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S'The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Black Arrow, by Robert Louis Stevenson\r\n\r\n\r\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\r\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\r\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\r\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nTitle: The Black Arrow\r\n       a Tale of Two Roses\r\n\r\n\r\nAuthor: Robert Louis Stevenson\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nRelease Date: August 7, 2008  [eBook #848]\r\n\r\nLanguage: English\r\n\r\nCharacter set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)\r\n\r\n\r\n***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK ARROW***\r\n\r\n\r\nTranscribed from the 1899 Charles Scribner\'s Sons edition by David Price,\r\nemail ccx074@pglaf.org\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nTHE BLACK ARROW--A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES\r\n\r\n\r\nCritic on the Hearth:\r\n\r\n\r\nNo one but myself knows what I have suffered, nor what my books have\r\ngained, by your unsleeping watchfulness and admirable pertinacity.  And\r\nnow here is a volume that goes into the world and lacks your\r\n_imprimatur_: a strange thing in our joint lives; and the reason of it\r\nstranger still! I have watched with interest, with pain, and at length\r\nwith amusement, your unavailing attempts to peruse _The Black Arrow_; and\r\nI think I should lack humour indeed, if I let the occasion slip and did\r\nnot place your name in the fly-leaf of the only book of mine that you\r\nhave never read--and never will read.\r\n\r\nThat others may display more constancy is still my hope.  The tale was\r\nwritten years ago for a particular audience and (I may say) in rivalry\r\nwith a particular author; I think I should do well to name him, Mr.\r\nAlfred R. Phillips.  It was not without its reward at the time.  I could\r\nnot, indeed, displace Mr. Phillips from his well-won priority; but in the\r\neyes of readers who thought less than nothing of _Treasure Island_, _The\r\nBlack Arrow_ was supposed to mark a clear advance.  Those who read\r\nvolumes and those who read story papers belong to different worlds.  The\r\nverdict on _Treasure Island_ was reversed in the other court; I wonder,\r\nwill it be the same with its successor?\r\n\r\n                                                                _R. L. S._\r\n\r\nSARANAC LAKE, April 8, 1888.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nPROLOGUE--JOHN AMEND-ALL\r\n\r\n\r\nOn a certain afternoon, in the late springtime, the bell upon Tunstall\r\nMoat House was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour.  Far and near, in\r\nthe forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert\r\ntheir labours and hurry towards the sound; and in Tunstall hamlet a group\r\nof poor country-folk stood wondering at the summons.\r\n\r\nTunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old King Henry VI., wore\r\nmuch the same appearance as it wears to-day.  A score or so of houses,\r\nheavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley ascending\r\nfrom the river.  At the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and mounting on\r\nthe other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest on its way to\r\nthe Moat House, and further forth to Holywood Abbey.  Half-way up the\r\nvillage, the church stood among yews.  On every side the slopes were\r\ncrowned and the view bounded by the green elms and greening oak-trees of\r\nthe forest.\r\n\r\nHard by the bridge, there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the\r\ngroup had collected--half a dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet\r\nsmock--discussing what the bell betided.  An express had gone through the\r\nhamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not\r\ndaring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant\r\nhimself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from Sir Daniel\r\nBrackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the parson, who kept the Moat House in the\r\nmaster\'s absence.\r\n\r\nBut now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the\r\nwood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young Master Richard\r\nShelton, Sir Daniel\'s ward.  He, at the least, would know, and they\r\nhailed him and begged him to explain.  He drew bridle willingly enough--a\r\nyoung fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of\r\ndeer\'s leather, with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head,\r\nand a steel cross-bow at his back.  The express, it appeared, had brought\r\ngreat news.  A battle was impending.  Sir Daniel had sent for every man\r\nthat could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to Kettley, under\r\npain of his severe displeasure; but for whom they were to fight, or of\r\nwhere the battle was expected, Dick knew nothing.  Sir Oliver would come\r\nshortly himself, and Bennet Hatch was arming at that moment, for he it\r\nwas who should lead the party.\r\n\r\n"It is the ruin of this kind land," a woman said.  "If the barons live at\r\nwar, ploughfolk must eat roots."\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Dick, "every man that follows shall have sixpence a day, and\r\narchers twelve."\r\n\r\n"If they live," returned the woman, "that may very well be; but how if\r\nthey die, my master?"\r\n\r\n"They cannot better die than for their natural lord," said Dick.\r\n\r\n"No natural lord of mine," said the man in the smock.  "I followed the\r\nWalsinghams; so we all did down Brierly way, till two years ago, come\r\nCandlemas.  And now I must side with Brackley!  It was the law that did\r\nit; call ye that natural?  But now, what with Sir Daniel and what with\r\nSir Oliver--that knows more of law than honesty--I have no natural lord\r\nbut poor King Harry the Sixt, God bless him!--the poor innocent that\r\ncannot tell his right hand from his left."\r\n\r\n"Ye speak with an ill tongue, friend," answered Dick, "to miscall your\r\ngood master and my lord the king in the same libel.  But King\r\nHarry--praised be the saints!--has come again into his right mind, and\r\nwill have all things peaceably ordained.  And as for Sir Daniel, y\' are\r\nvery brave behind his back.  But I will be no tale-bearer; and let that\r\nsuffice."\r\n\r\n"I say no harm of you, Master Richard," returned the peasant.  "Y\' are a\r\nlad; but when ye come to a man\'s inches, ye will find ye have an empty\r\npocket.  I say no more: the saints help Sir Daniel\'s neighbours, and the\r\nBlessed Maid protect his wards!"\r\n\r\n"Clipsby," said Richard, "you speak what I cannot hear with honour.  Sir\r\nDaniel is my good master, and my guardian."\r\n\r\n"Come, now, will ye read me a riddle?" returned Clipsby.  "On whose side\r\nis Sir Daniel?"\r\n\r\n"I know not," said Dick, colouring a little; for his guardian had changed\r\nsides continually in the troubles of that period, and every change had\r\nbrought him some increase of fortune.\r\n\r\n"Ay," returned Clipsby, "you, nor no man.  For, indeed, he is one that\r\ngoes to bed Lancaster and gets up York."\r\n\r\nJust then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, and the party turned and\r\nsaw Bennet Hatch come galloping--a brown-faced, grizzled fellow, heavy of\r\nhand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, a steel salet on his\r\nhead, a leather jack upon his body.  He was a great man in these parts;\r\nSir Daniel\'s right hand in peace and war, and at that time, by his\r\nmaster\'s interest, bailiff of the hundred.\r\n\r\n"Clipsby," he shouted, "off to the Moat House, and send all other\r\nlaggards the same gate.  Bowyer will give you jack and salet.  We must\r\nride before curfew.  Look to it: he that is last at the lych-gate Sir\r\nDaniel shall reward.  Look to it right well!  I know you for a man of\r\nnaught.  Nance," he added, to one of the women, "is old Appleyard up\r\ntown?"\r\n\r\n"I\'ll warrant you," replied the woman.  "In his field, for sure."\r\n\r\nSo the group dispersed, and while Clipsby walked leisurely over the\r\nbridge, Bennet and young Shelton rode up the road together, through the\r\nvillage and past the church.\r\n\r\n"Ye will see the old shrew," said Bennet.  "He will waste more time\r\ngrumbling and prating of Harry the Fift than would serve a man to shoe a\r\nhorse.  And all because he has been to the French wars!"\r\n\r\nThe house to which they were bound was the last in the village, standing\r\nalone among lilacs; and beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow\r\nrising towards the borders of the wood.\r\n\r\nHatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and walked down the\r\nfield, Dick keeping close at his elbow, to where the old soldier was\r\ndigging, knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked\r\nvoice, singing a snatch of song.  He was all dressed in leather, only his\r\nhood and tippet were of black frieze, and tied with scarlet; his face was\r\nlike a walnut-shell, both for colour and wrinkles; but his old grey eye\r\nwas still clear enough, and his sight unabated.  Perhaps he was deaf;\r\nperhaps he thought it unworthy of an old archer of Agincourt to pay any\r\nheed to such disturbances; but neither the surly notes of the alarm bell,\r\nnor the near approach of Bennet and the lad, appeared at all to move him;\r\nand he continued obstinately digging, and piped up, very thin and shaky:\r\n\r\n    "Now, dear lady, if thy will be,\r\n    I pray you that you will rue on me."\r\n\r\n"Nick Appleyard," said Hatch, "Sir Oliver commends him to you, and bids\r\nthat ye shall come within this hour to the Moat House, there to take\r\ncommand."\r\n\r\nThe old fellow looked up.\r\n\r\n"Save you, my masters!" he said, grinning.  "And where goeth Master\r\nHatch?"\r\n\r\n"Master Hatch is off to Kettley, with every man that we can horse,"\r\nreturned Bennet.  "There is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a\r\nreinforcement."\r\n\r\n"Ay, verily," returned Appleyard.  "And what will ye leave me to garrison\r\nwithal?"\r\n\r\n"I leave you six good men, and Sir Oliver to boot," answered Hatch.\r\n\r\n"It\'ll not hold the place," said Appleyard; "the number sufficeth not.\r\nIt would take two score to make it good."\r\n\r\n"Why, it\'s for that we came to you, old shrew!" replied the other.  "Who\r\nelse is there but you that could do aught in such a house with such a\r\ngarrison?"\r\n\r\n"Ay! when the pinch comes, ye remember the old shoe," returned Nick.\r\n"There is not a man of you can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for\r\narchery--St. Michael! if old Harry the Fift were back again, he would\r\nstand and let ye shoot at him for a farthen a shoot!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, Nick, there\'s some can draw a good bow yet," said Bennet.\r\n\r\n"Draw a good bow!" cried Appleyard.  "Yes!  But who\'ll shoot me a good\r\nshoot?  It\'s there the eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders.\r\nNow, what might you call a long shoot, Bennet Hatch?"\r\n\r\n"Well," said Bennet, looking about him, "it would be a long shoot from\r\nhere into the forest."\r\n\r\n"Ay, it would be a longish shoot," said the old fellow, turning to look\r\nover his shoulder; and then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood\r\nstaring.\r\n\r\n"Why, what are you looking at?" asked Bennet, with a chuckle.  "Do, you\r\nsee Harry the Fift?"\r\n\r\nThe veteran continued looking up the hill in silence.  The sun shone\r\nbroadly over the shelving meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing;\r\nall was still but the distant jangle of the bell.\r\n\r\n"What is it, Appleyard?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"Why, the birds," said Appleyard.\r\n\r\nAnd, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where it ran down in a\r\ntongue among the meadows, and ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about\r\na bowshot from the field where they were standing, a flight of birds was\r\nskimming to and fro, in evident disorder.\r\n\r\n"What of the birds?" said Bennet.\r\n\r\n"Ay!" returned Appleyard, "y\' are a wise man to go to war, Master Bennet.\r\nBirds are a good sentry; in forest places they be the first line of\r\nbattle.  Look you, now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers\r\nskulking down to get the wind of us; and here would you be, none the\r\nwiser!"\r\n\r\n"Why, old shrew," said Hatch, "there be no men nearer us than Sir\r\nDaniel\'s, at Kettley; y\' are as safe as in London Tower; and ye raise\r\nscares upon a man for a few chaffinches and sparrows!"\r\n\r\n"Hear him!" grinned Appleyard.  "How many a rogue would give his two crop\r\nears to have a shoot at either of us?  Saint Michael, man! they hate us\r\nlike two polecats!"\r\n\r\n"Well, sooth it is, they hate Sir Daniel," answered Hatch, a little\r\nsobered.\r\n\r\n"Ay, they hate Sir Daniel, and they hate every man that serves with him,"\r\nsaid Appleyard; "and in the first order of hating, they hate Bennet Hatch\r\nand old Nicholas the bowman.  See ye here: if there was a stout fellow\r\nyonder in the wood-edge, and you and I stood fair for him--as, by Saint\r\nGeorge, we stand!--which, think ye, would he choose?"\r\n\r\n"You, for a good wager," answered Hatch.\r\n\r\n"My surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!" cried the old archer.\r\n"Ye burned Grimstone, Bennet--they\'ll ne\'er forgive you that, my master.\r\nAnd as for me, I\'ll soon be in a good place, God grant, and out of\r\nbow-shoot--ay, and cannon-shoot--of all their malices.  I am an old man,\r\nand draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready.  But for you, Bennet,\r\ny\' are to remain behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my\r\nyears unhanged, the old true-blue English spirit will be dead."\r\n\r\n"Y\' are the shrewishest old dolt in Tunstall Forest," returned Hatch,\r\nvisibly ruffled by these threats.  "Get ye to your arms before Sir Oliver\r\ncome, and leave prating for one good while.  An ye had talked so much\r\nwith Harry the Fift, his ears would ha\' been richer than his pocket."\r\n\r\nAn arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old Appleyard\r\nbetween the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean through, and he fell\r\nforward on his face among the cabbages.  Hatch, with a broken cry, leapt\r\ninto the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the cover of the house.\r\nAnd in the meanwhile Dick Shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had his\r\ncrossbow bent and shouldered, covering the point of the forest.\r\n\r\nNot a leaf stirred.  The sheep were patiently browsing; the birds had\r\nsettled.  But there lay the old man, with a cloth-yard arrow standing in\r\nhis back; and there were Hatch holding to the gable, and Dick crouching\r\nand ready behind the lilac bush.\r\n\r\n"D\'ye see aught?" cried Hatch.\r\n\r\n"Not a twig stirs," said Dick.\r\n\r\n"I think shame to leave him lying," said Bennet, coming forward once more\r\nwith hesitating steps and a very pale countenance.  "Keep a good eye on\r\nthe wood, Master Shelton--keep a clear eye on the wood.  The saints\r\nassoil us! here was a good shoot!"\r\n\r\nBennet raised the old archer on his knee.  He was not yet dead; his face\r\nworked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most\r\nhorrible, ugly look of one in pain.\r\n\r\n"Can ye hear, old Nick?" asked Hatch.  "Have ye a last wish before ye\r\nwend, old brother?"\r\n\r\n"Pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a\' Mary\'s name!" gasped Appleyard.\r\n"I be done with Old England.  Pluck it out!"\r\n\r\n"Master Dick," said Bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull upon\r\nthe arrow.  He would fain pass, the poor sinner."\r\n\r\nDick laid down his cross-bow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew it\r\nforth.  A gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his\r\nfeet, called once upon the name of God, and then fell dead.  Hatch, upon\r\nhis knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the\r\npassing spirit.  But even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was\r\nstill divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from\r\nwhich the shot had come.  When he had done, he got to his feet again,\r\ndrew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was\r\nall wet with terror.\r\n\r\n"Ay," he said, "it\'ll be my turn next."\r\n\r\n"Who hath done this, Bennet?" Richard asked, still holding the arrow in\r\nhis hand.\r\n\r\n"Nay, the saints know," said Hatch.  "Here are a good two score Christian\r\nsouls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and I.  He has\r\npaid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere I pay mine.\r\nSir Daniel driveth over-hard."\r\n\r\n"This is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his\r\nhand.\r\n\r\n"Ay, by my faith!" cried Bennet.  "Black, and black-feathered.  Here is\r\nan ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say, bodes burial.\r\nAnd here be words written.  Wipe the blood away.  What read ye?"\r\n\r\n"\'_Appulyaird fro Jon Amend-All_,\'" read Shelton.  "What should this\r\nbetoken?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, I like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head.  "John\r\nAmend-All!  Here is a rogue\'s name for those that be up in the world!\r\nBut why stand we here to make a mark?  Take him by the knees, good Master\r\nShelton, while I lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay him in his\r\nhouse.  This will be a rare shog to poor Sir Oliver; he will turn paper\r\ncolour; he will pray like a windmill."\r\n\r\nThey took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his house,\r\nwhere he had dwelt alone.  And there they laid him on the floor, out of\r\nregard for the mattress, and sought, as best they might, to straighten\r\nand compose his limbs.\r\n\r\nAppleyard\'s house was clean and bare.  There was a bed, with a blue\r\ncover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table\r\nin the chimney corner, and hung upon the wall the old soldier\'s armoury\r\nof bows and defensive armour.  Hatch began to look about him curiously.\r\n\r\n"Nick had money," he said.  "He may have had three score pounds put by.\r\nI would I could light upon\'t!  When ye lose an old friend, Master\r\nRichard, the best consolation is to heir him.  See, now, this chest.  I\r\nwould go a mighty wager there is a bushel of gold therein.  He had a\r\nstrong hand to get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had Appleyard the\r\narcher.  Now may God rest his spirit!  Near eighty year he was afoot and\r\nabout, and ever getting; but now he\'s on the broad of his back, poor\r\nshrew, and no more lacketh; and if his chattels came to a good friend, he\r\nwould be merrier, methinks, in heaven."\r\n\r\n"Come, Hatch," said Dick, "respect his stone-blind eyes.  Would ye rob\r\nthe man before his body?  Nay, he would walk!"\r\n\r\nHatch made several signs of the cross; but by this time his natural\r\ncomplexion had returned, and he was not easily to be dashed from any\r\npurpose.  It would have gone hard with the chest had not the gate\r\nsounded, and presently after the door of the house opened and admitted a\r\ntall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and\r\nblack robe.\r\n\r\n"Appleyard"--the newcomer was saying, as he entered; but he stopped dead.\r\n"Ave Maria!" he cried.  "Saints be our shield!  What cheer is this?"\r\n\r\n"Cold cheer with Appleyard, sir parson," answered Hatch, with perfect\r\ncheerfulness.  "Shot at his own door, and alighteth even now at purgatory\r\ngates.  Ay! there, if tales be true, he shall lack neither coal nor\r\ncandle."\r\n\r\nSir Oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and sat down upon it, sick\r\nand white.\r\n\r\n"This is a judgment!  O, a great stroke!" he sobbed, and rattled off a\r\nleash of prayers.\r\n\r\nHatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and knelt down.\r\n\r\n"Ay, Bennet," said the priest, somewhat recovering, "and what may this\r\nbe?  What enemy hath done this?"\r\n\r\n"Here, Sir Oliver, is the arrow.  See, it is written upon with words,"\r\nsaid Dick.\r\n\r\n"Nay," cried the priest, "this is a foul hearing!  John Amend-All!  A\r\nright Lollardy word.  And black of hue, as for an omen!  Sirs, this knave\r\narrow likes me not.  But it importeth rather to take counsel.  Who should\r\nthis be?  Bethink you, Bennet.  Of so many black ill-willers, which\r\nshould he be that doth so hardily outface us?  Simnel?  I do much\r\nquestion it.  The Walsinghams?  Nay, they are not yet so broken; they\r\nstill think to have the law over us, when times change.  There was Simon\r\nMalmesbury, too.  How think ye, Bennet?"\r\n\r\n"What think ye, sir," returned Hatch, "of Ellis Duckworth?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, Bennet, never.  Nay, not he," said the priest.  "There cometh never\r\nany rising, Bennet, from below--so all judicious chroniclers concord in\r\ntheir opinion; but rebellion travelleth ever downward from above; and\r\nwhen Dick, Tom, and Harry take them to their bills, look ever narrowly to\r\nsee what lord is profited thereby.  Now, Sir Daniel, having once more\r\njoined him to the Queen\'s party, is in ill odour with the Yorkist lords.\r\nThence, Bennet, comes the blow--by what procuring, I yet seek; but\r\ntherein lies the nerve of this discomfiture."\r\n\r\n"An\'t please you, Sir Oliver," said Bennet, "the axles are so hot in this\r\ncountry that I have long been smelling fire.  So did this poor sinner,\r\nAppleyard.  And, by your leave, men\'s spirits are so foully inclined to\r\nall of us, that it needs neither York nor Lancaster to spur them on.\r\nHear my plain thoughts: You, that are a clerk, and Sir Daniel, that sails\r\non any wind, ye have taken many men\'s goods, and beaten and hanged not a\r\nfew.  Y\' are called to count for this; in the end, I wot not how, ye have\r\never the uppermost at law, and ye think all patched.  But give me leave,\r\nSir Oliver: the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten is but the\r\nangrier, and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up with his\r\nbow and clout me a yard of arrow through your inwards."\r\n\r\n"Nay, Bennet, y\' are in the wrong.  Bennet, ye should be glad to be\r\ncorrected," said Sir Oliver.  "Y\' are a prater, Bennet, a talker, a\r\nbabbler; your mouth is wider than your two ears.  Mend it, Bennet, mend\r\nit."\r\n\r\n"Nay, I say no more.  Have it as ye list," said the retainer.\r\n\r\nThe priest now rose from the stool, and from the writing-case that hung\r\nabout his neck took forth wax and a taper, and a flint and steel.  With\r\nthese he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with Sir Daniel\'s arms,\r\nHatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole party proceeded,\r\nsomewhat timorously, to sally from the house and get to horse.\r\n\r\n"\'Tis time we were on the road, Sir Oliver," said Hatch, as he held the\r\npriest\'s stirrup while he mounted.\r\n\r\n"Ay; but, Bennet, things are changed," returned the parson.  "There is\r\nnow no Appleyard--rest his soul!--to keep the garrison.  I shall keep\r\nyou, Bennet.  I must have a good man to rest me on in this day of black\r\narrows.  \'The arrow that flieth by day,\' saith the evangel; I have no\r\nmind of the context; nay, I am a sluggard priest, I am too deep in men\'s\r\naffairs.  Well, let us ride forth, Master Hatch.  The jackmen should be\r\nat the church by now."\r\n\r\nSo they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing the\r\ntails of the parson\'s cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds began\r\nto arise and blot out the sinking sun.  They had passed three of the\r\nscattered houses that make up Tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a turn,\r\nthey saw the church before them.  Ten or a dozen houses clustered\r\nimmediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the\r\nmeadows.  At the lych-gate, near a score of men were gathered, some in\r\nthe saddle, some standing by their horses\' heads.  They were variously\r\narmed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with bows, and\r\nsome bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire of the\r\nfurrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the better\r\nmen and the fair equipments were already with Sir Daniel in the field.\r\n\r\n"We have not done amiss, praised be the cross of Holywood!  Sir Daniel\r\nwill be right well content," observed the priest, inwardly numbering the\r\ntroop.\r\n\r\n"Who goes?  Stand! if ye be true!" shouted Bennet.  A man was seen\r\nslipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at the sound of this\r\nsummons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his heels for\r\nthe forest.  The men at the gate, who had been hitherto unaware of the\r\nstranger\'s presence, woke and scattered.  Those who had dismounted began\r\nscrambling into the saddle; the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to\r\nmake the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was plain their quarry\r\nwould escape them.  Hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge,\r\nto head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in\r\nthe dust.  And though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the\r\nbridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a\r\nlead for any hope of capture.\r\n\r\nThe wisest of all had been Dick Shelton.  Instead of starting in a vain\r\npursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it, and set a\r\nquarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned\r\nto Bennet and asked if he should shoot.\r\n\r\n"Shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence.\r\n\r\n"Cover him, Master Dick," said Bennet.  "Bring me him down like a ripe\r\napple."\r\n\r\nThe fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last part\r\nof the meadow ran very steeply uphill; and the man ran slower in\r\nproportion.  What with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven\r\nmovements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as Dick levelled his\r\nbow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss.  The\r\nquarrel sped.\r\n\r\nThe man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from Hatch and the\r\npursuers.  But they were counting their corn before the harvest.  The man\r\nfell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a\r\nbravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood.\r\n\r\n"And the plague go with him!" cried Bennet.  "He has thieves\' heels; he\r\ncan run, by St Banbury!  But you touched him, Master Shelton; he has\r\nstolen your quarrel, may he never have good I grudge him less!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, but what made he by the church?" asked Sir Oliver.  "I am shrewdly\r\nafeared there has been mischief here.  Clipsby, good fellow, get ye down\r\nfrom your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews."\r\n\r\nClipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned carrying a paper.\r\n\r\n"This writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the\r\nparson.  "I found naught else, sir parson."\r\n\r\n"Now, by the power of Mother Church," cried Sir Oliver, "but this runs\r\nhard on sacrilege!  For the king\'s good pleasure, or the lord of the\r\nmanor--well!  But that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should\r\nfasten papers to the chancel door--nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard;\r\nand men have burned for matters of less weight.  But what have we here?\r\nThe light falls apace.  Good Master Richard, y\' have young eyes.  Read\r\nme, I pray, this libel."\r\n\r\nDick Shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud.  It contained\r\nsome lines of very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a\r\ngross character, and most uncouthly spelt.  With the spelling somewhat\r\nbettered, this is how they ran:\r\n\r\n    "I had four blak arrows under my belt,\r\n    Four for the greefs that I have felt,\r\n    Four for the nomber of ill menne\r\n    That have opressid me now and then.\r\n\r\n    One is gone; one is wele sped;\r\n    Old Apulyaird is ded.\r\n\r\n    One is for Maister Bennet Hatch,\r\n    That burned Grimstone, walls and thatch.\r\n\r\n    One for Sir Oliver Oates,\r\n    That cut Sir Harry Shelton\'s throat.\r\n\r\n    Sir Daniel, ye shull have the fourt;\r\n    We shall think it fair sport.\r\n\r\n    Ye shull each have your own part,\r\n    A blak arrow in each blak heart.\r\n    Get ye to your knees for to pray:\r\n    Ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay!\r\n\r\n                                                            "JON AMEND-ALL\r\n                                                        of the Green Wood,\r\n                                                And his jolly fellaweship.\r\n\r\n    "Item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres of your\r\n    following."\r\n\r\n"Now, well-a-day for charity and the Christian graces!" cried Sir Oliver,\r\nlamentably.  "Sirs, this is an ill world, and groweth daily worse.  I\r\nwill swear upon the cross of Holywood I am as innocent of that good\r\nknight\'s hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe unchristened.\r\nNeither was his throat cut; for therein they are again in error, as there\r\nstill live credible witnesses to show."\r\n\r\n"It boots not, sir parson," said Bennet.  "Here is unseasonable talk."\r\n\r\n"Nay, Master Bennet, not so.  Keep ye in your due place, good Bennet,"\r\nanswered the priest.  "I shall make mine innocence appear.  I will, upon\r\nno consideration, lose my poor life in error.  I take all men to witness\r\nthat I am clear of this matter.  I was not even in the Moat House.  I was\r\nsent of an errand before nine upon the clock"--\r\n\r\n"Sir Oliver," said Hatch, interrupting, "since it please you not to stop\r\nthis sermon, I will take other means.  Goffe, sound to horse."\r\n\r\nAnd while the tucket was sounding, Bennet moved close to the bewildered\r\nparson, and whispered violently in his ear.\r\n\r\nDick Shelton saw the priest\'s eye turned upon him for an instant in a\r\nstartled glance.  He had some cause for thought; for this Sir Harry\r\nShelton was his own natural father.  But he said never a word, and kept\r\nhis countenance unmoved.\r\n\r\nHatch and Sir Oliver discussed together for a while their altered\r\nsituation; ten men, it was decided between them, should be reserved, not\r\nonly to garrison the Moat House, but to escort the priest across the\r\nwood.  In the meantime, as Bennet was to remain behind, the command of\r\nthe reinforcement was given to Master Shelton.  Indeed, there was no\r\nchoice; the men were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while\r\nDick was not only popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age.\r\nAlthough his youth had been spent in these rough, country places, the lad\r\nhad been well taught in letters by Sir Oliver, and Hatch himself had\r\nshown him the management of arms and the first principles of command.\r\nBennet had always been kind and helpful; he was one of those who are\r\ncruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but ruggedly\r\nfaithful and well willing to their friends; and now, while Sir Oliver\r\nentered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a\r\nmemorandum of the last occurrences to his master, Sir Daniel Brackley,\r\nBennet came up to his pupil to wish him God-speed upon his enterprise.\r\n\r\n"Ye must go the long way about, Master Shelton," he said; "round by the\r\nbridge, for your life!  Keep a sure man fifty paces afore you, to draw\r\nshots; and go softly till y\' are past the wood.  If the rogues fall upon\r\nyou, ride for \'t; ye will do naught by standing.  And keep ever forward,\r\nMaster Shelton; turn me not back again, an ye love your life; there is no\r\nhelp in Tunstall, mind ye that.  And now, since ye go to the great wars\r\nabout the king, and I continue to dwell here in extreme jeopardy of my\r\nlife, and the saints alone can certify if we shall meet again below, I\r\ngive you my last counsels now at your riding.  Keep an eye on Sir Daniel;\r\nhe is unsure.  Put not your trust in the jack-priest; he intendeth not\r\namiss, but doth the will of others; it is a hand-gun for Sir Daniel!  Get\r\nyour good lordship where ye go; make you strong friends; look to it.  And\r\nthink ever a pater-noster-while on Bennet Hatch.  There are worse rogues\r\nafoot than Bennet.  So, God-speed!"\r\n\r\n"And Heaven be with you, Bennet!" returned Dick.  "Ye were a good friend\r\nto me-ward, and so I shall say ever."\r\n\r\n"And, look ye, master," added Hatch, with a certain embarrassment, "if\r\nthis Amend-All should get a shaft into me, ye might, mayhap, lay out a\r\ngold mark or mayhap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff\r\nwith me in purgatory."\r\n\r\n"Ye shall have your will of it, Bennet," answered Dick.  "But, what\r\ncheer, man! we shall meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale\r\nthan masses."\r\n\r\n"The saints so grant it, Master Dick!" returned the other.  "But here\r\ncomes Sir Oliver.  An he were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen,\r\nhe would be a brave man-at-arms."\r\n\r\nSir Oliver gave Dick a sealed packet, with this superscription: "To my\r\nryght worchypful master, Sir Daniel Brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered\r\nin haste."\r\n\r\nAnd Dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave the word and set\r\nforth westward up the village.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK I--THE TWO LADS\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I--AT THE SIGN OF THE SUN IN KETTLEY\r\n\r\n\r\nSir Daniel and his men lay in and about Kettley that night, warmly\r\nquartered and well patrolled.  But the Knight of Tunstall was one who\r\nnever rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on the brink\r\nof an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up an hour after\r\nmidnight to squeeze poor neighbours.  He was one who trafficked greatly\r\nin disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy out the most unlikely\r\nclaimant, and then, by the favour he curried with great lords about the\r\nking, procure unjust decisions in his favour; or, if that was too\r\nroundabout, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, and rely on his\r\ninfluence and Sir Oliver\'s cunning in the law to hold what he had\r\nsnatched.  Kettley was one such place; it had come very lately into his\r\nclutches; he still met with opposition from the tenants; and it was to\r\noverawe discontent that he had led his troops that way.\r\n\r\nBy two in the morning, Sir Daniel sat in the inn room, close by the\r\nfireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of Kettley.  By his\r\nelbow stood a pottle of spiced ale.  He had taken off his visored\r\nheadpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage resting on\r\none hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak.  At the lower end\r\nof the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay\r\nasleep on benches; and somewhat nearer hand, a young lad, apparently of\r\ntwelve or thirteen, was stretched in a mantle on the floor.  The host of\r\nthe Sun stood before the great man.\r\n\r\n"Now, mark me, mine host," Sir Daniel said, "follow but mine orders, and\r\nI shall be your good lord ever.  I must have good men for head boroughs,\r\nand I will have Adam-a-More high constable; see to it narrowly.  If other\r\nmen be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found to\r\nyour sore cost.  For those that have paid rent to Walsingham I shall take\r\ngood measure--you among the rest, mine host."\r\n\r\n"Good knight," said the host, "I will swear upon the cross of Holywood I\r\ndid but pay to Walsingham upon compulsion.  Nay, bully knight, I love not\r\nthe rogue Walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight.  Give\r\nme a great lord like you.  Nay; ask me among the neighbours, I am stout\r\nfor Brackley."\r\n\r\n"It may be," said Sir Daniel, dryly.  "Ye shall then pay twice."\r\n\r\nThe innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad luck\r\nthat might readily befall a tenant in these unruly times, and he was\r\nperhaps glad to make his peace so easily.\r\n\r\n"Bring up yon fellow, Selden!" cried the knight.\r\n\r\nAnd one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale as a\r\ncandle, and all shaking with the fen fever.\r\n\r\n"Sirrah," said Sir Daniel, "your name?"\r\n\r\n"An\'t please your worship," replied the man, "my name is Condall--Condall\r\nof Shoreby, at your good worship\'s pleasure."\r\n\r\n"I have heard you ill reported on," returned the knight.  "Ye deal in\r\ntreason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; y\' are heavily suspicioned\r\nof the death of severals.  How, fellow, are ye so bold?  But I will bring\r\nyou down."\r\n\r\n"Right honourable and my reverend lord," the man cried, "here is some\r\nhodge-podge, saving your good presence.  I am but a poor private man, and\r\nhave hurt none."\r\n\r\n"The under-sheriff did report of you most vilely," said the knight.\r\n"\'Seize me,\' saith he, \'that Tyndal of Shoreby.\'"\r\n\r\n"Condall, my good lord; Condall is my poor name," said the unfortunate.\r\n\r\n"Condall or Tyndal, it is all one," replied Sir Daniel, coolly.  "For, by\r\nmy sooth, y\' are here and I do mightily suspect your honesty.  If ye\r\nwould save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound."\r\n\r\n"For twenty pound, my good lord!" cried Condall.  "Here is midsummer\r\nmadness!  My whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings."\r\n\r\n"Condall or Tyndal," returned Sir Daniel, grinning, "I will run my peril\r\nof that loss.  Write me down twenty, and when I have recovered all I may,\r\nI will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest."\r\n\r\n"Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill to write," said\r\nCondall.\r\n\r\n"Well-a-day!" returned the knight.  "Here, then, is no remedy.  Yet I\r\nwould fain have spared you, Tyndal, had my conscience suffered.  Selden,\r\ntake me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him\r\ntenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding.  Fare ye well,\r\ngood Master Condall, dear Master Tyndal; y\' are post-haste for Paradise;\r\nfare ye then well!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, my right pleasant lord," replied Condall, forcing an obsequious\r\nsmile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, I will\r\neven, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding."\r\n\r\n"Friend," quoth Sir Daniel, "ye will now write two score.  Go to! y\' are\r\ntoo cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings.  Selden, see him write\r\nme this in good form, and have it duly witnessed."\r\n\r\nAnd Sir Daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in England,\r\ntook a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and\r\nlooked about him with a scare.\r\n\r\n"Hither," said Sir Daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came\r\nslowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright.  "By the rood!"\r\nhe cried, "a sturdy boy!"\r\n\r\nThe lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out of his\r\ndark eyes.  Now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make\r\ncertain of his age.  His face looked somewhat older in expression, but it\r\nwas as smooth as a young child\'s; and in bone and body he was unusually\r\nslender, and somewhat awkward of gait.\r\n\r\n"Ye have called me, Sir Daniel," he said.  "Was it to laugh at my poor\r\nplight?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, now, let laugh," said the knight.  "Good shrew, let laugh, I pray\r\nyou.  An ye could see yourself, I warrant ye would laugh the first."\r\n\r\n"Well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye answer for\r\nthe other.  Laugh while yet ye may!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, now, good cousin," replied Sir Daniel, with some earnestness,\r\n"think not that I mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and\r\nsingular friends.  I will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go\r\nto! and cherish you exceedingly.  I took you, indeed, roughly, as the\r\ntime demanded; but from henceforth I shall ungrudgingly maintain and\r\ncheerfully serve you.  Ye shall be Mrs. Shelton--Lady Shelton, by my\r\ntroth! for the lad promiseth bravely.  Tut! ye will not shy for honest\r\nlaughter; it purgeth melancholy.  They are no rogues who laugh, good\r\ncousin.  Good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, Master John.\r\nSit ye down, sweetheart, and eat."\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Master John, "I will break no bread.  Since ye force me to\r\nthis sin, I will fast for my soul\'s interest.  But, good mine host, I\r\npray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; I shall be much\r\nbeholden to your courtesy indeed."\r\n\r\n"Ye shall have a dispensation, go to!" cried the knight.  "Shalt be well\r\nshriven, by my faith!  Content you, then, and eat."\r\n\r\nBut the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping\r\nhimself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding.\r\n\r\nIn an hour or two, there rose a stir in the village of sentries\r\nchallenging and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up\r\nby the inn door, and Richard Shelton, splashed with mud, presented\r\nhimself upon the threshold.\r\n\r\n"Save you, Sir Daniel," he said.\r\n\r\n"How!  Dickie Shelton!" cried the knight; and at the mention of Dick\'s\r\nname the other lad looked curiously across.  "What maketh Bennet Hatch?"\r\n\r\n"Please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from Sir\r\nOliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered Richard,\r\npresenting the priest\'s letter.  "And please you farther, ye were best\r\nmake all speed to Risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one\r\nriding furiously with letters, and by his report, my Lord of Risingham\r\nwas sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your presence."\r\n\r\n"How say you?  Sore bested?" returned the knight.  "Nay, then, we will\r\nmake speed sitting down, good Richard.  As the world goes in this poor\r\nrealm of England, he that rides softliest rides surest.  Delay, they say,\r\nbegetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men;\r\nmark it, Dick.  But let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought.\r\nSelden, a link here at the door!"\r\n\r\nAnd Sir Daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the red glow\r\nof a torch, inspected his new troops.  He was an unpopular neighbour and\r\nan unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was well-beloved by those\r\nwho rode behind his pennant.  His dash, his proved courage, his\r\nforethought for the soldiers\' comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to\r\nthe taste of the bold blades in jack and salet.\r\n\r\n"Nay, by the rood!" he cried, "what poor dogs are these?  Here be some as\r\ncrooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear.  Friends, ye shall ride in\r\nthe front of the battle; I can spare you, friends.  Mark me this old\r\nvillain on the piebald!  A two-year mutton riding on a hog would look\r\nmore soldierly!  Ha!  Clipsby, are ye there, old rat?  Y\' are a man I\r\ncould lose with a good heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull\'s\r\neye painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; sirrah, ye\r\nshall show me the way."\r\n\r\n"I will show you any way, Sir Daniel, but the way to change sides,"\r\nreturned Clipsby, sturdily.\r\n\r\nSir Daniel laughed a guffaw.\r\n\r\n"Why, well said!" he cried.  "Hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to!\r\nI will forgive you for that merry word.  Selden, see them fed, both man\r\nand brute."\r\n\r\nThe knight re-entered the inn.\r\n\r\n"Now, friend Dick," he said, "fall to.  Here is good ale and bacon.  Eat,\r\nwhile that I read."\r\n\r\nSir Daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened.  When he\r\nhad done he sat a little, musing.  Then he looked sharply at his ward.\r\n\r\n"Dick," said he, "Y\' have seen this penny rhyme?"\r\n\r\nThe lad replied in the affirmative.\r\n\r\n"It bears your father\'s name," continued the knight; "and our poor shrew\r\nof a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying him."\r\n\r\n"He did most eagerly deny it," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"He did?" cried the knight, very sharply.  "Heed him not.  He has a loose\r\ntongue; he babbles like a jack-sparrow.  Some day, when I may find the\r\nleisure, Dick, I will myself more fully inform you of these matters.\r\nThere was one Duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were\r\ntroubled, and there was no justice to be got."\r\n\r\n"It befell at the Moat House?" Dick ventured, with a beating at his\r\nheart.\r\n\r\n"It befell between the Moat House and Holywood," replied Sir Daniel,\r\ncalmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion, at Dick\'s\r\nface.  "And now," added the knight, "speed you with your meal; ye shall\r\nreturn to Tunstall with a line from me."\r\n\r\nDick\'s face fell sorely.\r\n\r\n"Prithee, Sir Daniel," he cried, "send one of the villains!  I beseech\r\nyou let me to the battle.  I can strike a stroke, I promise you."\r\n\r\n"I misdoubt it not," replied Sir Daniel, sitting down to write.  "But\r\nhere, Dick, is no honour to be won.  I lie in Kettley till I have sure\r\ntidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror.  Cry not\r\non cowardice; it is but wisdom, Dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with\r\nrebellion, and the king\'s name and custody so changeth hands, that no man\r\nmay be certain of the morrow.  Toss-pot and Shuttle-wit run in, but my\r\nLord Good-Counsel sits o\' one side, waiting."\r\n\r\nWith that, Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, and quite at the farther\r\nend of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one\r\nside, for this business of the Black Arrow stuck sorely in his throat.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily enough with his breakfast,\r\nwhen he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in\r\nhis ear.\r\n\r\n"Make not a sign, I do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your charity\r\ntell me the straight way to Holywood.  Beseech you, now, good boy,\r\ncomfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far\r\nforth upon the way to my repose."\r\n\r\n"Take the path by the windmill," answered Dick, in the same tone; "it\r\nwill bring you to Till Ferry; there inquire again."\r\n\r\nAnd without turning his head, he fell again to eating.  But with the tail\r\nof his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called Master John\r\nstealthily creeping from the room.\r\n\r\n"Why," thought Dick, "he is a young as I.  \'Good boy\' doth he call me?\r\nAn I had known, I should have seen the varlet hanged ere I had told him.\r\nWell, if he goes through the fen, I may come up with him and pull his\r\nears."\r\n\r\nHalf an hour later, Sir Daniel gave Dick the letter, and bade him speed\r\nto the Moat House.  And, again, some half an hour after Dick\'s departure,\r\na messenger came, in hot haste, from my Lord of Risingham.\r\n\r\n"Sir Daniel," the messenger said, "ye lose great honour, by my sooth!\r\nThe fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten their\r\nvan and scattered their right wing.  Only the main battle standeth fast.\r\nAn we had your fresh men, we should tilt you them all into the river.\r\nWhat, sir knight!  Will ye be the last?  It stands not with your good\r\ncredit."\r\n\r\n"Nay," cried the knight, "I was but now upon the march.  Selden, sound me\r\nthe tucket.  Sir, I am with you on the instant.  It is not two hours\r\nsince the more part of my command came in, sir messenger.  What would ye\r\nhave?  Spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger.  Bustle,\r\nboys!"\r\n\r\nBy this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from\r\nall sides Sir Daniel\'s men poured into the main street and formed before\r\nthe inn.  They had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and in\r\nten minutes five-score men-at-arms and archers, cleanly equipped and\r\nbriskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready.  The chief part were in Sir\r\nDaniel\'s livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their\r\narray.  The best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of\r\nthe column, came the sorry reinforcement of the night before.  Sir Daniel\r\nlooked with pride along the line.\r\n\r\n"Here be the lads to serve you in a pinch," he said.\r\n\r\n"They are pretty men, indeed," replied the messenger.  "It but augments\r\nmy sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier."\r\n\r\n"Well," said the knight, "what would ye?  The beginning of a feast and\r\nthe end of a fray, sir messenger;" and he mounted into his saddle.  "Why!\r\nhow now!" he cried.  "John!  Joanna!  Nay, by the sacred rood! where is\r\nshe?  Host, where is that girl?"\r\n\r\n"Girl, Sir Daniel?" cried the landlord.  "Nay, sir, I saw no girl."\r\n\r\n"Boy, then, dotard!" cried the knight.  "Could ye not see it was a wench?\r\nShe in the murrey-coloured mantle--she that broke her fast with water,\r\nrogue--where is she?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, the saints bless us!  Master John, ye called him," said the host.\r\n"Well, I thought none evil.  He is gone.  I saw him--her--I saw her in\r\nthe stable a good hour agone; \'a was saddling a grey horse."\r\n\r\n"Now, by the rood!" cried Sir Daniel, "the wench was worth five hundred\r\npound to me and more."\r\n\r\n"Sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that ye are\r\nhere, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of England is elsewhere\r\nbeing lost and won."\r\n\r\n"It is well said," replied Sir Daniel.  "Selden, fall me out with six\r\ncross-bowmen; hunt me her down.  I care not what it cost; but, at my\r\nreturning, let me find her at the Moat House.  Be it upon your head.  And\r\nnow, sir messenger, we march."\r\n\r\nAnd the troop broke into a good trot, and Selden and his six men were\r\nleft behind upon the street of Kettley, with the staring villagers.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II--IN THE FEN\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was near six in the May morning when Dick began to ride down into the\r\nfen upon his homeward way.  The sky was all blue; the jolly wind blew\r\nloud and steady; the windmill-sails were spinning; and the willows over\r\nall the fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn.  He had been all\r\nnight in the saddle, but his heart was good and his body sound, and he\r\nrode right merrily.\r\n\r\nThe path went down and down into the marsh, till he lost sight of all the\r\nneighbouring landmarks but Kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and\r\nthe extreme top of Tunstall Forest far before.  On either hand there were\r\ngreat fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water shaking in the\r\nwind, and treacherous bogs, as green as emerald, to tempt and to betray\r\nthe traveller.  The path lay almost straight through the morass.  It was\r\nalready very ancient; its foundation had been laid by Roman soldiery; in\r\nthe lapse of ages much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a\r\nfew hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stagnant waters of the fen.\r\n\r\nAbout a mile from Kettley, Dick came to one such break in the plain line\r\nof causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little\r\nislands and confused the eye.  The gap, besides, was more than usually\r\nlong; it was a place where any stranger might come readily to mischief;\r\nand Dick bethought him, with something like a pang, of the lad whom he\r\nhad so imperfectly directed.  As for himself, one look backward to where\r\nthe windmill sails were turning black against the blue of heaven--one\r\nlook forward to the high ground of Tunstall Forest, and he was\r\nsufficiently directed and held straight on, the water washing to his\r\nhorse\'s knees, as safe as on a highway.\r\n\r\nHalf-way across, and when he had already sighted the path rising high and\r\ndry upon the farther side, he was aware of a great splashing on his\r\nright, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still\r\nspasmodically struggling.  Instantly, as though it had divined the\r\nneighbourhood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most piercingly.  It\r\nrolled, meanwhile, a blood-shot eye, insane with terror; and as it\r\nsprawled wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and\r\nbuzzed about it in the air.\r\n\r\n"Alack!" thought Dick, "can the poor lad have perished?  There is his\r\nhorse, for certain--a brave grey!  Nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so\r\npiteously, I will do all man can to help thee.  Shalt not lie there to\r\ndrown by inches!"\r\n\r\nAnd he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel through the creature\'s\r\nhead.\r\n\r\nDick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, somewhat sobered in spirit,\r\nand looking closely about him for any sign of his less happy predecessor\r\nin the way.  "I would I had dared to tell him further," he thought; "for\r\nI fear he has miscarried in the slough."\r\n\r\nAnd just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon his name from the\r\ncauseway side, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad\'s face\r\npeering from a clump of reeds.\r\n\r\n"Are ye there?" he said, reining in.  "Ye lay so close among the reeds\r\nthat I had passed you by.  I saw your horse bemired, and put him from his\r\nagony; which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful rider, ye had\r\ndone yourself.  But come forth out of your hiding.  Here be none to\r\ntrouble you."\r\n\r\n"Nay, good boy, I have no arms, nor skill to use them if I had," replied\r\nthe other, stepping forth upon the pathway.\r\n\r\n"Why call me \'boy\'?" cried Dick.  "Y\' are not, I trow, the elder of us\r\ntwain."\r\n\r\n"Good Master Shelton," said the other, "prithee forgive me.  I have none\r\nthe least intention to offend.  Rather I would in every way beseech your\r\ngentleness and favour, for I am now worse bested than ever, having lost\r\nmy way, my cloak, and my poor horse.  To have a riding-rod and spurs, and\r\nnever a horse to sit upon!  And before all," he added, looking ruefully\r\nupon his clothes--"before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!"\r\n\r\n"Tut!" cried Dick.  "Would ye mind a ducking?  Blood of wound or dust of\r\ntravel--that\'s a man\'s adornment."\r\n\r\n"Nay, then, I like him better plain," observed the lad.  "But, prithee,\r\nhow shall I do?  Prithee, good Master Richard, help me with your good\r\ncounsel.  If I come not safe to Holywood, I am undone."\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Dick, dismounting, "I will give more than counsel.  Take my\r\nhorse, and I will run awhile, and when I am weary we shall change again,\r\nthat so, riding and running, both may go the speedier."\r\n\r\nSo the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on\r\nthe uneven causeway, Dick with his hand upon the other\'s knee.\r\n\r\n"How call ye your name?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"Call me John Matcham," replied the lad.\r\n\r\n"And what make ye to Holywood?" Dick continued.\r\n\r\n"I seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress me," was the answer.\r\n"The good Abbot of Holywood is a strong pillar to the weak."\r\n\r\n"And how came ye with Sir Daniel, Master Matcham?" pursued Dick.\r\n\r\n"Nay," cried the other, "by the abuse of force!  He hath taken me by\r\nviolence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me\r\ntill my heart was sick; gibed me till I could \'a\' wept; and when certain\r\nof my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to\r\nstand their shot!  I was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but\r\nlamely.  Nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!"\r\n\r\n"Would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?" said Dick.  "\'Tis a valiant\r\nknight, and hath a hand of iron.  An he guessed I had made or meddled\r\nwith your flight, it would go sore with me."\r\n\r\n"Ay, poor boy," returned the other, "y\' are his ward, I know it.  By the\r\nsame token, so am I, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my\r\nmarriage--I wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me\r\nby."\r\n\r\n"Boy again!" said Dick.\r\n\r\n"Nay, then, shall I call you girl, good Richard?" asked Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Never a girl for me," returned Dick.  "I do abjure the crew of them!"\r\n\r\n"Ye speak boyishly," said the other.  "Ye think more of them than ye\r\npretend."\r\n\r\n"Not I," said Dick, stoutly.  "They come not in my mind.  A plague of\r\nthem, say I!  Give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with\r\njolly foresters.  I never heard of a maid yet that was for any service,\r\nsave one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the\r\nwearing of men\'s clothes in spite of nature."\r\n\r\nMaster Matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray.\r\n\r\n"What make ye?" Dick inquired.\r\n\r\n"I pray for her spirit," answered the other, with a somewhat troubled\r\nvoice.\r\n\r\n"For a witch\'s spirit?" Dick cried.  "But pray for her, an ye list; she\r\nwas the best wench in Europe, was this Joan of Arc.  Old Appleyard the\r\narcher ran from her, he said, as if she had been Mahoun.  Nay, she was a\r\nbrave wench."\r\n\r\n"Well, but, good Master Richard," resumed Matcham, "an ye like maids so\r\nlittle, y\' are no true natural man; for God made them twain by intention,\r\nand brought true love into the world, to be man\'s hope and woman\'s\r\ncomfort."\r\n\r\n"Faugh!" said Dick.  "Y\' are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women.\r\nAn ye think I be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at\r\nfists, back-sword, or bow and arrow, I will prove my manhood on your\r\nbody."\r\n\r\n"Nay, I am no fighter," said Matcham, eagerly.  "I mean no tittle of\r\noffence.  I meant but pleasantry.  And if I talk of women, it is because\r\nI heard ye were to marry."\r\n\r\n"I to marry!" Dick exclaimed.  "Well, it is the first I hear of it.  And\r\nwith whom was I to marry?"\r\n\r\n"One Joan Sedley," replied Matcham, colouring.  "It was Sir Daniel\'s\r\ndoing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, I have heard\r\nthe poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match.  It seems she is\r\nof your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom."\r\n\r\n"Well! marriage is like death, it comes to all," said Dick, with\r\nresignation.  "And she bemoaned herself?  I pray ye now, see there how\r\nshuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had\r\nseen me!  Do I bemoan myself?  Not I.  An I be to marry, I will marry\r\ndry-eyed!  But if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or\r\nfoul?  And is she shrewish or pleasant?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, what matters it?" said Matcham.  "An y\' are to marry, ye can but\r\nmarry.  What matters foul or fair?  These be but toys.  Y\' are no\r\nmilksop, Master Richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, anyhow."\r\n\r\n"It is well said," replied Shelton.  "Little I reck."\r\n\r\n"Your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord," said Matcham.\r\n\r\n"She shall have the lord Heaven made her for," returned Dick.  "It trow\r\nthere be worse as well as better."\r\n\r\n"Ah, the poor wench!" cried the other.\r\n\r\n"And why so poor?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"To wed a man of wood," replied his companion.  "O me, for a wooden\r\nhusband!"\r\n\r\n"I think I be a man of wood, indeed," said Dick, "to trudge afoot the\r\nwhile you ride my horse; but it is good wood, I trow."\r\n\r\n"Good Dick, forgive me," cried the other.  "Nay, y\' are the best heart in\r\nEngland; I but laughed.  Forgive me now, sweet Dick."\r\n\r\n"Nay, no fool words," returned Dick, a little embarrassed by his\r\ncompanion\'s warmth.  "No harm is done.  I am not touchy, praise the\r\nsaints."\r\n\r\nAnd at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as\r\nthey went, brought them the rough flourish of Sir Daniel\'s trumpeter.\r\n\r\n"Hark!" said Dick, "the tucket soundeth."\r\n\r\n"Ay," said Matcham, "they have found my flight, and now I am unhorsed!"\r\nand he became pale as death.\r\n\r\n"Nay, what cheer!" returned Dick.  "Y\' have a long start, and we are near\r\nthe ferry.  And it is I, methinks, that am unhorsed."\r\n\r\n"Alack, I shall be taken!" cried the fugitive.  "Dick, kind Dick, beseech\r\nye help me but a little!"\r\n\r\n"Why, now, what aileth thee?" said Dick.  "Methinks I help you very\r\npatently.  But my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow!  And see ye\r\nhere, John Matcham--sith John Matcham is your name--I, Richard Shelton,\r\ntide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in Holywood.  The\r\nsaints so do to me again if I default you.  Come, pick me up a good\r\nheart, Sir White-face.  The way betters here; spur me the horse.  Go\r\nfaster! faster!  Nay, mind not for me; I can run like a deer."\r\n\r\nSo, with the horse trotting hard, and Dick running easily alongside, they\r\ncrossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the\r\nriver by the ferryman\'s hut.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III--THE FEN FERRY\r\n\r\n\r\nThe river Till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens,\r\nand in this part of its course it strained among some score of\r\nwillow-covered, marshy islets.\r\n\r\nIt was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything\r\nwas become beautiful.  The wind and the martens broke it up into\r\ninnumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all\r\nthe surface in crumbs of smiling blue.\r\n\r\nA creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman\'s\r\nhut lay snugly.  It was of wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon\r\nthe roof.\r\n\r\nDick went to the door and opened it.  Within, upon a foul old russet\r\ncloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man,\r\nbut lean and shaken by the country fever.\r\n\r\n"Hey, Master Shelton," he said, "be ye for the ferry?  Ill times, ill\r\ntimes!  Look to yourself.  There is a fellowship abroad.  Ye were better\r\nturn round on your two heels and try the bridge."\r\n\r\n"Nay; time\'s in the saddle," answered Dick.  "Time will ride, Hugh\r\nFerryman.  I am hot in haste."\r\n\r\n"A wilful man!" returned the ferryman, rising.  "An ye win safe to the\r\nMoat House, y\' have done lucky; but I say no more."  And then catching\r\nsight of Matcham, "Who be this?" he asked, as he paused, blinking, on the\r\nthreshold of his cabin.