her mind.\n\n\"Where gat ye this?\" said Dame Eleanor, in a subdued but still\nquerulous tone.\n\n\"On the hill-top yonder.\"\n\n\"Treasure-trove belongs to Sir John Byron.[21] The lord of the manor\nclaims all from the finders.\"\n\n\"It was a gift.\"\n\n\"Humph. Hast met gold-finders on the hills, or demons or genii that\nguard hidden treasure?\"\n\n\"We've seen the Red Woman!\"\n\nHad a sudden thunder-clap burst over them, she could not have been\nmore startled. She stood speechless, and seemingly incapable of reply.\nHolding the ring in one hand, her eyes were intently fixed upon it.\n\n\"What is it that troubles you?\" said Gervase. \"Yon strange woman bade\nme give you the ring, and ask if so be that you remembered her.\"\n\nThe dame looked up, her quick and saucy petulance exchanged for a\nsubdued and melancholy air.\n\n\"Remember thee! thou foul witch? ay long, long years have passed; I\nthought thy persecutions at an end; thy prediction was nigh forgotten.\nIt was my wedding-ring, Gervase!\"\n\n\"More marvellous still.\"\n\n\"Peace, and I'll tell thee. Grace Ashton, come forward. I know thine\nears are itching for the news. Well, well, it was when thou wast but a\nboy, Gervase, and I remember an evening just like this. I was standing\nby the draw-well yonder, looking, I now bethink me, at the dovecot,\nwhere I suspected thieves; and in a humour somewhat of the sharpest, I\ntrow. By-and-by comes, what I thought, an impudent beggar-woman for an\nalms. Her dress was red and tattered, with a high red cap to match. I\nchided her it might be somewhat harshly, and I shall not soon forget\nthe malicious look she put on. 'I ask not, I need not thy benison,'\nshe said; 'I would have befriended thee, but I now curse thee\naltogether:' and stretching out her shrivelled arm, dry and bare, she\nshook it, threatening me with vengeance. Suddenly, or ere I was aware,\nshe seized my left hand, drew off my wedding-ring; breathing upon it\nand mumbling a spell, she held it as though for me to take back, but\nwith such a fiendish look of delight that I hesitated. All on a sudden\nI remembered to have heard my grandmother say that should a witch or\nwarlock get your wedding-ring, and have time to mutter over it a\ncertain charm, _so long as that ring is above ground_ so long misery\nand misfortune do afflict the owner. Lucky it was I knew of this, for\ninstead of replacing it I threw it into the well, being the nearest\nhiding-place. And happy for me and thee it was so near; for, would you\nbelieve, though hardly a minute's space in my hand, the black heifer\ndied, the red cow cast her calf, and a large venture of merchandise\nwas wrecked in a fearful gale off the gulf. I had no sooner thrown it\ninto the well than the witch looked more diabolical than ever. 'It\nwill come again, dame,' said she, 'and then look to it;' and with this\nthreat she departed. But what am I doing? If it be the ring, which I\ndoubt not, I've had it o'er long in my keeping. Even now disaster may\nbe a-brewing; and is there not a richly-freighted ship on its passage\nwith silks and spices? I'll put it out of her reach this time anyhow.\nNo! I'll hide it where never a witch in Christendom shall poke it\nout.\"\n\nDame Eleanor went to the little burn below. Stooping, she scooped a\nhole in the gravel under water; there she laid the ring, and covered\nit over with stones.\n\n\"Thou'rt always after some of thy megrims, dame,\" said the elder\nBuckley, who had been watching her from the porch. \"Some spell or\ncounter-charm, I'se warrant.\"\n\nWith a look of great contempt for the incredulity of her spouse, she\nreplied--\n\n\"Ay, goodman, sit there and scoff your fill. If't hadn't been for my\ncare and endeavours you had been penniless ere now. But so it is, I\nmay slave night and day, I reckon. The whole roof-tree, as a body may\nsay, is on my shoulders, and what thanks? More hisses than thanks,\nmore knocks than fair words.\"\n\nNever so well pleased as when opportunity was afforded for grumbling,\nthe dame addressed herself again to her evening avocations.\n\nPondering deeply what should be the issue of these things, Gervase set\nout with Grace Ashton to her house at Clegg Hall, a good mile distant.\nEvening had closed in--a chill wind blew from the hills. The west had\nlost its splendour, but a pure transparent brightness filled its\nplace, across which the dark wavy outline of the high moorlands rested\nin deep unvarying shadow. In these bright depths a still brighter star\nhung, pure and of a diamond-like lustre, the precursor, the herald of\na blazing host just rising into view.\n\nAs they walked on, it may well be supposed that the strange\noccurrences of the last few hours were the engrossing theme of their\ndiscourse.\n\n\"My mother is a little too superstitious, I am aware,\" said Gervase;\n\"but what I have witnessed to-night has rendered me something more\ncredulous on this head than aforetime.\"\n\n\"I don't half like this neighbourhood,\" said his companion, looking\nround. \"It hath an ill name, and I could almost fancy the Red Woman\nagain, just yonder in our path.\"\n\nShe looked wistfully; it was only the mist creeping lazily on with the\nstream.\n\nThey were now ascending the hill towards Beil or Belfield, where the\nKnights Templars had formerly an establishment. Not a vestage now\nremains, though at that period a ruinous tower covered with ivy, a\ngateway, and an arch, existed as relics of their former grandeur.\n\n\"Here lived the Lady Eleanor Byron,\" said Grace, pointing to the old\nhall close by, and as though an unpleasant recollection had crossed\nher. She shuddered as they passed by the grim archway beneath the\ntower. Whether it was fancy or reality she knew not, but as she looked\ncuriously through its ivied tracery she thought the Red Woman was\npeering out maliciously upon them. She shrank aside, and pointed to\nthe spot; but there was nothing visible save the dark and crumbling\nruins, from which their steps were echoed with a dull and sullen\nsound.\n\nThe night wind sighed round the grey battlements, and from its hidden\nrecesses came moans and whispers--at least so it seemed to their\nheated imaginations.\n\n\"Let us hasten hence,\" said Grace; \"I like not this lonely spot. There\nwas always a fear and a mystery about it. The tale of the invisible\nsylphid and Eleanor Byron's elfish lover haunts me whenever I pass by,\nand I feel as though something was near, observing and influencing\nevery movement and every thought.\"\n\n\"Come, come, a-done I pray. Let not fear o'ermaster reason, else we\nshall see bogles in every bush.\"\n\nAbove the gateway, in the little square tower now pulled down, was a\nloophole, nearly concealed by climbing shrubs, which rendered it easy\nfor a person within to look out without being observed. As they passed\na low humming din was heard. Then a rude ditty trolled from some not\nunskilful performer. The lovers stayed to listen, when a dark figure\nissued out of the gateway singing--\n\n         \"The bat haunts the tower,\n         And the redbreast the bower,\n     And the merry little sparrow by the chimney hops,\n         Good e'en, hoots master owl,\n         To-whoo, to-whoo, his troll,\n     Sing heigho, swing the can with\"----\n\n\"What, thee, Tim! Is that thy stupid face?\" said Gervase, breaking in\nupon his ditty, and right glad to be delivered from supernatural\nfears, though the object of them proved only this strolling minstrel.\n\"Thou might as well kill us outright as frighten us to death.\"\n\nHe that stood before them was one of those wandering musicians that\nhaunt fairs and merry-makings, wakes, and such like pastimes; playing\nthe fiddle and jewtrump too at weddings and alehouses; in short, any\nsort of idleness never came amiss to these representatives of the old\nTroubadours. A tight oval cap covered his shaggy poll; he was clad in\na coarse doublet or jerkin slashed in the fashion of the time, while\nhis nether integuments were fastened in the primitive mode by a wooden\nskewer. He could conjure too, and play antics to set the folks agape;\nbut as to his honesty, it was of that dubious sort that few cared to\nhave it in trust. He was apt at these alehouse ditties--many of them\nhis own invention. He knew all the choicest ballads too, so that his\nvocation was much akin to the _jogleurs_ or _jongleurs_ of more\nancient times, when Richard of the Lion's Heart and other renowned\nmonarchs disdained not \"_the gentle craft of poesie_.\"\n\nWherever was a feast, let it be a wedding or a funeral, Tim, like the\nharpies of old, scented the meat, and some of his many vocations were\ngenerally in request.\n\nThis important functionary now stood whistling and singing by turns\nwith the most admired unconcern.\n\n\"What's thy business here?\" cried Gervase, approaching him.\n\n     \"The maid was fair, and the maid was coy,\n     But the lover left, and the maid said 'Why?'\n         Sing O the green willow!\"\n\n\"Answerest thou me with thy trumpery ditties? I'll have thee put i'\nthe stocks, sirrah.\"\n\n\"Oh, ha' mercy, master! there's naught amiss 'at I know. I'm but\ntakin' roost here wi' the owls an' jackdaws a bit, maybe for want o'\nbetter lyin'.\"\n\n\"It were hard to have a better knack at lying than thou hast already.\nHast gotten the weather into thy lodgings? When didst flit to thy new\nquarters?\"\n\n\"Th' hay-mow at Clegg is ower savoured wi' the new crop, an' I want\nfresh air for my studies.\"\n\n\"Now art thou lying\"----\n\n\"Like a lover to his sweetheart,\" said Tim, interrupting him, and\nfinishing the sentence.\n\n\"Peace, knave! There's some mischief i' the wind. Thou'rt after no\ngood, I trow.\"\n\n\"What te dickons do I ail here? Is't aught 'at a man can lift off but\nstone wa's an' ivy-boughs? Marry, my little poke man ha' summut else\nto thrive on nor these.\"\n\n\"There's been great outcry about poultry an' other farmyard\nappendances amissing of late, besides eggs and such like dainties enow\nto furnish pancakes and fritters for the whole parish. Hast gotten\ncompany in thy den above there?\"\n\n\"Jacks an' ouzles, if ye like, Master Gervase. Clim' up, clim' up,\nlad, an there'll be a prial on us. Ha, ha! What! our little sweetheart\nthere would liefer t' be gangin.' Weel, weel, 'tis natural, as a body\nmay say--\n\n     \"One is good, and two is good,\n     But three's no company.\"\n\n\"Answer me quick, thou rogue. Is there any other but thyself yonder\nabove?\"\n\n\"When I'm there I'm not here, an' when I'm here\"----\n\n\"Sirrah, I'll flog the wind out o' thy worthless carcase. Hast any\npilfering companions about thee? I do smell a savoury\nrefection--victuals are cooking, or my nose belies its office.\"\n\n\"Fair speech, friend, wins a quiet answer; a soft word and a smooth\ntongue all the world over. What for mayn't I sup as well as my\nbetters?\"\n\n\"As well?--better belike. There's no such savour in our hall at\neventide, nor in the best kitchen in the parish.\"\n\n\"It's not my fau't, is't?\"\n\n\"By'r lady, there's somebody in the chamber there. I saw the leaves\nfluttering from the loophole. Villain, who bears thee company?\"\n\n\"Daft, daft. What fool would turn into roost wi' me? Clean gone crazy,\nsure as I'm livin'.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, there's some plot here--some mischief hatching. I'll see,\nor\"----\n\nHe was just going to make the attempt; but Tim withstood him, and in a\nperemptory manner barred the way.\n\n\"How! am I barred by thee, and to my face?\"\n\n\"It's no business o' thine, Master Gervase. What's hatching there\nconcerns not thee. Keep back, I say, or\"----\n\n\"Ha! Thou jingle-pated rascal, stand off, or I'll wring thy neck round\nas I would a Jackdaw.\"\n\n\"Do not, do not, Gervase!\" said Grace Ashton, fearful of some unlucky\nstrife. \"Let us begone. We are too late already, and 'tis no business\nof ours.\"\n\n\"What! and be o'erfoughten by this scurvy lack-wit. Once more, who is\nthere above?\"\n\n\"An' what if I shouldn't tell thee?\"\n\n\"I'll baste thy carcase to a mummy; I'll make thee tender for the\nhounds.\"\n\n\"Another word to that, master, an' it's a bargain.\"\n\n\"Let me pass.\"\n\n\"Not without my company.\"\n\nHe whistled, and in a moment Gervase felt himself pinioned from\nbehind. Looking round, he saw two stout fellows with their faces\ncovered; and any other possibility of recognition was impracticable in\nthe heavy twilight.\n\n\"Who's i' t' stocks now?\" cried the malicious rogue, laughing.\n\n\"Unhand me, or ye'll rue that ever ye wrought this outrage.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, that were a pretty stave, when we've gotten the bird, to\nopen the trap,\" said Tim.\n\nGervase immediately saw that another party had seized Grace Ashton. He\nraved and stamped until his maledictions were put an end to by an\neffectual gag, and he did not doubt but she had suffered the same\ntreatment, for a short sharp scream only was heard. Being immediately\nblindfolded, he could only surmise that her usage was of a similar\nnature.\n\nHe was so stupefied with surprise that for a short period he was\nhardly sensible to their further proceedings. When able to reflect, he\nfound himself pinioned, and in a sitting posture. A damp chill was on\nhis forehead. He had been dragged downwards, and, from the motion,\nsteps were the medium of descent. A door or two had been raised or\nopened, a narrow passage previously traversed, and a short time only\nelapsed from the cool freshness of the evening air to the damp and\nstifling atmosphere that he now breathed. What could be the cause of\nhis seizure he was quite incompetent to guess. He could not recollect\nthat he had either pique or grudge on his hands; and what should be\nthe result he only bewildered and wearied himself by striving to\nanticipate.\n\nIt was surely a dream. He heard a voice of ravishing sweetness; such\npure and silvery tones, that aught earthly could have produced it was\nout of the question; it was like the swell of some AEolian lyre--words,\ntoo, modifying and enhancing that liquid harmony. It was a hymn, but\nin a foreign tongue. He soon recognised the evening hymn to the\nVirgin--\n\n     \"Mater amata, intemerata,\n       Ora, ora, pro nobis.\"\n\nSo sweetly did the music melt into his soul, that he quite forgot his\nthrall, and every sense was attuned to the melody. When the sound\nceased he made an effort to get free. He loosened his hands, and\nimmediately tore off the bandage from his eyes. A few seconds elapsed,\nwhen he saw a light streaming through a crevice. Looking through, he\nsaw a taper burning before a little shrine, where two females in white\nraiment, closely veiled, were kneeling.\n\nThe celebration of such rites, at that time strictly prohibited,\nsufficiently accounted for their concealment, and plainly intimated\nthat the parties were not of the Reformed faith.\n\nBy the light which penetrated his cell from this source he saw it was\nfurnished with a stone bench, and a narrow flight of steps in one\ncorner communicated with a trap-door above.\n\nThe old mansion at Belfield, contiguous to these ruins, once belonging\nto the Knights of St John, had been for some years untenanted, and, as\noften happens to the lot of deserted houses, strange noises, sights,\nand other manifestations of ghostly occupants were heard and seen by\npassers-by, rendering it a neighbourhood not overliked by those who\nhad business that way after nightfall.\n\nGervase Buckley was pretty well assured that he had been conveyed into\nsome concealed subterranean chamber, but for what purpose he could not\ncomprehend. He was not easily intimidated; and though in a somewhat\nsorry plight, he now felt little apprehension on the score of\nsupernatural visitations: but his seizure did not hold out an\nimmunity as regards corporeal disturbers. He had not long to indulge\nthese premonitory reflections ere a door was opened. A figure,\ncompletely enveloped in a black cloak, on which a red cross was\nconspicuously emblazoned, stood before him. He carried a torch, and\nGervase saw a short naked sword glittering in his belt.\n\n\"Follow me,\" said the intruder; and, without further parley, pointed\nto where another door was concealed in the pavement. This being\nopened, Gervase beheld, not without serious apprehension, a flight of\nsteps evidently communicating with a lower dungeon. His conductor\npointed to the descent, and it would have been useless folly to\ndisobey. A damp and almost suffocating odour prevailed, as though from\nsome long-pent-up atmosphere, which did not give the prisoner any\nincreasing relish or affection for the enterprise. He looked at his\nconductor, whose face and person were yet covered. Had he been a\nfamiliar of the Holy Inquisition, he could not have been more careful\nof concealment. Gervase looked now and then with a wistful glance\ntowards his companion's weapon. Being himself unarmed, it would have\nbeen madness to attempt escape. He merely inquired in his descent--\n\n\"Whence this outrage? I am unarmed, defenceless.\" But there was no\nreply. The guide, with an inclination of the head, pointed with his\ntorch to the gulf his victim was about to enter. There was little use\nin disputation where the opposite party had so decided an advantage,\nand he thought it best to abide the issue without further impediment.\nHe accordingly descended a few steps. His conductor fastened the door\noverhead, and they soon arrived at the bottom, at a low arched\npassage, where his guide dashed his flambeau against the wall, and it\nwas immediately extinguished.\n\nGervase was left once more in doubt and darkness. There was little\nspace for explanation. He felt himself seized by an invisible hand,\nhurried unresistingly on, till, without any preparation, a blaze of\nlight burst upon him.\n\nIt was for a moment too overpowering to enable him to distinguish\nobjects with any certainty. Soon, however, he saw a tolerably spacious\nvault or crypt, supported by massy pillars. He had often heard there\nexisted many unexplored subterranean passages reaching to an\nincredible distance, made originally by the Knights Templars for their\nprivate use. One of these, it was said, extended even to the chantry\njust then dissolved at Milnrow, more than a mile distant. Many\nstrange stories he had been told of these warrior monks. But centuries\nhad elapsed since their suppression. For a moment he almost believed\nthey were permitted to reappear, doomed at stated periods to re-enact\ntheir unhallowed orgies, their cruelties, and their crimes. The\nchamber was lighted by three or four torches, their lurid unsteady\nlife giving an ever-varying character to the surrounding objects.\n\nOpposite the entrance was a stone bench, occupied by several figures\nattired in a similar manner to his conductor. An individual in the\ncentre wore in addition a belt covered by some cabalistic devices. The\nscene was sufficiently inexplicable, and not at all elucidated by the\nfollowing interrogation:--\n\n\"Thou hast been cited to our tribunal,\" said the chief inquisitor.\n\n\"I know ye not,\" said Gervase, with great firmness, though hardly\naware of the position he occupied.\n\n\"Why hast thou not obeyed our summons?\"\n\n\"I have not heard of any such; nor in good sooth should I have been\ncareful to obey had your mandate been delivered.\"\n\n\"Croix Rouge,\" said the interrogator, \"has this delinquent been\ncited?\"\n\nThe person he addressed arose, bowed, and presented a written answer.\n\n\"I have here,\" continued the chief, \"sufficient proof that our summons\nhath been conveyed to thee, and that hitherto thine answer hath been\ncontumaciously withheld. What sayest thou?\"\n\n\"I have yet to learn, firstly,\" said Gervase, with more indignation\nthan prudence, \"by what authority you would compel me to appear; and\nsecondly, how and in what form such mandate had been sent?\"\n\n\"Bethink thee, is our answer to the last: the first will be manifested\nin due time. We might indeed leave thee ignorant as to what we\nrequire, but pity for thy youth and inexperience forbids. Clegg Hall\nis, thou knowest, along with the estate, now unlawfully holden by the\nAshtons.\"\n\n\"I know that sundry Popish recusants, plotting the overthrow of our\nmost gracious Queen, do say that other and more legitimate rights are\nin abeyance only; but the present owners are too well fortified to be\ndispossessed by hearsay.\"\n\n\"In the porch at Clegg thou wast accosted not long ago by a mendicant\nwho solicited an alms.\"\n\n\"Probably so.\"\n\n\"Did he not hold out to thee the sign of the Rosy Cross, the token of\nour all-powerful fraternity of Rosicrucians?\"\n\n\"I do remember such a signal; and furthermore, I drove him forth as an\nimpostor and a pretender to forbidden arts.\"\n\n\"He showed thee the sign, and bade thee follow?\"\n\n\"He did.\"\n\n\"And why was our summons disobeyed?\"\n\n\"Because I have yet to learn what authority you possess either for my\nsummons or detention.\"\n\n\"The brotherhood of the Red Cross are not disobeyed with impunity.\"\n\n\"I have heard of such a fraternity--as well too that they be idle\ncheats and lying impostors.\"\n\n\"We challenge not belief without sufficient testimony to the truth of\nour mission. In pity to man's infirmity this indulgence is permitted.\nWe unfold the hidden operations, the very arcana of Nature, whom we\nunclothe as it were to her very nakedness. Our doctrines thereby carry\ncredence even to the most impious and unbelieving. Ere we command thy\nsubmission, it is permitted to behold some manifestation of our power.\nBy means derived from the hidden essences of Nature, the first\nprinciples which renovate and govern all things, the very elements of\nwhich they consist, we arrive at the incorporeal essence called\nspirit, holding converse with it undebased, uninfluenced by the\nintervention of matter. Thus we converse in spirit with those that be\nabsent, even though they were a thousand leagues apart.\"\n\n\"And what has this jargon to do with my being despatched hither?\"\n\n\"Listen, and reply not; the purport will be vouchsafed to thee anon.\nWe can compel the spirits even of the absent to come at our bidding by\nsubtle spells that none have power to disobey. We too can renew and\ninvigorate life, and by the universal solvent bring about the\nrenovation of all things--renovation and decay being the two\nantagonist principles, as light and darkness. As we can make darkness\nlight, and light darkness at our pleasure, so can we from decay bring\nforth life, and the contrary. Seest thou this dead body?\"\n\nA black curtain he had not hitherto observed was thrown aside, and he\nbeheld the features of Grace Ashton, or he was strangely deceived. She\nwas lying on a little couch, death visibly imprinted on her collapsed\nand sunken features.\n\n\"Murderers! I will have ye dealt with for this outrage.\" Maddened\nalmost to frenzy, he would have rushed towards her, but he was firmly\nholden by a power superior to his own.\n\n\"She is now in the first region of departed spirits,\" said the chief.\n\"We have power to compel answer to our interrogatories. Listen,\nperverse mortal. We are well assured that a vast treasure is concealed\nhereabouts, hidden by the Knights of St John. 'Tis beyond our\nunassisted power to discover. We have asked counsel of one whom we\ndare not disobey, and she it is hath commanded that we cite thee and\nGrace Ashton to the tribunal of the Rosy Cross. This corporeal\nsubstance now before us, by reason of its intimate union with the\nspirit, purged from the dross of mortality, will answer any question\nthat may be propounded, and will utter many strange and infallible\nprophecies. It will solve doubtful questions, and discourse of things\npast, present, and to come, seeing that she is now in spirit where all\nknowledge is perfect, and hath her eyes and understanding cleared from\nthe gross film of our corruption. But as spirit only hath power over\nthose of its own nature by the law of universal sympathy, so she\nanswers but to those by whom she is bidden that are of the same\ntemperament and affinity, which is shown by your affiance and love\ntowards each other.\"\n\nThe prisoner heard this mystic harangue with a vacant and fixed\nexpression, as though his mind were wandering, and he hardly\nunderstood the profundity of the discourse. Every feeling was absorbed\nin the conviction that some horrid incantation had for ever deprived\nhim of his beloved. Then he fancied some imposition had been practised\nupon him. Being prevented from a closer examination, at length he felt\nsome relief in the idea that the form he beheld might possibly be a\ncounterfeit. He knew not what to say, and the speaker apparently\nwaited his reply. Finding he was still silent, the former continued\nafter a brief space:--\n\n\"Our questions to this purport must necessarily be propounded by thee.\nArt thou prepared?\"\n\n\"Say on,\" said Gervase, determined to try the issue, however repugnant\nto his thoughts.\n\nTwo of them now arose and stood at each end of the couch. The superior\nfirst made the sign of the cross. He then drew a book from his girdle,\nand read therein a Latin exorcism against the intrusion of evil\nspirits into the body, commanding those only of a heavenly and benign\ninfluence to attend. He lighted a taper compounded of many strange\ningredients emitting a fragrant odour, and as the smoke curled heavily\nabout him, flickering and indistinct, he looked like some necromancer\nabout to perform his diabolical rites.\n\nThe occupant of that miserable couch lay still as death.\n\n\"The first question,\" cried out the chief; and he looked towards the\nprisoner, who was now suffered to approach within a few paces of the\nbed.\n\n\"Is there treasure in this place?\"\n\nGervase tried to repeat the question, but his tongue clave to his\nmouth. For the first time probably in his life he felt the sensation\nof horrible, undefined, uncontrollable fear--that fear of the unknown\nand supernatural, that shrinking from spiritual intercourse even with\nthose we have loved best. It seemed as though he were in communion\nwith the invisible world--that awful, incomprehensible state of\nexistence; and with beings whose power and essence are yet unknown,\narmed, in imagination, with attributes of terror and of vengeance.\n\nWith a desperate effort, however, he repeated the question.\nBreathless, and with intense agony, he awaited the response. It came!\nA voice, not from the lips of the recumbent victim, but as though it\nwere some inward afflatus, hollow and sepulchral. The lips did not\nmove, but the following reply was given:--\n\n\"There is.\"\n\nEven the guilty confederates started back in alarm at the success of\ntheir own experiment. All was, however, still--silent as before.\n\nTaking courage, the next question was put in like manner.\n\n\"In what direction?\"\n\n\"Under the main pillar of the south-eastern corner of the vault.\"\n\nAfter another pause, the following questions were asked:--\n\n\"How may we obtain the treasure sought?\"\n\n\"By diligence and perseverance.\"\n\n\"At what time?\"\n\n\"When the moon hath trine to Mercury in the house of Saturn.\"\n\n\"Is it guarded?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"By whom?\"\n\n\"By a power that shall crush you unless propitiated.\"\n\n\"Show us in what manner.\"\n\n\"I may not; my lips are sealed. That power is superior to mine; the\nrest is hidden from me.\"\n\nThe treasure-seekers were silent, as though disappointed at this\nunexpected reply. Another attempt was, however, made.\n\n\"Shall we prosper in our undertaking?\"\n\n\"My time is nigh spent. I beseech you that I may depart, for I am in\ngreat torment.\"\n\n\"Thou shall not, until thou answer.\"\n\n\"Beware!\"\n\nBut this admonition was from another source, and in a different\ndirection. The obscurity and smoke from the torches made it impossible\nto judge with any certainty whence the interruption proceeded.\n\nGervase started and turned round. It might be fancy, but he was\nconfident the features of the Red Woman were present to his\napprehension. Horrors were accumulating. Even the united brotherhood\nseemed to tremble as though in the presence of some being of whom they\nstood in awe. They awaited her approach in silence.\n\n\"Fool! Did I not warn thee to do _my_ bidding only? And thou art\nhankering again, pampering thy cruel lust for gold. How darest thou\nquestion the maiden for this intent? Hence, and thank thy stars thou\nart not even now sent howling to thy doom!\"\n\nThis terrible and mysterious woman came forward in great anger, and\nthe Rosicrucian brotherhood were thereby in great alarm. \"The maid is\nmine--begone!\" said she, pointing the way.\n\nLike slaves under their master's frown, they crouched before this\nfearful personification of their unhallowed and forbidden practices,\nand departed.\n\n\"Gervase Buckley,\" she cried, \"thou art betrothed to the heiress of\nyon wide possessions.\"\n\n\"I am,\" said he, roused either to courage or desperation, even in the\npresence of a being whose power he felt conscious was not derived from\none common source with his own.\n\n\"Dost thou confirm thy troth?\"\n\n\"I do; in life and in death she is mine.\"\n\n\"Pledge thyself, body and soul, to her.\"\n\n\"I am hers whilst I live, body and soul. Nothing but death shall part\nus.\"\n\n\"On thy soul's hope thou wilt fulfil this pledge!\"\n\n\"I will.\" Gervase looked wistfully towards his beloved. The inanimate\nform was yet pale and still; but a vague hope possessed him that the\nwitch would again quicken her.\n\n\"'Tis enough. But it must be sealed with blood!\"\n\nHe felt her clammy hand on his arm, and a sharp pain as though from a\npuncture. He quickly withdrew it, and a blood-drop fell on the floor.\n\n\"Thou art mine--for ever!\"\n\nA loud yell rang through the vaults, and Gervase felt as though the\ndoom of the lost spirits were his--that a whole troop of fiery demons\nhad assailed him, and that he was borne away to the pit of torment.\nHappily his recollection forsook him, and he became unconscious of\nfuture suffering.\n\n\n\n\nPART THE SECOND.\n\n\nMorning rose bright and ruddy above the hills. The elder Buckley was\nup and stirring betimes. Agreeably to his usual practice, he had\nretired early to bed, leaving the household cares and duties to his\nhelpmate. He was sitting in the porch when his dame, with a disturbed\nand portentous aspect, accosted him:--\n\n\"I know not what hath come to the lad.\"\n\n\"Gervase--what of him?\" said Nicholas, carelessly.\n\n\"He came home very late yesternight. But he did not speak, and he\nlooked so wan and woe-begone that I verily thought he had seen a ghost\nor some uncanny thing yonder on his road home. I've just now been to\nrouse him, but he will not answer. Prithee go and get speech of him,\ngood or bad. I think i' my heart the lad's bewitched.\"\n\nNicholas Buckley was a man of few words, especially in the presence of\nhis helpmate, so he merely groaned out an incredulous wonder, and went\noff as he was bidden. He saw Gervase evidently under the influence of\nsome stupefying spell. His eyes were open, but he noticed neither the\nquestion nor the person who accosted him. There was something so\nhorrible and mysterious in his whole appearance that the good man felt\nalarmed, and went back to his dame with all possible expedition. What\n_could_ have happened? They guessed, and made a thousand odd surmises,\nimprobable enough the greater part, but all merging in the prevailing\nbugbear of the day--witchcraft, which was resorted to as a\nsatisfactory explanation under every possible difficulty. Had his\nmalady any connection with the unexpected appearance of the Red Woman\nand the ring? It was safe buried, however, and that was a comfort. But\nafter all, her thoughts always involuntarily recurred to this\nunpleasant subject. She could not shake off her suspicions, and there\nwas little use in attempting further measures unless she could fight\nthe Evil One with his own weapons. To this end, she began to cast\nabout for some cunning wizard who might countervail the plots of this\nmalicious witch.\n\nNow at this period, Dr Dee, celebrated for his extraordinary\nrevelations respecting the world of spirits, had been promoted by\nQueen Elizabeth (a firm believer in astrology and other recondite\npursuits) to the wardenship of the Collegiate Church at Manchester.\nHis fame had spread far and wide. He had not long been returned from\nhis mission to the Emperor Rodolph at Prague, and his intercourse with\ninvisible things was as firmly believed as the common occurrences of\nthe day, and as well authenticated.\n\nThe character of Dee has both been underrated and misunderstood. By\nmost, if not all, he has been looked upon merely as a visionary and an\nenthusiast--credulous and ambitious, without the power, though he had\nsufficient will, to compass the most mischievous designs. But under\nthese outward weaknesses and superstitions, tinctured and modified by\nthe prevailing belief in supernatural interferences, there was a bold\nand vigorous mind, frustrated, it is true, by circumstances which he\ncould not control. Dee aimed at the entire change and subjugation of\naffairs, ecclesiastical and political, to the dominion of an unseen\npower--a theocracy or millennium--himself the sole medium of\ncommunication, the high priest and lawgiver. To this end he sought the\nalliance and support of foreign potentates; and his diary, published\nby Casaubon, the original of which is in the British Museum, is a\nremarkable and curious detail of the intrigues resorted to for this\npurpose. His mission to the Emperor Rodolph, offering him the sceptre\nof universal dominion, is told with great minuteness; and there is\nlittle doubt that Elizabeth herself did not disdain to converse and\nconsult with him on this extraordinary project. Her visits to his\nhouse at Mortlake are well known. He had been consulted as to a\nfavourable day for her coronation, and received many splendid\npromises of preferment that were never realised. At length,\ndisappointed and hopeless as to the success of his once daring\nexpectations, he settled down to the only piece of preferment within\nhis reach--to wit, the wardenship of the Collegiate Church of\nManchester, where he arrived with his family in the beginning of\nFebruary 1596. His advice and assistance were much resorted to, and\nparticularly in cases of supposed witchcraft and demoniacal\npossession--articles of unshaken belief at that period with all but\nspeculatists and optimists, the Sadducees of their day and generation.\nHis chief colleague throughout his former revelations had been one\nEdward Kelly, born at Worcester, where he practised as an apothecary.\nIn his diary Dee says they were brought together by the ministration\nof the angel Uriel. He was called Kelly the Seer. This faculty of\n\"_seeing_\" by means of a magic crystal not being possessed by the\nDoctor, he was obliged to have recourse to Kelly, who had, or\npretended to have, this rare faculty. Afterwards, however, he found\nout that Kelly had deceived him; those spirits which ministered at his\nbidding not being messengers from the Deity, as he once supposed, but\nlying spirits sent to deceive and to betray.\n\nKelly was an undoubted impostor, though evidently himself a believer\nin magic and the black art. Addicted to diabolical and mischievous\npractices, he was a fearful ensample of those deluders given up to\ntheir own inventions to believe the very lies wherewith they attempted\nto deceive.\n\nHe was a great treasure-hunter and invoker of demons, and it is said\nwould not scruple to have recourse to the most disgusting brutalities\nfor the gratification of his avarice and debauchery. In Weaver's\n_Funereal Monuments_, it is recorded that Kelly, in company with one\nPaul Waring, went to the churchyard of Walton-le-Dale, near Preston,\nwhere a person was interred at that time supposed to have hidden a\nlarge sum of money, and who had died without disclosing the secret.\nThey entered precisely at midnight, the grave having been pointed out\nto them the preceding day. They dug down to the coffin, opened it, and\nexorcised the spirit of the deceased, until the body rose from the\ngrave and stood upright before them. Having satisfied their inquiries,\nit is said that many strange predictions were uttered concerning\ndivers persons in the neighbourhood, which were literally and\nremarkably fulfilled.\n\nAt the date of our legend Kelly had been parted from the Doctor for a\nconsiderable time. The Doctor having found out his proneness to these\nevil courses, Kelly bore no good-will to his former patron and\nassociate.\n\nWe have not space, or it would be an interesting inquiry, as connected\nwith the superstitions of our ancestors, to trace the character and\ncareer of these individuals--men once famous amongst their\ncontemporaries, forming part of the history of those times, and\nexerting a permanent influence immediately on the national character,\nand remotely on that of a future and indefinite period.\n\nDame Eleanor Buckley was morally certain, firstly, that her son was\nwitched; and secondly, that no time should be lost in procuring\nrelief. Nicholas therefore took horse for Manchester that very\nforenoon, with the intention of consulting the learned Doctor\nabove-named on his son's malady. Ere he left, however, there came\ntidings that Grace Ashton had not returned home, and was supposed to\nhave tarried at Buckley for the night.\n\nTrembling at this unexpected news, the dame once more applied to her\nson. He was still wide awake on the couch, in the same position, and\napparently unconscious of her presence. In great anxiety she conjured\nhim to say if he knew what had befallen Grace Ashton.\n\n\"She is dead!\" was his reply, in a voice strangely altered from his\nusual careless and happy tone. Nothing further, however, could be\ndrawn from him, but shortly after there came one with additional\ntidings.\n\n\"Inquiry has been set on foot,\" said the messenger, \"and Tim, well\nknown at wakes and merry-makings, doth come forward with evidence\nwhich justifies a suspicion that is abroad--to wit, that she has met\ndeath by some unfair dealing; and further, he scruples not to throw\nout dark and mysterious hints that implicate your son as being privy\nto her disappearance.\"\n\nAt this unlooked-for intelligence the mother's fortitude gave way.\nTribulation and anguish had indeed set in upon them like a flood. The\nring, so unaccountably brought back by the Red Woman, was beyond doubt\nthe cause of all their misfortunes--its reappearance, as she\nanticipated, being the harbinger of misery. What should be the next\narrow from her quiver she trembled to forebode. But in the midst of\nthis fever of doubt and apprehension one hope sustained her, and that\nwas the result of her husband's mission to Dr Dee, who would doubtless\nfind out the nature of the spell, and relieve them from its curse.\n\nLet us follow the traveller to Dee's lodgings in the Deanery, where at\nthat time this renowned astrologer was located. Nicholas Buckley found\nhim sitting in a small dismal-looking study, where he was introduced\nwith little show either of formality or hesitation. The Doctor was now\nold, and his sharp, keen, grey eyes had suffered greatly by reason of\nrheum and much study. Pale, but of a pleasant countenance, his manner,\nif not so grave and sedate as became one of his deep and learned\nresearch, yet displaying a vigour and vivacity the sure intimation of\nthat quenchless ardour, the usual concomitant of all who are destined\nto eminence, or to any conspicuous part in the age on which they are\nthrown;--not idle worthless weeds on the strand of time, but landmarks\nor beacons in the ocean of life, to warn or to direct.\n\nHe was short in stature, and somewhat thin. A rusty black velvet cap,\nwithout ornament, surmounted his forehead, from which a few straggling\ngrey hairs crept forth, rivalling his pale, thoughtful brow in\nwhiteness.\n\nHe sat in a curiously embossed chair, with a brown-black leathern\ncushion, beside an oaken table or tressel, groaning under the weight\nof many ponderous volumes of all hues and subjects. Divers and occult\nwere the tractates there displayed, and unintelligible save to the\ninitiated. Alchemy was just then his favourite research, and he was\nvainly endeavouring to master the jargon under which its worthlessness\nand folly were concealed.\n\nNicholas Buckley related his mishap, and, as far as he was able, the\ncircumstances connected with it. The Doctor then erected a horoscope\nfor the hour. After consulting this, he said--\n\n\"I will undertake for thee, if so be that my poor abilities, hitherto\nsorely neglected, and I may say despised, can bring thee any succour.\nIndeed the land groans by reason of the sin of witchcraft--a noisome\nplague now infesting this afflicted realm, and a grievous scandal to\nthe members and ministers of our Reformed Church. The ring is of a\nsurety bewitched, and by one more powerful and wicked than thou canst\npossibly imagine. I tell thee plainly, that unless the charm be\nbroken, the recovery of the young man were vain--nay, in all\nlikelihood, thine own ruin will be the result.\"\n\nThe merchant groaned audibly at this doleful news. He thought upon his\nmerchandise and his adventures o'er sea--his treasures and his\nargosies, committed to the tender mercies of the deep; and he\nrecounted them in brief.\n\n\"Cannot these be rescued from such disaster?\" inquired he dolefully.\n\n\"I know not yet,\" was the reply. \"Saturn, that hath his location here,\ngoverning these expected treasures, now beholds the seventh house of\nthe figure I have just erected with a quartile aspect. They be evil\ntokens, but as regards this same Mother Red-Cap or the Red Woman, who\nhath doubtless brought you into grievous trouble, I know her. Nay,\nlook not incredulous. How, it is not needful to inquire. Suffice it\nthat she hath great power, through from a different source from mine.\nShe is of the Rosicrucian order, one of the sisters, of which there\nare five throughout Europe and Asia. They have intercourse with\nspirits, communicating too with each other, though at never so great a\ndistance, by means of this mystical agency. She hath been here, ay,\neven in the very place where thou sittest.\"\n\nThe visitor started from his chair.\n\n\"And I am not ignorant of her devices. She is of a papistical breed;\nand the recusant priests, if I mistake not, are at the working of some\ndiabolical plot; it may be against the life and government of our\ngracious Queen! They would employ the devil himself, if need were, to\ncompass their intent. She hath travelled much, and doubtless hath\nlearned marvellous secrets from the Moors and Arabian doctors. It is,\nhowever, little to the purpose at present that we continue this\ndiscourse. What more properly concerns thee is how to get rid of this\ngrievous visitation, which, unless removed, will of a surety fall out\nto thine undoing. By prayer and fasting much may be accomplished,\ntogether with the use of all lawful means for thy release.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Buckley, \"I fear me there is little hope of a favourable\nissue, and I may not be delivered from this wicked one!\"\n\n\"Be of good heart; we will set to work presently, and, if it be\npossible, counterplot this cunning witch. But to this end it is\nneedful that I visit the young man, peradventure we may gather tidings\nof her. I know not any impediment to my journey this very day. Ay!\neven so,\" said he, poring over some unimaginable diagrams. \"Good!\nthere is a marvellous proper aspect for our enterprise thirty minutes\nafter midnight. Thou hast doubtless taken horse with thy servant\nhither. I will take his place and bear thee company.\"\n\nThe Doctor was soon equipped for travel, much to the comfort of the\nafflicted applicant, who was like to have taken his departure with a\nsorry heart, and in great disquietude. On their arrival at Buckley,\nDee would needs see the patient instantly. No change had taken place\nsince morning, and he still refused any sustenance that might be\noffered. The Doctor examined him narrowly, but refrained from\npronouncing on his case.\n\nIt was now evening. The sun shot a languid and fitful ray athwart the\nvapours gathering to receive him, and its light shone on the full\ncouch of the invalid. The astrologer was sitting apart, in profound\nmeditation. Dame Eleanor suddenly roused him.\n\n\"He has just asked for the Red Woman,\" said she, \"and I heard him\nbemoaning himself, saying that he is betrothed to her, and that she\nwill come ere long to claim his pledge. Hark, he mutters again!\"\n\nDee immediately went to the bedside.\n\n\"I did not kill her,\" said the victim, shuddering. He dashed the cold\nsweat from his forehead with some violence. He then started up. \"Is\nshe come?\" said he in a low, hollow voice, and he sat up in the\nattitude of intense expectation. \"Not yet, not yet,\" he uttered with\ngreat rapidity, and sank down again as though exhausted.\n\nA stormy and lowering sky now gathered above the sun's track, and the\nchamber suddenly grew dark. The inmates looked as though expecting\nsome terrific, some visible manifestation of their tormentor. Dee\nlooked out through the window. There was nothing worthy of remark,\nsave an angry heap of clouds, rolling and twisting together--the sure\nforerunner of a tempest.\n\n\"The whole country is astir,\" said Dame Eleanor. \"They are seeking for\nthe body of Grace Ashton in pits and secret places. Woe is me that I\nshould live to see the day;--the poor lad there is loaden with curses,\nand fearful threatenings are uttered against us. We are verily in\njeopardy of our lives.\"\n\nHereat she fell a-weeping, and truly it was piteous to behold.\n\n\"We must first get an answer from him,\" said the Doctor, \"ere measures\ncan be devised for his recovery.\"\n\n\"'Tis said there will be a warrant for his apprehension on the\nmorrow,\" said the elder Buckley.\n\n\"There is some terrible perplexing mystery, if not knavery, in this\nmatter,\" said Dee; \"and I have been thinking--nay, I more than\nsuspect--that rascal Kelly hath a hand in it. He is ever hankering\nafter forbidden arts, and many have fallen the innocent victims to his\ndiabolical intrigues. He hath become a great adept of late, too, as I\nam told, in this Rosicrucian philosophy; and if we have here a clue to\nour labyrinth, depend on it we'll get to the end speedily. To spite\nand frustrate that juggling cheat I will spare neither pains nor\nstudy; though of a surety we only use lawful and appointed means.\nPrayers and exorcisms must be resorted to, and help craved from a\nhigher source than theirs.\"\n\nAt length the forms and usages generally resorted to on such occasions\nwere entered upon. Loud and fervent were the responses, continuing\neven to a late hour, but without producing any change.\n\nThe wind, hitherto rushing only in short fierce gusts through the\nvalley, now gathered in loud heavy lunges against the corner of the\nhouse, almost extinguishing the solitary light on the table near to\nwhich Dee sat; the casements rattled, and the whole fabric shook as\nthey passed by. At length there came a lull, fearful in its very\nsilence, as though the elements were gathering strength for one mighty\nonslaught. On it came like an overwhelming surge, and for a moment\nthreatened them with immediate destruction. Dust, pebbles, and dead\nbranches were flung on the window, as though bursting through, to the\ngreat terror of the inmates. Again it drew back, and there was\nstillness so immediate, it was even more appalling than the loudest\nassaults of the tempest. The household, too, were silent. Even Dee was\nevidently disturbed, and as though in expectation of some\nextraordinary occurrence.\n\nA sharp quick tapping was heart at the casement.\n\n\"What is that?\" was the general inquiry. Gervase evidently heard it\ntoo, and was apparently listening.\n\nDee arose. He went slowly towards the window, as if carefully\nscrutinising what might present itself. He put his face nearly close\nto the glass, and manifestly beheld some object which caused him to\ndraw back. His forehead became puckered by intense emotion, either\nfrom surprise or alarm. He put one finger on his brow, as though\ntaking counsel from his own thoughts, deliberating for a moment what\ncourse to pursue. At length, much to the astonishment of his\ncompanions, he opened the latch of the casement, when, with a dismal\ncroak, a raven came hopping in. With outstretched wings he jumped down\non the floor, and would have gone direct to the bed, but the Doctor\ncaught him, and by main force held him back.\n\nFluttering and screaming, the bird made every effort to escape, but\nnot before Dee was aware of a label tied round his neck. This he\nquickly detached; after which the winged messenger flew back through\nthe open window, either having finished his errand, or not liking his\nentertainment. Dee opened the billet--a bit of parchment--and out\ndropped the ring! In the envelope was a mystical scroll, encompassed\nwith magic emblems, wherein was written the following doggerel, either\nin blood or coloured so as to represent it:--\n\n     \"By this ring a charm is wound,\n     Rolling darkly round and round,\n     Ne'er beginning--ending never;\n     Woe betide this house for ever!\n     Thou art mine through life--in death\n     I'll receive thy latest breath.\n     Plighted is thy vow to me,\n     Mine thy doom, thy destiny,\n     Sealed with blood; this endless token,\n     Like the spell, shall ne'er be broken.\"\n\nAlarm was but too legible on the Doctor's brow. He was evidently taken\nby surprise. He read it aloud, while fearful groans responded from the\nvictim.\n\n\"'Tis a case of grievous perplexity,\" said he, \"and I am sore\ndistraught. If he have sworn his very soul to her, as this rhyme doth\nseem to intimate, I am miserably afflicted for his case. Doubtless\n'tis some snare which hath unwillingly been thrown about him.\nNevertheless, I will diligently and warily address myself to the task,\nand Heaven grant us a safe deliverance. Yet I freely own there is both\ndanger and extremity in the attempt. She will doubtless appear and\nclaim the fulfilment of his pledge. But I must cope with her alone;\nnone else may witness the conflict. It is not the first time that I\nhave battled with the powers of darkness.\"\n\n\"But what motive hath she for this persecution? it is not surely out\nof sheer malice,\" said the dame, weeping.\n\n\"Belike not,\" replied Dee thoughtfully. \"It doth savour of those\nincantations whereof I oft read in diverse tractates, whereby she\nexpects to gain advantage or deliverance if she sacrifice another\nvictim to the demon whereunto she hath sold herself. Indeed, we hear\nof some whose tenure of life can only be renewed by the yearly\nsubstitution of another; and it is to this possible danger that our\nfeeble efforts must be directed. But I trust in aid stronger than the\nunited hosts of the Prince of Darkness. This very night, I doubt not,\nwill come the final struggle.