\r\n\r\n"It is my kinsman, Master Matcham," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Give ye good day, good ferryman," said Matcham, who had dismounted, and\r\nnow came forward, leading the horse.  "Launch me your boat, I prithee; we\r\nare sore in haste."\r\n\r\nThe gaunt ferryman continued staring.\r\n\r\n"By the mass!" he cried at length, and laughed with open throat.\r\n\r\nMatcham coloured to his neck and winced; and Dick, with an angry\r\ncountenance, put his hand on the lout\'s shoulder.\r\n\r\n"How now, churl!" he cried.  "Fall to thy business, and leave mocking thy\r\nbetters."\r\n\r\nHugh Ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and shoved it a little forth\r\ninto the deep water.  Then Dick led in the horse, and Matcham followed.\r\n\r\n"Ye be mortal small made, master," said Hugh, with a wide grin;\r\n"something o\' the wrong model, belike.  Nay, Master Shelton, I am for\r\nyou," he added, getting to his oars.  "A cat may look at a king.  I did\r\nbut take a shot of the eye at Master Matcham."\r\n\r\n"Sirrah, no more words," said Dick.  "Bend me your back."\r\n\r\nThey were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up\r\nand down the river.  Everywhere it was enclosed with islands.  Clay banks\r\nwere falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and\r\npiping.  There was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters.\r\n\r\n"My master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "I\r\nhave a shrew guess that John-a-Fenne is on the island.  He bears me a\r\nblack grudge to all Sir Daniel\'s.  How if I turned me up stream and\r\nlanded you an arrow-flight above the path?  Ye were best not meddle with\r\nJohn Fenne."\r\n\r\n"How, then? is he of this company?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"Nay, mum is the word," said Hugh.  "But I would go up water, Dick.  How\r\nif Master Matcham came by an arrow?" and he laughed again.\r\n\r\n"Be it so, Hugh," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Look ye, then," pursued Hugh.  "Sith it shall so be, unsling me your\r\ncross-bow--so: now make it ready--good; place me a quarrel.  Ay, keep it\r\nso, and look upon me grimly."\r\n\r\n"What meaneth this?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"Why, my master, if I steal you across, it must be under force or fear,"\r\nreplied the ferryman; "for else, if John Fenne got wind of it, he were\r\nlike to prove my most distressful neighbour."\r\n\r\n"Do these churls ride so roughly?" Dick inquired.  "Do they command Sir\r\nDaniel\'s own ferry?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," whispered the ferryman, winking.  "Mark me!  Sir Daniel shall\r\ndown.  His time is out.  He shall down.  Mum!"  And he bent over his\r\noars.\r\n\r\nThey pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail of an island, and\r\ncame softly down a narrow channel next the opposite bank.  Then Hugh held\r\nwater in midstream.\r\n\r\n"I must land you here among the willows," he said.\r\n\r\n"Here is no path but willow swamps and quagmires," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Master Shelton," replied Hugh, "I dare not take ye nearer down, for your\r\nown sake now.  He watcheth me the ferry, lying on his bow.  All that go\r\nby and owe Sir Daniel goodwill, he shooteth down like rabbits.  I heard\r\nhim swear it by the rood.  An I had not known you of old days--ay, and\r\nfrom so high upward--I would \'a\' let you go on; but for old days\'\r\nremembrance, and because ye had this toy with you that\'s not fit for\r\nwounds or warfare, I did risk my two poor ears to have you over whole.\r\nContent you; I can no more, on my salvation!"\r\n\r\nHugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great shout\r\nfrom among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a strong\r\nman breasting roughly through the wood.\r\n\r\n"A murrain!" cried Hugh.  "He was on the upper island all the while!"  He\r\npulled straight for shore.  "Threat me with your bow, good Dick; threat\r\nme with it plain," he added.  "I have tried to save your skins, save you\r\nmine!"\r\n\r\nThe boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash.  Matcham,\r\npale, but steady and alert, at a sign from Dick, ran along the thwarts\r\nand leaped ashore; Dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to\r\nfollow, but what with the animal\'s bulk, and what with the closeness of\r\nthe thicket, both stuck fast.  The horse neighed and trampled; and the\r\nboat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with\r\nviolence.\r\n\r\n"It may not be, Hugh; here is no landing," cried Dick; but he still\r\nstruggled valiantly with the obstinate thicket and the startled animal.\r\n\r\nA tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a long-bow in his hand.\r\nDick saw him for an instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the bow\r\nwith a great effort, his face crimson with hurry.\r\n\r\n"Who goes?" he shouted.  "Hugh, who goes?"\r\n\r\n"\'Tis Master Shelton, John," replied the ferryman.\r\n\r\n"Stand, Dick Shelton!" bawled the man upon the island.  "Ye shall have no\r\nhurt, upon the rood!  Stand!  Back out, Hugh Ferryman."\r\n\r\nDick cried a taunting answer.\r\n\r\n"Nay, then, ye shall go afoot," returned the man; and he let drive an\r\narrow.\r\n\r\nThe horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony and terror; the boat\r\ncapsized, and the next moment all were struggling in the eddies of the\r\nriver.\r\n\r\nWhen Dick came up, he was within a yard of the bank; and before his eyes\r\nwere clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that\r\ninstantly began to drag him forward.  It was the riding-rod, that\r\nMatcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging willow, had opportunely\r\nthrust into his grasp.\r\n\r\n"By the mass!" cried Dick, as he was helped ashore, "that makes a life I\r\nowe you.  I swim like a cannon-ball."  And he turned instantly towards\r\nthe island.\r\n\r\nMidway over, Hugh Ferryman was swimming with his upturned boat, while\r\nJohn-a-Fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to\r\nhurry.\r\n\r\n"Come, Jack," said Shelton, "run for it!  Ere Hugh can hale his barge\r\nacross, or the pair of \'em can get it righted, we may be out of cry."\r\n\r\nAnd adding example to his words, he began to run, dodging among the\r\nwillows, and in marshy places leaping from tussock to tussock.  He had no\r\ntime to look for his direction; all he could do was to turn his back upon\r\nthe river, and put all his heart to running.\r\n\r\nPresently, however, the ground began to rise, which showed him he was\r\nstill in the right way, and soon after they came forth upon a slope of\r\nsolid turf, where elms began to mingle with the willows.\r\n\r\nBut here Matcham, who had been dragging far into the rear, threw himself\r\nfairly down.\r\n\r\n"Leave me, Dick!" he cried, pantingly; "I can no more."\r\n\r\nDick turned, and came back to where his companion lay.\r\n\r\n"Nay, Jack, leave thee!" he cried.  "That were a knave\'s trick, to be\r\nsure, when ye risked a shot and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to\r\nsave my life.  Drowning, in sooth; for why I did not pull you in along\r\nwith me, the saints alone can tell!"\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Matcham, "I would \'a\' saved us both, good Dick, for I can\r\nswim."\r\n\r\n"Can ye so?" cried Dick, with open eyes.  It was the one manly\r\naccomplishment of which he was himself incapable.  In the order of the\r\nthings that he admired, next to having killed a man in single fight came\r\nswimming.  "Well," he said, "here is a lesson to despise no man.  I\r\npromised to care for you as far as Holywood, and, by the rood, Jack, y\'\r\nare more capable to care for me."\r\n\r\n"Well, Dick, we\'re friends now," said Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Nay, I never was unfriends," answered Dick.  "Y\' are a brave lad in your\r\nway, albeit something of a milksop, too.  I never met your like before\r\nthis day.  But, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on.  Here is\r\nno place for chatter."\r\n\r\n"My foot hurts shrewdly," said Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Nay, I had forgot your foot," returned Dick.  "Well, we must go the\r\ngentlier.  I would I knew rightly where we were.  I have clean lost the\r\npath; yet that may be for the better, too.  An they watch the ferry, they\r\nwatch the path, belike, as well.  I would Sir Daniel were back with two\r\nscore men; he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves.\r\nCome, Jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew.  Nay, y\' are not tall\r\nenough.  What age are ye, for a wager?--twelve?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, I am sixteen," said Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Y\' are poorly grown to height, then," answered Dick.  "But take my hand.\r\nWe shall go softly, never fear.  I owe you a life; I am a good repayer,\r\nJack, of good or evil."\r\n\r\nThey began to go forward up the slope.\r\n\r\n"We must hit the road, early or late," continued Dick; "and then for a\r\nfresh start.  By the mass! but y\' \'ave a rickety hand, Jack.  If I had a\r\nhand like that, I would think shame.  I tell you," he went on, with a\r\nsudden chuckle, "I swear by the mass I believe Hugh Ferryman took you for\r\na maid."\r\n\r\n"Nay, never!" cried the other, colouring high.\r\n\r\n"A\' did, though, for a wager!" Dick exclaimed.  "Small blame to him.  Ye\r\nlook liker maid than man; and I tell you more--y\' are a strange-looking\r\nrogue for a boy; but for a hussy, Jack, ye would be right fair--ye would.\r\nYe would be well favoured for a wench."\r\n\r\n"Well," said Matcham, "ye know right well that I am none."\r\n\r\n"Nay, I know that; I do but jest," said Dick.  "Ye\'ll be a man before\r\nyour mother, Jack.  What cheer, my bully!  Ye shall strike shrewd\r\nstrokes.  Now, which, I marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted,\r\nJack? for knighted I shall be, or die for \'t.  \'Sir Richard Shelton,\r\nKnight\': it soundeth bravely.  But \'Sir John Matcham\' soundeth not\r\namiss."\r\n\r\n"Prithee, Dick, stop till I drink," said the other, pausing where a\r\nlittle clear spring welled out of the slope into a gravelled basin no\r\nbigger than a pocket.  "And O, Dick, if I might come by anything to\r\neat!--my very heart aches with hunger."\r\n\r\n"Why, fool, did ye not eat at Kettley?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"I had made a vow--it was a sin I had been led into," stammered Matcham;\r\n"but now, if it were but dry bread, I would eat it greedily."\r\n\r\n"Sit ye, then, and eat," said Dick, "while that I scout a little forward\r\nfor the road."  And he took a wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread\r\nand pieces of dry bacon, and, while Matcham fell heartily to, struck\r\nfarther forth among the trees.\r\n\r\nA little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where a streamlet soaked\r\namong dead leaves; and beyond that, again, the trees were better grown\r\nand stood wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of willow and\r\nelm.  The continued tossing and pouring of the wind among the leaves\r\nsufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was\r\nfor the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for all that Dick\r\nwent cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, and looking\r\nsharply about him as he went.  Suddenly a doe passed like a shadow\r\nthrough the underwood in front of him, and he paused, disgusted at the\r\nchance.  This part of the wood had been certainly deserted, but now that\r\nthe poor deer had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent\r\nbefore him to announce his coming; and instead of pushing farther, he\r\nturned him to the nearest well-grown tree, and rapidly began to climb.\r\n\r\nLuck had served him well.  The oak on which he had mounted was one of the\r\ntallest in that quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its neighbours\r\nby a fathom and a half; and when Dick had clambered into the topmost fork\r\nand clung there, swinging dizzily in the great wind, he saw behind him\r\nthe whole fenny plain as far as Kettley, and the Till wandering among\r\nwoody islets, and in front of him, the white line of high-road winding\r\nthrough the forest.  The boat had been righted--it was even now midway on\r\nthe ferry.  Beyond that there was no sign of man, nor aught moving but\r\nthe wind.  He was about to descend, when, taking a last view, his eye lit\r\nupon a string of moving points about the middle of the fen.  Plainly a\r\nsmall troop was threading the causeway, and that at a good pace; and this\r\ngave him some concern as he shinned vigorously down the trunk and\r\nreturned across the wood for his companion.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV--A GREENWOOD COMPANY\r\n\r\n\r\nMatcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what\r\nDick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood, crossed the\r\nroad in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of Tunstall\r\nForest.  The trees grew more and more in groves, with heathy places in\r\nbetween, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews.  The ground became more\r\nand more uneven, full of pits and hillocks.  And with every step of the\r\nascent the wind still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the\r\ngusts like fishing-rods.\r\n\r\nThey had just entered one of the clearings, when Dick suddenly clapped\r\ndown upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward\r\ntowards the shelter of the grove.  Matcham, in great bewilderment, for he\r\ncould see no reason for this flight, still imitated his companion\'s\r\ncourse; and it was not until they had gained the harbour of a thicket\r\nthat he turned and begged him to explain.\r\n\r\nFor all reply, Dick pointed with his finger.\r\n\r\nAt the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring\r\nwood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear against the sky.  For\r\nabout fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid like\r\na column.  At that level, it split into two massive boughs; and in the\r\nfork, like a mast-headed seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard,\r\nspying far and wide.  The sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he\r\nshaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from\r\nside to side, with the regularity of a machine.\r\n\r\nThe lads exchanged glances.\r\n\r\n"Let us try to the left," said Dick.  "We had near fallen foully, Jack."\r\n\r\nTen minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path.\r\n\r\n"Here is a piece of forest that I know not," Dick remarked.  "Where goeth\r\nme this track?"\r\n\r\n"Let us even try," said Matcham.\r\n\r\nA few yards further, the path came to the top of a ridge and began to go\r\ndown abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow.  At the foot, out of a thick wood\r\nof flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by\r\nfire, and a single tall chimney marked the ruins of a house.\r\n\r\n"What may this be?" whispered Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Nay, by the mass, I know not," answered Dick.  "I am all at sea.  Let us\r\ngo warily."\r\n\r\nWith beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns.  Here and\r\nthere, they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit trees and pot herbs\r\nran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it seemed\r\nthey were treading what once had been a garden.  Yet a little farther and\r\nthey came forth before the ruins of the house.\r\n\r\nIt had been a pleasant mansion and a strong.  A dry ditch was dug deep\r\nabout it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by a fallen\r\nrafter.  The two farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their\r\nempty windows; but the remainder of the building had collapsed, and now\r\nlay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire.  Already in the interior\r\na few plants were springing green among the chinks.\r\n\r\n"Now I bethink me," whispered Dick, "this must be Grimstone.  It was a\r\nhold of one Simon Malmesbury; Sir Daniel was his bane!  \'Twas Bennet\r\nHatch that burned it, now five years agone.  In sooth, \'twas pity, for it\r\nwas a fair house."\r\n\r\nDown in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was both warm and still; and\r\nMatcham, laying one hand upon Dick\'s arm, held up a warning finger.\r\n\r\n"Hist!" he said.\r\n\r\nThen came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet.  It was twice repeated\r\nere they recognised its nature.  It was the sound of a big man clearing\r\nhis throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into singing.\r\n\r\n    "Then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws:\r\n    \'What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?\'\r\n    And Gamelyn made answer--he looked never adown:\r\n    \'O, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town!\'"\r\n\r\nThe singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, and then silence.\r\n\r\nThe two lads stood looking at each other.  Whoever he might be, their\r\ninvisible neighbour was just beyond the ruin.  And suddenly the colour\r\ncame into Matcham\'s face, and next moment he had crossed the fallen\r\nrafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge pile of lumber that\r\nfilled the interior of the roofless house.  Dick would have withheld him,\r\nhad he been in time; as it was, he was fain to follow.\r\n\r\nRight in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise, and\r\nprotected a clear space no larger than a pew in church.  Into this the\r\nlads silently lowered themselves.  There they were perfectly concealed,\r\nand through an arrow-loophole commanded a view upon the farther side.\r\n\r\nPeering through this, they were struck stiff with terror at their\r\npredicament.  To retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to breathe.\r\nUpon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they\r\ncrouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire; and\r\nclose by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some sound\r\nof their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking\r\nman stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a horn and a\r\nformidable dagger at his belt.  Plainly this was the singer; plainly he\r\nhad been stirring the caldron, when some incautious step among the lumber\r\nhad fallen upon his ear.  A little further off, another man lay\r\nslumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his\r\nface.  All this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme\r\nverge, a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a deer\'s carcase, hung upon\r\na flowering hawthorn.\r\n\r\nPresently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised the\r\nspoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell again to\r\nstirring and singing.\r\n\r\n"\'O, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,\'" he\r\ncroaked, taking up his song where he had left it.\r\n\r\n    "O, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do.\r\n    But if we meet with the good king\'s deer to shoot a shaft into."\r\n\r\nStill as he sang, he took from time to time, another spoonful of the\r\nbroth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced\r\ncook.  At length, apparently, he judged the mess was ready; for taking\r\nthe horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls.\r\n\r\nThe other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly, and\r\nlooked about him.\r\n\r\n"How now, brother?" he said.  "Dinner?"\r\n\r\n"Ay, sot," replied the cook, "dinner it is, and a dry dinner, too, with\r\nneither ale nor bread.  But there is little pleasure in the greenwood\r\nnow; time was when a good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot, set\r\naside the rain and the white frosts; he had his heart\'s desire both of\r\nale and wine.  But now are men\'s spirits dead; and this John Amend-All,\r\nsave us and guard us! but a stuffed booby to scare crows withal."\r\n\r\n"Nay," returned the other, "y\' are too set on meat and drinking, Lawless.\r\nBide ye a bit; the good time cometh."\r\n\r\n"Look ye," returned the cook, "I have even waited for this good time sith\r\nthat I was so high.  I have been a grey friar; I have been a king\'s\r\narcher; I have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and I have been\r\nin greenwood before this, forsooth! and shot the king\'s deer.  What\r\ncometh of it?  Naught!  I were better to have bided in the cloister.\r\nJohn Abbot availeth more than John Amend-All.  By \'r Lady! here they\r\ncome."\r\n\r\nOne after another, tall, likely fellows began to stroll into the lawn.\r\nEach as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the\r\ncaldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat.  