\"\n\nThe wind was now still, but ever and anon bursts of hail hurtled on\nthe window. Thunder growled in the distance, waxing louder and louder,\nuntil its roar might have appalled the stoutest heart.\n\nWith many anxious wishes and admonitions the distressed parents left\nthe Doctor to himself.\n\nHe took from his pocket an hour-glass, a Bible, and a Latin\ntranslation from the Arabic, being a treatise on witches, genii,\ndemons, and the like, together with their symbols, method of\ninvocation, and many other subjects equally useful. Intent on his\nstudies, he hardly looked aside save for the purpose of turning the\nglass, when he immediately became absorbed as before.\n\nNow and then he cast a glance towards the bed. His patient lay\nperfectly quiet, but the Doctor fancied he was listening.\n\nAbout midnight he heard a groan; he shut his book, and, looking aside,\nbeheld the terrible eye and aspect of the Red Woman glaring fiercely\nupon him. She had in all likelihood been concealed somewhere within\nhearing; for a closet-door, on one side of the chamber, stood open as\nthough she had just issued from it.\n\nWith great presence of mind he adjured her that she should declare her\nerrand.\n\n\"I am here on my master's business; mine errand concerns not thee,\"\nwas the reply. Her terrible eyes glanced, as she spoke, towards the\nbed where the unfortunate Gervase Buckley lay writhing as though in\ntorment.\n\n\"By what compact or agreement is he thine, foul sorceress? Knowest\nthou not that there are bounds beyond which ye cannot prevail?\"\n\n\"He hath sworn--the compact is sealed with blood, and must be\nfulfilled. I am here to claim mine own; and it is at thy peril thou\nprevent me.\"\n\n\"I fear thee not, but am prepared to withstand _thee_ and all thy\nworks.\"\n\n\"Beware! There's a black drop in thine own cup,\" said she. \"Thou\nthyself hast sought counsel by forbidden arts, and I can crush thee in\na moment.\"\n\nDee looked as though vanquished on the sudden. He was not altogether\nclear from this charge, having, though at Kelly's instigation, been\nled somewhat farther than was advisable into practices which in his\nheart he condemned. He, however, now felt convinced that Kelly had\nsome hand in the business, knowing, too, that he would associate with\nthe most wicked and abandoned, if so be that he might compass his\ngreedy and unhallowed desire.\n\n\"Depart whilst thou may,\" she continued. \"I warn thee. Yonder\ninheritance is mine, though the silly damsel they have lost be the\nreputed heir. Aforetime I have told thee. Wronged of our rights, I\nhave sold myself--ay, body and soul--for revenge! By unjust\npersecutions we have been proscribed, those of the true faith have\nbeen forced to fly, and even our lands and our patrimony given to yon\ngraceless heretics.\"\n\n\"But why persecute this unoffending house?--they have not done _thee_\nwrong.\"\n\n\"It is commanded--the doom must be fulfilled. One condition only was\nappointed. A hard task, to wit--but what cannot power and ingenuity\ncompass?--'When one shall pledge himself thine and for ever, then the\ninheritance thou seekest is thine also, which none shall take from\nthee. But he too must be rendered up to me.' This was the doom! 'Tis\nfulfilled. He hath pledged himself body and soul, and that ring, if\nneed be, is witness to his troth.\"\n\n\"Is Grace Ashton living or dead?\" inquired Dee, with a firm and\npenetrating glance.\n\n\"When he hath surrendered to his pledge it shall be told thee.\"\n\n\"Wicked sorceress,\" said the Doctor, rising in great anger, \"he shall\nnot be thy victim; thine arts shall be countervailed. The powers of\ndarkness are not, in the end, permitted to prevail, though for a time\ntheir devices seem to prosper. Listen, and answer me truly, or I will\ncompel thee in such wise that thou darest not disobey. Was there none\nother condition to thy bond?\"\n\nThe weird woman here broke forth into a laugh so wild and scornful\nthat the arch-fiend himself could hardly have surpassed it in malice.\n\n\"Fret not thyself,\" she said, \"and I will tell thee. Know, then, I am\nscathless from all harm until that feeble ring shall be able to bind\nme; none other bonds may prevail.\"\n\n\"This ring bind thee?\"\n\n\"Even so; and as a blade of grass I could rend it! Judge, then, of my\nsafety. Fire, air, and water--all the elements--cannot have the power\nto hurt me; I hold a charmed life. The price is paid!\"\n\nDee looked curiously round the little thin ring which he held, and\nindeed it were hopeless to suppose so frail a fetter could restrain\nher.\n\n\"Thou hast told me the truth?\"\n\n\"I have--on my hope of prospering in this pursuit of our patrimony.\"\n\n\"And what is thy purpose with the lad?\"\n\n\"I have need of him. He is my hostage to him whom I serve.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt not take him by force!\"\n\n\"I will not. He will follow whithersoever I lead. He has neither will\nnor power to disobey.\"\n\n\"Grant a little space, I prithee. 'Tis a doleful doom for one so\nyoung.\"\n\n\"To-morrow my time hath expired. Either he or I must be surrendered\nto\"----Here she pointed downwards.\n\n\"Agreed. To-morrow at this hour. We will be prepared.\"\n\nThe witch unwillingly departed as she came. The closet-door was shut\nas with a violent gust of wind, after which Dee sat pondering deeply\non the matter, but unable to come to any satisfactory conclusion. He\nnever suspected for one moment what in this evil and matter-of-fact\ngeneration would have occurred even to the most credulous--to wit,\nthat either insanity or fanaticism, aided by fortuitous events, if we\nmay so speak, was the cause of this delusion, at least to the unhappy\nwoman now the object of Dee's most abstruse speculations. His\nthoughts, however, would often recur to his quondam associate, Kelly,\nand, if in the neighbourhood, which he suspected, an interview with\nhim might possibly be of use, and afford some clue to guide their\nproceedings.\n\nCommitting himself to a short repose, he determined to make diligent\nsearch for this mischievous individual--having comforted in some\nmeasure the unhappy couple below stairs, who were in a state of great\napprehension lest their son had already fallen a victim, and were\nready to give up all for lost.\n\nEarly on the ensuing day the Doctor bent his steps towards Clegg Hall,\nwhence the old family of that name had been dispossessed, and from\nwhom that mysterious individual, the Red Woman, claimed descent.\n\nThe air was fresh and bracing after the night's tempest. Traces of\nits fury, however, were plainly visible. Huge trees had been swept\ndown, as though some giant hand had crushed them. Rising the hill\ntowards Belfield, he stayed a moment to look round him. There was\nsomething in the loneliness and desertion of the spot that was\ncongenial to his thoughts. The rooks cawed round their ancient\ninheritance, but all was ruin and disorder. His curiosity was excited;\nhe had sufficient local knowledge to remember it was once an\nestablishment of the Knights of St John some centuries before, and he\nremembered too, that according to vulgar tradition, great riches were\nburied somewhere in the vaults. A thought struck him that it was not\nan unlikely spot for the operations of Master Kelly. Impressed with\nthis idea, a notion was soon engendered that his errand need not carry\nhim farther. He drew near to the ivied archway beneath the tower. The\nmavis whistled for its mate, and the sparrow chirped amongst the\nfoliage. All else was silent and apparently deserted. He entered the\ngateway. Inside, on the right hand, was a narrow flight of steps, and,\nimpelled by curiosity, he clambered, though with some difficulty, into\na dilapidated chamber above. Here the loopholes were covered with ivy,\nbut it was unroofed, and the floor was strewn with rubbish, the\naccumulation of ages. Through a narrow breach at one corner he saw\nwhat had once been a concealed passage, evidently piercing the immense\nthickness of the walls, and leading probably to some secret chambers\nnot ordinarily in use. He now heard voices below, and taking advantage\nthereby, crept into the passage, probably expecting to gather some\nnews by listening to the visitors if they approached. Two of these\nascended the broken steps, and every word was audible from his place\nof concealment. He instantly recognised the voice of Kelly. The other\nwas a stranger.\n\n\"Ah, ah! old Mother Red-Cap, I tell thee, says we can never get the\ntreasure. By this good spade, and a willing arm to wit, the gold is\nmine ere two hours older,\" said Kelly.\n\n\"I am terribly afeard o' these same boggarts,\" replied his companion.\n\"T'owd an--'ll come sure enough among us, sure as my name's Tim, some\ntime or another.\"\n\n\"Never fear, nunkey; thee knows what a lump I've promised thee; an' as\nfor the old one, trust me for that; I can lay him in the Red Sea at\nany time. Haven't I and that old silly Doctor, who pretends, forsooth,\nto have conscience qualms when there's aught to be gotten, though as\nfond o' the stuff as any of us--haven't we, I say, by conjurations\nand fumigations, raised and laid a whole legion o' them? Why, man, I'm\nas well acquainted with the kingdom of Beelzebub, and his ministers to\nboot, as I am with my own.\"\n\n\"Don't make sich an ugly talk about 'em, prithee, good sir. I thought\nI heard some'at there i' the passage, an' I think i' my heart I darna\nface 'em again for a' th' gowd i' th' monk's cellar.\"\n\n\"Tush, fool! If we get hold on 't now it shall be ours, and none o'\nthe rest of our brethren o' the Red Cross need share, thee knows. But\nthou be'st but newly dubbed an' hardly initiated yet in our sublime\nmysteries. Nevertheless, I will be indifferent honest too, and for thy\ngreat services to us and to our cause I do promise thee a largess when\nit comes to our fingers--that is to say, one-fifth to thee, and\none-fifth to me; the other three shares do go to the general\ntreasure-house of the community, of which I take half.\"\n\n\"A goodly portion, marry--but I'd liefer 't not gang ony farther.\"\n\n\"Villain! thou art bent on treachery; if thou draw back I'll ha' thee\nhanged or otherwise punished for what thou hast done. Remember, knave,\nthou art in my power.\"\n\nThe guilty victim groaned piteously, but he was irretrievably\nentangled. The toils had been spread by a master-hand. He saw the gulf\nto which he was hurried, but could not extricate himself.\n\n\"Yonder women, plague take 'em,\" said Tim; \"what's up now? I know this\nowd witch who's sold hersel' to--to--Blackface I'm afeard, is th'\nowner o' many a good rood o' land hereabout, an' t'owd Ha' too, wi'\nits 'purtenances. But she's brought fro' Spain or Italy, as I be\ntou'd, a main lot o' these same priest gear; an' they're lurkin'\nhereabout like, loike rabbits in a warren, till she can get rid o'\nthese Ashtons. Mony a year long past I've seen her prowling about, but\nshe never could get her ends greadly till now.\"\n\n\"By my help she shall,\" said Kelly; \"it's a bargain between us. She's\nbrought her grandchildren too, who left England in their youth, being\neducated in a convent o'er seas. They're just ready to drop into\npossession.\"\n\n\"But poor Grace Ashton; she's gi'en me mony a dish of hot porritch an'\nbannocks. She shauna be hurt if I can help it.\"\n\n\"Fool!--the wench must be provided for. Look thee--if she get away,\nshe'll spoil all. When dead, young Buckley must be charged with the\nmurder.\"\n\n\"Weel, weel; but I'll ha' nought more to do wi 't. E'en tak' your own\nfling--I'll wash my hands on't altogether, an' so\"----\n\n\"I want help, thou chicken-faced varlet--come, budge--to thy work; we\nmay have helpers to the booty, if time be lost.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us!\" said Tim, in great dolour, \"I wish I had ne'er had\naught to do wi' treasure-hunting an' sich-like occupation. If ever I\nget rid of this job, if I don't stick to my old trade, hang me up to\ndry.\"\n\n\"Hold thy peace, carrion! and remember, should a whisper even escape\nthee, I will have thee hanged in good earnest.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay; just like Satan 'ticing to iniquity, an' then, biggest rogue\nal'ays turns retriever.\"\n\n\"None o' thy pretences: thou hast as liquorish a longing after the\ngold as any miser in the parish, and when the broad pieces and the\nsilver nobles jingle in thy fob, thoul't forget thy qualms, and thank\nme into the bargain. Now to work. Let me see, what did the sleeping\nbeauty say? Humph--'Under the main pillar at the south-east corner.'\nGood. Nay, man, don't light up yet. Let us get fairly underground\nfirst, for fear of accidents.\"\n\nTo the great alarm of Dr Dee, who heard every word, these two worthies\ncame straight towards the opening. He drew on one side at a venture.\nLuckily it proved the right one; they proceeded up the passage in the\nopposite direction. He heard them groping at the further end. A\ntrap-door was evidently raised, and he was pretty well convinced they\nhad found the way to the vaults; probably it had been blocked up for\nages until recently, and in all likelihood Tim had pointed it out, as\nwell as the notion that treasure was concealed somewhere in these\nlabyrinths.\n\nHow to make this discovery in some way subservient to his mission was\nthe next consideration; and with a firm conviction, generally the\nforerunner of success, he determined to employ some bold stratagem for\ntheir detection. They were now fairly in the trap, and he hoped to\nmake sure of the vermin. For this end he cautiously felt his way to\nthe opposite extremity of the passage, where he found the floor\nemitted a hollow sound. This was assuredly the entrance; but he tried\nin vain--it resisted every effort. Here, however, he determined to\nkeep watch and seize them if possible on their egress, trusting to his\ngood fortune or his courage for help in any emergency that might\nensue. At times he laid his ear to the ground, but nothing was\naudible as to their operations below. This convinced him they were at\na considerable distance from the entry, but he felt assured that ere\nlong they must emerge from their den, when, taken by surprise, he\nshould have little difficulty in securing the first that came forth,\nkeeping fast the door until he had made sure of his captive.\n\nHe watched patiently for some time, when all on a sudden he heard a\nrumbling subterraneous noise, and he plainly felt the ground tremble\nunder his feet. A loud shriek was heard below, and presently footsteps\napproaching the entrance. He had scarcely time to draw aside ere the\ndoor was burst open, and some one rushed forth. The Doctor seized him\nby the throat, and ere he had recovered from his consternation,\ndragged him out of the passage.\n\n\"Villain! what is it ye are plotting here about? Confess, or I'll have\nthee dealt with after thy deserts.\"\n\n\"Oh!--I'll--tell--all--I will\"--sobbed out the delinquent, gasping\nwith terror. Tim, for it was none other, fell on his knees crying for\nmercy. \"Whoever thou art,\" continued he, \"come and help--help for one\nthat's fa'n under a heavy calamity. Bad though he be, we maunna let\nhim perish for lack o' lookin' after.\"\n\n\"Hast got a light, knave?\"\n\n\"I'll run an' fetch one.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay; we part not company until better acquainted. Is there not a\ncandle below?\"\n\n\"Alas! 'tis put out--and--oh! I'd forgotten; here's t' match-box i' my\npocket.\"\n\nHe drew forth the requisite materials, and they were soon equipped,\nexploring the concealed chambers we have before described. With\ndifficulty they now found their way, by reason of the dust arising\nfrom the recent catastrophe. Dee followed cautiously on, keeping a\nwary eye on his leader lest some deceit or stratagem should be\nintended.\n\nThey now approached a heap of ruins almost choking the entrance to the\nlarger vault. He thought groans issued from beneath.\n\n\"He's not dead yet,\" said Tim. \"Here, here, good sir; help me to shift\nthis stone first.\"\n\nThey set to work in good earnest, and, with no little difficulty and\ndelay, at length succeeded in releasing the unfortunate\ntreasure-hunter. Eager to possess the supposed riches, they had\nincautiously undermined one of the main supports of the roof, and\nKelly was buried under the ruins. Fortunately he lay in the hollow he\nhad made, otherwise nothing but a miracle could have saved him from\nimmediate death. He was terribly bruised, nevertheless, and presented\na pitiable spectacle. Bleeding and sore wounded, he was hardly\nsensible as they bore him out into the fresh air. Apparently unable to\nmove, they laid him on the ground until help could be obtained. In a\nwhile he recovered.\n\n\"Thou art verily incorrigible,\" said the Doctor to his former\nassociate. \"Where is the maiden ye have so cruelly conveyed away?\"\n\nBut Kelly was dogged, and would not answer.\n\n\"I have heard and know all,\" continued Dee; \"so that, unless thou wilt\nconfess, assuredly I will have thee lodged in the next jail on\naccusation of the murder. Thy diabolical practices will sooner or\nlater bring thee to punishment.\"\n\n\"Promise not to molest me,\" said Kelly, who feared nothing but the\nstrong arm of the law, so utterly was he given over to a reprobate\nmind, even to commit iniquity with greediness.\n\n\"What! and let thee forth to compass other and maybe more heinous\nmischief! I promise nothing, save that thou be prevented from such\npursuits. Thou hast entered into covenant with the woman whom it is\nour purpose in due time to deliver up to the secular arm. You think to\ncompass your mutual ends by this compact; but be assured your schemes\nshall be frustrated, and that speedily.\"\n\nAt this Kelly again fell into a sulky mood, maimed and helpless though\nhe was; and revenge, dark and deadly, distorted his visage.\n\nTim here stepped forward.\n\n\"I do repent me of this iniquity, an' if ever I'm catched meddling wi'\nsich tickle gear again, I'll gie ye leave to hang me up without judge\nor jury.\"\n\n\"The best proof of repentance is restitution,\" said the Doctor.\n\"Knowest thou aught of the maiden?\"\n\n\"I'll find her, if ye can keep that noisome wizard frae hurting me. He\nswears that if I tell, e'en by nods, winks, or otherwise, he'll send\nme to ---- in a whirlwind.\"\n\n\"I will give thee my pledge, not a hair of thy head shall be damaged.\"\n\n\"He has the key in his pocket.\"\n\n\"What of that?\"\n\n\"It's the key to the old house door yonder, an' she's either there or\nbut lately fetched away.\"\n\nThe Doctor proceeded, though not without opposition, to the search.\nThe key was soon produced, and accompanied by the repentant\nballad-monger, he approached the mansion, which, as we have before\nnoticed, was near at hand, apparently untenanted.\n\n\"Yonder knave, I think, cannot escape,\" said Dee.\n\n\"No, no,\" said his conductor, \"unless some'at fetches him; he's too\nwell hampered for that. His legs are aw smashed wi' that downfa'.\"\n\nThey entered a little court almost choked up with leaves and long\ngrass. The door was unlocked, and a desolate scene presented itself.\nThe hall was covered with damp and mildew--all was rotting in ruin and\ndecay. Tim led the way up-stairs. The same appearances were still\nmanifest. The dark shadow of death seemed to brood there--an\ninterminable silence. They entered a small closet, nearly dark; and\nhere, on a miserable pallet, lay the form of Grace Ashton, now, alas!\npale and haggard. She seemed altogether unconscious of their presence.\nThe horrible events of the preceding night had brought on mental as\nwell as bodily disease. It was the practice of these treasure-seekers\neither to raise up a dead body for the desired information, or to\nthrow the living into such a state of mental hallucination that they\nshould answer dark and difficult questions whilst in that condition.\nIt not unfrequently happened, however, that the unfortunate victims to\nthese horrid rites either lost their lives or their reason during the\nexperiment.\n\nWe will not pursue the recital in the present case: suffice it to say,\nthat Grace Ashton was immediately removed and placed under the care of\nher friends; the Doctor went back to Kelly for further disclosures,\nbut what was his surprise to find that by some means or another he had\nescaped. He now lost no time in returning to Buckley, communicating\nthe painful, though in some degree welcome, intelligence that Grace\nAshton had been rescued from her persecutors.\n\nIt was now time to adopt measures for their reception of the witch,\nwho would doubtless not fail in her appointment.\n\nDee was yet in doubt as to the issue, and he thought it needful to\nacquaint them with the only method by which the spell could be broken.\nHow it were possible that the ring should ever bind her was a mystery\nthat at present he could not solve. Dame Eleanor listened very\nattentively, then sharply replied--\n\n\"I have heard o' this charm aforetime, or----By'r lady, but I have\nit!\"\n\nShe almost capered for joy.\n\nWe will not, however, anticipate the result, but entreat our readers\nto suspend their guesses, and again accompany us to the chamber where\nlay the heir of Buckley, still grievously tormented.\n\nMidnight again approached. Dee was sitting at the table, apparently in\ndeep study. He had examined the closet, and found it communicated by\nanother passage to an outer door; and it was through this that the Red\nWoman had contrived to enter without being observed. The learned\nDoctor was evidently awaiting her approach with no little anxiety.\nOnce or twice he fancied some one tapped at the casement, but it was\nonly the wind rushing by in stormy gusts, increasing in strength and\nfrequency as the time drew nigh.\n\nHark! was not that a distant shriek? It might be the creaking of the\nboughs and the old yew-tree by the door, thought Dee; and again, in a\nwhile, he relapsed into a profound reverie. Another! He heard the\njarring of rusty hinges; a heavy step; and--the Red Woman stood beside\nhim; but with such a malevolent aspect that he was somewhat startled\nand uneasy at her presence.\n\n\"I am beguiled of my prey!--mocked--thwarted. But beware, old man; thy\nmeddling may prove dangerous. I will possess the inheritance, though\nevery earthly power withstood me! That boy is mine. He hath sworn\nit--sealed it with his heart's blood--and I demand the pledge.\" The\nvictim groaned. \"Hearest thou that response? 'Tis an assent. He is\nmine in spite of your stratagems.\"\n\nThis was probably but the raving of a disordered intellect, but Dee\nwas too deeply imbued with the superstitions of the age to suppose for\na moment that it was not a case of undisguised witchcraft, or that\nthis wicked hag was not invested with sufficient power to execute\nwhatever either anger or caprice might suggest.\n\n\"What is thy will with the wretched victim thou hast ensnared?\" he\ninquired.\n\n\"I have told thee.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt not convey him away bodily to his tormentors?\"\n\n\"Unless they have a victim the inheritance may not be mine.\" She said\nthis with such a fiendish malice that made even the exorcist tremble.\nHis presence of mind, however, did not forsake him.\n\n\"The ring--I remember--there was a condition in the bond. In all such\ncompacts there is ever a loophole for escape.\"\n\n\"None that thou canst creep through,\" she said, with a look of scorn.\n\n\"It is not permitted that the children of men be tempted above\nmeasure.\"\n\n\"When that ring shall have strength to bind me, and not till then. All\nother bonds I rend asunder. Even adamant were as flaming tow.\"\n\n\"Here is a ring of stout iron,\" said Dee, pointing to an iron ring\nfixed by a stout staple in the wall. \"I think it would try thy boasted\nstrength.\"\n\n\"I could break it as the feeble reed.\"\n\nThe Doctor shook his head incredulously.\n\n\"Try me. Thou shall find it no empty boast.\"\n\nShe seemed proud that her words should be put to the test; and even\nproposed that her arms should be pinioned, and her body fastened with\nstout cords to the iron ring which had been prepared for this purpose.\n\n\"Thou shalt soon find which is the strongest,\" said she, exultingly.\n\"I have broken bonds ere now to which these are but as a thread.\"\n\nShe looked confident of success, and surveyed the whole proceeding\nwith a look of unutterable scorn.\n\n\"Now do thy worst, thou wicked one,\" said Dee, when he had finished.\n\nBut lo! a shriek that might have wakened the dead. She was unable to\nextricate herself, being held in spite of the most desperate efforts\nto escape. With a loud yell she cried out--\n\n\"Thou hast played me false, demon!\"\n\n\"'Tis not thy demon,\" said Dee; \"it is I that have circumvented thee.\nIn that iron ring is concealed the charmed one, wrought out by a\ncunning smith to this intent--to wit, the deliverance of a persecuted\nhouse.\"\n\nThe Red Woman now appeared shorn of her strength. Her charms and her\ndelusions were dispelled. She sank into the condition of a hopeless,\nwretched maniac, and was for some time closely confined to this\nchamber.\n\nBuckley, recovering soon after, was united to Grace Ashton, who, it is\nconfidently asserted, and perhaps believed, was restored to immediate\nhealth when the charm was broken.\n\n     [20] Within the last few years, since this story\n     was written, the old house itself has been levelled with the\n     ground.\n\n     [21] In the 39th of Eliz. Sir John Biron held the\n     manor of Rochdale, subsequently held by the Ramsays; but in the\n     13th of Charles I. it was reconveyed. The Biron family is more\n     ancient than the Conquest. Gospatrick held lands of Ernais de\n     Buron in the county of York, as appears by Domesday Book. Sir\n     Nicholas Byron distinguished himself in the civil wars of\n     Charles I.; and in consequence of his zeal in the royal cause\n     the manor of Rochdale was sequestered. After the Restoration it\n     reverted to the Byrons. Sir John, during these troubles, was\n     made a peer, by the title of Baron Byron of Rochdale. In 1823\n     the late Lord Byron sold the manor, after having been in\n     possession of the family for nearly three centuries.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEATH-PAINTER;\n\nOR, THE SKELETON'S BRIDE.\n\n\n\"This will hardly keep body and soul together,\" said Conrad Bergmann,\nas he eyed with a dissatisfied countenance some score of dingy\nkreutzers thrust into his palm by a \"patron of early genius,\"--one of\nthose individuals who take great merit to themselves by just keeping\ntheir victims in that enviable position between life and death,\nbetween absolute starvation and hopeless, abject poverty, which\neffectually represses all efforts to excel, controls and quenches all\nbut longings after immortality--who just fan the flame to let it smoke\nand quiver in the socket, but sedulously prevent it rising to any\ndegree of steadiness and brilliance.\n\nConrad that morning had taken home a picture, his sole occupation for\ntwo months, and this patron, a dealer in the \"fine arts,\" dwelling in\nthe good, quiet city of Mannheim, had given him a sum equivalent to\nthirty-six shillings sterling for his labour. Peradventure, it was not\nin the highest style of art; but what Schwartzen Baren or Weisse\nRosse--Black Bears, White Horses, Spread Eagles, and the like, the\nmeanest, worst-painted signs in the city--would not have commanded a\nhigher price?\n\nIn fact, Conrad had just genius enough to make himself miserable--to\nwit, by aspiring after those honours it was impossible to attain,\nkeeping him thereby in a constant fret and disappointment, instead of\nbeing content with his station, or striving for objects within his\nreach. Could he have drudged on as some dauber of sign-posts, or taken\nto useful employment, he might doubtless have earned a comfortable\nsustenance. He had, however, like many another child of genius, a soul\nabove such vulgarities; yearning after the ideal and the vain; having\ntoo much genius for himself and too little for the world; suspended in\na sort of Mahomet's coffin between earth and heaven--contemned,\nrejected, by \"gods, men, and columns.\"\n\nConrad Bergmann was about two-and-twenty, of good figure and\nwell-proportioned features, complexion fair, bright bluish-grey eyes,\nwhiskers well matched with a pale, poetical, it might be sickly hue of\ncountenance, and an expression more inclining to melancholy than\npersons of such mean condition have a right to assume. His father had\nbrought him up to a trade--an honest thriving business--to wit, that\nof _knopfmacher_ (button-maker). But Conrad, the youngest, and his\nmother's favourite, happened to be indulged with more idle time than\nthe rest, which, for the most part, was laudably expended in scrawling\nsundry hideous representations--all manner of things on walls and\nwainscots. Persevering in this occupation he was forthwith pronounced\na genius. About the age of fifteen, Conrad saw a huge \"St\nChristopher,\" by a native artist, and straightway his destiny was\nfixed. He struggled on for some years with little success save being\npronounced by the gossips \"marvellously clever.\" His performances\nwanted that careful and elaborate course of study indispensable even\nto the most exalted genius. They were not only glaring, tawdry, and\nill-drawn, but worse conceived; flashy, crude accumulations of colour\nonly rendering their defects more apparent. He was in a great measure\nself-taught. His impetuous, ardent imagination could not endure the\nlabour requisite to form an artist. He would fain have read ere he had\nlearned to spell; and the result might easily have been foretold.\n\nHis father died, and the family were but scantily provided for. Conrad\nwas now forced to make, out a livelihood by what was previously an\namusement, not having \"a trade in his fingers;\" and he toiled on,\nselling his productions for the veriest trifle. He had now no leisure\nfor improvement in the first elements of his art.\n\n\"Better starve or beg, better be errand-boy or lackey, than waste my\ntalents on such an ungrateful world. I'll turn\nconjurer--fire-eater--mountebank; set the fools agape at fairs and\npastimes. Anything rather than killing--starving by inches. Why, the\ncriminals at hard labour in the fortress have less work and better\nfare. I wish--I wish\"----\n\n\"What dost wish, honest youth?\" said a tall, heavy-eyed,\nbeetle-browed, swarthy personage, who poked his face round from\nbehind, close to that of the unfortunate artist, with great freedom\nand familiarity.\n\n\"I wish thou hadst better manners, or wast i' the stocks, where every\nprying impertinent should be,\" replied Conrad, being in no very\nplacable humour with his morning's work. The stranger laughed, not at\nall abashed by this ill-mannered, testy rebuke, replying\ngood-humouredly--\n\n\"Ah, ah! master canvas-spoiler. Wherefore so hasty this morning? My\nlegs befit not the gyves any more than thine own. But many a man\nthrusts his favours where they be more rare than welcome. I would do\nthee a service.\"\n\n\"'Tis the hangman's, then, for that seems the only favour that befits\nmy condition.\"\n\n\"Thou art cynical, bitter at thy disappointment. Let us discourse\ntogether hard by. A flask of good Rhenish will soften and assuage thy\nhumours. A drop of _kirchenwasser_, too, might not be taken amiss this\nchill morning.\"\n\nNothing loth, Conrad followed the stranger, and they were soon\nimbibing some excellent _vin du pays_ in a neighbouring tavern.\n\n\"Conrad Bergmann,\" began the stranger. \"Ay, thou art surprised; but I\nknow more than thy name. Wilt that I do thee a good office?\"\n\n\"Not the least objection, friend, if the price be within reach.\nNothing pay, nothing have, I reckon.\"\n\n\"The price? Nothing. At least nothing thou need care for. Thou art\nthirsting for fame, riches; for the honours of this world;\nfor--for--the hand--the heart of thy beloved.\"\n\nAmongst the rest of Conrad's calamities he had the misfortune to be in\nlove.\n\n\"Thou art mighty fluent with thy guesses,\" replied he, not at all\nrelishing these unpleasant truths; \"and what if I am doomed to pine\nafter the good I can never attain? I will bear my miseries, if not\nwithout repining, at least without thy pity;\" and he arose to depart.\n\n\"All that thou pinest after is thine. All!\" said the stranger.\n\n\"Mine! By what process?--whose the gift? Ha, ha!\" and he drained the\nbrimming glass, waiting a solution of his interrogatory.\n\n\"I will be thy instructor. Behold the renowned Doctor Gabriel Ras\nMousa, who hath studied all arts and sciences in the world, who hath\nunveiled Nature in her most secret operations, and can make her\nsubmissive as a menial to his will. In a period incredibly short I\nengage to make thee the most renowned painter in Christendom.\"\n\n\"And the time requisite to perform this?\"\n\n\"One month! Ay, by the wand of Hermes, in one month, under my\nteaching, shalt thou have thy desire. I watched thy bargain with the\ndealer yonder, and have had pity on thy youth and misfortunes.\"\n\n\"Humph--compassion! And the price?\" again inquired Conrad, with an\nanxious yet somewhat dubious expression of tone.\n\n\"The price? Once every month shalt thou paint me a picture.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"All.\"\n\nNow Conrad began to indulge some pleasant fancies. Dreams of hope and\nambition hovered about him; but he soon grew gloomy and desponding as\nheretofore. He waxed incredulous.\n\n\"One month? Nothing less than a miracle! The time is too short.\nImpossible!\"\n\n\"That is my business. I have both the will and the power. Is it a\nbargain?\"\n\nConrad again drained the cup, and things looked brighter. He felt\ninvigorated. His courage came afresh, and he answered firmly--\n\n\"A bargain.\"\n\n\"Give me thy hand.\"\n\n\"O mein Herr--not so hard. Thy grip is like a smithy vice.\"\n\n\"Beg pardon of thy tender extremities. To-morrow then, at this hour,\nwe begin.\" Immediately after which intimation the stranger departed.\n\nConrad returned to his own dwelling. He felt restless, uneasy.\nApprehensions of coming evil haunted him. Night was tenfold more\nappalling. Horrid visions kept him in continual alarm.\n\nHe arose feverish and unrefreshed. Yesterday's bargain did not appear\nso pleasant in his eyes; but fear gave way apace, and ere the\nappointed hour he was in his little workroom, where the mysterious\ninstructor found him in anxious expectation. He drew the requisite\nmaterials from under his cloak, a well-primed canvas already prepared.\nThe pallet was covered, and Conrad sat down to obey his master's\ndirections.\n\n\"What shall be our subject?\" inquired the pupil.\n\n\"A head. Proceed.\"\n\n\"A female?\"\n\n\"Yes. But follow my instructions implicitly.\"\n\nConrad chalked out the outline. It was feebly, incorrectly drawn: but\nthe stranger took his crayon, and by a few spirited touches gave life,\nvigour, and expression to the whole. Conrad was in despair.\n\n\"Oh that it were in my power to have done this!\" he cried, putting one\nhand on his brow, and looking at the picture as though he would have\ndevoured it.\n\n\"Now for colour,\" said the stranger; and he carefully directed his\npupil how to lay in the ground, to mingle and contrast the different\ntints, in a manner so far superior to his former process, that Conrad\nsoon began to feel a glow of enthusiasm. His fervour increased, the\nlatent spark of genius was kindled. In short, the unknown seemed to\nhave imbued him with some hitherto unfelt attributes--invested him\neither with new powers, or awakened his hitherto dormant faculties. As\nbefore, by a few touches, the crude, spiritless mass became living and\nbreathing under the master's hand. Not many hours elapsed ere a pretty\nhead, respectably executed, appeared on the canvas. Conrad was in high\nspirits.\n\nHe felt a new sense, a new faculty, as it were, created within him. He\nworked industriously. Every hour seemed to condense the labour and\nexperience of years. He made prodigious advances. His master came\ndaily at the same time, and at length his term of instruction drew to\na close. The last morning of the month arrived; and Conrad, unknown to\nhis neighbours, had attained to the highest rank in his profession.\nHis paintings, all executed under the immediate superintendence of the\nstranger, were splendid specimens of art.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the year ----, all Paris was moved with the extraordinary\nperformances of a young artist, whose portraits were the most\nwonderful, and his miniatures the most exquisite, that eyes ever\nbeheld. They looked absolutely as though endowed with life--real flesh\nand blood to all appearance; and happy were those who could get a\npainting from his hand. The price was enormous, and the marvellous\nfacility with which they were despatched was not the least\nextraordinary part of the business. There was a mystery, too, about\nhim, provokingly delightful, especially to the female portion of the\ncommunity. In place of living in a gay and fashionable part of the\ncity, his lodging was in a miserable garret, overlooking one of the\ngloomiest streets of the metropolis. His manners, too, were forbidding\nand reserved. Instead of exhibiting the natural buoyancy of his years,\nhe looked careworn and dejected; nor was he ever known to smile.\n\nAfter a period whispers got abroad that several of his female subjects\ncame to strange and untimely deaths. They were seized with some\ndangerous malady, accompanied by frightful delusions. In general they\nfancied themselves possessed. Wailings, shrieks, and horrible\nblasphemies proceeded from the lips of the sufferers. These reports\nwere doubtless exaggerated, the marvellous being a prodigiously\naccumulative and inventive faculty; yet enough remained, apparently\nauthentic, to justify the most unfavourable suspicions.\n\nAbout this time a young Italian lady of a noble house arrived on a\nvisit to her brother in the suite of the Florentine embassy. This\nprincely dame, possessed of great wealth and beauty, was not long\nunprovided with lovers; one especially, a handsome official in the\nroyal household, De Vessey by name, and as gallant a cavalier as ever\nlady looked upon. But her term of absence being nigh expired, the\nlovers were in great perplexity; and nothing seemed so likely to\ncontribute to their comfort during such unavoidable separation as a\nminiature portrait of each from the hands of this inimitable painter.\nLeonora sat first, and the lover was in raptures. Hour by hour he\nwatched the progress of his work in a little gloomy chamber, where the\nartist, like some automaton fixture, was always found in the same\nplace, occupied too as it might seem without intermission.\n\n\"The gaze of that strange painter distresses me inexpressibly,\" said\nLeonora to her companion, as they went for the last time to his\napartment. \"I have borne it hitherto without a murmur, but words\ncannot describe the reluctance with which I endure his glance; yet\nwhile I feel as though my very soul abhorred it, it penetrates--nay,\ndrinks up and withers my spirit. Though I shrink from it, some\ninfluence or fascination, call it as thou wilt, prevents escape; I\ncannot turn away my eyes from his terrible gaze.\"\n\n\"Thou art fanciful, my love,\" said De Vessey; \"the near prospect of\nour parting makes thee apt to indulge these gloomy impressions. Be of\ngood cheer; nothing shall harm thee in my presence. 'Tis the last\nsitting; put on a well-favoured aspect, I beseech thee. Remember, this\nportraiture will be my only solace during the long long hours of thine\nabsence.\"\n\nAs they entered the artist's chamber, the picture lay before him,\nwhich he seemed to contemplate with such absorbing intensity that he\nwas hardly aware of their entrance. He did not weep, but grief and\npity were strangely mingled in his glance. It was but for a moment; he\nquickly resumed his usual attitude and expression. Whether the\nprevious conversation had made her lover liable to take the tone and\ncharacter of her own thoughts, we know not; but for the first time he\nfancied Leonora's apprehensions were not entirely without excuse. He\nlooked on the artist, and it excited almost a thrill of apprehension.\nBut speedily chiding himself for these untoward fancies, he felt that\nlittle was apparent either in look or manner but what the painter's\npeculiar and unexampled genius might sufficiently explain.\n\nSuddenly his attention was riveted on the lady. He saw her lips quiver\nand turn pale as though she would have swooned. In a moment he was at\nher side. The support seemed to re-animate the fainting maiden, her\nhead drooping on his shoulder. Almost gasping for utterance, she\nwhispered, \"Take me hence, I want breath--air, air!\" De Vessey lifted\nher in his arms and bore her forth into the open doorway. Trembling,\nshuddering, and looking round, the first words she uttered were--\n\n\"We are watched--by some unseen being in yonder chamber, I am\npersuaded. Didst not mark an antique, dismal-looking ebony cabinet\nimmediately behind the painter?\"\n\n\"I did, and admired its exquisite workmanship, as though wrought by\nsome cunning hand.\"\n\n\"As I fixed my eyes on those little traceries, it might be fancy, but\nmethought I saw the bright flash of a human eye gazing on me.\"\n\n\"Oh! my Leonora, indulge not these gloomy impressions. Throw off thy\nwayward fancies. 'Tis but the reflex image the mind mistakes for\noutward realities. When disordered she discerns not the substance from\nthe shadow. Thou art well-nigh recovered. Come, come, let us in.\nTo-day is the last of our task; prithee take courage and return.\"\n\n\"On one condition only; if thou take the chair first, and note well an\nopen scroll to the right where those fawns and satyrs are carved.\"\n\n\"Agreed. And now shake off thy fears, my love.\"\n\nDe Vessey led her again to the apartment, and as though without\nconsideration sat down, his face directly towards the cabinet. He\nfixed his eyes thereon a few seconds only, when Leonora saw him start\nup suddenly with a troubled aspect and grasp the hilt of his sword.\nThen turning to the painter he said, sternly--\n\n\"So!--We have intruders here, I trow.\"\n\n\"Intruders? None!\" was the artist's reply, without betraying either\nsurprise or alarm.\n\n\"That we'll see presently,\" said the cavalier, hastening to the\ncabinet; which, with hearty good-will, he essayed to open.\n\n\"Why this outrage?\" inquired the painter, colouring with a hectic\nflush.\n\n\"Because 'tis my good pleasure,\" was the haughty reply. The door\nresisted his utmost efforts. \"Doubtless held by some one within. Open,\nor by this good sword I'll make a passage through both door and\ncarcase.\"\n\nThe hinges slowly gave way, the folding-doors swung open, and\ndisplayed a grinning skeleton.\n\n\"Ah! what lodger is this?\"\n\n\"Mine art requires it,\" said the painter, with a ghastly smile; but in\nthat smile was an expression so fearful, yet mysterious, that even De\nVessey quailed before it. Another miniature portrait, a precise copy\nof the one in hand, hung from the neck of the skeleton.\n\nLeonora, with a loud shriek, covered her face; but the lover, though\nfar from satisfied himself, strove to assure his mistress, and\nbesought her not to indulge any apprehension.\n\n\"You are disturbed, lady,\" said the artist. \"'Tis but a harmless piece\nof earth, a mouldering fabric of dust, a thing, a form we must all one\nday assume. But to-morrow, to-morrow, if you will, we resume our\nwork.\"\n\nLeonora, relieved by the intimation, gladly consented, fain for a\nwhile to escape from this terrible chamber.\n\n\"Nought living was there, of a truth,\" said the cavalier, in evident\nperplexity, as they regained their coach. \"But I saw plain enough, or\nimagination played me the prank, a semblance of a bright and flashing\neye on the spot pointed out. Something incomprehensible hangs about\nthe whole!\"\n\nLeonora agreed in this conclusion, expressing a fear lest harm should\nhappen to themselves thereby. They were not ignorant of the whispers\nafloat, but hitherto treated them either with ridicule or\nindifference. Suspicion, however, once awake, mystery once\napprehended, every circumstance, even the most trivial, is seized\nupon, the mind bending all to one grand object which haunts and\nexcites the imagination.\n\nHaving left his companion at her brother's dwelling, De Vessey came to\nhis own, moody and dispirited. A vague sense of some grievous but\nimpending misfortune hung heavily upon him. Night brought no\nmitigation of his fears. Spectres, skeletons, and demon-painters\nhaunted his slumbers. He awoke in greater torment than ever. The\nduplicate portrait was brought to his remembrance with a vividness, an\nintensity so appalling, that he almost expected to behold the skeleton\nwearer at his bedside.\n\nInvolved in a labyrinth of inextricable surmises, and not knowing what\ncourse to pursue, he arose early, and walked forth without aim or\ndesign towards the church of Notre Dame.\n\nThe red sun was just bursting through a thick atmosphere of mist,\nilluminating its two dark western towers, which looked even more\ngloomy under a bright and glowing sky, like melancholy in immediate\ncontrast with hilarity and joy.\n\nHe passed the Morgue, or dead-house, where bodies found in the Seine\nare exposed, in order that they may be owned or recognised. Impelled\nby curiosity, he entered. One space alone was occupied. He could not\nsurely be deceived when he saw the body of the unfortunate painter!\nThose features were too well remembered to be mistaken. Here was new\nground for conjecture, fresh wonder and perplexity. He left this\nmelancholy exhibition and entered the cathedral. Mass was celebrating\nat one of the altars. De Vessey joined in adoration, strolling away\nafterwards towards the vaults: one of them was open. From some vague,\nunaccountable impulse, he thus accosted the sexton:--\n\n\"Whose grave is this, friend?\"\n\n\"A maid's--mayhap.\"\n\n\"Her name?\"\n\n\"The only remaining descendant of the Barons Montargis.\"\n\n\"I have some knowledge of that noble gentlewoman; she was just about\nto be married. What might be the nature of her malady?\"\n\n\"Why, verily there be as many guesses as opinions. The doctors were\nall at fault, and, 'tis said, even now in great dispute. The king's\nphysician tried hard to save her. Old Frere Jeronymo, the confessor,\nwill have it she was possessed; but all his fumigations, exorcisms,\npaters, and holy water could not cast out the foul fiend. She died\nraving mad!\"\n\n\"A miserable portion for one so young and high-born. Was there no\nvisible cause?\"\n\n\"Cause!--Ay, marry; if common gossip be not an arrant jade. Her\nportrait had been taken by that same limner who, they say, has been\ntaught in the devil's school, and can despatch a likeness with the\ntwirl of his brush.\"\n\n\"And what of that?\" cried De Vessey, in an agony of impatience.\n\n\"Why, the same fate has happened to several of our city dames. That is\nall.\"\n\n\"What has happened?\"\n\n\"They have gone mad, and either felt or fancied some demon had gotten\nthem in keeping. For my part, I pretend not to a knowledge of the\nmatter. But you seem strangely moved, methinks.\"\n\nThe cavalier was nigh choking with emotion. Sick at heart, and with a\nfearful presentiment of impending evil, he turned suddenly away.\n\nHis next visit, as may be supposed, was to his mistress. He found her\nin great agitation. The portrait had been sent home the preceding\nnight, and completely finished, lay before her--an exquisite--nay,\nmarvellous--specimen of art. She was gazing on her own radiant\ncounterpart as he entered. They both agreed that something more than\nordinary ran through the whole proceedings, though unable to\ncomprehend their meaning. De Vessey related his discovery in the\nMorgue, but not his subsequent interview with the sexton.\n\nEre night, Leonora was seized with a strange and frightful disease.\nSymptoms of insanity were soon developed. She uttered fearful cries;\ncalling on the painter in language wild and incoherent, but of\nterrific import.\n\nThe lover was at his wits' end. He vowed to spare no efforts to save\nher, though scarcely knowing what course to pursue, or in what quarter\nto apply for help.\n\nHis first care was to seek the dwelling of a certain renowned doctor,\na German, whose extraordinary cures and mode of treatment had won for\nhim great wealth and reputation. Though by some accounted a quack and\nimpostor, nevertheless De Vessey hoped, as a last resource, so cunning\na physician might be able to point at once to the source and cure of\nthis occult malady.\n\nDoctor Herman Sichel lived in one of those high, antique,\ndreary-looking habitations, now pulled down, situate in the Rue\nd'Enfer. A common staircase conducted to several suites of apartments,\ntenanted by various occupants, and at the very summit dwelt this\nexalted personage.\n\nA pull at the ponderous bell-handle gave notice of De Vessey's\napproach, when, after due deliberation, it might seem, and a long\ntrial to the impatient querent, a little wicket was cautiously slid\nback, behind a grating in the door. A face, partially exhibited,\ndemanded his errand.\n\n\"Thy master, knave!\"\n\n\"He is in the very entrails of a sublime study. Not for my beard, grey\nthough it be, dare I break in upon him.\"\n\n\"Mine errand is urgent,\" said De Vessey; \"and, look thee, say a noble\ncavalier hath great need of succour at his hands.\"\n\n\"Grammercy, Sir Cavalier, and hath not everybody an errand of like\nmoment?--thy business, peradventure, less urgent than fifty others\nwhose suit I have denied this blessed day. I tell thee, my master may\nnot be disturbed!\"\n\nDe Vessey held up a coin temptingly before the grating. It would not\ngo through, and the crusty Cerberus gently undid a marvellous array of\nchains, bars, and other ingenious devices, opening a slit wide enough\nfor its insertion.\n\n\"Wider! thou trusty keeper,\" said the artful suitor outside. \"I cannot\nfly through a key-hole!\"\n\nA hand was carefully protruded. The cavalier, espying his opportunity,\nthrust first his sword, afterwards himself, through the aperture, in\nspite of curses and entreaties from the greedy porter. He was\nimmediately within a dark entrance or vestibule; the astonished and\nangry menial venting his wrath in no measured phrases on the intruder.\nDe Vessey, in a peremptory tone, demanded to be led forthwith into the\ndoctor's presence. The old man delayed for a while, almost speechless\nfrom several causes. His breath was nigh spent. Wrath on the one hand,\nfear of his master's displeasure on the other, kept him, like\nantagonistic forces, perpetually midway between both.