They were very variously\r\nequipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife\r\nand an old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, all in Lincoln\r\ngreen, both hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their belts, a\r\nhorn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger at their sides.  They came\r\nin the silence of hunger, and scarce growled a salutation, but fell\r\ninstantly to meat.\r\n\r\nThere were, perhaps, a score of them already gathered, when a sound of\r\nsuppressed cheering arose close by among the hawthorns, and immediately\r\nafter five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher debauched upon the lawn.\r\nA tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as brown as a smoked ham,\r\nwalked before them with an air of some authority, his bow at his back, a\r\nbright boar-spear in his hand.\r\n\r\n"Lads!" he cried, "good fellows all, and my right merry friends, y\' have\r\nsung this while on a dry whistle and lived at little ease.  But what said\r\nI ever?  Abide Fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift.  And lo!\r\nhere is her little firstling--even that good creature, ale!"\r\n\r\nThere was a murmur of applause as the bearers set down the stretcher and\r\ndisplayed a goodly cask.\r\n\r\n"And now haste ye, boys," the man continued.  "There is work toward.  A\r\nhandful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is\r\ntheir wear; they are our butts--they shall all taste arrows--no man of\r\nthem shall struggle through this wood.  For, lads, we are here some fifty\r\nstrong, each man of us most foully wronged; for some they have lost\r\nlands, and some friends; and some they have been outlawed--all oppressed!\r\nWho, then, hath done this evil?  Sir Daniel, by the rood!  Shall he then\r\nprofit? shall he sit snug in our houses? shall he till our fields? shall\r\nhe suck the bone he robbed us of?  I trow not.  He getteth him strength\r\nat law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall not gain--I\r\nhave a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall conquer him."\r\n\r\nLawless the cook was by this time already at his second horn of ale.  He\r\nraised it, as if to pledge the speaker.\r\n\r\n"Master Ellis," he said, "y\' are for vengeance--well it becometh\r\nyou!--but your poor brother o\' the greenwood, that had never lands to\r\nlose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to the\r\nprofit of the thing.  He had liever a gold noble and a pottle of canary\r\nwine than all the vengeances in purgatory."\r\n\r\n"Lawless," replied the other, "to reach the Moat House, Sir Daniel must\r\npass the forest.  We shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any\r\nbattle.  Then, when he hath got to earth with such ragged handful as\r\nescapeth us--all his great friends fallen and fled away, and none to give\r\nhim aid--we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be the\r\nfall of him.  \'Tis a fat buck; he will make a dinner for us all."\r\n\r\n"Ay," returned Lawless, "I have eaten many of these dinners beforehand;\r\nbut the cooking of them is hot work, good Master Ellis.  And meanwhile\r\nwhat do we?  We make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we drink fair\r\ncold water, that discomfortable drink."\r\n\r\n"Y\' are untrue, Will Lawless.  Ye still smell of the Grey Friars\'\r\nbuttery; greed is your undoing," answered Ellis.  "We took twenty pounds\r\nfrom Appleyard.  We took seven marks from the messenger last night.  A\r\nday ago we had fifty from the merchant."\r\n\r\n"And to-day," said one of the men, "I stopped a fat pardoner riding apace\r\nfor Holywood.  Here is his purse."\r\n\r\nEllis counted the contents.\r\n\r\n"Five score shillings!" he grumbled.  "Fool, he had more in his sandal,\r\nor stitched into his tippet.  Y\' are but a child, Tom Cuckow; ye have\r\nlost the fish."\r\n\r\nBut, for all that, Ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance.  He stood\r\nleaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest.  They, in\r\nvarious attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liberally\r\nwashed it down with ale.  This was a good day; they were in luck; but\r\nbusiness pressed, and they were speedy in their eating.  The first-comers\r\nhad by this time even despatched their dinner.  Some lay down upon the\r\ngrass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors; others talked\r\ntogether, or overhauled their weapons: and one, whose humour was\r\nparticularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing:\r\n\r\n    "Here is no law in good green shaw,\r\n       Here is no lack of meat;\r\n    \'Tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet,\r\n       In summer, when all is sweet.\r\n\r\n    Come winter again, with wind and rain--\r\n       Come winter, with snow and sleet,\r\n    Get home to your places, with hoods on your faces,\r\n       And sit by the fire and eat."\r\n\r\nAll this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only Richard had\r\nunslung his cross-bow, and held ready in one hand the windac, or\r\ngrappling-iron that he used to bend it.  Otherwise they had not dared to\r\nstir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a\r\nscene upon a theatre.  But now there came a strange interruption.  The\r\ntall chimney which over-topped the remainder of the ruins rose right\r\nabove their hiding-place.  There came a whistle in the air, and then a\r\nsounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their\r\nears.  Some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very\r\nsentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the\r\nchimney-top.\r\n\r\nMatcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly stifled, and\r\neven Dick started with surprise, and dropped the windac from his fingers.\r\nBut to the fellows on the lawn, this shaft was an expected signal.  They\r\nwere all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing their\r\nbow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath.  Ellis held up his\r\nhand; his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of\r\nhis eyes shone in his sun-brown face.\r\n\r\n"Lads," he said, "ye know your places.  Let not one man\'s soul escape\r\nyou.  Appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table.  I have\r\nthree men whom I will bitterly avenge--Harry Shelton, Simon Malmesbury,\r\nand"--striking his broad bosom--"and Ellis Duckworth, by the mass!"\r\n\r\nAnother man came, red with hurry, through the thorns.\r\n\r\n"\'Tis not Sir Daniel!" he panted.  "They are but seven.  Is the arrow\r\ngone?"\r\n\r\n"It struck but now," replied Ellis.\r\n\r\n"A murrain!" cried the messenger.  "Methought I heard it whistle.  And I\r\ngo dinnerless!"\r\n\r\nIn the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply, according\r\nas their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the Black Arrow\r\nhad all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house; and the\r\ncaldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead deer\'s\r\ncarcase on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify they had been there.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V--"BLOODY AS THE HUNTER"\r\n\r\n\r\nThe lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind.  Then\r\nthey arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint,\r\nclambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter.\r\nMatcham had picked up the windac and went first, Dick following stiffly,\r\nwith his cross-bow on his arm.\r\n\r\n"And now," said Matcham, "forth to Holywood."\r\n\r\n"To Holywood!" cried Dick, "when good fellows stand shot?  Not I!  I\r\nwould see you hanged first, Jack!"\r\n\r\n"Ye would leave me, would ye?" Matcham asked.\r\n\r\n"Ay, by my sooth!" returned Dick.  "An I be not in time to warn these\r\nlads, I will go die with them.  What! would ye have me leave my own men\r\nthat I have lived among.  I trow not!  Give me my windac."\r\n\r\nBut there was nothing further from Matcham\'s mind.\r\n\r\n"Dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe to\r\nHolywood.  Would ye be forsworn?  Would you desert me--a perjurer?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, I sware for the best," returned Dick.  "I meant it too; but now!\r\nBut look ye, Jack, turn again with me.  Let me but warn these men, and,\r\nif needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and I will\r\non again to Holywood and purge mine oath."\r\n\r\n"Ye but deride me," answered Matcham.  "These men ye go to succour are\r\nthe I same that hunt me to my ruin."\r\n\r\nDick scratched his head.\r\n\r\n"I cannot help it, Jack," he said.  "Here is no remedy.  What would ye?\r\nYe run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death.  Death!"\r\nhe added.  "Think of it!  What a murrain do ye keep me here for?  Give me\r\nthe windac.  Saint George! shall they all die?"\r\n\r\n"Richard Shelton," said Matcham, looking him squarely in the face, "would\r\nye, then, join party with Sir Daniel?  Have ye not ears?  Heard ye not\r\nthis Ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your own kindly blood\r\nand the father that men slew?  \'Harry Shelton,\' he said; and Sir Harry\r\nShelton was your father, as the sun shines in heaven."\r\n\r\n"What would ye?" Dick cried again.  "Would ye have me credit thieves?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, I have heard it before now," returned Matcham.  "The fame goeth\r\ncurrently, it was Sir Daniel slew him.  He slew him under oath; in his\r\nown house he shed the innocent blood.  Heaven wearies for the avenging\r\non\'t; and you--the man\'s son--ye go about to comfort and defend the\r\nmurderer!"\r\n\r\n"Jack," cried the lad "I know not.  It may be; what know I?  But, see\r\nhere: This man hath bred me up and fostered me, and his men I have hunted\r\nwith and played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril--O, man, if\r\nI did that, I were stark dead to honour!  Nay, Jack, ye would not ask it;\r\nye would not wish me to be base."\r\n\r\n"But your father, Dick?" said Matcham, somewhat wavering.  "Your father?\r\nand your oath to me?  Ye took the saints to witness."\r\n\r\n"My father?" cried Shelton.  "Nay, he would have me go!  If Sir Daniel\r\nslew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay Sir Daniel; but\r\nneither him nor his will I desert in peril.  And for mine oath, good\r\nJack, ye shall absolve me of it here.  For the lives\' sake of many men\r\nthat hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye shall set me free."\r\n\r\n"I, Dick?  Never!" returned Matcham.  "An ye leave me, y\' are forsworn,\r\nand so I shall declare it."\r\n\r\n"My blood heats," said Dick.  "Give me the windac!  Give it me!"\r\n\r\n"I\'ll not," said Matcham.  "I\'ll save you in your teeth."\r\n\r\n"Not?" cried Dick.  "I\'ll make you!"\r\n\r\n"Try it," said the other.\r\n\r\nThey stood, looking in each other\'s eyes, each ready for a spring.  Then\r\nDick leaped; and though Matcham turned instantly and fled, in two bounds\r\nhe was over-taken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was thrown\r\nroughly to the ground, and Dick stood across him, flushed and menacing,\r\nwith doubled fist.  Matcham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the\r\ngrass, not thinking of resistance.\r\n\r\nDick bent his bow.\r\n\r\n"I\'ll teach you!" he cried, fiercely.  "Oath or no oath, ye may go hang\r\nfor me!"\r\n\r\nAnd he turned and began to run.  Matcham was on his feet at once, and\r\nbegan running after him.\r\n\r\n"What d\'ye want?" cried Dick, stopping.  "What make ye after me?  Stand\r\noff!"\r\n\r\n"Will follow an I please," said Matcham.  "This wood is free to me."\r\n\r\n"Stand back, by \'r Lady!" returned Dick, raising his bow.\r\n\r\n"Ah, y\' are a brave boy!" retorted Matcham.  "Shoot!"\r\n\r\nDick lowered his weapon in some confusion.\r\n\r\n"See here," he said.  "Y\' have done me ill enough.  Go, then.  Go your\r\nway in fair wise; or, whether I will or not, I must even drive you to\r\nit."\r\n\r\n"Well," said Matcham, doggedly, "y\' are the stronger.  Do your worst.  I\r\nshall not leave to follow thee, Dick, unless thou makest me," he added.\r\n\r\nDick was almost beside himself.  It went against his heart to beat a\r\ncreature so defenceless; and, for the life of him, he knew no other way\r\nto rid himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to think, perhaps\r\nuntrue companion.\r\n\r\n"Y\' are mad, I think," he cried.  "Fool-fellow, I am hasting to your\r\nfoes; as fast as foot can carry me, go I thither."\r\n\r\n"I care not, Dick," replied the lad.  "If y\' are bound to die, Dick, I\'ll\r\ndie too.  I would liever go with you to prison than to go free without\r\nyou."\r\n\r\n"Well," returned the other, "I may stand no longer prating.  Follow me,\r\nif ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little advance you,\r\nmark ye that.  Shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy."\r\n\r\nSo saying, Dick took once more to his heels, keeping in the margin of the\r\nthicket and looking briskly about him as he went.  At a good pace he\r\nrattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open quarters of\r\nthe wood.  To the left a little eminence appeared, spotted with golden\r\ngorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs.\r\n\r\n"I shall see from there," he thought, and struck for it across a heathy\r\nclearing.\r\n\r\nHe had gone but a few yards, when Matcham touched him on the arm, and\r\npointed.  To the eastward of the summit there was a dip, and, as it were,\r\na valley passing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the\r\nground was rusty, like an unscoured buckler, and dotted sparingly with\r\nyews; and there, one following another, Dick saw half a score green\r\njerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous by\r\nhis boar-spear, Ellis Duckworth in person.  One after another gained the\r\ntop, showed for a moment against the sky, and then dipped upon the\r\nfurther side, until the last was gone.\r\n\r\nDick looked at Matcham with a kindlier eye.\r\n\r\n"So y\' are to be true to me, Jack?" he asked.  "I thought ye were of the\r\nother party."\r\n\r\nMatcham began to sob.\r\n\r\n"What cheer!" cried Dick.  "Now the saints behold us! would ye snivel for\r\na word?"\r\n\r\n"Ye hurt me," sobbed Matcham.  "Ye hurt me when ye threw me down.  Y\' are\r\na coward to abuse your strength."\r\n\r\n"Nay, that is fool\'s talk," said Dick, roughly.  "Y\' had no title to my\r\nwindac, Master John.  I would \'a\' done right to have well basted you.  If\r\nye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come."\r\n\r\nMatcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, seeing that Dick\r\ncontinued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence and not so much as\r\nlooked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to\r\nrun in turn.  But the ground was very difficult and steep; Dick had\r\nalready a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he had\r\nlong since come to the summit, crawled forward through the firs, and\r\nensconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before Matcham, panting like\r\na deer, rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side.\r\n\r\nBelow, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the short cut from\r\nTunstall hamlet wound downwards to the ferry.  It was well beaten, and\r\nthe eye followed it easily from point to point.  Here it was bordered by\r\nopen glades; there the forest closed upon it; every hundred yards it ran\r\nbeside an ambush.  Far down the path, the sun shone on seven steel\r\nsalets, and from time to time, as the trees opened, Selden and his men\r\ncould be seen riding briskly, still bent upon Sir Daniel\'s mission.  The\r\nwind had somewhat fallen, but still tussled merrily with the trees, and,\r\nperhaps, had Appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warning from the\r\ntroubled conduct of the birds.\r\n\r\n"Now, mark," Dick whispered.  "They be already well advanced into the\r\nwood; their safety lieth rather in continuing forward.  But see ye where\r\nthis wide glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, these two\r\nscore trees make like an island?  There were their safety.  An they but\r\ncome sound as far as that, I will make shift to warn them.  But my heart\r\nmisgiveth me; they are but seven against so many, and they but carry\r\ncross-bows.  The long-bow, Jack, will have the uppermost ever."\r\n\r\nMeanwhile, Selden and his men still wound up the path, ignorant of their\r\ndanger, and momently drew nearer hand.  Once, indeed, they paused, drew\r\ninto a group, and seemed to point and listen.  But it was something from\r\nfar away across the plain that had arrested their attention--a hollow\r\ngrowl of cannon that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told of\r\nthe great battle.  It was worth a thought, to be sure; for if the voice\r\nof the big guns were thus become audible in Tunstall Forest, the fight\r\nmust have rolled ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore\r\nagainst Sir Daniel and the lords of the dark rose.\r\n\r\nBut presently the little troop began again to move forward, and came next\r\nto a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a single tongue of\r\nforest ran down to join the road.  They were but just abreast of this,\r\nwhen an arrow shone flying.  One of the men threw up his arms, his horse\r\nreared, and both fell and struggled together in a mass.  Even from where\r\nthe boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men\'s voices crying out;\r\nthey could see the startled horses prancing, and, presently, as the troop\r\nbegan to recover from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to\r\ndismount.  A second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced in a wide\r\narch; a second rider bit the dust.  The man who was dismounting lost hold\r\nupon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him by the foot\r\nalong the road, bumping from stone to stone, and battered by the fleeing\r\nhoofs.  The four who still kept the saddle instantly broke and scattered;\r\none wheeled and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, with\r\nloose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the road from Tunstall.\r\nFrom every clump they passed an arrow sped.  Soon a horse fell, but the\r\nrider found his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a second\r\nshot despatched him.  Another man fell; then another horse; out of the\r\nwhole troop there was but one fellow left, and he on foot; only, in\r\ndifferent directions, the noise of the galloping of three riderless\r\nhorses was dying fast into the distance.\r\n\r\nAll this time not one of the assailants had for a moment shown himself.\r\nHere and there along the path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his\r\nagony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from their pain.\r\n\r\nThe solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road beside his fallen\r\ncharger.  He had come the length of that broad glade, with the island of\r\ntimber, pointed out by Dick.  He was not, perhaps, five hundred yards\r\nfrom where the boys lay hidden; and they could see him plainly, looking\r\nto and fro in deadly expectation.  But nothing came; and the man began to\r\npluck up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his bow.  At the same\r\ntime, by something in his action, Dick recognised Selden.\r\n\r\nAt this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of the\r\nwoods there went up the sound of laughter.  A score of men, at least, for\r\nthis was the very thickest of the ambush, joined in this cruel and\r\nuntimely mirth.  Then an arrow glanced over Selden\'s shoulder; and he\r\nleaped and ran a little back.  Another dart struck quivering at his heel.\r\nHe made for the cover.  A third shaft leaped out right in his face, and\r\nfell short in front of him.  And then the laughter was repeated loudly,\r\nrising and reechoing from different thickets.\r\n\r\nIt was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in those\r\ndays, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with the mouse.\r\nThe skirmish was well over; farther down the road, a fellow in green was\r\nalready calmly gathering the arrows; and now, in the evil pleasure of\r\ntheir hearts, they gave themselves the spectacle of their poor\r\nfellow-sinner in his torture.\r\n\r\nSelden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered his\r\ncross-bow, and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood.  Chance\r\nfavoured him, for a slight cry responded.  Then, throwing down his\r\nweapon, Selden began to run before him up the glade, and almost in a\r\nstraight line for Dick and Matcham.\r\n\r\nThe companions of the Black Arrow now began to shoot in earnest.  But\r\nthey were properly served; their chance had past; most of them had now to\r\nshoot against the sun; and Selden, as he ran, bounded from side to side\r\nto baffle and deceive their aim.  Best of all, by turning up the glade he\r\nhad defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted higher up\r\nthan the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the confusion of the\r\nforesters\' counsels soon became apparent.  