\n\n\"Lead the way, knave, or, by the beard of St Louis, I'll seek him\nthrough the house! Quick! thou hast legs; if not, speak! Mine errand\nis urgent, and will not wait.\"\n\nA stout and determined cavalier, with a strong gripe, and a sword none\nof the shortest, was not to be trifled with; and, after many\nexpostulations, warnings, threats, had failed of their effect, he at\nlength doggedly consented.\n\n\"Thou wilt give me the coin, then, Sir Cavalier?\"\n\n\"Ay, when thou hast earned it. Away!\"\n\nPassing through a narrow passage, lighted from above, his conductor\npaused before a curiously-carved oaken door, at which three taps\nannounced a message.\n\n\"Now enter, and pray for us both a safe deliverance. But, prithee,\ntell him it was not my fault thou hast gotten admission.\"\n\nThe door slowly opened, as though without an effort, and De Vessey was\nimmediately in the presence of the physician, evidently to the\nsurprise of the learned doctor himself, who angrily demanded his\nbusiness and the ground of his intrusion.\n\n\"Mine hour is not yet come, young man. Wherefore shouldst thou, either\nby stratagem or force, thrust thyself, unbidden, into our presence?\"\n\n\"To buy or beg thine aid, if it be possible. The case admits not of\ndelay. I crave thy pardon, most reverend doctor, if that content thee;\nand, rest assured, no largess, no reward shall be too great, if thou\nrestore one, I fear me, beyond earthly aid.\"\n\n\"Thus am I ever solicited,\" replied the sage, with a portentous scowl.\nHe was clad in a gown of dark stuff, with slippers to match; his poll\nsurmounted by a small black velvet skull-cap, from which his white,\nintensely white, hair escaped in great profusion. His visage was not\nswarthy, but of a leaden, pale complexion, where little could be\ndiscerned of the wondrous misrocosm within. Books, and manuscripts of\nancient form and character, emblazoned in quaint and mystic devices,\nlay open on a long oak table, on which rested one elbow of the wise\nman; the other was thrown over an arm of the high-backed chair whereon\nhe sat. The room contained plenty of litter in the shape of phials,\nboxes, and other strange furniture. A cupola furnace was just heated,\nthe doctor apparently concocting some subtle compound.\n\n\"I am expected to wrest these helpless mortals even from the ravening\njaws of the grave! My skill never tried until beyond other aid!\"\n\n\"But this disorder is of a sudden emergency. A lady of high birth and\nlineage, a few hours since, was seized with a raging frenzy.\"\n\n\"A female, then?\"\n\n\"Ay, and of such sweet temper and excellent parts, there be none to\nmatch with her, body or mind, in Christendom.\"\n\n\"When did this malady attack her?\"\n\n\"Almost immediately after a portrait, made by the celebrated painter,\nwas finished. Of him thou hast doubtless heard.\"\n\n\"The painter--ay! There be more than thou have rued his skill. Young\nman, thy pretty one is lost!\"\n\n\"Lost? Oh, say not so! I will give thee thine utmost\ndesire--riches--wealth thou hast never possessed, if thou restore\nher!\"\n\n\"She is beyond my skill. Hast visited him since?\"\n\n\"I have seen him. She is the last victim, if such be her fate. This\nvery morning, betimes, I saw his body in the Morgue.\"\n\n\"They have found him, then?\" said the doctor, sharply. \"Yet our bodies\nare but exuviae. When cast off, this thinking, sentient principle\nwithin has another tabernacle assigned to it, until the great\nconsummation of all things. But these are fables, idle tales, to the\nunlearned. Nevertheless, I pity thy cruel fate, and, if aid can be\nafforded, will call another to thine help. Hence! Thou shalt hear from\nme anon.\"\n\n\"And without loss of time; for every moment, methinks, our succour may\ncome too late.\"\n\n\"I will forthwith seek out one whom I have heretofore taken knowledge\nof. Every science has its votaries--its adepts; and this evil case\nhath its remedy only by those skilled in arts called, however falsely,\nsupernatural. Even now there be intelligences around us which the\ncorporeal eye seeth not, nor can see, unless purged from the dross,\nthe fumes of mortality. Some, peradventure, by long and patient study,\nhave arrived on the very borders, the confines that separate visible\nfrom invisible things, and become, as it were, the medium of\nintercourse for mortals, who are by this means mightily aided in\nmatters beyond ordinary research. Put thine ear to this shell. Mark\nits voice, like the sound of many waters. Are not these the invisible\nsource, the essence of its being? Has not everything in like manner,\neven the most inanimate, a tongue, a language, peculiar to itself--a\nsoul, a spirit, pervading its form, which moulds and fashions every\nsubstance according to its own nature? Now, this voice thou canst not\ninterpret, being unskilled--knowing not the languages peculiar to\nevery form and modification of matter; else would this beautiful type\nof the ever-rolling sea discourse marvellously to thine ear. But thou\nhast not the key to unclose its mystic tongue; hence, like any other\nunknown speech, 'tis but a confused jumble of unmeaning sound. I have\nlittle more knowledge than thyself, but there be those who can\ninterpret. Vain man--presumptuous, ignorant--scoffs at knowledge\nbeyond his reach, and thinks his own dim, nay, darkened reason,\nglimmering as in a dungeon, the narrow horizon that circumscribes his\nvision, the utmost boundary of all knowledge and existence, while\nbeyond lies the infinite and unknown, utterly transcending his\ncapacity and comprehension.\"\n\nDe Vessey drank up every word of this harangue; and something akin to\nhope rose in his bosom as he withdrew.\n\n\"Thou wilt have a message ere nightfall. An awful trial awaits thee\nere the spell can be countervailed.\"\n\nThe cavalier withdrew, suffering many wistful remarks from the old\ndoorkeeper, who marvelled greatly at the interview so graciously\nconceded by his master; while at the same time holding out his palm\nfor the promised largess.\n\nDe Vessey waited impatiently at his own dwelling for the expected\nmessage. Evening drew on, dark and stormy. The wind roared along the\nnarrow streets in sharp and irregular gusts; while, pacing his chamber\nin an agony of suspense, he fancied every sound betokened the\napproaching communication. At length, when expectation was almost\nweary, a louder rumbling was heard; a coach drew up at the door; a\nhasty knock, and a heavy tramp; then footsteps ascending the\nstaircase. The door opened, and two _gens-d'armes_ entered.\n\n\"We have authority and instructions for the arrest of one Sigismund de\nVessey, on a charge of murder, made this day by deposition before the\nMayor and Prefecture of the Ville de Paris. The individual so named,\nwe apprehend, is before us.\"\n\n\"The same; though assuredly there is some mistake. Of whose death am I\naccused?\"\n\n\"Of one Conrad Bergmann, a painter, whose body, last night thrown into\nthe Seine, was to-day exposed in the Morgue. The rest will be\nexplained anon.\"\n\n\"But an engagement--one, too, of a most important nature--demands my\npresence.\"\n\n\"No discretion is allowed us in this matter. The carriage waits.\"\n\nHowever reluctant, De Vessey was forced to obey. Though confident of a\nspeedy release, this arrest at so important a juncture was provoking\nenough. Leonora's recovery might probably depend on his exertions for\nthe next few hours, which were now suddenly wrested from him.\n\nLeaving word that he would shortly return, the cavalier stept into the\nvehicle, which immediately drove off.\n\nIn a little space the coach stopped, and De Vessey was invited to\nalight. He was led up a narrow staircase; a door flew open. He\nentered. Could it be; surely imagination betrayed his senses! He could\nscarcely believe himself once more in the apartment of the painter!\nYet there was no mistaking what he saw. The ebony cabinet, the easel,\ntable, chair--all left as he saw them yesterday. But the living\noccupants were strangely diverse. Two or three functionaries of the\ncivil power; and in one corner a black cloth, spread on the floor,\nconcealed some unknown object. The whole was lighted by a feeble lamp\nfrom the ceiling. A dusky haze from the damp, foggy atmosphere\nrendered objects ill-defined, indistinct, almost terrific to an\nexcited imagination. In addition to the usual articles of furniture\nwas a desk, with writing materials, at which one of the officers of\njustice appeared dictating something to his secretary.\n\nOn De Vessey's entrance, the scribe made some minute preparatory to\nhis examination, which commenced as follows:--\n\n\"Sigismund de Vessey?\"\n\n\"The same.\"\n\n\"Being accused upon oath before us of murder, thou art brought hither\nto confront thine accusers, and to answer this heinous charge. First,\nlet the body be produced.\"\n\nThe cloth was removed, and De Vessey beheld the corpse lying on a\nmattress.\n\n\"Knowest thou this body?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said the cavalier, firmly.\n\n\"When was he seen by thee alive, the last time?\"\n\n\"Yesterday, about noon.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"In this chamber.\"\n\n\"Not since?\"\n\n\"Yes, but not living.\"\n\n\"Dead, sayest thou?\"\n\n\"This morning in the Morgue.\"\n\n\"Not previously?\"\n\n\"I have not. But pray to what purport this examination?\"\n\n\"This will appear presently. When taken out of the river marks were\nfound upon the throat, as though from strangulation. Knowest thou\naught of these?\"\n\n\"I do not,\" said the accused, indignantly.\n\nThis answer being written down, the examination was resumed.\n\n\"We have testimony that the unfortunate victim and thyself were seen\ntogether about midnight; and, further, a short but violent struggle\nwas heard, and a heavy plunge; afterwards an individual, with whom\nthou art identified, was seen departing in great haste, and entering\nthe house well known as thy residence in the Rue de\" ----\n\n\"A most foul and wicked fabrication, for purposes of which as yet I am\nignorant. Of such charges I hardly need affirm that I am innocent.\"\n\n\"Let the accuser stand forth.\"\n\nTo the surprise and horror of De Vessey there appeared from a recess\nthe German doctor, Hermann Sichel, who, without flinching,\nrecapitulated the foregoing accusation. Moreover, he swore in the most\npositive terms to his identity, and that not a doubt rested on his\nmind but De Vessey was the murderer.\n\n\"In this very apartment,\" said the witness, \"he, De Vessey, drew his\nsword upon the painter yesterday, doubtless either from grudge or\njealousy; being enamoured of a fair Italian dame, Leonora da Rimini.\"\n\n\"Most abominable of liars!\" said the accused, eyeing him with a\nfurious look. \"How darest thou to my face bring this foul accusation.\nThou shalt answer for it with thy blood!\"\n\n\"Hear him! What need of further testimony? His own betrays him,\" said\nthe doctor, with unblushing effrontery.\n\n\"We have other witness thou wilt not dare to gainsay,\" said the\npresiding officer. \"This learned person is amply corroborated by\nevidence that must effectually silence all denial. He hath referred us\nto her who was present, Leonora da Rimini.\"\n\n\"Leonora! what, my own--my betrothed? She my accuser?\"\n\n\"Spare thy speech and listen. We could not bring the maiden hither,\ninsomuch as the nature of her malady admits not of removal: but her\nevidence and accusation are duly attested, taken at her own request,\nnot many hours ago. The substance of her deposition is as follows:--A\nconfession to her of thine intention to murder Conrad Bergmann, the\nartist aforesaid, being jealous of his attentions; and furthermore, in\nthe agony of guilt, thou didst confess in her presence, having first\nstrangled, and afterwards thrown him into the river, hoping thereby to\nconceal thy crime; then forcing her to swear she would keep the matter\nsecret, and threatening her life in case it were divulged. This\noutrage, and this alone, hath nigh driven her frantic; her life being\nin jeopardy from thy violence. What sayest thou, Sigismund de\nVessey?\"\n\n\"A lie, most foul and audacious, trumped up by that impostor! Leonora?\nImpossible. I would not believe though it were from her own lips. Some\ndemon hath possessed her. This disorder is more than common madness.\"\n\nHe looked around. The whole was like the phantasma of some terrible\ndream. Bewildered, and hardly knowing what course to pursue, in vain\nhe attempted to shake the testimony of the hoary villain before him;\nand having at present none other means of rebutting the accusation, he\nwas ordered into close custody until the morrow.\n\nUtterly unprepared with evidence, he knew not where to apply. That he\nwas the victim of some foul plot so far appeared certain; but for what\npurpose, and at whose instigation, was inexplicable.\n\nEre an hour had elapsed De Vessey found himself in one of the cells of\na public dungeon, with ample leisure to form plans for proving his\ninnocence. He determined early on the morrow to acquaint his friends,\nand employ a celebrated advocate to expose this villainous doctor, who\nno doubt had designs either on his purse or person.\n\nIn a while the prisoner fell asleep from fatigue and exhaustion. He\nwas awakened by a sudden glare across his eyelids. At first, imagining\nhe was under the influence of some extravagant dream, he made little\neffort to arouse himself. A figure stood beside the couch, a lamp\nlifted above his head. A friar's cowl concealed his features; his\nperson, too, was enveloped in a coarse garment, with a huge rosary at\nhis girdle.\n\n\"Mortal, awake and listen,\" said the unknown visitor. \"Art weary of\nlife, or does this present world content thee?\"\n\n\"Who art thou?\" said De Vessey, scarcely raising himself from the\npallet.\n\n\"I am thy friend, thy deliverer, an' thou wilt.\"\n\n\"Thanks!\" said the knight, springing from his recumbent posture.\n\n\"Stay!\" replied the intruder; \"there be conditions ere thou pass\nhence. Miserable offspring of Adam, ye still cling to your prison and\nyour clay. Wherefore shrink from the separation, afraid to shake off\nyour bonds, your loathsome carcase, and spring forth at once to life?\nArt thou prepared to fulfil one--but one condition for thy release?\"\n\n\"Name it. Manifest my innocence; and if it be gold, thou shalt have\nthy desire. No hired advocate e'er yet held such a fee.\"\n\n\"Keep thy gold for baser uses; it buyeth not my benefits. But\nremember, thy life is not worth a week's purchase, neither is thy\nmistress's, forsooth, shouldest thou be witless enough to refuse. An\nignominious death, a base exit for thyself--for her, madness and a\nspeedy grave. One fate awaits ye both. Life and health, if thou\nconsent, are yours.\"\n\n\"Thou speakest riddles. It were vain trying to comprehend their\nimport. Name thy conditions. Aught that honour may purchase will I\ngive.\"\n\nThe stranger threw back his cowl, displaying the features of the\nrenowned Doctor Hermann Sichel. A gleam of lurid intelligence lighted\nhis grim grey eyes, that might betoken either insanity or excitement.\n\nWithout reflecting for one moment on the hazard or imprudence of his\nconduct, De Vessey immediately rushed forward, grappled with his\nadversary, and threw him.\n\n\"Now will I have deadly vengeance, fiend! Take that!\" said he, drawing\nforth a concealed poniard and thrusting with all his might. Scorn\npuckered the features of the pretended monk. The weapon's point was\ndriven back, refusing to enter, as though his enemy held a charmed\nexistence.\n\n\"Put back thy weapon; thou wilt have need of it elsewhere, silly one.\"\n\nDe Vessey was confounded at this unlooked-for result. His foe seemed\ninvulnerable, and he slunk back.\n\n\"I forgive thee, poor fool! Put it back, I say. There--there; now to\nwork--time hastens, and there is little space for parley.\"\n\n\"What is thy will?\"\n\n\"Thy welfare, thy life: listen. Yonder unhappy wretch I have loaden\nwith benefits, rescued from poverty, disgrace; lifted him to the\npinnacle of his ambition--the highest rank in art. Base ingrate, he\nthreatened to betray, to denounce, and I crushed the reptile. He is\nnow what thou shalt be shortly unless my power be put forth for thy\nrescue. Not all the united efforts of man can deliver thee. Beyond\nearthly aid, thou diest the death of a dog!\"\n\n\"Why dost thou accuse me of a crime, knowing that I am innocent?\"\n\n\"To drive thee, helpless, into my power. Think not to escape save on\none condition.\"\n\n\"Name it,\" said De Vessey.\n\n\"Self-preservation is the great, the paramount law of our nature; the\nmost powerful impulse implanted in our being. All, all obey this\nimpulse; and who can control or forbid its operation? Will not the\nmost timid, the most scrupulous, if no alternative be afforded, slay\nthe adversary who seeks his life; and does not the law both of earth\nand heaven hold him guiltless? Thou art now denounced. Innocent, thy\nlife must be sacrificed. Thou diest, or another; there is no choice.\"\n\n\"But shall _I_ murder the innocent?\"\n\n\"And suppose it be. What thinkest thou? Two persons, equally\nguiltless, one of them must die. Self-preservation will prompt\ninstinctively to action. Does not the drowning man cling to his\ncompanions; nay, rescue himself at the expense of another's life?\"\n\nDe Vessey felt bewildered, if not convinced. Need we wonder if he\nyielded. Life or death; honour, disgrace. His mistress restored; his\ninnocence proved. Life, with him, had scarcely been tasted. A glorious\ncareer awaited him; his lady-love smiling through the bright vista of\nthe future; and----The tempter prevailed!\n\nBut who must be the victim? The appalling truth was not then\ndisclosed. De Vessey promised to obey.\n\n\"But remember, no power, not even flight, can screen thee from my\nvengeance shouldst break thy vow. Take warning by the painter; the\npoor fool but hesitated, and his doom was swift as it was sure. Take\nthis cowl and friar's garment; I was admitted by the jailer for thy\nshrift. The lamp will guide thee. Be bold, and fear not. I will\nremain; to-morrow they will find out their mistake, but I have other\nmeans of escape.\"\n\n\"And Leonora. How shall she be recovered?\"\n\n\"That is a work of peril, and will need thine utmost vigilance.\nRememberest thou the skeleton?\"\n\n\"In the ebony cabinet?\" inquired the cavalier, with a cold shudder.\n\n\"He hath her portrait, and will not lightly be persuaded to give his\nprey. _Every month I am bound to furnish him a bride!_ My own life\npays the forfeit of omission. Leonora is the next victim, unless thou\nprevail, betrothed to that grisly type of death!\"\n\n\"Oh, horrible! Mine the bride of a loathsome skeleton! Of an atomy! A\nfiend! Monster, I will denounce thee. I care not for my own life. Of\nwhat worth if torn from hers. Wretch, give back my bride or\"----\n\n\"Spare these transports. I am now thine only friend. Thou art now cut\noff from thy kin, shunned by mankind. To whom, then, wilt thou turn\nfor help? Mine thou art for ever!\"\n\nDe Vessey gasped for utterance.\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" continued his tormentor, \"I will direct and help thee\nin this matter also. But 'tis a fearful venture. Hast thou courage?\"\n\n\"If to rescue her, aught that human arm can achieve shall be done.\"\n\n\"He holds the portrait, I tell thee, with a steady gripe. Those\nskeleton fingers will be hard to unloose.\"\n\n\"I will break them or perish. This good\"----\n\n\"Touch them not for thy life. Death, sure but lingering, awaits\nwhomsoever they fasten upon. Take this key. It will admit thee to the\napartment. To-night the deed must be accomplished, or to-morrow the\nmaiden is beyond succour.\"\n\n\"And how is this charmed picture to be wrested from him?\"\n\n\"An ebony wand lies at his feet; he will obey its touch. But\nwhatsoever thou seest, be nothing daunted, nor let any silly terror\nscare thee from thy purpose. Now to thy task. But keep these marvels\nto thyself. If thou whisper--ay, to the winds--our compact, thou art\nnot safe.\"\n\nSoon De Vessey, enveloped in his disguise, found egress without\ndifficulty. Once outside the prison, he hurried on, scarcely giving\nhimself time for reflection.\n\nThe night was dark and stormy. Torches, distributed about the streets,\nrocked and swung to and fro in their sockets, the flames, with a\nstrange and flickering glare, giving an unnatural distorted appearance\nto objects within reach; and to some solitary individual, at this late\nhour hurrying alone, the grim aspect of a demon or a spectre to the\ndisturbed imagination of the lover. His courage, at times on the point\nof deserting him, revived when he remembered that another's life,\ndearer than his own, depended on his exertions. The streets, almost\ndeserted, swam with continually accumulating torrents; but he felt not\nthat terrible tempest; the turmoil, the conflict within, was louder\nthan the roar and tumult of outward elements.\n\nAlmost ere he was aware he found himself opposite the entrance of the\npainter's habitation; a shudder, like a death-chill, shot through his\nframe. He applied his key. A distant gleam, a dim lurid light, seemed\nto quiver before him. He heard the quick jar, the withdrawing bolt,\nthat gave him admittance, as though it were a spectral voice warning\nhim to desist.\n\nThe unknown dangers he anticipated, rendered more terrific by their\nvague indefinite character, were enough to appal a stouter bosom. De\nVessey would have faced and defied earthly perils, but these were\nalmost beyond his fortitude to endure. Love, however, gave excitement,\nif not courage, and he resolved either to succeed or perish in the\nattempt. The stairs were partially illumined by an uncertain glimmer\nfrom a narrow window into the street. He felt his way, and every step\nsent the life-blood curdling to his heart. He reached the topmost\nstair; laid one hand on the latch. He listened; all was still save the\nhollow gusts that rumbled round the dwelling.\n\nWith a feeling somewhat akin to desperation he entered. A lamp, yet\nburning, emitted a feeble glare, but was well-nigh spent, giving a\nmore dismal aspect to this lonely chamber. It was apparently\nunoccupied. The chair, the black funeral pall left by the officers of\njustice over the pallet, the mysterious cabinet, the desk where the\npainter usually sat, all remained undisturbed. De Vessey's attention\nwas more particularly directed towards the cabinet; there alone,\naccording to his instructions, were the means of deliverance. A cold,\nclammy perspiration, a freezing shiver, came upon him as he\napproached. He laid one hand on the latch; it resisted as before. He\ntried force, a loud groan was heard in the chamber. Every fibre of his\nframe seemed to grow rigid; every limb stiffened with horror; and he\ndrew back.\n\nThis was a sorry beginning to the adventure, and he inwardly repented\nof his rashness. Looking round in extreme agony, his eyes rested on\nthe black pall. Could it be, or was it from the expiring glimmer of\nthe lamp? The drapery appeared to move. Another and a deeper groan! De\nVessey for a space was unable to move; but his courage came apace,\ninasmuch as it was some relief, and a diversion from the awful\nmysteries of that grim cabinet. He approached the pallet hastily,\nthrowing off the heavy coverlet. The recumbent body was yet beneath,\nbut convulsed, as though struggling to free itself from an oppressive\nburden. De Vessey watched, while his blood froze with terror.\nGradually these convulsive movements extended to the features. The\nlips quivered as though essaying to speak; the eye-balls rolling\nrapidly under their lids. A slight flush dawned upon the cheek; the\nhands were tightly closed, and another groan preceded one desperate\nattempt to throw off the load which prevented returning animation. At\nlength the eyes opened with a ghastly stare; but evidently conveying\nno outward impression to the inward sense. With a loud shriek the body\nstarted up; then, uttering a wild and piercing cry, rolled on the\nfloor, foaming and struggling for life as though with some powerful\nadversary.\n\n\"Save me!--save me!\" was uttered in a tone so harrowing and dreadful,\nmore than mortal agony, that De Vessey would have fled, but his limbs\nrefused their office.\n\n\"He strangles me! Fiend--have--have mercy! Wilt thou not? Oh, mercy,\nmercy, Heaven!\" His senses, though evidently bewildered, resumed their\nfunctions. With a glare of intense anguish he appeared as though\nsupplicating help and deliverance.\n\n\"Who art thou?\" was the first inquiry and symptom of returning reason.\n\"I know thee, De Vessey. But why art thou here? Another victim. Yes,\nto torture me. Where am I? In my own chamber! Oh--that horrid cabinet!\nYet--yet these cruel torments. Will they never end?\"\n\nDe Vessey immediately perceived there was no delusion; the mortal form\nof the artist was really before him. Terrible though it were, yet it\nwas a relief to have companionship with his kind, a being of flesh and\nblood beside him. He might now peradventure accomplish his task.