A whistle sounded thrice, and\r\nthen again twice.  It was repeated from another quarter.  The woods on\r\neither side became full of the sound of people bursting through the\r\nunderwood; and a bewildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a\r\nsecond on three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into the\r\nthicket.\r\n\r\nSelden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but\r\nstill would miss.  It began to appear as if he might escape.  Dick had\r\nhis bow armed, ready to support him; even Matcham, forgetful of his\r\ninterest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive; and both lads glowed\r\nand trembled in the ardour of their hearts.\r\n\r\nHe was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow struck him and he fell.\r\nHe was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering,\r\nand, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction.\r\n\r\nDick leaped to his feet and waved to him.\r\n\r\n"Here!" he cried.  "This way! here is help!  Nay, run, fellow--run!"\r\n\r\nBut just then a second arrow struck Selden in the shoulder, between the\r\nplates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack, brought him,\r\nlike a stone, to earth.\r\n\r\n"O, the poor heart!" cried Matcham, with clasped hands.\r\n\r\nAnd Dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery.\r\n\r\nTen to one he had speedily been shot--for the foresters were furious with\r\nthemselves, and taken unawares by Dick\'s appearance in the rear of their\r\nposition--but instantly, out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly near\r\nto the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of Ellis Duckworth.\r\n\r\n"Hold!" it roared.  "Shoot not!  Take him alive!  It is young\r\nShelton--Harry\'s son."\r\n\r\nAnd immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was\r\nagain taken up and repeated farther off.  The whistle, it appeared, was\r\nJohn Amend-All\'s battle trumpet, by which he published his directions.\r\n\r\n"Ah, foul fortune!" cried Dick.  "We are undone.  Swiftly, Jack, come\r\nswiftly!"\r\n\r\nAnd the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that covered\r\nthe summit of the hill.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI--TO THE DAY\'S END\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was, indeed, high time for them to run.  On every side the company of\r\nthe Black Arrow was making for the hill.  Some, being better runners, or\r\nhaving open ground to run upon, had far outstripped the others, and were\r\nalready close upon the goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to\r\nright and left, and outflanked the lads on either side.\r\n\r\nDick plunged into the nearest cover.  It was a tall grove of oaks, firm\r\nunder foot and clear of underbrush, and as it lay down hill, they made\r\ngood speed.  There followed next a piece of open, which Dick avoided,\r\nholding to his left.  Two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising,\r\nthe lads followed the same course.  Thus it followed that, while the\r\nlads, bending continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to the high\r\nroad and the river which they had crossed an hour or two before, the\r\ngreat bulk of their pursuers were leaning to the other hand, and running\r\ntowards Tunstall.\r\n\r\nThe lads paused to breathe.  There was no sound of pursuit.  Dick put his\r\near to the ground, and still there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure,\r\nstill made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain.\r\n\r\n"On again," said Dick; and, tired as they were, and Matcham limping with\r\nhis injured foot, they pulled themselves together, and once more pelted\r\ndown the hill.\r\n\r\nThree minutes later, they were breasting through a low thicket of\r\nevergreen.  High overhead, the tall trees made a continuous roof of\r\nfoliage.  It was a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except for\r\nthe hollies among which the lads were struggling, open and smoothly\r\nswarded.\r\n\r\nOn the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they\r\nblundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove.\r\n\r\n"Stand!" cried a voice.\r\n\r\nAnd there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they\r\nbeheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly\r\ndrew an arrow to the head and covered them.  Matcham stopped with a cry;\r\nbut Dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his\r\ndagger as he went.  The other, whether he was startled by the daring of\r\nthe onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot;\r\nhe stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, Dick\r\nbounded at his throat, and sent him sprawling backward on the turf.  The\r\narrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang.  The\r\ndisarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and\r\ndescended twice.  Then came a couple of groans, and then Dick rose to his\r\nfeet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart.\r\n\r\n"On!" said Dick; and he once more pelted forward, Matcham trailing in the\r\nrear.  To say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring\r\ndismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish.  Matcham\r\nhad a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for Dick, his knees were\r\nlike lead.  But they kept up the form of running with undiminished\r\ncourage.\r\n\r\nPresently they came to the end of the grove.  It stopped abruptly; and\r\nthere, a few yards before them, was the high road from Risingham to\r\nShoreby, lying, at this point, between two even walls of forest.\r\n\r\nAt the sight Dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became\r\naware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder.  It was at first\r\nlike the rush of a very high gust of wind, but soon it became more\r\ndefinite, and resolved itself into the galloping of horses; and then, in\r\na flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner,\r\nswept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant.  They rode\r\nas for their lives, in complete disorder; some of them were wounded;\r\nriderless horses galloped at their side with bloody saddles.  They were\r\nplainly fugitives from the great battle.\r\n\r\nThe noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards Shoreby,\r\nbefore fresh hoofs came echoing in their wake, and another deserter\r\nclattered down the road; this time a single rider and, by his splendid\r\narmour, a man of high degree.  Close after him there followed several\r\nbaggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at\r\nthe horses as if for life.  These must have run early in the day; but\r\ntheir cowardice was not to save them.  For just before they came abreast\r\nof where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour, and seemingly\r\nbeside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon of\r\na sword, began to cut the drivers down.  Some leaped from their places\r\nand plunged into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, cursing them\r\nthe while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human.\r\n\r\nAll this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase; the\r\nrumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great,\r\nconfused rumour, came swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the\r\nrout of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down the road.\r\n\r\nDick stood sombre.  He had meant to follow the highway till the turn for\r\nHolywood, and now he had to change his plan.  But above all, he had\r\nrecognised the colours of Earl Risingham, and he knew that the battle had\r\ngone finally against the rose of Lancaster.  Had Sir Daniel joined, and\r\nwas he now a fugitive and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of York,\r\nand was he forfeit to honour?  It was an ugly choice.\r\n\r\n"Come," he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk\r\nforward through the grove, with Matcham limping in his rear.\r\n\r\nFor some time they continued to thread the forest in silence.  It was now\r\ngrowing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond Kettley; the\r\ntree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow\r\ndarker and the chill of the night to fall.\r\n\r\n"If there were anything to eat!" cried Dick, suddenly, pausing as he\r\nspoke.\r\n\r\nMatcham sat down and began to weep.\r\n\r\n"Ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men\'s lives,\r\nyour heart was hard enough," said Dick, contemptuously.  "Y\' \'ave seven\r\ndeaths upon your conscience, Master John; I\'ll ne\'er forgive you that."\r\n\r\n"Conscience!" cried Matcham, looking fiercely up.  "Mine!  And ye have\r\nthe man\'s red blood upon your dagger!  And wherefore did ye slay him, the\r\npoor soul?  He drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his\r\nhand, and spared you!  \'Tis as brave to kill a kitten, as a man that not\r\ndefends himself."\r\n\r\nDick was struck dumb.\r\n\r\n"I slew him fair.  I ran me in upon his bow," he cried.\r\n\r\n"It was a coward blow," returned Matcham.  "Y\' are but a lout and bully,\r\nMaster Dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will\r\nsee you truckle at his boot!  Ye care not for vengeance, neither--for\r\nyour father\'s death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth\r\nfor justice.  But if there come but a poor creature in your hands that\r\nlacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!"\r\n\r\nDick was too furious to observe that "she."\r\n\r\n"Marry!" he cried, "and here is news!  Of any two the one will still be\r\nstronger.  The better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well\r\nserved.  Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, for your ill-guidance and\r\nunthankfulness to meward; and what ye deserve ye shall have."\r\n\r\nAnd Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the\r\nappearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt.\r\n\r\n"Here shall be your supper," he said, grimly.  Matcham had stopped his\r\ntears; he was as white as a sheet, but he looked Dick steadily in the\r\nface, and never moved.  Dick took a step, swinging the belt.  Then he\r\npaused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his\r\ncompanion.  His courage began to subside.\r\n\r\n"Say ye were in the wrong, then," he said, lamely.\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Matcham, "I was in the right.  Come, cruel!  I be lame; I be\r\nweary; I resist not; I ne\'er did thee hurt; come, beat me--coward!"\r\n\r\nDick raised the belt at this last provocation, but Matcham winced and\r\ndrew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart\r\nfailed him yet again.  The strap fell by his side, and he stood\r\nirresolute, feeling like a fool.\r\n\r\n"A plague upon thee, shrew!" he said.  "An ye be so feeble of hand, ye\r\nshould keep the closer guard upon your tongue.  But I\'ll be hanged before\r\nI beat you!" and he put on his belt again.  "Beat you I will not," he\r\ncontinued; "but forgive you?--never.  I knew ye not; ye were my master\'s\r\nenemy; I lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y\' \'ave called me a\r\nman o\' wood, a coward, and a bully.  Nay, by the mass! the measure is\r\nfilled, and runneth over.  \'Tis a great thing to be weak, I trow: ye can\r\ndo your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man\'s weapons in\r\nthe hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again;--y\' are weak,\r\nforsooth!  Nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and\r\ncrieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through!  Tut! fool\r\nwords!"\r\n\r\n"And yet ye beat me not," returned Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Let be," said Dick--"let be.  I will instruct you.  Y\' \'ave been\r\nill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and,\r\nbeyond all question, saved me from the river.  Nay, I had forgotten it; I\r\nam as thankless as thyself.  But, come, let us on.  An we be for Holywood\r\nthis night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set forward speedily."\r\n\r\nBut though Dick had talked himself back into his usual good-humour,\r\nMatcham had forgiven him nothing.  His violence, the recollection of the\r\nforester whom he had slain--above all, the vision of the upraised belt,\r\nwere things not easily to be forgotten.\r\n\r\n"I will thank you, for the form\'s sake," said Matcham.  "But, in sooth,\r\ngood Master Shelton, I had liever find my way alone.  Here is a wide\r\nwood; prithee, let each choose his path; I owe you a dinner and a lesson.\r\nFare ye well!"\r\n\r\n"Nay," cried Dick, "if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with\r\nyou!"\r\n\r\nEach turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought\r\nof the direction, intent solely on their quarrel.  But Dick had not gone\r\nten paces ere his name was called, and Matcham came running after.\r\n\r\n"Dick," he said, "it were unmannerly to part so coldly.  Here is my hand,\r\nand my heart with it.  For all that wherein you have so excellently\r\nserved and helped me--not for the form, but from the heart, I thank you.\r\nFare ye right well."\r\n\r\n"Well, lad," returned Dick, taking the hand which was offered him, "good\r\nspeed to you, if speed you may.  But I misdoubt it shrewdly.  Y\' are too\r\ndisputatious."  So then they separated for the second time; and presently\r\nit was Dick who was running after Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Here," he said, "take my cross-bow; shalt not go unarmed."\r\n\r\n"A cross-bow!" said Matcham.  "Nay, boy, I have neither the strength to\r\nbend nor yet the skill to aim with it.  It were no help to me, good boy.\r\nBut yet I thank you."\r\n\r\nThe night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read\r\neach other\'s face.\r\n\r\n"I will go some little way with you," said Dick.  "The night is dark.  I\r\nwould fain leave you on a path, at least.  My mind misgiveth me, y\' are\r\nlikely to be lost."\r\n\r\nWithout any more words, he began to walk forward, and the other once more\r\nfollowed him.  The blackness grew thicker and thicker.  Only here and\r\nthere, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars.  In the\r\ndistance, the noise of the rout of the Lancastrian army still continued\r\nto be faintly audible; but with every step they left it farther in the\r\nrear.\r\n\r\nAt the end of half an hour of silent progress they came forth upon a\r\nbroad patch of heathy open.  It glimmered in the light of the stars,\r\nshaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of yew.  And here they paused\r\nand looked upon each other.\r\n\r\n"Y\' are weary?" Dick said.\r\n\r\n"Nay, I am so weary," answered Matcham, "that methinks I could lie down\r\nand die."\r\n\r\n"I hear the chiding of a river," returned Dick.  "Let us go so far forth,\r\nfor I am sore athirst."\r\n\r\nThe ground sloped down gently; and, sure enough, in the bottom, they\r\nfound a little murmuring river, running among willows.  Here they threw\r\nthemselves down together by the brink; and putting their mouths to the\r\nlevel of a starry pool, they drank their fill.\r\n\r\n"Dick," said Matcham, "it may not be.  I can no more."\r\n\r\n"I saw a pit as we came down," said Dick.  "Let us lie down therein and\r\nsleep."\r\n\r\n"Nay, but with all my heart!" cried Matcham.\r\n\r\nThe pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles hung upon one hedge, and\r\nmade a partial shelter; and there the two lads lay down, keeping close\r\ntogether for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten.  And soon\r\nsleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they\r\nrested peacefully.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VII--THE HOODED FACE\r\n\r\n\r\nThey awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full\r\nsong, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet\r\nup, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours.  Half starved and\r\nover-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful\r\nlassitude.  And as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon\r\ntheir ears.\r\n\r\n"A bell!" said Dick, sitting up.  "Can we be, then, so near to Holywood?"\r\n\r\nA little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer\r\nhand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it\r\ncontinued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning.\r\n\r\n"Nay, what should this betoken?" said Dick, who was now broad awake.\r\n\r\n"It is some one walking," returned Matcham, and "the bell tolleth ever as\r\nhe moves."\r\n\r\n"I see that well," said Dick.  "But wherefore?  What maketh he in\r\nTunstall Woods?  Jack," he added, "laugh at me an ye will, but I like not\r\nthe hollow sound of it."\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Matcham, with a shiver, "it hath a doleful note.  An the day\r\nwere not come"--\r\n\r\nBut just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and\r\nhurried, and then it gave a single hammering jangle, and was silent for a\r\nspace.\r\n\r\n"It is as though the bearer had run for a pater-noster while, and then\r\nleaped the river," Dick observed.\r\n\r\n"And now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward," added Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Nay," returned Dick--"nay, not so soberly, Jack.  \'Tis a man that\r\nwalketh you right speedily.  \'Tis a man in some fear of his life, or\r\nabout some hurried business.  See ye not how swift the beating draweth\r\nnear?"\r\n\r\n"It is now close by," said Matcham.\r\n\r\nThey were now on the edge of the pit; and as the pit itself was on a\r\ncertain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of\r\nthe clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in.\r\n\r\nThe daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of\r\nwhite footpath wandering among the gorse.  It passed some hundred yards\r\nfrom the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west.\r\nBy the line of its course, Dick judged it should lead more or less\r\ndirectly to the Moat House.\r\n\r\nUpon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white\r\nfigure now appeared.  It paused a little, and seemed to look about; and\r\nthen, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near\r\nacross the heath.  At every step the bell clanked.  Face, it had none; a\r\nwhite hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head; and as the\r\ncreature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick.\r\nFear fell upon the lads, as cold as death.\r\n\r\n"A leper!" said Dick, hoarsely.\r\n\r\n"His touch is death," said Matcham.  "Let us run."\r\n\r\n"Not so," returned Dick.  "See ye not?--he is stone blind.  He guideth\r\nhim with a staff.  Let us lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path,\r\nand he will go by and hurt us not.  Alas, poor soul, and we should rather\r\npity him!"\r\n\r\n"I will pity him when he is by," replied Matcham.\r\n\r\nThe blind leper was now about halfway towards them, and just then the sun\r\nrose and shone full on his veiled face.  He had been a tall man before he\r\nwas bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a\r\nvigorous step.  The dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the\r\nstick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge that\r\nhe was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for ever from\r\nthe touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads\' bosoms with dismay; and at\r\nevery step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to\r\ndesert them.\r\n\r\nAs he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full\r\nupon the lads.\r\n\r\n"Mary be my shield!  He sees us!" said Matcham, faintly.\r\n\r\n"Hush!" whispered Dick.  "He doth but hearken.  He is blind, fool!"\r\n\r\nThe leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some\r\nseconds.  Then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more,\r\nand again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads.  Even Dick became\r\ndead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become\r\ninfected.  But soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any farther\r\nhesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and\r\ndisappeared into the covert of the woods.\r\n\r\n"He saw us," said Matcham.  "I could swear it!"\r\n\r\n"Tut!" returned Dick, recovering some sparks of courage.  "He but heard\r\nus.  He was in fear, poor soul!  An ye were blind, and walked in a\r\nperpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a\r\nbird cried \'Peep.\'"\r\n\r\n"Dick, good Dick, he saw us," repeated Matcham.  "When a man hearkeneth,\r\nhe doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, Dick.  This was seeing; it\r\nwas not hearing.  He means foully.  Hark, else, if his bell be not\r\nstopped!"\r\n\r\nSuch was the case.  The bell rang no longer.\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Dick, "I like not that.  Nay," he cried again, "I like that\r\nlittle.  What may this betoken?  Let us go, by the mass!"\r\n\r\n"He hath gone east," added Matcham.  "Good Dick, let us go westward\r\nstraight; I shall not breathe till I have my back turned upon that\r\nleper."\r\n\r\n"Jack, y\' are too cowardly," replied Dick.  "We shall go fair for\r\nHolywood, or as fair, at least, as I can guide you, and that will be due\r\nnorth."\r\n\r\nThey were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and\r\nbegan to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the margin\r\nof the wood.  The ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows;\r\ntrees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path,\r\nand the lads somewhat wandered.  They were weary, besides, with\r\nyesterday\'s exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily\r\nand dragged their feet among the sand.\r\n\r\nPresently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper,\r\nsome hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by a\r\nhollow.  His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and\r\nhe went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who\r\nsees.  Next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket.\r\n\r\nThe lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse;\r\nthere they lay, horror-struck.\r\n\r\n"Certain, he pursueth us," said Dick--"certain!  He held the clapper of\r\nhis bell in one hand, saw ye? that it should not sound.  Now may the\r\nsaints aid and guide us, for I have no strength to combat pestilence!"\r\n\r\n"What maketh he?" cried Matcham.  "What doth he want?  Who ever heard the\r\nlike, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates?  Hath\r\nhe not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him?  Dick, there\r\nis below this something deeper."\r\n\r\n"Nay, I care not," moaned Dick; "the strength is gone out of me; my legs\r\nare like water.  The saints be mine assistance!"\r\n\r\n"Would ye lie there idle?" cried Matcham.  "Let us back into the open.\r\nWe have the better chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares."\r\n\r\n"Not I," said Dick.  "My time is come, and peradventure he may pass us\r\nby."\r\n\r\n"Bend me, then, your bow!" cried the other.  "What! will ye be a man?"\r\n\r\nDick crossed himself.  "Would ye have me shoot upon a leper?" he cried.\r\n"The hand would fail me.  Nay, now," he added--"nay, now, let be!  With\r\nsound men I will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers.  Which this is, I\r\nwot not.  One or other, Heaven be our protection!"\r\n\r\n"Now," said Matcham, "if this be man\'s courage, what a poor thing is man!\r\nBut sith ye will do naught, let us lie close."\r\n\r\nThen came a single, broken jangle on the bell.\r\n\r\n"He hath missed his hold upon the clapper," whispered Matcham.  "Saints!\r\nhow near he is!"\r\n\r\nBut Dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering.\r\n\r\nSoon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes; then the\r\nleper\'s head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly\r\nto scan the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew.  To their\r\nstretched senses, the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and the\r\ncreak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other\'s heart.\r\n\r\nSuddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by, and ran\r\nstraight upon the lads.  They, shrieking aloud, separated and began to\r\nrun different ways.  But their horrible enemy fastened upon Matcham, ran\r\nhim swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner.  The lad gave\r\none scream that echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of\r\nstruggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his\r\ncaptor\'s arms.\r\n\r\nDick heard the cry and turned.  He saw Matcham fall; and on the instant\r\nhis spirit and his strength revived; With a cry of pity and anger, he\r\nunslung and bent his arblast.  But ere he had time to shoot, the leper\r\nheld up his hand.\r\n\r\n"Hold your shot, Dickon!" cried a familiar voice.  "Hold your shot, mad\r\nwag!  Know ye not a friend?"\r\n\r\nAnd then laying down Matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his\r\nface, and disclosed the features of Sir Daniel Brackley.\r\n\r\n"Sir Daniel!" cried Dick.\r\n\r\n"Ay, by the mass, Sir Daniel!" returned the knight.  "Would ye shoot upon\r\nyour guardian, rogue?  But here is this"--And there he broke off, and\r\npointing to Matcham, asked: "How call ye him, Dick?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Dick, "I call him Master Matcham.  Know ye him not?  He said\r\nye knew him!"\r\n\r\n"Ay," replied Sir Daniel, "I know the lad;" and he chuckled.  "But he has\r\nfainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for!  Hey,\r\nDick?  Did I put the fear of death upon you?"\r\n\r\n"Indeed, Sir Daniel, ye did that," said Dick, and sighed again at the\r\nmere recollection.  "Nay, sir, saving your respect, I had as lief \'a\' met\r\nthe devil in person; and to speak truth, I am yet all a-quake.  But what\r\nmade ye, sir, in such a guise?"\r\n\r\nSir Daniel\'s brow grew suddenly black with anger.\r\n\r\n"What made I?" he said.  "Ye do well to mind me of it!  What?  I skulked\r\nfor my poor life in my own wood of Tunstall, Dick.  We were ill sped at\r\nthe battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout.  Where be all my\r\ngood men-at-arms?  Dick, by the mass, I know not!  We were swept down;\r\nthe shot fell thick among us; I have not seen one man in my own colours\r\nsince I saw three fall.  For myself, I came sound to Shoreby, and being\r\nmindful of the Black Arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came softly by\r\nthe path for the Moat House.  There is no disguise to be compared with\r\nit; the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the\r\nforest; they would all turn pale to hear it.  At length I came by you and\r\nMatcham.  I could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure\r\nof you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the\r\nfinding you together.  Moreover, in the open, where I had to go slowly\r\nand tap with my staff, I feared to disclose myself.  But see," he added,\r\n"this poor shrew begins a little to revive.  A little good canary will\r\ncomfort me the heart of it."\r\n\r\nThe knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began\r\nto rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned\r\ngradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to\r\nanother.\r\n\r\n"What cheer, Jack!" said Dick.  "It was no leper, after all; it was Sir\r\nDaniel!  See!"\r\n\r\n"Swallow me a good draught of this," said the knight.  "This will give\r\nyou manhood.  Thereafter, I will give you both a meal, and we shall all\r\nthree on to Tunstall.  For, Dick," he continued, laying forth bread and\r\nmeat upon the grass, "I will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks\r\nme sorely to be safe between four walls.  Not since I backed a horse have\r\nI been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood,\r\nand to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down.  But I be\r\nnot yet shent.  Some of my lads will pick me their way home.  Hatch hath\r\nten fellows; Selden, he had six.  Nay, we shall soon be strong again; and\r\nif I can but buy my peace with my right fortunate and undeserving Lord of\r\nYork, why, Dick, we\'ll be a man again and go a-horseback!"\r\n\r\nAnd so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged\r\nhis ward in dumb show.\r\n\r\n"Selden," Dick faltered--"Selden"--And he paused again.\r\n\r\nSir Daniel put down the wine untasted.\r\n\r\n"How!" he cried, in a changed voice.  "Selden?  Speak!  What of Selden?"\r\n\r\nDick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre.\r\n\r\nThe knight heard in silence; but as he listened, his countenance became\r\nconvulsed with rage and grief.\r\n\r\n"Now here," he cried, "on my right hand, I swear to avenge it!  If that I\r\nfail, if that I spill not ten men\'s souls for each, may this hand wither\r\nfrom my body!  I broke this Duckworth like a rush; I beggared him to his\r\ndoor; I burned the thatch above his head; I drove him from this country;\r\nand now, cometh he back to beard me?  Nay, but, Duckworth, this time it\r\nshall go bitter hard!"\r\n\r\nHe was silent for some time, his face working.\r\n\r\n"Eat!" he cried, suddenly.  "And you here," he added to Matcham, "swear\r\nme an oath to follow straight to the Moat House."\r\n\r\n"I will pledge mine honour," replied Matcham.\r\n\r\n"What make I with your honour?" cried the knight.  "Swear me upon your\r\nmother\'s welfare!"\r\n\r\nMatcham gave the required oath; and Sir Daniel re-adjusted the hood over\r\nhis face, and prepared his bell and staff.  To see him once more in that\r\nappalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions.\r\nBut the knight was soon upon his feet.\r\n\r\n"Eat with despatch," he said, "and follow me yarely to mine house."\r\n\r\nAnd with that he set forth again into the woods; and presently after the\r\nbell began to sound, numbering his steps, and the two lads sat by their\r\nuntasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up hill into the distance.\r\n\r\n"And so ye go to Tunstall?" Dick inquired.\r\n\r\n"Yea, verily," said Matcham, "when needs must!  I am braver behind Sir\r\nDaniel\'s back than to his face."\r\n\r\nThey ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper\r\nlevels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns,\r\nand the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs.  Two hours later,\r\nthey began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the\r\ntree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of Tunstall House.\r\n\r\n"Here," said Matcham, pausing, "ye shall take your leave of your friend\r\nJack, whom y\' are to see no more.  Come, Dick, forgive him what he did\r\namiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you."\r\n\r\n"And wherefore so?" asked Dick.  "An we both go to Tunstall, I shall see\r\nyou yet again, I trow, and that right often."\r\n\r\n"Ye\'ll never again see poor Jack Matcham," replied the other, "that was\r\nso fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye\'ll not\r\nsee him more, Dick, by mine honour!"  He held his arms open, and the lads\r\nembraced and kissed.  "And, Dick," continued Matcham, "my spirit bodeth\r\nill.  Y\' are now to see a new Sir Daniel; for heretofore hath all\r\nprospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now,\r\nmethinks, when his fate hath come upon him, and he runs the adventure of\r\nhis life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us.  He may be brave\r\nin battle, but he hath the liar\'s eye; there is fear in his eye, Dick,\r\nand fear is as cruel as the wolf!  We go down into that house, Saint Mary\r\nguide us forth again!"\r\n\r\nAnd so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last\r\nbefore Sir Daniel\'s forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady,\r\nflanked with round towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied\r\nwaters of the moat.  Even as they appeared, the doors were opened, the\r\nbridge lowered, and Sir Daniel himself, with Hatch and the parson at his\r\nside, stood ready to receive them.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK II--THE MOAT HOUSE\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I--DICK ASKS QUESTIONS\r\n\r\n\r\nThe Moat House stood not far from the rough forest road.  Externally, it\r\nwas a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round\r\ntower, pierced for archery and battlemented at the top.  Within, it\r\nenclosed a narrow court.  The moat was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed\r\nby a single drawbridge.  It was supplied with water by a trench, leading\r\nto a forest pool and commanded, through its whole length, from the\r\nbattlements of the two southern towers.  Except that one or two tall and\r\nthick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of the\r\nwalls, the house was in a good posture for defence.\r\n\r\nIn the court, Dick found a part of the garrison, busy with preparations\r\nfor defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege.  Some were\r\nmaking arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused; but\r\neven as they worked, they shook their heads.\r\n\r\nTwelve of Sir Daniel\'s party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet\r\nthrough the wood, and come alive to the Moat House.  But out of this\r\ndozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at Risingham in the disorder\r\nof the rout, one by John Amend-All\'s marksmen as he crossed the forest.\r\nThis raised the force of the garrison, counting Hatch, Sir Daniel, and\r\nyoung Shelton, to twenty-two effective men.  And more might be\r\ncontinually expected to arrive.  The danger lay not therefore in the lack\r\nof men.\r\n\r\nIt was the terror of the Black Arrow that oppressed the spirits of the\r\ngarrison.  For their open foes of the party of York, in these most\r\nchanging times, they felt but a far-away concern.  "The world," as people\r\nsaid in those days, "might change again" before harm came.  But for their\r\nneighbours in the wood, they trembled.  It was not Sir Daniel alone who\r\nwas a mark for hatred.  His men, conscious of impunity, had carried\r\nthemselves cruelly through all the country.  Harsh commands had been\r\nharshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in the\r\ncourt, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of oppression or\r\nbarbarity.  And now, by the fortune of war, Sir Daniel had become\r\npowerless to protect his instruments; now, by the issue of some hours of\r\nbattle, at which many of them had not been present, they had all become\r\npunishable traitors to the State, outside the buckler of the law, a\r\nshrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed\r\nupon all sides to the just resentment of their victims.  Nor had there\r\nbeen lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect.\r\n\r\nAt different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven\r\nriderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate.  Two were from\r\nSelden\'s troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with Sir Daniel to\r\nthe field.  Lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering\r\nto the moat side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in,\r\nhis spirit had departed; but by the words that he uttered in his agony,\r\nhe must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men.\r\n\r\nHatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallour of anxiety; and\r\nwhen he had taken Dick aside and learned the fate of Selden, he fell on a\r\nstone bench and fairly wept.  The others, from where they sat on stools\r\nor doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder\r\nand alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion.\r\n\r\n"Nay, Master Shelton," said Hatch, at last--"nay, but what said I?  We\r\nshall all go.  Selden was a man of his hands; he was like a brother to\r\nme.  Well, he has gone second; well, we shall all follow!  For what said\r\ntheir knave rhyme?--\'A black arrow in each black heart.\'  Was it not so\r\nit went?  Appleyard, Selden, Smith, old Humphrey gone; and there lieth\r\npoor John Carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest."\r\n\r\nDick gave ear.  Out of a low window, hard by where they were talking,\r\ngroans and murmurs came to his ear.\r\n\r\n"Lieth he there?" he asked.\r\n\r\n"Ay, in the second porter\'s chamber," answered Hatch.  "We could not bear\r\nhim further, soul and body were so bitterly at odds.  At every step we\r\nlifted him, he thought to wend.  But now, methinks, it is the soul that\r\nsuffereth.  Ever for the priest he crieth, and Sir Oliver, I wot not why,\r\nstill cometh not.  \'Twill be a long shrift; but poor Appleyard and poor\r\nSelden, they had none."\r\n\r\nDick stooped to the window and looked in.  The little cell was low and\r\ndark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his\r\npallet.\r\n\r\n"Carter, poor friend, how goeth it?" he asked.\r\n\r\n"Master Shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear\r\nlight of heaven, bring the priest.  Alack, I am sped; I am brought very\r\nlow down; my hurt is to the death.  Ye may do me no more service; this\r\nshall be the last.  Now, for my poor soul\'s interest, and as a loyal\r\ngentleman, bestir you; for I have that matter on my conscience that shall\r\ndrag me deep."\r\n\r\nHe groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or\r\nterror.\r\n\r\nJust then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall.  He had a\r\nletter in one hand.\r\n\r\n"Lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore,\r\nthen, deny it?  Rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle.  This\r\nold Harry the Sixt has had the undermost.  Wash we, then, our hands of\r\nhim.  I have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the Lord of\r\nWensleydale.  Well, I have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good\r\nlordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable\r\nsurety for the future.  Doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear.  A\r\nprayer without gifts is like a song without music: I surfeit him with\r\npromises, boys--I spare not to promise.  What, then, is lacking?  Nay, a\r\ngreat thing--wherefore should I deceive you?--a great thing and a\r\ndifficult: a messenger to bear it.  The woods--y\' are not ignorant of\r\nthat--lie thick with our ill-willers.  Haste is most needful; but without\r\nsleight and caution all is naught.  Which, then, of this company will\r\ntake me this letter, bear me it to my Lord of Wensleydale, and bring me\r\nthe answer back?"\r\n\r\nOne man instantly arose.\r\n\r\n"I will, an\'t like you," said he.  "I will even risk my carcase."\r\n\r\n"Nay, Dicky Bowyer, not so," returned the knight.  "It likes me not.  Y\'\r\nare sly indeed, but not speedy.  Ye were a laggard ever."\r\n\r\n"An\'t be so, Sir Daniel, here am I," cried another.\r\n\r\n"The saints forfend!" said the knight.  "Y\' are speedy, but not sly.  Ye\r\nwould blunder me headforemost into John Amend-All\'s camp.  I thank you\r\nboth for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be."\r\n\r\nThen Hatch offered himself, and he also was refused.\r\n\r\n"I want you here, good Bennet; y\' are my right hand, indeed," returned\r\nthe knight; and then several coming forward in a group, Sir Daniel at\r\nlength selected one and gave him the letter.\r\n\r\n"Now," he said, "upon your good speed and better discretion we do all\r\ndepend.  Bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks, I will have\r\npurged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces.  But mark\r\nit well, Throgmorton: the matter is not easy.  Ye must steal forth under\r\nnight, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross Till I know not,\r\nneither by the bridge nor ferry."\r\n\r\n"I can swim," returned Throgmorton.  "I will come soundly, fear not."\r\n\r\n"Well, friend, get ye to the buttery," replied Sir Daniel.  "Ye shall\r\nswim first of all in nut-brown ale."  And with that he turned back into\r\nthe hall.\r\n\r\n"Sir Daniel hath a wise tongue," said Hatch, aside, to Dick.  "See, now,\r\nwhere many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out\r\nplainly to his company.  Here is a danger, \'a saith, and here difficulty;\r\nand jesteth in the very saying.  Nay, by Saint Barbary, he is a born\r\ncaptain!  Not a man but he is some deal heartened up!  See how they fall\r\nagain to work."\r\n\r\nThis praise of Sir Daniel put a thought in the lad\'s head.\r\n\r\n"Bennet," he said, "how came my father by his end?"\r\n\r\n"Ask me not that," replied Hatch.  "I had no hand nor knowledge in it;\r\nfurthermore, I will even be silent, Master Dick.  For look you, in a\r\nman\'s own business there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of\r\ncommon talk, not so.  Ask me Sir Oliver--ay, or Carter, if ye will; not\r\nme."\r\n\r\nAnd Hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving Dick in a muse.\r\n\r\n"Wherefore would he not tell me?" thought the lad.  "And wherefore named\r\nhe Carter?  Carter--nay, then Carter had a hand in it, perchance."\r\n\r\nHe entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and\r\nvaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay\r\ngroaning.  At his entrance Carter started eagerly.\r\n\r\n"Have ye brought the priest?" he cried.\r\n\r\n"Not yet awhile," returned Dick.  "Y\' \'ave a word to tell me first.  How\r\ncame my father, Harry Shelton, by his death?"\r\n\r\nThe man\'s face altered instantly.\r\n\r\n"I know not," he replied, doggedly.\r\n\r\n"Nay, ye know well," returned Dick.  "Seek not to put me by."\r\n\r\n"I tell you I know not," repeated Carter.\r\n\r\n"Then," said Dick, "ye shall die unshriven.  Here am I, and here shall\r\nstay.  There shall no priest come near you, rest assured.  For of what\r\navail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a\r\nhand in? and without penitence, confession is but mockery."