\nProvidence, maybe, had opened a way for his deliverance, and hope once\nmore dawned on his spirit. He helped the miserable artist to regain\nhis couch, and sought to soothe him, beseeching the helpless victim\nnot to give way to frenzy, doubtless resulting from his strange and\nemaciated condition. A miracle or a spell had been wrought for his\nresuscitation; but the events of the last few hours were alike\nenigmas, beyond the common operations of nature to explain.\n\n\"Yesterday I attempted suicide,\" said the artist, \"taking poison to\nescape a life insupportable to me. Fain would I have broken the chain\nwhich binds me to this miserable existence. But yon tyrant hath given\nme a charmed life. I cannot even die!\"\n\n\"Thy body was dragged from the Seine.\"\n\n\"How?\" inquired the artist, with an incredulous look.\n\n\"And exposed this morning in the Morgue,\" continued De Vessey.\n\n\"When will my sufferings cease? How have I prayed for deliverance from\nthis infernal thraldom!\"\n\n\"Yon deceiver hath doubtless thrown thee into the river, and supposing\nthou wert dead, he designs me to supply thy place; to carry on the\ndark mystery of iniquity, a glimpse of which hath already been\nrevealed.\"\n\n\"Would that I had been left to perish--that my doom were ended.\nAvarice--ambition--how enslaved are your victims! How have I longed\nfor my miserable cottage, my poverty, my obscurity--cold and pinching\nwant, but a quiet conscience to season my scanty meal! I bartered all\nfor gold, for fame and--misery! A cruel bondage! compared to which I\ncould envy the meanest thing that crawls on this abject earth. In my\ntrance I dreamed of green fields and babbling streams; of my brethren,\nmy playmates, my days of innocence and sport, when all was freshness\nand anticipation--life one bright vista beyond, opening to sunny\nregions of rapture and delight. And now, what am I?--a wretch,\ndegraded, undone--a spectacle of misery beyond what human thought can\nconceive. Doomed to years, ages it may be, of woe--to scenes of horror\nsuch as tongue ne'er told, and even imagination might scarce endure,\nand my miseries but a foretaste of that hereafter!\"\n\nHere the guilty victim writhed in a paroxysm of agony; his veins\nswollen almost to bursting. Whether real or imaginary, whether a\nvictim to insanity or of some supernatural agent, its influence was\nnot the less terrible in its effects. Starting suddenly from his\ngrovelling posture, he cried, fixing his eyes on De Vessey with a\nsearching glance--\n\n\"What brings thee hither?\"\n\n\"Leonora is in jeopardy by your spells. I seek her deliverance.\"\n\n\"She is beyond rescue. Leonora da Rimini is THE SKELETON'S BRIDE.\"\n\nHere the painter threw such a repulsive glance towards the cabinet\nthat the cavalier shrank back as though expecting some grisly spectre\nfrom its portals; yet, himself the subject of an extraordinary\nfascination, he could not withdraw his gaze.\n\n\"Fly, fly, or thou art lost! My tormentor will be here anon--I would\nhave saved her, and he fixed his burning gripe here, I feel it still;\nnot a night passes that he comes not hither. Away! shouldest thou meet\nhim thy doom is fixed, and for ever. I would not that another fell\ninto his toils. Couldest thou know, ay, but as a whisper, the secrets\nof this prison-house, thy spirit would melt, thy flesh would shrink as\nthough the hot wind of the desert had passed over it. What I have\nendured, and what I must endure, are alike unutterable.\"\n\n\"Thy keeper comes not to-night. He hath sent me to this chamber of\ndeath instead. He knows not thou art alive.\"\n\n\"Thee!--to--but I must not reveal; my tongue cleaves to my mouth. Nay,\nnay, it cannot be; none but a fiend could do his behest. Away! for thy\nlife, away!\"\n\nDe Vessey related the events of the last few hours. The artist\nruminated awhile, then abruptly exclaimed--\n\n\"He hath some diabolical design thereupon which I am not yet able to\nfathom. That it is for thine undoing, Sir Knight, for thy misery here\nand hereafter, doubt not. Thou hast promised, but not yet offered him\na victim. Thus far thou art safe; but he will pursue thee; and think\nnot to escape his vengeance. How to proceed is beyond my counsel.\nShould midnight come, thou wouldest see horrors in this chamber that\nmight quail the stoutest heart. Thou art bereft of life or reason if\nthou tarry.\"\n\n\"I leave not without an attempt, even should I fail, to wrench her,\nwho is dearer to me than either, from that demon's grasp. I will not\nhence alone.\"\n\n\"Alas! I fear there is little hope; yet shall he not escape yonder\nprison before to-morrow. Even his arts cannot convey him through its\nwalls; the magician's body, if such he be, is subject to like\nimpediments with our own. This night, for good or ill, is thine.\"\n\n\"To work, then, to work,\" said De Vessey, as though inspired with new\nenergy, \"to the rescue, and by this good cross,\" kissing the handle of\nhis sword, \"I defy ye!\"\n\nBy main force he attempted, and in the end tore open the door of the\ncabinet. The grinning skeleton was before him, the miniature in its\ngrasp. A moment's pause. The cavalier carefully surveyed his prize.\nSuspended by an iron chain, the links entwined round its bony arm,\nrendered the picture difficult, if not impossible, to detach without\ntouching the limbs. Gathering fresh courage from the countenance and\nsmile of his beloved, he snatched the portrait, but the wearer was too\ntenacious of the charmed treasure, and resisted his utmost efforts. He\nthought a savage, a malicious grin crept upon his features. A smile\nmore than usually hideous mocked him. From those hollow sockets too,\nor his imagination played strange antics, a faint glare shot forth. A\ndizzy terror crept over him. His brain reeled. His energies were\nbecoming prostrate; and unless one desperate attempt could be made,\nall hopes of rescue were past. He sought the ebony wand, but forgetful\nor incautious, laid hold of the chain which encircled the skeleton's\nwrist. A bell answered to the pressure,--a deep hollow reverberation,\nlike a death-knell, in his ear.\n\n\"Hark! that iron tongue--lost--lost! Oh! mercy, mercy!\" shrieked the\ndeath-painter, covering his eyes.\n\nAt this moment De Vessey heard a noise like the jarring of bolts and\nhinges. Ere he was aware the skeleton's arms were fastened round him;\nthe doors closed; the floor gave way under his feet. He felt the\npressure relaxing; he fell; the hissing wind rushed in his ears.\nStunned with his fall, he lay for a while in the dark, scarcely able\nto move. It was not long ere he was able to grope about. Rotting\ncarcases and bones met his touch--a noisome charnel-house gorged with\nhuman bodies in all the various stages of decay. His heart sickened\nwith a fearful apprehension that he was left to perish by a lingering\ndeath, like those around him. Despair for the first time benumbed his\nfaculties. His courage gave way at the dreadful anticipation, and he\ngrasped the very carcase on which he trod for succour.\n\nSuddenly, a loud yell burst above him. A blaze of burning timbers\nflashed forth--crackling, they hissed, and fell into the vault.\nThrough an opening overhead he saw the skeleton seized by devouring\nflames. They twined, they clung round it. Their forky tongues licked\nthe bones that appeared to writhe and crawl in living agony.\n\nSoon the chain which held the portrait gave way, and it dropped at his\nfeet unhurt. A shriek issued from the flaming cabinet, and he saw the\npainter with a burning torch above. A maniac joy lighted up his\nfeatures; he shouted to De Vessey, and with frantic gestures beckoned\nthat he should escape.\n\n\"If thou canst climb yonder stair,\" he cried, \"before the flames cut\noff thy retreat, thou art safe. See, Leonora is already free.\nHaste--this way--there--there--now leap--mind thy footing--'tis too\nfrail--creep round--those rafters are unbroken; another spring, and\nthou mayest reach them in safety.\"\n\nThe flames were close upon him. He was nigh suffocated. A perilous\nattempt; but at length he gained the upper floor, and his deliverer\nexclaimed--\n\n\"Thanks, thanks, he is safe! By this good hand, too, that wrought your\nmisery. Oh! that a life of penitence and prayer might atone for my\nguilt. It was a thought inspired by Heaven, prompted me to set on fire\nthat insatiate demon, to whom my taskmaster offered those wretched\nvictims, and every month a bride, on pain of his own destruction. What\nmight be the nature of that skeleton form, or their compact, thou\ncanst neither know nor understand. Even I, though nightly witnessing\nhorrors which have given to youth the aspect and decrepitude of age,\ncannot explain. A connection, if not inseparable, yet intimate as body\nand soul, existed between those demon-haunted bones and yon monster\nwho sought and accomplished my ruin. What I have seen must not, cannot\nbe told. My lips are for ever sealed. But the flames are fast gaining\non us. Let us hasten ere they prevent our retreat. The whole fabric\nwill shortly be enveloped, and every record of this diabolical\nconfederacy consumed. Go to thy lady-love. She is recovered, and as\none newly-awakened from some terrific dream. With the earliest dawn\nhie thee to the prison lest _he_ escape. Let him be instantly secured.\nWhen summoned, I will not fail to confront, to denounce the wretch. He\ncannot penetrate yonder walls save by fraud or stratagem. How I have\nescaped death is one of the mysteries which time perchance may never\ndevelop. One might fancy the cunning leech who supplied the drug did\nplay me false. Instead of poison, mayhap, one of those potions of\nwhich we have heard, that so benumb and stupify the faculties that for\na space they mimic death, nor can anything rouse or recover from its\ninfluence until the appointed time be past.\"\n\nThey hurried away as he spoke. De Vessey could scarcely wait until\ndaylight. His first care was to secure the old sorcerer. He sought aid\nfrom the police, and, as far as might be, revealed the dreadful\nsecret.\n\nAn immediate visit was made to the cell. On entering, its inmate was\nin bed--a scorched, a blackened corpse!\n\nIt may be supposed the lover was not long in attending on his\nmistress. She was free from disorder, and happily unconscious of what\nhad passed during the interval, save that an ugly dream had troubled\nher. Nor was she aware that more than one night had elapsed. In a few\ndays afterwards De Vessey led her to the altar.\n\nThe mystery was never fully penetrated. That imposture and partial\ninsanity might be involved, and have the greatest share in its\ndevelopment, is beyond doubt; but they cannot explain the whole of\nthese diabolical proceedings. That the powers of darkness may have\npower over the bodies of wicked and abandoned men cannot be denied.\n\nWhether this narration discloses another instance of such mysterious\nagency our readers must determine.\n\nWhat the painter knew was buried in eternal silence. The monks of La\nTrappe received a brother whose vows were never broken!\n\n\n\n\nTHE CRYSTAL GOBLET.\n\nA TALE OF THE EMPEROR SEVERUS.[22]\n\n\nIt was midnight--yet a light was burning in a small chamber situated\nin one of the narrowest and least frequented streets of Eboracum, then\nthe metropolis of the world. York at that period being the residence\nof the Emperor Severus, his court and family were conveyed hither; and\nthe government of the world transferred to an obscure island in the\nwest, once the _ultima Thule_[vi] of civilisation, its native inhabitants\nhardly yet emerged from a state of barbarism, and addicted to the most\ngross and revolting superstitions.\n\nA lamp of coarse earthenware was fastened on a bronze stand, having\nseveral beaks, and of a boat-like shape. Near it stood the oil-vase\nfor replenishing, almost empty--while the wicks, charred and heavy\nwith exuviae, looked as though for some time untrimmed. On the same\ntable was a Greek and a Coptic manuscript, an inkhorn, and the half of\na silver penny, the Roman _symbolum_. Breaking a peace of money as a\nkeepsake between two friends was, even at that period, a very ancient\ncustom. A brass rhombus, used by magicians, lay on a _cathedra_ or\neasy chair, which stood as though suddenly pushed aside by its\noccupier in rising hastily from his studies. An iron chest was near,\npartly open, wherein papers and parchments lay tumbled about in\napparent disorder. Vellum, so white and firm as to curl even with the\nwarmth of the hand; purple skins emblazoned in gold and silver, and\nmany others, of rare workmanship, were scattered about with unsparing\nprofusion. It was evidently the study, the _librarium_ of some\ndistinguished person, and consisted of an inner chamber beyond the\ncourt, having one window near the roof, and another opening into a\nsmall garden behind. From the ceiling there hung a dried ape, a\nlizard, and several uncouth, unintelligible reptiles, put together in\nshapes that nature's most fantastic forms never displayed. Vases of\nointments, and unguents of strange odours, stood in rows upon a marble\nslab on one side of the apartment. _Scrinia_, or caskets for the\nadmission of rolls and writing materials, were deposited on shelves,\nforming a library of reference to the individual whose _sanctum_ we\nare now describing: it was apparently undisturbed by any living\noccupant save a huge raven, now roosting on a wooden perch, his head\nburied under a glossy tissue of feathers, and to all appearance\nimmovable as the grinning and hideous things that surrounded him. A\nmagpie, confined in a cage above the door, was taught to salute those\nwho entered with the word \"chaire\" (Greek letters transcribed) a\nGrecian custom greatly in vogue amongst the most opulent of the\nRomans.\n\nEre long there came a footstep and a gentle summons at the door. The\nbird gave the usual response; and straightway entered a stout muscular\nfigure, wrapped in a _chlamys_, fastened on the shoulder with a\nrichly-embossed _fibula_. Beneath was the usual light leathern\ncuirass, covered with scales of shining metal; the centre, over the\nabdomen, ornamented with a gorgon's head and other warlike devices; a\nshort sword being stuck in his girdle. From the lowest part hung\nleathern straps, or _lambrequins_, highly wrought and embellished. He\nwore breeches or drawers reaching to the knees, and his feet and the\nlower part of the leg were covered with the _cothurnus_, a sort of\ntraveller's half-boot. A sumptuous mantle, made of leopard skin, was\nthrown carelessly about his head, hardly concealing his features, for\nthe folds, relaxing in some measure as he entered, showed a youthful\ncountenance, yet dark and ferocious, indicating a character of daring\nand vindictive energy, and a disposition where forgiveness or remorse\nrarely tempered the fiercer passions. As he looked round the raven\nraised his head on a sudden, and peering at him with that curious and\nfamiliar eye so characteristic of the tribe, gave a loud and hollow\ncroak, which again arrested the notice of the intruder.\n\n\"Most auspicious welcome truly, ill-omened bird. Is thy master\nvisible?\"\n\nThere was no reply; and the inquirer, after a cautious glance round\nthe chamber, sat down, evidently disconcerted by this unexpected\nreception. Scarcely seated, he felt the clasp on his shoulder\nsuddenly risen, as though by an intruder from behind. Looking round,\nhe saw the raven with the bauble in his beak, hopping off with great\nalacrity to his perch. The magpie set up a loud scream, as though\nvexed he was not a participator in the spoil. The owner, angry at his\nloss, pursued the thief, who defied every attempt to regain it,\ngetting far above his reach; ever and anon the same ominous croak\nsounding dismally through the gloom by which he was concealed. Finding\nit fruitless, the stranger gave up the pursuit, and again sat down,\nexamining carelessly the papers which lay open for perusal. But it\nmight seem these feathered guardians were entrusted with the care of\ntheir master's chamber during his absence.\n\n\"Beware!\" said the same querulous voice that before accosted him.\nLooking up, he saw the magpie, his neck stretched to the utmost\nthrough the bars of his cage, and in the act of repeating the\ninjunction.\n\n\"'Tis an ill augur to my suit,\" he muttered, hastily. \"Destiny!\"\nStarting up at the word, which he spoke aloud, he clenched his hand.\n\n\"The inexorable gods may decree, but would it not be worthy of my\npurpose to brave them; to render even fate itself subservient to me!\"\n\nHe hurried to and fro across the chamber with an agitated step.\nSuddenly he stood still in the attitude of listening. He drew the\nfolds of his mantle closer about his head, when, by another entrance,\nthere approached a tall majestic figure, clad in dark vestments, who,\nwithout speaking, came near and stood before him. A veil of rich\nnet-work fell gracefully below his mantle, being in that era the\ndistinctive garb of soothsayers and diviners. His hair, for he was an\nAsiatic, was twisted in the shape of a mitre, investing his form with\nevery advantage from outward appearances.\n\n\"I would know,\" said he, \"by what right thou art at this untimely hour\nan intruder on my privacy?\"\n\n\"By a will which even thou darest not disobey,\" was the answer.\n\n\"It is past midnight. Knowest thou of my long watching, and the dark\nportents of the stars?\"\n\n\"Nay. But passing, I saw the door of the vestibule partly open. The\nfates are propitious. I crossed the court, intending to consult the\nmost famous soothsayer in the emperor's dominions.\"\n\n\"Peradventure 'tis no accidental meeting. To-night I have read the\nstars, the book of heaven. Comest thou not, blind mortal, at their\nbidding?\"\n\n\"I have neither skill nor knowledge in the art\"----\n\nThe stranger hesitated, as though he had as lief the conversation was\nresumed by the diviner himself.\n\n\"Thy father. What of him?\" said the Chaldean, with a look as though he\nhad penetrated his inmost thoughts.\n\n\"True, 'tis mine errand,\" said the intruder. \"But the event?\"\n\n\"The augury is not complete!\"\n\n\"Thine auguries are like my good fortune--long in compassing. The best\naugur, I trow, is this good steel. I would sooner trust it than the\nbest thou canst bestow.\"\n\n\"Rash mortal! Impatience will be thy destruction. Listen!\"\n\nThe raven hopped down upon his shoulder. A low guttural sound appeared\nto come from this ill-omened bird. The augur bent his ear. Sounds\nshaped themselves into something like articulation, and the following\ncouplet was distinctly heard:--\n\n     \"While the eagle is in his nest, the eaglet shall not prevail;\n     Nor shall the eagle be smitten in his eyrie.\"\n\n\"Azor,\" said the warrior, clenching his sword, \"these three times hast\nthou mocked me, and by the immortal gods thou diest!\"\n\n\"Impious one! I could strike thee powerless as the dust thou treadest\non. Give me the bauble,\" said he, addressing the raven. The bird\nimmediately gave the clasp he had purloined into his master's hand.\n\n\"This shall witness between us,\" continued he. \"Dare to lift thy hand,\nthe very palace shall bear testimony to thy treason--that thou hast\nsought me for purposes too horrible even for thy tongue to utter.\nHence! When least expected I may meet thee. If it had not been for thy\nmother's sake, and for my vow, the emperor ere this had been privy to\nit.\"\n\nStung with rage and disappointment, he put back his weapon, and with\nthreats and imprecations departed.\n\nOn a couch inlaid with ivory and pearl, within a vaulted chamber in\nthe Praetorian Palace of the royal city, lay the emperor, in a coverlid\nof rich stuff. Disease had crushed his body, but the indomitable\nspirit was unquenched. Tossing and disturbed, at length he started\nfrom his bed. Calling to his chamberlain, he demanded if there had not\nbeen footsteps in the apartment. The ruler of the world, whose nod\ncould shake the nations, and whose word was the arbiter of life or\ndeath to millions of his fellow-men, lay here--startled at the passing\nof a sound, the falling of a shadow! His face, whose chief\ncharacteristic was power--that strength and determination of spirit\nwhich all acknowledge, and but few comprehend--was furrowed with\ndeeper marks than care had wrought. Sixty years had moulded the steady\nand inflexible purpose of his soul in lines too palpable to be\nmisunderstood. His beard was short and grizzled; and a swarthy hue,\nbetraying his African birth, was now become sallow, and even sickly in\nthe extreme; but an eagle eye still beamed in all its fierceness and\nrapacity from under his scanty brows. His nose was not of the Roman\nsort, like the beak of that royal bird, but thick and even clumsy,\nlacking that sharp and predacious intellect generally associated with\nforms of this description.\n\nSuch was Septimus Severus, then styled on a coin just struck\n\"BRITANNICVS MAXIMVS,\" in commemoration of a great victory gained over\nthe Caledonians, whom he had driven beyond Adrian's Wall. Though\nsuffering from severe illness, he was carried in a horse-litter; and,\nmarching from York at the head of his troops, penetrated almost to the\nextremity of the island, where he subdued that fierce and intractable\nnation the Scots. Returning, he left his son Caracalla to superintend\nthe building of a stone wall across the island in place of the earthen\nramparts called Adrian's; a structure, when completed, that\neffectually resisted the inroads of those barbarians for a\nconsiderable period.\n\nHe called a third time to Virius Lupus, one, the most confidential of\nhis attendants, to whom many of the most important secrets of the\nstate were entrusted.\n\n\"Thrice have I heard it, Virius. Again and again it seems to mock and\nelude my grasp.\" He paused, the officer yet listening with becoming\nreverence. The emperor continued, more like one whose thoughts had\ntaken utterance than as if he were addressing the individual before\nhim.\n\n\"When I led the Pannonian legions to victory; when Rome opened her\ngates at my command; when I fought my way through blood to the\nthrone--I quailed not then! Now--satiated with power, careless of\nfame, the prospects of life closed, and for ever--when all that is\nleft for me to do is to die--behold, I tremble at the shaking of a\nleaf! I start even at the footstep that awakes me!\"\n\n\"Long live the emperor!\" said the cringing secretary. Interrupting\nhim, as he would have proceeded with the customary adulations, the\nemperor again continued as though hardly noticing his presence--\n\n\"Caracalla yet remains with the army. Once I censured the misguided\nclemency of Marcus, who by an act of justice might have prevented the\nmiseries that his son Caligula brought upon the empire; and yet I,\neven I,\" said the haughty monarch, bitterly, \"nourish the very\nweakness that in others I despise!\"\n\nHe dashed away the sweat from his brow, ashamed of the weakness he\ncould not quell.\n\n\"He hath sought your life,\" said the wily sycophant.\n\n\"He hath. Traitor! parricide! the distinctions he would have earned.\nBut my better genius triumphed, and history hath been spared this\ninfamy. It may be, this temporary exile from our court with the\nnorthern army shall tame his spirit to submission. My life or his,\nonce the bitter alternative, may yet be avoided.\"\n\n\"But may not his presence with the army be impolitic, should he turn\nthe weapon wherewith you have girded him to your own hurt?\"\n\n\"'Tis an evil choice; whichever way I turn, mischief is before me.\"\n\n\"Were it not best that he be recalled?\"\n\n\"What? To plot and practise against my life! To mount upon my reeking\nbody to the throne! He will not reign with Geta. The proud boy\ndisdains a divided empire. And was not mine own soul fashioned in the\nsame mould? When Niger would have ruled in Syria, and Albinus in\nBritain, I scattered their legions to the winds, and levelled their\nhopes with their pride. 'Tis nature; and shall I, the author of his\nbeing, punish him for mine own gift?\"\n\nHe raised himself on his couch. The fierce blaze of ambition broke the\ndark cloud of bodily infirmities, and the monarch and the tyrant again\ndilated his almost savage features.\n\nThe secretary, used to these fiery moods, stood awaiting his commands.\nThe emperor, as though exhausted, sank down on his pillow,\nexclaiming--\n\n\"I have governed the world, but I cannot govern a wayward heart!\"\n\nThus did he often lament, and provoke himself the more with these vain\nregrets; forgetting that, if he had exercised the same firmness in his\nprivate as public capacity, the government of his own house would have\nbeen easy as the government of the world.\n\n\"Virius Lupus, there is danger--and to-night. As I have told thee, the\nstars do betoken mischief. But the peril is at my threshold. Let\nCaracalla remain; so shall we avert his weapon. Should the assassin\ncome, it will not be with the blow of a parricide. Thou mayest retire\nto thy couch, but first let the guards be doubled, the watchword and\ncountersign changed. And, hark thee, tell the tribune that he look\nwell to the _tessera_, and have the right count from the inspectors.\nShould despatches come from Rome, let the messenger have immediate\naudience.\"\n\nAgain the emperor stretched himself on the couch, and again his\nslumbers were interrupted. A murmur was heard along the halls and\npassages where the guards were stationed. The noise grew louder,\napproaching the very door of the royal chamber. The monarch started as\nfrom a dream, and the door at that moment opened. The Chaldean\nsoothsayer stood before him.\n\n\"Azor!\" said the emperor, \"at this hour? What betides such unseemly\ngreeting?\"\n\n\"Caesar trembles on his throne; but the world quakes not! The angel of\ndeath is at thy door. Caracalla hath returned.\"\n\n\"Returned? Surely thy wits are disturbed. Caracalla! Ay, even\nyesterday, we had despatches from the camp.\"\n\n\"Howbeit, he is at thy threshold. The sound of his feet is behind me.\"\n\n\"Impossible! the mischief is not from him.\"\n\n\"Even now I looked in the crystal, and behold\"----The soothsayer\npaused. Horror was gathering on his features. The light suspended\nabove him began to quiver; and as it waved to and fro his countenance\nassumed a tremulous and distorted expression.\n\nSeverus watched the result with no little anxiety. The magician drew a\ncrystal cup from his girdle. Looking in apparently with great alarm,\nhe presented it at arm's length to the emperor, who beheld a milky\ncloud slowly undulating within the vessel.\n\n\"Take this,\" said the soothsayer, \"and tell me what thou seest.\"\n\nThe monarch took it at his bidding. The cloud seemed to be clearing\naway, as the morning mist before the sun.\n\n\"I see nothing,\" said the emperor, \"but a silver clasp at the bottom.\"\n\n\"And the owner?\"\n\n\"As I live,\" said the astonished parent, drawing forth a\ncuriously-embossed clasp from the goblet, and holding it out to the\nlight, \"this token of rare workmanship did the empress present to\nCaracalla ere he departed. Whence came it? and wherefore hast thou\nbrought it hither?\"\n\n\"A silent witness to my word. Within the hour thy son returns;\nand\"----The seer's voice grew more ominous whilst he spake. \"Beware!\nthere's mischief in the wind. The raven scents his prey afar off!\"\n\n\"If in this thou art a true prophet I will give thee largess; but if a\nlying spirit of divination possess thee, my power is swift to punish\nas to reward.\"\n\n\"I heed not either. Do I serve thee for lucre? Look thee, in less time\nthan I would occupy in telling thee on't I could fill thy palace with\ngold and silver!--and do I covet thy paltry treasures? The kingdoms of\nthis world are his whom I serve, and shall I seek thy perishing\nhonours? Behold, I leave this precious goblet as my pledge. I must\naway. Thou shalt render it back on my return. I would not part with\nthat treasure for the dominion of the Caesars. Beware thou let it not\nforth from thy sight, for there be genii who are bound to serve its\npossessor, and peradventure it shall give thee warning when evil\napproaches.\"\n\nThe soothsayer departed, and the emperor laid the crystal goblet on a\ntable opposite his couch. He clapped his hands, and the chief\nsecretary approached.\n\n\"What said our messenger from the north? Read again the despatch they\nbrought yesterday.\"\n\nThe secretary drew forth a roll from his cabinet, and read as\nfollows:--\n\n\"Again the supreme gods have granted victory to our legions. Favoured\nby the darkness and their boats, the barbarians attacked us from three\nseparate points. Led on by Fingal and his warriors, whom beforetime we\nerroneously reported to be slain, they crossed over to the station\nwhere we had pitched our tents. But the Roman eagle was yet watchful.\nThough retreating behind our last defences, we left not the field\nuntil a thousand, the choicest of our foes, bit the dust. Morning\nshowed us the red-haired chief and his bards, but they were departing,\nand their spears were glittering on the mountains.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" said the emperor. \"Caracalla tarries yet with the camp. Our\nperson is not menaced by his hand. Prithee, send a brasier hither. The\nnight is far spent, and slumber will not again visit these eyelids.\"\n\nA bronze tripod was brought supported by sphinxes, the worship of Isis\nbeing a fashionable idolatry at that period. Charred wood was then\nplaced in a round dish pierced with holes, and perfumes thrown in to\ncorrect the smell. The emperor commanded that he should be left alone.\nCovering his shoulders with a richly-embroidered mantle, he took from\nbehind his pillow a Greek treatise on the occult sciences, to the\nstudy of which he was passionately addicted.\n\nIt is said of him by historians that he was guided by his skill in\njudicial astrology to the choice of the reigning empress, having lost\nhis first wife when governor of the Lyonnese Gaul. Finding that a lady\nof Emesa in Syria, one Julia Domna, had what was termed \"a royal\nnativity,\" he solicited and obtained her hand, thus making the\nprophecy the means of its accomplishment.\n\nA woman of great beauty and strong natural acquirements, she was at\nthe same time the patron of all that was noble and distinguished in\nthe philosophy and literature of the age. It was even said that\nsecretly she was a favourer of the Christians. Be this as it may, we\ndo not find she ever became a professor of the faith.\n\nSleep, that capricious guest which comes unbidden but not invited, was\njust stealing over the monarch's eyelids when the roll fell from his\ngrasp. The unexpected movement startled him. His eye fell on the\nbright crystal opposite. He thought a glimmer was moving in the glass.\nHe remembered the words of the sage, and his eye was riveted on the\nmystic goblet. A sudden flash was reflected from it. He started\nforward, when a naked sword fell on the couch: the stroke he only\nescaped by having so accidentally changed his place! The glass had\nrevealed the glitter of the blade behind him, and he was indebted to a\nfew inches of space for his life!\n\nLooking round, he beheld a masked figure preparing to repeat the\nstroke. Severus, with his usual courage and presence of mind, threw\nhis mantle across the assassin's sword. He cried out, and the chamber\nwas immediately filled with guards; but whether from treachery or\ninadvertence, the traitor was nowhere to be found. He had escaped,\nleaving his weapon entangled in the folds of the mantle. On\nexamination, the emperor's surprise was visibly increased when he\nrecognised the sword as one belonging to Caracalla! The soothsayer's\nprediction was apparently fulfilled. To the emperor's superstitious\napprehensions the crystal goblet was charged with his safety. But lo!\non being sought for, the charmed cup was gone!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe next morning, as the sun was just rising over the green wolds, and\nthe fresh air came brisk and sharply on the traveller's cheek, a\nstranger was noticed loitering through the narrow streets of the\nimperial city. He had passed the great Galcarian or western gate, from\nwhich the statue of the reigning emperor on that memorable morning was\nfound razed from its pedestal. The outer and inner faces of the gate\nwere whitened for the writing of edicts and proclamations by the\ngovernment scribes, and likewise for the public notices of minor\nimport, these being daubed on the walls with various degrees of skill,\nin red or black pigments, according to the nature of the decrees that\nwere issued by the praetor, and the caprice of the artist.\n\nOn that morning a number of idlers had assembled about the gate. The\nstatue of the emperor, fallen prostrate, had been removed, and an\nedict promptly supplied, to the purport that an impious hand, having\nattempted the life of the monarch, a reward of one hundred thousand\n_sestertia_ would be the price of his apprehension. Another reward of\nthe like sum was offered for the discovery of a crystal goblet stolen\nfrom the emperor's chamber.\n\nThe individual we have just noticed wore the common sleeved tunic of\ncoarse wool; over it was a cloak buckled on the right shoulder, the\nyarn being dyed in such wise that, when woven, it might resemble the\nskin of a brindled ox--such was the dress of the ancient Britons. His\nhead was covered with a close cap, but his feet were naked; and the\nonly weapon he bore was a two-handed sword, stuck in his girdle.\n\nEre he passed the gate it might be supposed that his business and\ncredentials would have been rigidly scrutinised by the guards; but he\nmerely showed a large signet-ring to the superior officer, and was\nimmediately allowed to pass. He soon came to the wooden bridge over\nthe river, now kept by a body of the Praetorian guards. Here, on\nattempting to pass, he was immediately seized. With an air of stupid\nor affected concern, the prisoner drew the same signet from his hand,\nthe sight of which again procured him immediate access. The bridge was\ncrossed, and after passing along the narrow winding streets he came to\na small triumphal arch leading into the Forum. This was an area of but\nmean extent, surrounded by a colonnade, serving as a market for all\nsorts of wares, and the trades carried on under its several porticoes.\nThe outer walls behind the columns were painted in compartments, black\nand red, and here a number of citizens were assembled. There was\nhurrying to and fro. Soldiers and messengers, even so early, were\nbustling about with ominous activity. The stranger looked on for a\nwhile with a vacant sort of curiosity, then, turning to the left hand,\nwent forward towards the gate of the palace. On a corner of the\nbuilding he saw another edict to the same purport as before. Near it\nwas the announcement of a spectacle at the theatre, the gift of a\nwealthy patrician for the amusement and gratification of the people.\nStill the stranger passed on, apparently uninterested by all, until he\ncame to the outer gate, where he merely paused a few moments, as\nthough to observe the movements of the soldiers and the changing of\nthe guard. The sound of the trumpet seemed to attract especial notice\nfrom this barbarian, whose uncouth air and rude manners drew upon him\nthe gaze of many as they passed by. He now turned into a narrower\nstreet behind the palace, and here he sought out a common tavern,\nwhere the chequers newly painted on the door-posts betokened good\nentertainment for travellers. Having entered, the hostess, whose\ntucked-up dress and general appearance Martial, in his epigrams, so\ncunningly describes, brought him a vase or flagon of wine. It was not\nof the true Falernian flavour, as may be readily surmised, but a\nmixture of stuff which can hardly be described, of nauseous taste,\nsmelling abominably of resin or pitch, and flavoured with myrrh and\nother bitters. Both hot and cold refections solicited the taste and\nregaled the sight of the visitor. Flitches of bacon were suspended\nfrom above, and firewood stuffed between the rafters, black and smoky\nwith the reeking atmosphere below. At his own request, the stranger\nwas installed in a small chamber behind the public room, where stood a\ncouch, a three-footed table, and a lavatory. Here he was served with\nradishes, cheese, and roasted eggs in earthen vessels, with a relish\nof cornels in pickle. Ere this refection was brought in the table was\nrubbed over with a sprig of mint, and the coarse pottery betrayed an\nexquisite odour of thyme and garlic.\n\nAfter the needful refreshments and ablutions he sallied forth, first\ninquiring for the residence of the Chaldean soothsayer, before whose\ndoor, in due time, he arrived. The gate leading to the vestibule was\nopen, and he entered by a narrow passage terminated by a small inner\ncourt. He paused, and looked round. No fountain played in the centre;\na clump of rank, unwholesome grass was the only decoration; but the\nobject of his search was a crooked wooden staircase, which led to a\nsort of gallery above. After a little hesitation he ascended; his\ncountry manners showing a determination to persevere, until fairly\ndelivered of his errand. A door at the extremity of the gallery stood\najar, and through this he made bold to enter. A Numidian slave,\ndwarfish and deformed, was sweeping his master's chamber. He stopped\nshort as the barbarian, with a stupid and wondering look, entered the\napartment. After surveying the new comer with an air of deliberate\nscrutiny, the dwarf burst forth into a violent fit of laughter.\n\n\"Mercury hath sent us precious handsel this morning, truly,\" said he,\nwhen his diversion was concluded. \"A pretty hound to scent out\nmaster's lost goods. The gods do verily mock us in thy most gracious\nperson.\"\n\nThe visitor looked on with dismay during this ungracious and taunting\nspeech. At length he stammered forth--\n\n\"Thy master, is he not the Chaldean to whom my mistress, knowing I was\nbound for the city, hath sent me privily with a message?\"\n\nThe Briton spoke this in a sort of guttural and broken Latin, which\nthe apish dwarf mimicked in the most mischievous and provoking way\nimaginable. The messenger, irritated beyond endurance, placed both\nhands on his weapon, but his antagonist, with little ado, tripped up\nhis heels, and the poor aborigine was completely at the mercy of this\ngrotesque specimen of humanity.\n\nGrinning over him with spite and mischief in his looks, the dwarf\nstamped on the floor; presently there came two slaves, who, without\nfurther notice than a blow now and then when resistance was offered,\nbound him with stout cords, and bade him lie there until he should be\nfurther disposed of. Inquiry was vain as to the cause of this\ntreatment. Bound hand and foot, he was then tossed with little\nceremony and less compunction into a corner of the room, and there\nleft to bemoan his hard fate. Perched just above his head sat the\ncunning raven, who eyed him as though with serious intentions of\npecking at him in his present defenceless condition. He was soon aware\nof this additional source of alarm, and as the bird's eye brightened\nand twinkled with greedy anticipation, he rubbed his rapacious beak on\nthe perch, apparently whetting it for the feast. He then jumped down\non the floor, and hopping close to his victim, gave a hoarse and\ndismal croak, a death-warning, it might be, to the unfortunate\ncaptive. He tried to burst his bonds, and shrieked out in the\nextremity of his alarm. His struggles kept the bird at a distance, but\nit continued to survey him with such a longing, liquorish eye, that\nthe poor culprit felt himself already writhing, like another\nPrometheus, under the beak of his destroyer. His terror increased. It\nmight be some demon sent to torment him; and this conviction\nstrengthened when he saw the dismal and hideous things that surrounded\nhim. Just as his agony was wrought to the highest pitch he heard\nfootsteps. Even the sound was some relief. He knew not what further\nindignities--not to say violence--he might expect; but at all events\nthere would be a change, and it was hailed as an alleviation to his\nmisery.\n\nThe soothsayer presented himself, attended by the ugly dwarf.\n\n\"A stupid barbarian thou sayest the Fates have sent us?\" said the\nChaldean, as he entered. \"Bridle thine impious tongue, Merodac; what\nthe dweller in immortal fire hath decreed will be accomplished, though\nby weak and worthless creatures such as these. What ho! stranger,\nwhence art thou? and why art thou moved so early across our\nthreshold?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the prisoner, in a tone of entreaty, \"these bonds are\nunlawful--I am a freed man. Though a Briton, I am no slave; and I\nbeseech you to visit this indignity on that rogue who hath so scurvily\nentreated me.\"\n\n\"I was privy to it, else would he not have dared this.\"\n\n\"And to what end, good master?\"\n\n\"That we may have an answer propitious to our suit.\"\n\n\"What! are ye about to sacrifice me to your infernal deities?\" cried\nthe captive, almost frantic with the anticipation.\n\n\"My friend, thou art bound for another purpose--to wit, that through\nthy instrumentality we may discover the divining cup the emperor hath\nlost. Knowest thou aught of this precious crystal?\" inquired the\nChaldean, with a searching look.\n\nBut it were vain to describe the astonishment of the victim. He looked\nalmost in doubt of his own identity, or as if he were trying to shake\noff the impression of some hideous dream. At length he replied--\n\n\"'Tis some device surely that ye may slay me!\"\n\nHe wept; and the tears trickling down his cheek were indeed piteous to\nbehold. \"I know not,\" said he, \"your meaning. Let me depart.\"\n\n\"Nay, said the soothsayer, \"thou mayest content thyself as thou list,\nbut the cup shall be found, and that by thy ministry. The emperor hath\noffered rewards nigh to the value of three silver talents for the\nrecovery, and assuredly thou shalt be held in durance until it be\nregained.\"\n\n\"And by whose authority?\" inquired the Briton.\n\n\"Why, truly, it becometh thee to ask, seeing thou art a party\ninterested in the matter. The emperor in whose care the jewel was\nleft, hath sworn by the river Styx that unless the cup be brought back\nto the palace ere to-morrow's dawn, he will punish the innocent with\nthe guilty, and that with no sparing hand. He hath already laid hands\non some of the more wealthy citizens, and amerced them in divers sums;\nothers are detained as hostages for suspected persons who are absent\nfrom the city. The loss of this cup being connected with a daring\nattempt on the emperor's life by some unknown hand, he doth suspect\nthat the very palace wants purging from treason; yet where to begin,\nor on whom to fasten suspicion, he knoweth not. Mine art has hitherto\nfailed me in the matter. The tools they work with baffle my skill,\nsave that the oracle I consult commanded that I should lay hold on the\nfirst male person that came hither to-day, and by his ministry the\nlost treasure should be restored. Shouldst thou refuse, thou art lost;\nfor assuredly the emperor will not be slow to punish thy contumacy.\"\n\nThe miserable captive fell into great perplexity at this discourse. He\nvowed he knew no more of the lost cup than the very stones he trod on;\nthat he had come since nightfall from his master, Lucius Claudius,\nlieutenant and standard-bearer of the sixth legion, then at\nIsurium,[23] on a mere casual errand to the city; and that his\nmistress, who was a British lady of noble birth, had instructed him,\nat the same time, to consult the soothsayer on some matters relative\nto her nativity, which the sage had calculated some years back. Almost\na stranger in these parts, how could he pretend to begin the search?\nHe begged piteously for his release; promising, and with great\nsincerity, that he would never set foot in this inhospitable region\nagain. The magician inquired his name.\n\n\"Cedric with the ready foot,\" was the reply. Unmoved by his\nentreaties, the soothsayer said he had the emperor's command for the\nuse of every method he could devise for the recovery of this precious\nand priceless jewel; and that, furthermore, the safety and even lives\nof many innocent persons depended on the stranger's exertions, and the\nspeedy execution of his mission. But how to begin, or in what quarter\nto commence the search, was a riddle worthy of the Sphinx. A most\nunexpected and novel situation for this rude dweller in woods and\nmorasses, to be suddenly thrust forth into a mighty city, without\nguide or direction, more ignorant of his errand than any of its\ninhabitants. Besides, he was not without a sort of incipient and\ninstinctive dread that the catastrophe might procure him an interview\nwith the emperor; and he was filled with apprehension lest his own\ncarcase might afford a special treat, a sacrifice to the brutal\nappetite of the spectators in the amphitheatre, after the manner of\nthe _bestiarii_, or gladiators, of whom he had often heard. Even could\nhe have gotten word of this mishap to his master, he was by no means\ncertain it would be attended with any beneficial result. The time was\ntoo short, and the will and mandate of the emperor would render futile\nany attempt to obtain deliverance from this quarter.\n\nA few moments sufficed for these considerations. The glance of the\nmind, when on the rack for expedients, is peculiarly keen, and hath an\neagle-like perception that appears as though it could pierce to the\ndim and distant horizon of its hopes and apprehensions.\n\n\"Unbind these withes,\" said the captive; \"I cannot begin the search in\nthis extremity.\"\n\n\"Merodac, undo these bonds; and see thou guard thy prisoner strictly;\nthy life answers for his safe keeping.\"\n\nThe dwarf, who seemed never so well pleased as when tormenting the\nmore fortunate and better shapen of his species, unloosed the cords\nwith something of the like feeling and intention as a cat when\nliberating some unfortunate mouse from her talons.\n\n\"There's a chance of rare sport i' the shows to-morrow,\" said the ugly\njailer. \"We are sure of _thee_, anyhow. Didst ever see the criminals\nfight with wolves, Hyrcanian bears, and such like? I would not miss\nthe sight for the best feather in my cap.\"\n\nThe cruel slave here rubbed his hands, and his yellow eyes glistened\nwith the horrible anticipation. His victim groaned aloud.\n\n\"I'll tell thee a rare device,\" continued he, \"whereby thou mayest\nescape being eaten at least a full hour; and we shall have the longer\nsport. Mind thee, the beasts do not always get the carcases for\ndinner. If they be cowardly and show little fight, we give the dead\nbestiarii to the dogs. I remember me well the last we threw into the\nemperor's kennel, the dogs made such a fighting for the carrion that\nhe ordered each of us a flagellation for the disturbance. Let me see,\nthere was--ay\"----Here the knave began to count the number of shows\nand human sacrifices he had seen, recounting every particular with the\nmost horrible minuteness. Cedric felt himself already in the gripe of\nthe savages, and his flesh verily quivered on his bones.\n\nBrutal and demoralising were those horrid spectacles. The people of\nRome, it has been well observed by a modern writer, were generally\nmore corrupt by many degrees than has been usually supposed possible.\nMany were the causes which had been gradually operating towards this\nresult, and amongst the rest the continual exhibition of scenes where\nhuman blood was poured forth like water. The continual excitement of\nthe populace demanded fresh sacrifices, until even these palled upon\nthe cruel appetites of the multitude. Even the more innocent\nexhibitions, where brutes were the sufferers, could not but tend to\ndestroy all the finer sensibilities of the nature. \"Five thousand\nwild animals, torn from their native abodes in the wilderness and the\nforest,\" have been turned out for mutual slaughter in one single\nexhibition at the amphitheatre. Sometimes the _lanista_, or person who\nexhibited the shows and provided the necessary supplies, by way of\nadministering specially to the gratification of the populace, made it\nknown, as a particular favour, that the whole of these should be\nslaughtered. These, however, soon ceased to stimulate the appetite for\nblood. From such combats \"the transition was inevitable to those of\nmen, whose nobler and more varied passions spoke directly, and by the\nintelligible language of the eye, to human spectators; and from the\nfrequent contemplation of these authorised murders, in which a whole\npeople--women as much as men, and children intermingled with\nboth--looked on with leisurely indifference, with anxious expectation,\nor with rapturous delight, whilst below them were passing the direct\nsufferings of humanity, and not seldom its dying pangs, it was\nimpossible to expect a result different from that which did, in fact,\ntake place--universal hardness of heart, obdurate depravity, and a\ntwofold degradation of human nature, the natural sensibility and the\nconscientious principle.\" \"Here was a constant irritation, a system of\nprovocation to the appetite for blood, such as in other nations are\nconnected with the rudest stages of society, and with the most\nbarbarous modes of warfare.\"\n\n\"Whither wilt thou that we direct our steps?\" inquired Merodac, with\nmock submission, when the cords were unloosed.\n\n\"Lead the way--I care not,\" said his moody victim; \"'tis as well that\nI follow.\"\n\nA bitter and scornful laugh accompanied the reply of the dwarf.\n\n\"That were a pretty device truly--to let thee lag behind, and without\nthy tether. Ah, ah,\" chuckled the squire as they left the chamber,\n\"Diogenes and his lantern was a wise man's search compared with ours.\"\n\nHow the slave came to be so learned in Grecian lore we know not. His\nfurther displays of erudition were cut short by the soothsayer, who\ncried out to him as they departed--\n\n\"Remember, thy carcase for his if he return not.\"\n\nNow, in York, at this day, may be observed, where an angle of the\nwalls abuts on the \"Mint Yard,\" a building named \"the Multangular\nTower,\" and supposed to have been one of the principal fortifications\nof the city. However this might be, its structure has puzzled not a\nlittle even those most conversant with antiquities. The area was not\nbuilt up all round, but open towards the city. The foundations of a\nwall have latterly been discovered, dividing it lengthwise through the\ncentre, and continued for some distance into the town; so that the\nwhole may not inaptly be represented by a Jewtrump--the tongue being\nthe division, the circular end the present Multangular Tower,\ncontinued by walls on each side. This building, we have every reason\nto conjecture, was the Greek _stadium_ or Roman circus, which authors\ntell us was a narrow piece of ground shaped like a staple; the round\nend called the barrier. The wall dividing it lengthwise is the\n_spina_, or flat ridge running through the middle, which was generally\na low wall, and sometimes merely a mound of earth. This was usually\ndecorated with statues of gods, columns, votive altars, and the like.\nAs a corroboration of this opinion, there have been found here several\nsmall statues, altars, and other figures, betokening a place of public\nresort or amusement.\n\nThe circus was not used merely for horse and chariot races, but\nlikewise for wrestling--the _caestus_, and other athletic games. It was\nnoted as the haunt of fortune-tellers, and thither the poorer people\nused to resort and hear their fortunes told.[24]\n\nNear this place stood the barracks, or _castra_. Long ranges of rooms\ndivided into several storeys, the doors of each chamber opening into\none common gallery, ascended by a wooden staircase.\n\nHither we must conduct our readers at the close of the day on whose\ninauspicious morning \"Cedric with the ready-foot\" was placed in such\njeopardy.\n\nThe whole city meanwhile had been astir. The emperor's wrath and\ndesire of revenge were excited to the utmost pitch. He suspected\ntreachery even amongst the Praetorian guards--his favourite and\nbest-disciplined troops; and there was an apprehension of some\nterrible disgrace attaching even to them. Still, nothing further\ntranspired implicating the soldiery, save that the assassin had\nescaped, and apparently through the very midst of the guard; yet no\none chose to accuse his fellow, or say by whose means this mysterious\noutlet was contrived. Not even to his most confidential minister did\nthe emperor reveal the discovery of his son's weapon. Neither that\nson, nor his guilty accomplices, if any, could be found; and the day\nwas fast closing upon the monarch's threat, that on the morrow his\nvengeance should have its full work unless the crystal goblet was\nrestored.\n\nThere had been a public spectacle at the theatre, but the emperor was\nnot present; and such was the consternation of the whole city that the\nperformance was but scantily attended. The city was apparently on the\neve of some sad catastrophe, and the whole population foreboding some\nfearful event.\n\nIn the circus were yet some stray groups, who, having little\nemployment of their own, were listening for news, and loitering about\neither for mischief or amusement.\n\nIn one part was exhibited a narrow wooden box, not unlike to our\npuppet-show, wherein a person was concealed having figures made of\nwood and earthenware that seemed to act and speak, to the great wonder\nand diversion of the audience.\n\nAs the rays of the declining sun smote upon the city walls and the\nwhite sails of the barks below, there came into the circus the dwarf\nwho had charge of Cedric. The captive now looked like a sort of\nappendage to his person--being strapped to his arm by a stout thong of\nbull's hide, such as was used for correcting refractory slaves. The\nhours allotted for search were nearly gone. Day was drawing to a\nclose, and Cedric had done little else than bemoan his hard fate. The\nwhole day had been spent in wandering from place to place, urged on by\nthe scoffs and jeers of his companion. Some furtive attempts to escape\nhad been the cause of his present bondage. Hither, at length, they\narrived. Tired and distressed, he sat down on one of the vacant\nbenches, and gave vent to his sorrows in no very careful or measured\nlanguage.\n\n\"What can I do?\" said he, \"a stranger in this great city--to set me\na-finding what I never knew? A grain of wheat in a barn full of chaff,\nmayhap--a needle in a truss of hay--anything I might find but what was\nsheer impossible. And now am I like to be thrown to the dogs, like a\nheap of carrion!\"\n\n\"But the oracle, friend.\"\n\n\"Plague on the oracle, for\"----Here his speech was interrupted; for\nhappening to look up, he saw, as he fancied, the eyes of one of the\nlittle figures in the show-box ogling him, and making mouths in such\nwise as to draw upon him the attention of the spectators, now roaring\nwith laughter at his expense. Reckless of consequences, and almost\nfurious from sufferings, he suddenly jumped up, and dragging the dwarf\nalong with him, made a desperate blow at the mimic, which, in a\nmoment, laid sprawling a whole company of little actors, together with\nthe prime mover himself, and the showman outside to boot. The fray, as\nmay readily be conceived, waxed loud and furious. The owners and\nbystanders not discriminating as to the main cause of the attack,\nwould have handled both the keeper and the captive very roughly, had\nnot the noise awakened the attention of the soldiers in the\nneighbouring barracks. Hearing the affray, a party ran to ascertain\nthe cause of the disturbance, and seeing two men whom a whole crowd\nhad combined to attack, concluded they were culprits, and forthwith\nhaled them before the captain of the guard, a centurion, Diogenes\nVerecundus by name.\n\nCedric and the dwarf being rescued from a sound beating, began to\nabuse one another as the cause of the disturbance; but the officer, by\ndint of threats and inquiries, soon learned the truth of the matter.\n\n\"Thank the stars, I shall be rid of this pestilence to-morrow,\" said\nMerodac; \"my master could not have found me such another; and how the\nFates could pitch upon such a sorry cur for the business seems passing\nstrange. If he find the cup I'll be beaten to a jelly in it. Thy\ncarcase will be meat for the emperor's hounds to-morrow.\"\n\n\"If, as thou sayest,\" said the centurion, \"thou art so mightily weary\nof thy charge, leave him to my care; I would fain have some discourse\nwith him privily touching what thou hast spoken.\"\n\nThe slave hesitated.\n\n\"On the word of a Roman soldier he shall be forthcoming. Tell thy\nmaster that Verecundus the centurion hath taken thy prisoner captive.\nHere is money for thee.\"\n\nThe Ethiop showed his teeth like ivory studs on a coral band, while\nthe rings shook in his wrinkled ears as he took the largess. Yet his\nbrow contracted, and he hung his head. He hesitated to unloose the\nbonds.\n\n\"By what token?\" he at length inquired.\n\n\"By this!\" said the centurion, taking up a thong for his correction.\n\"Stay,\" continued he, laying it down, \"I will not punish thee\nundeservedly. Take these; they will bear thee harmless with thy\nmaster.\"\n\nThe dwarf took the writing thankfully, and made the best of his way to\nthe dwelling of the soothsayer.\n\nThe officer now beckoned Cedric that he should follow. In a low room\nby the guard-chamber at the gate the following conversation took\nplace.\n\n\"There is evil denounced us of a truth,\" said Verecundus; \"but it may\nbe the gods have sent thee hither for our rescue, as the oracle hath\nsaid.\"\n\nThe Briton fixed his wondering eyes on the soldier whilst he\ncontinued.\n\n\"I have pondered the words well, and if thou prove trusty, ere this\nnight pass the plot shall be discovered and the ringleaders secured.\nWe have need of such a one as thou--a stranger, whom they will not\nsuspect, and will use the intelligence he obtains with a vigilant and\ncunning eye. There is work for thee, which, if well done, may bring\nthee to great wealth and honour. If thou fail, we fall together in the\nsame ruin. There is a plot against the emperor; and one which hath its\nbeing, ay in the very secrets of the palace. Those nearest him I am\nwell assured are the chief movers in the conspiracy. 'Tis this makes\nit so perilous to discover, and without a fitting agent the mischief\nwill not be overcome. I have thought to throw myself at the emperor's\nfeet, but having no proof withal to support my suspicions, I should in\nall likelihood fall a sacrifice to my own fidelity.\"\n\n\"But how,\" asked the bewildered Cedric, \"shall I discover them? Verily\nit doth seem that to-day I am destined to work out impossibilities.\nHow it comes to pass that a poor ignorant wretch like myself should\ncompass these things, it faileth my weak fancy to discover!\"\n\n\"The soothsayer's speech is not lightly to be regarded. Hark thee,\nknave! Is life precious unto thee?\"\n\n\"Yea, truly is it. I have a wife and children, besides a few herds and\nother live stock, likewise sundry beeves i' the forest. But unless I\ncan find favour in your eyes, my goods, alas! I am not like to see\nagain.\"\n\n\"Nor wilt thou peradventure again behold the light of yon blessed sun\nwhich hath just gone down. The shades of evening are upon us, and the\nshadows of death are upon thine eyelids; for, hark thee, I do suspect\nsome treasonable message in thine errand to the city.\"\n\nCedric, with a look of terror and incredulity, stammered out--\n\n\"As I live, I know not thy meaning!\"\n\n\"Thou art in my power; and unless thou servest me faithfully, thou\ndiest a cruel and fearful death. What was the exact message wherewith\nthou was entrusted?\"\n\nThe Briton's countenance brightened as he replied--\n\n\"I give it to thee with right good-will. No treason lurks there, I\ntrow. 'Take this,' said my master, yesternight, giving me a signet\nring; 'take it to York by daybreak. At the gate show it to the guard.\nIf they let thee pass, well. If not, return, for there is mischief in\nthe city. At the bridge, shouldest thou get so far, again show it,\nwhere, I doubt not, thou shalt find thereby a ready passage. Seek thee\nout some by-tavern where thou mayest refresh; then about mid-day go\ninto the street called the Goldsmiths', and there inquire for one\nCaius Lupus, the empress' jeweller. Show him the signet, and mark what\nhe shall tell thee.'\"\n\n\"Thou hast given him the signet, then?\" said the centurion, sharply.\n\n\"Nay. For my mistress, as ill-luck would have it, hearing of my\njourney, and she having had some knowledge of the soothsayer's art\naforetime, bade me consult him ere my errand was ready with the\ngoldsmith, and deliver a pressing request for the horoscope which had\nbeen long promised. What passed then, as thou knowest, is the cause of\nmy calamity.\"\n\n\"But didst thou not search out the dwelling of this same Caius, and do\nthine errand?\"\n\n\"I did. But in the straits which I endured I was not careful to note\nthe time. An hour past mid-day I sought out his dwelling; but he was\ngone to the palace on urgent business with the empress, nor was it\nknown when he might return.\"\n\n\"Sayest thou so, friend? I would like to look at this same potent\ntalisman.\"\n\nCedric drew forth the ring. It was a beautiful onyx, on which,\nengraven with exquisite workmanship, was a head of the youthful\nCaracalla encircled by a laurel wreath, showing marks of the most\nconsummate skill.\n\n\"Was thine errand told to the soothsayer?\" was the next inquiry.\n\n\"Verily, nay,\" said the messenger; \"there was little space for parley\nere I was thrust forth.\"\n\n\"He saw not the signet, then?\"\n\n\"Of a truth it has not been shown save to the guards for my passport.\"\n\n\"Now, knave, thy life hangs on a thread so brittle that a breath shall\nbreak it. This same goldsmith I do suspect; but thou shalt see him,\nand whatsoever he showeth I will be at hand that thou mayest tell me\nprivily. I will then instruct thee what thou shalt do. If thou fail\nnot in thy mission, truly thou shalt have great rewards from the\nemperor. But if thou whisper--ay to the walls--of our meeting, thou\ndiest! Remember thou art watched. Think not to escape.\"\n\nThe poor wretch caught hold on this last hope of deliverance, and\npromised to obey.\n\nThere was a narrow vault beneath the women's apartments in the palace,\ncommunicating by many intricate passages with an outlet into the\nForum. Here, on this eventful night, was an unusual assemblage. The\nvault was deep, even below the common foundations of the city, and\nwhere the light of day never came. An iron lamp hung from one of the\nmassy arches of the roof; the damp and stagnant vapours lending an\nawful indistinctness to the objects they surrounded. Chill drops lay\non the walls and on the slippery floor. The stone benches were green\nwith mildew; and it seemed as though the foot of man had rarely passed\nits threshold.\n\nIn this chamber several individuals were now assembled in earnest\ndiscourse, their conversation whispered rather than spoken; yet their\nintrepid and severe looks, and animated gestures, ever and anon\nbetrayed some deep and resolute purpose more than usually portentous.\n\n\"An untoward event truly,\" said one of the speakers, Virius Lupus\nhimself, the emperor's private secretary. \"If the old magician could\nhave been won, it had been well.\"\n\n\"He might have saved the encounter and hazard we must now undergo. But\nlet him hold his fealty. We have stout hearts and resolute hands enow\nto bring the matter to a successful issue.\" Thus spoke Caracalla, the\nunnatural eldest born of his father.\n\n\"And yet,\" replied the secretary, \"he hath a ready admittance to his\nperson, and a great sway over thy father's councils.\"\n\n\"I heed him not, now that brave men work. It were time that our trusty\nservant, the commander at Isurium, had sent the message, with the\ntoken I left him on my departure. Ere this we ought to have known the\nhour we may expect his troops to move on the capital. I had thought to\nhave made all safe--to have put it beyond the power of fate to\nfrustrate our purpose; but I was foiled like a beardless boy at his\nweapons.\" He gnashed his teeth as he spoke; and this monster of\ncruelty breathed a horrible threat against the life even of a parent\nand a king.\n\n\"Here is the roll,\" said one, who from his inkhorn and reed-pen seemed\nto be the scribe, and whose ambition had been lured by a promise that\nhe should have the office of sextumvir in the imperial city.\n\n\"Here be the names and disposition of the troops; the avenues and\ngates to which they are appointed.\"\n\n\"We but wait a messenger from Isurium to make our plans complete,\"\nsaid Caracalla. \"By the same courier I send back this cypher. Examine\nit, Fabricius. The troops of Lucius Claudius are to march directly on\nthe Forum, and slay all who attempt resistance. Thou, Virius Lupus,\nwilt guide them through the secret passage into the palace.\"\n\nThe secretary bowed assent.\n\n\"Though the empress knows not our high purpose, it is by her\nconnivance we are here, safe from the emperor's spies. Under her\nmantle we are hidden. Suspicion hath crossed her that I am about to\nhead the troops; that my father, oppressed with age and infirmities,\nwill retire to Rome; and that I, Caracalla, rule in Britain.\"\n\n\"Then she knows not the mishap of yesternight?\"\n\n\"She knows of the attempt, but not the agent. I would the messenger\nwere come. 'Tis an unforeseen delay. I pray the gods there be not\ntreachery somewhere. The officers and guards at the Calcarian gate and\nthe bridge are ours; they were instructed to obey the signet.\"\n\n\"We will vouch for the fidelity,\" said two or three of the\nconspirators.\n\n\"Should he not arrive before midnight we must strike,\" said Fabricius.\n\n\"Ay, as before,\" said the more cautious secretary. \"But we may now get\na broken head for our pains.\"\n\n\"The time brooks not delay,\" said Caracalla. \"Every moment now is big\nwith danger to our enterprise.\"\n\n\"Be not again too hasty,\" replied the secretary; \"there be none that\nwill divulge our plans. Let every part be complete before we act. We\ncannot succeed should there be a disjointed purpose.\"\n\nCaracalla, vehement, and unused to the curb, was about to reply, when\nthe door opened and a dumb slave slowly entered. He crossed his hands,\nand pointed to the door.\n\n\"A messenger,\" said they all.\n\n\"The gods are at last propitious,\" said Caracalla. \"Let him approach.\"\n\nSoon one was led in by the sentinel, blindfolded, and the latter\nimmediately withdrew.\n\n\"The sign,\" cried the secretary.\n\nThe stranger, without hesitation, presented a ring.\n\n\"'Tis the same,\" said Caracalla. He touched a concealed spring in the\nsignet, and from underneath the gem drew forth a little paper with a\nscrap of writing in cypher. It was held before the lamp, and the\nintelligence it contained rendered their plot complete. Ere break of\nday, the deed would be accomplished. The morning would see Caracalla\nproclaimed, and Severus deposed.\n\n\"Have ye any token to my master?\" inquired the messenger.\n\n\"Take back this writing,\" said Virius Lupus. \"Thou wilt find him not\nfar from the city. We wait his coming.\"\n\n\"This leaden-heeled Mercury should have a largess,\" said the chief,\n\"but in this den we have not wherewithal to give him. Hold! here is a\ngood recompense, methinks,\" continued he, taking the crystal goblet\nfrom a recess. \"Take this to thy mistress, and tell her to buy it from\nthee. We will see her anon. That charmed cup hath foiled me once, but\nI will foil thee now, and the powers thou servest. Thou shall not\nagain cross my path!\"\n\nCedric took the gift, wrapping it beneath his cloak.\n\n\"Thou mayest depart.\"\n\nThe dumb sentinel again took charge of him, and led him away by many\nintricate passages towards the entrance, where it seems the goldsmith\nhad directed him on presenting the signet of Caracalla. The person who\ntook charge of him was a dumb eunuch, a slave in the service of the\nempress.\n\nBut the terrors of death were upon the wretched victim. He knew the\ncenturion would assuredly be at hand to receive his report, and he\ncould not escape. He had not brought back one word of intelligence;\nand being blindfolded, he knew not whither he had been taken. The\nwriting he carried would assuredly be unintelligible save to those for\nwhom it was intended. His mission, he could perceive, had utterly\nfailed. The centurion would not be able to profit by anything he had\nbrought back, and must inevitably, according to his pledge, at once\nrender him up to the soothsayer. Whilst ruminating on his hard fate a\nsudden thought crossed him. There was little probability of success,\nbut at all events it might operate as a diversion in his favour, and\nthe design was immediately executed. Skulking for a moment behind the\nslave, he tore off the bandage, and tripped up the heels of his\nconductor. Before the latter could recover himself the Briton's gripe\nwas on his throat.\n\n\"Now, slave, thou art my prisoner! Lead on, or by this good sword,\nthou diest!\"\n\nThe torch he carried was luckily not extinguished in the fall. The\neunuch, almost choking, made a sign that he would obey. With the drawn\nblade at his throat, the slave went on; but Cedrick, ever wary, and\nwith that almost instinctive sagacity peculiar to man in his\nhalf-civilised state, kept a tiger-like watch on every movement of his\nprisoner, which enabled him to detect the fingers of the slave\nsuddenly raised to his lips, and a shrill whistle would have consigned\nhim over to certain and immediate destruction; but he struck down the\nuplifted hand with a blow which made his treacherous conductor crouch\nand cringe almost to the ground.\n\n\"Another attempt,\" said Cedric, \"and we perish together!\"\n\nThe wily slave looked all penitence and submission. Silently\nproceeding, apparently through the underground avenues of the palace,\nCedric was momentarily expecting his arrival at the place where the\ncenturion kept watch. A flight of steps now brought them to a spacious\nlanding-place. Suddenly a lamp was visible, and beneath it sat a\nnumber of soldiers, the emperor's body-guard. They gave way as the\neunuch passed by, followed by Cedric, his sword still drawn. Several\nof these groups were successively cleared: the guide, by a\ncountersign, was enabled to thread his way through every obstacle that\npresented itself. The Briton's heart misgave him as they approached a\nvestibule, before which a phalanx of the guards kept watch. Here he\nthought it prudent to sheath his weapon, though he still followed the\neunuch, as his only remaining chance of escape. Even here they were\ninstantly admitted, and without any apparent hesitation. The door\nturned slowly on its pivot, and Cedric found himself in a\nrichly-decorated chamber, where, by the light of a single lamp, and\nwith the smell of perfumed vapour in his nostrils, he saw a figure in\ncostly vestments reclining on a couch. The slave prostrated himself.\n\n\"What brings thee from thy mistress at this untimely hour? A message\nfrom the empress?\"\n\nHere the speaker raised himself from the couch, and the slave, with\ngreat vehemence, made certain signs, which the wondering Briton\nunderstood not.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the emperor, his eyes directly levelled at the supposed\nculprit; \"thou hast found the thief who, in the confusion of\nyesternight, bore away the magic cup. Bring him hither that I may\nquestion him ere his carcase be sent to the beasts.\"\n\nThe doomed wretch was now fairly in the paws of the very tyrant he had\nso long dreaded. The death which by every stratagem he had striven to\navoid was now inevitable. He was betrayed by means of the very device\nhe had, as he thought, so craftily adopted; but still his natural\nsagacity did not forsake him even in this unexpected emergency. As he\nprostrated himself, presenting the cup he had stowed away safely in\nhis cloak, he still kept a wary eye on the slave who had betrayed him.\nHe saw him preparing to depart; and knowing that his only hope of\ndeliverance lay in preventing his guide from giving warning to the\nconspirators they had just left, Cedric, with a sudden spring, leaped\nupon him like a tiger, even in the presence of the monarch.\n\nThe latter, astounded at this unexpected act of temerity, was for a\nfew moments inactive. This pause was too precious to be lost.\nDesperation gave him courage, and Cedric addressed the dread ruler of\nthe world even whilst he clutched the gasping traitor.\n\n\"Here, great monarch, here is the traitor; and if I prove him not\nfalse, on my head be the recompense!\"\n\nHe said this in a tone of such earnestness and anxiety that the\nemperor was suddenly diverted from his purpose of summoning his\nattendants. He saw the favourite slave of the empress writhing in the\ngripe of the barbarian; but the events of the last few hours had\nawakened suspicions which the lightest accusations might confirm. He\nremembered his son's guilt; the facility of his escape; and it might\nbe that treason stood on the very threshold, ready to strike. He\ndetermined to sift the matter; and the guard now summoned, the parties\nwere separated--each awaiting the fiat of the monarch.\n\n\"Where is Virius Lupus?\" was the emperor's first inquiry.\n\n\"He hath not returned from the apartments of the empress.\"\n\n\"Let this slave be bound,\" cried Cedric. \"Force him to conduct you\neven to the place whence, blindfold, he hath just led me; and if you\nfind not a nest of traitors, my own head shall be the forfeit.\"\n\nDark and fearful was the flash that shot from the emperor's eye on the\ndevoted eunuch. Pale and trembling he fell on his knees, supplicating\nwith uplifted hands for mercy. He knew it was vain to dissemble.\n\n\"And what wert thou doing in such perilous company?\" inquired the\nemperor, turning to Cedric, and in a voice which made him shrink.\n\n\"Let the centurion, Diogenes Verecundus, be sought out. He waits my\nreturn by the Forum gate. To him the city owes a discovery of this\nplot, and Rome her monarch!\"\n\nThe faithful centurion was soon found. The eunuch conducted them\nsecretly to the vault. The conspirators were seized in the very height\nof their anticipated success. The roll containing the names of the\nleaders, the plan of attack, and the disposition of the rebellious\ntroops, was discovered; and the morning sun darted a fearful ray on\nthe ghastly and bleeding heads uplifted on the walls and battlements\nof the imperial palace.\n\nBut with misplaced clemency the monster Caracalla was again pardoned.\nThe centurion Diogenes Verecundus was raised to the dignity of\nSexumvir. The only reward claimed by the generous and sturdy Briton\nwas an act of immunity for his master, who was merely dismissed from\nhis post and banished the kingdom.\n\n     [22] This tale was written for the _Traditions of\n     the County of York_. It appeared by permission in an Annual\n     entitled _The White Rose of York_: but having only had a local\n     circulation at the time, and having been carefully revised by\n     the author during the last winter of his life, it finds a place\n     here.\n\n     [23] Aldborough\n\n     [24] Lubinus in Juven. p. 294.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     [i]    Pile or Peel of Foundrey, both names are used.\n\n     [ii]   This seems to be a slight misquote. Oliver Goldsmith's\n            poem starts with \"For still I tried each fickle art\"\n            and not \"And\".\n\n     [iii]  The usual present-day form seems to be: \"Non omnes qui\n            habent citharam sunt citharoedi.\"\n\n     [iv]   According to the OED one definition of \"prog\" could\n            conceivably apply: a slang term for food. It also may\n            be a typo for \"grog\".\n\n     [v]    Probably \"coranto\": a baroque/renaissance dance style\n            according to Wikipedia.\n\n     [vi]   The spelling of \"ultima Thule\" instead of \"Ultima Thule\"\n            has been noted, but not corrected.\n\nEND OF VOL. II.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY\nEDINBURGH AND LONDON","title":"Traditions of Lancashire, Volume 2","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":170532}