\r\n\r\n"Ye say what ye mean not, Master Dick," said Carter, composedly.  "It is\r\nill threatening the dying, and becometh you (to speak truth) little.  And\r\nfor as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less.  Stay, an ye\r\nplease.  Ye will condemn my soul--ye shall learn nothing!  There is my\r\nlast word to you."  And the wounded man turned upon the other side.\r\n\r\nNow, Dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his\r\nthreat.  But he made one more effort.\r\n\r\n"Carter," he said, "mistake me not.  I know ye were but an instrument in\r\nthe hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; I would not bear heavily\r\non such an one.  But I begin to learn upon many sides that this great\r\nduty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father.  Prithee,\r\nthen, good Carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure\r\ngoodwill and honest penitence give me a word of help."\r\n\r\nThe wounded man lay silent; nor, say what Dick pleased, could he extract\r\nanother word from him.\r\n\r\n"Well," said Dick, "I will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for\r\nhowsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, I would not be willingly in fault\r\nto any, least of all to one upon the last change."\r\n\r\nAgain the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his groans\r\nhe had suppressed; and as Dick turned and left the room, he was filled\r\nwith admiration for that rugged fortitude.\r\n\r\n"And yet," he thought, "of what use is courage without wit?  Had his\r\nhands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the\r\nsecret louder than words.  Nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me.  Sir\r\nDaniel, he or his men, hath done this thing."\r\n\r\nDick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart.  At that hour, in\r\nthe ebb of Sir Daniel\'s fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers\r\nof the Black Arrow and proscribed by the victorious Yorkists, was Dick,\r\nalso, to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had\r\nseverely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth?  The\r\nnecessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel.\r\n\r\n"Pray Heaven he be innocent!" he said.\r\n\r\nAnd then steps sounded on the flagging, and Sir Oliver came gravely\r\ntowards the lad.\r\n\r\n"One seeketh you earnestly," said Dick.\r\n\r\n"I am upon the way, good Richard," said the priest.  "It is this poor\r\nCarter.  Alack, he is beyond cure."\r\n\r\n"And yet his soul is sicker than his body," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Have ye seen him?" asked Sir Oliver, with a manifest start.\r\n\r\n"I do but come from him," replied Dick.\r\n\r\n"What said he? what said he?" snapped the priest, with extraordinary\r\neagerness.\r\n\r\n"He but cried for you the more piteously, Sir Oliver.  It were well done\r\nto go the faster, for his hurt is grievous," returned the lad.\r\n\r\n"I am straight for him," was the reply.  "Well, we have all our sins.  We\r\nmust all come to our latter day, good Richard."\r\n\r\n"Ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly," answered Dick.\r\n\r\nThe priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried\r\non.\r\n\r\n"He, too!" thought Dick--"he, that taught me in piety!  Nay, then, what a\r\nworld is this, if all that care for me be blood-guilty of my father\'s\r\ndeath?  Vengeance!  Alas! what a sore fate is mine, if I must be avenged\r\nupon my friends!"\r\n\r\nThe thought put Matcham in his head.  He smiled at the remembrance of his\r\nstrange companion, and then wondered where he was.  Ever since they had\r\ncome together to the doors of the Moat House the younger lad had\r\ndisappeared, and Dick began to weary for a word with him.\r\n\r\nAbout an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by Sir\r\nOliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner.  It was a long, low\r\napartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with arras in a\r\ndesign of savage men and questing bloodhounds; here and there hung spears\r\nand bows and bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were\r\narras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst the table, fairly\r\nspread, awaited the arrival of the diners.  Neither Sir Daniel nor his\r\nlady made their appearance.  Sir Oliver himself was absent, and here\r\nagain there was no word of Matcham.  Dick began to grow alarmed, to\r\nrecall his companion\'s melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself\r\nif any foul play had befallen him in that house.\r\n\r\nAfter dinner he found Goody Hatch, who was hurrying to my Lady Brackley.\r\n\r\n"Goody," he said, "where is Master Matcham, I prithee?  I saw ye go in\r\nwith him when we arrived."\r\n\r\nThe old woman laughed aloud.\r\n\r\n"Ah, Master Dick," she said, "y\' have a famous bright eye in your head,\r\nto be sure!" and laughed again.\r\n\r\n"Nay, but where is he, indeed?" persisted Dick.\r\n\r\n"Ye will never see him more," she returned--"never.  It is sure."\r\n\r\n"An I do not," returned the lad, "I will know the reason why.  He came\r\nnot hither of his full free will; such as I am, I am his best protector,\r\nand I will see him justly used.  There be too many mysteries; I do begin\r\nto weary of the game!"\r\n\r\nBut as Dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.  It was\r\nBennet Hatch that had come unperceived behind him.  With a jerk of his\r\nthumb, the retainer dismissed his wife.\r\n\r\n"Friend Dick," he said, as soon as they were alone, "are ye a moon-struck\r\nnatural?  An ye leave not certain things in peace, ye were better in the\r\nsalt sea than here in Tunstall Moat House.  Y\' have questioned me; y\'\r\nhave baited Carter; y\' have frighted the Jack-priest with hints.  Bear ye\r\nmore wisely, fool; and even now, when Sir Daniel calleth you, show me a\r\nsmooth face for the love of wisdom.  Y\' are to be sharply questioned.\r\nLook to your answers."\r\n\r\n"Hatch," returned Dick, "in all this I smell a guilty conscience."\r\n\r\n"An ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood," replied Bennet.  "I\r\ndo but warn you.  And here cometh one to call you."\r\n\r\nAnd indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came across the court to\r\nsummon Dick into the presence of Sir Daniel.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II--THE TWO OATHS\r\n\r\n\r\nSir Daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire,\r\nawaiting Dick\'s arrival.  None was by except Sir Oliver, and he sat\r\ndiscreetly backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary.\r\n\r\n"Y\' have sent for me, Sir Daniel?" said young Shelton.\r\n\r\n"I have sent for you, indeed," replied the knight.  "For what cometh to\r\nmine ears?  Have I been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to\r\ncredit ill of me?  Or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted,\r\ndo ye think to quit my party?  By the mass, your father was not so!\r\nThose he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather.  But you,\r\nDick, y\' are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear\r\nyourself of your allegiance."\r\n\r\n"An\'t please you, Sir Daniel, not so," returned Dick, firmly.  "I am\r\ngrateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due.  And before\r\nmore is said, I thank you, and I thank Sir Oliver; y\' have great claims\r\nupon me both--none can have more; I were a hound if I forgot them."\r\n\r\n"It is well," said Sir Daniel; and then, rising into anger: "Gratitude\r\nand faith are words, Dick Shelton," he continued; "but I look to deeds.\r\nIn this hour of my peril, when my name is attainted, when my lands are\r\nforfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for my\r\ndestruction, what doth gratitude? what doth faith?  I have but a little\r\ncompany remaining; is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts\r\nwith your insidious whisperings?  Save me from such gratitude!  But,\r\ncome, now, what is it ye wish?  Speak; we are here to answer.  If ye have\r\naught against me, stand forth and say it."\r\n\r\n"Sir," replied Dick, "my father fell when I was yet a child.  It hath\r\ncome to mine ears that he was foully done by.  It hath come to mine\r\nears--for I will not dissemble--that ye had a hand in his undoing.  And\r\nin all verity, I shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very clear\r\nto help you, till I have certain resolution of these doubts."\r\n\r\nSir Daniel sat down in a deep settle.  He took his chin in his hand and\r\nlooked at Dick fixedly.\r\n\r\n"And ye think I would be guardian to the man\'s son that I had murdered?"\r\nhe asked.\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Dick, "pardon me if I answer churlishly; but indeed ye know\r\nright well a wardship is most profitable.  All these years have ye not\r\nenjoyed my revenues, and led my men? Have ye not still my marriage?  I\r\nwot not what it may be worth--it is worth something.  Pardon me again;\r\nbut if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, perhaps,\r\nreasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness."\r\n\r\n"When I was lad of your years," returned Sir Daniel, sternly, "my mind\r\nhad not so turned upon suspicions.  And Sir Oliver here," he added, "why\r\nshould he, a priest, be guilty of this act?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, Sir Daniel," said Dick, "but where the master biddeth there will\r\nthe dog go.  It is well known this priest is but your instrument.  I\r\nspeak very freely; the time is not for courtesies.  Even as I speak, so\r\nwould I be answered.  And answer get I none!  Ye but put more questions.\r\nI rede ye be ware, Sir Daniel; for in this way ye will but nourish and\r\nnot satisfy my doubts."\r\n\r\n"I will answer you fairly, Master Richard," said the knight.  "Were I to\r\npretend ye have not stirred my wrath, I were no honest man.  But I will\r\nbe just even in anger.  Come to me with these words when y\' are grown and\r\ncome to man\'s estate, and I am no longer your guardian, and so helpless\r\nto resent them.  Come to me then, and I will answer you as ye merit, with\r\na buffet in the mouth.  Till then ye have two courses: either swallow me\r\ndown these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for\r\nthe man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else--the door standeth\r\nopen, the woods are full of mine enemies--go."\r\n\r\nThe spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which they\r\nwere accompanied, staggered Dick; and yet he could not but observe that\r\nhe had got no answer.\r\n\r\n"I desire nothing more earnestly, Sir Daniel, than to believe you," he\r\nreplied.  "Assure me ye are free from this."\r\n\r\n"Will ye take my word of honour, Dick?" inquired the knight.\r\n\r\n"That would I," answered the lad.\r\n\r\n"I give it you," returned Sir Daniel.  "Upon my word of honour, upon the\r\neternal welfare of my spirit, and as I shall answer for my deeds\r\nhereafter, I had no hand nor portion in your father\'s death."\r\n\r\nHe extended his hand, and Dick took it eagerly.  Neither of them observed\r\nthe priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had\r\nhalf arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse.\r\n\r\n"Ah," cried Dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to pardon\r\nme!  I was a churl, indeed, to doubt of you.  But ye have my hand upon\r\nit; I will doubt no more."\r\n\r\n"Nay, Dick," replied Sir Daniel, "y\' are forgiven.  Ye know not the world\r\nand its calumnious nature."\r\n\r\n"I was the more to blame," added Dick, "in that the rogues pointed, not\r\ndirectly at yourself, but at Sir Oliver."\r\n\r\nAs he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle of\r\nthe last word.  This tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had\r\nfallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were\r\nrelaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when Dick\'s eyes were fixed\r\nupon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild animal, and buried\r\nhis face in his hands.\r\n\r\nSir Daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the\r\nshoulder.  At the same moment Dick\'s suspicions reawakened.\r\n\r\n"Nay," he said, "Sir Oliver may swear also.  \'Twas him they accused."\r\n\r\n"He shall swear," said the knight.\r\n\r\nSir Oliver speechlessly waved his arms.\r\n\r\n"Ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear," cried Sir Daniel, beside himself\r\nwith fury.  "Here, upon this book, ye shall swear," he continued, picking\r\nup the breviary, which had fallen to the ground.  "What!  Ye make me\r\ndoubt you!  Swear, I say; swear!"\r\n\r\nBut the priest was still incapable of speech.  His terror of Sir Daniel,\r\nhis terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him.\r\n\r\nAnd just then, through the high, stained-glass window of the hall, a\r\nblack arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering, in the midst of the\r\nlong table.\r\n\r\nSir Oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the\r\nknight, followed by Dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest\r\ncorkscrew stair to the battlements.  The sentries were all on the alert.\r\nThe sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded\r\nhills of the forest which enclosed the view.  There was no sign of a\r\nbesieger.\r\n\r\n"Whence came that shot?" asked the knight.\r\n\r\n"From yonder clump, Sir Daniel," returned a sentinel.\r\n\r\nThe knight stood a little, musing.  Then he turned to Dick.  "Dick," he\r\nsaid, "keep me an eye upon these men; I leave you in charge here.  As for\r\nthe priest, he shall clear himself, or I will know the reason why.  I do\r\nalmost begin to share in your suspicions.  He shall swear, trust me, or\r\nwe shall prove him guilty."\r\n\r\nDick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giving him a piercing\r\nglance, hurriedly returned to the hall.  His first glance was for the\r\narrow.  It was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned\r\nit to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear.  Again\r\nthere was some writing: one word--"Earthed."\r\n\r\n"Ay," he broke out, "they know I am home, then.  Earthed!  Ay, but there\r\nis not a dog among them fit to dig me out."\r\n\r\nSir Oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet.\r\n\r\n"Alack, Sir Daniel!" he moaned, "y\' \'ave sworn a dread oath; y\' are\r\ndoomed to the end of time."\r\n\r\n"Ay," returned the knight, "I have sworn an oath, indeed, thou\r\nchucklehead; but thyself shalt swear a greater.  It shall be on the\r\nblessed cross of Holywood.  Look to it; get the words ready.  It shall be\r\nsworn to-night."\r\n\r\n"Now, may Heaven lighten you!" replied the priest; "may Heaven incline\r\nyour heart from this iniquity!"\r\n\r\n"Look you, my good father," said Sir Daniel, "if y\' are for piety, I say\r\nno more; ye begin late, that is all.  But if y\' are in any sense bent\r\nupon wisdom, hear me.  This lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp.  I have\r\na need for him, for I would sell his marriage.  But I tell you, in all\r\nplainness, if that he continue to weary me, he shall go join his father.\r\nI give orders now to change him to the chamber above the chapel.  If that\r\nye can swear your innocency with a good, solid oath and an assured\r\ncountenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and I will\r\nspare him.  If that ye stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the\r\nswearing, he will not believe you; and by the mass, he shall die.  There\r\nis for your thinking on."\r\n\r\n"The chamber above the chapel!" gasped the priest.\r\n\r\n"That same," replied the knight.  "So if ye desire to save him, save him;\r\nand if ye desire not, prithee, go to, and let me be at peace!  For an I\r\nhad been a hasty man, I would already have put my sword through you, for\r\nyour intolerable cowardice and folly.  Have ye chosen?  Say!"\r\n\r\n"I have chosen," said the priest.  "Heaven pardon me, I will do evil for\r\ngood.  I will swear for the lad\'s sake."\r\n\r\n"So is it best!" said Sir Daniel.  "Send for him, then, speedily.  Ye\r\nshall see him alone.  Yet I shall have an eye on you.  I shall be here in\r\nthe panel room."\r\n\r\nThe knight raised the arras and let it fall again behind him.  There was\r\nthe sound of a spring opening; then followed the creaking of trod stairs.\r\n\r\nSir Oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward at the\r\narras-covered wall, and crossed himself with every appearance of terror\r\nand contrition.\r\n\r\n"Nay, if he is in the chapel room," the priest murmured, "were it at my\r\nsoul\'s cost, I must save him."\r\n\r\nThree minutes later, Dick, who had been summoned by another messenger,\r\nfound Sir Oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale.\r\n\r\n"Richard Shelton," he said, "ye have required an oath from me.  I might\r\ncomplain, I might deny you; but my heart is moved toward you for the\r\npast, and I will even content you as ye choose.  By the true cross of\r\nHolywood, I did not slay your father."\r\n\r\n"Sir Oliver," returned Dick, "when first we read John Amend-All\'s paper,\r\nI was convinced of so much.  But suffer me to put two questions.  Ye did\r\nnot slay him; granted.  But had ye no hand in it?"\r\n\r\n"None," said Sir Oliver.  And at the same time he began to contort his\r\nface, and signal with his mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to\r\nconvey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound.\r\n\r\nDick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at\r\nthe empty hall.\r\n\r\n"What make ye?" he inquired.\r\n\r\n"Why, naught," returned the priest, hastily smoothing his countenance.\r\n"I make naught; I do but suffer; I am sick.  I--I--prithee, Dick, I must\r\nbegone.  On the true cross of Holywood, I am clean innocent alike of\r\nviolence or treachery.  Content ye, good lad.  Farewell!"\r\n\r\nAnd he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity.\r\n\r\nDick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wandering about the room, his\r\nface a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion,\r\nand amusement.  Gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the\r\nupper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst.  He raised his\r\nhead, and, as he did so, violently started.  High upon the wall there was\r\nthe figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry.  With one hand he\r\nheld a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear.  His\r\nface was dark, for he was meant to represent an African.\r\n\r\nNow, here was what had startled Richard Shelton.  The sun had moved away\r\nfrom the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high\r\non the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and hangings.\r\nIn this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him with a\r\nwhite eyelid.\r\n\r\nHe continued staring at the eye.  The light shone upon it like a gem; it\r\nwas liquid, it was alive.  Again the white eyelid closed upon it for a\r\nfraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone.\r\n\r\nThere could be no mistake.  The live eye that had been watching him\r\nthrough a hole in the tapestry was gone.  The firelight no longer shone\r\non a reflecting surface.\r\n\r\nAnd instantly Dick awoke to the terrors of his position.  Hatch\'s\r\nwarning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him\r\nfrom the wall, ran together in his mind.  He saw he had been put upon his\r\ntrial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of\r\nsome miracle, he was lost.\r\n\r\n"If I cannot get me forth out of this house," he thought, "I am a dead\r\nman!  And this poor Matcham, too--to what a cockatrice\'s nest have I not\r\nled him!"\r\n\r\nHe was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help\r\nin changing his arms, his clothing, and his two or three books, to a new\r\nchamber.\r\n\r\n"A new chamber?" he repeated.  "Wherefore so?  What chamber?"\r\n\r\n"\'Tis one above the chapel," answered the messenger.\r\n\r\n"It hath stood long empty," said Dick, musing.  "What manner of room is\r\nit?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, a brave room," returned the man.  "But yet"--lowering his\r\nvoice--"they call it haunted."\r\n\r\n"Haunted?" repeated Dick, with a chill.  "I have not heard of it.  Nay,\r\nthen, and by whom?"\r\n\r\nThe messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, "By the\r\nsacrist of St. John\'s," he said.  "They had him there to sleep one night,\r\nand in the morning--whew!--he was gone.  The devil had taken him, they\r\nsaid; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before."\r\n\r\nDick followed the man with black forebodings.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III--THE ROOM OVER THE CHAPEL\r\n\r\n\r\nFrom the battlements nothing further was observed.  The sun journeyed\r\nwestward, and at last went down; but, to the eyes of all these eager\r\nsentinels, no living thing appeared in the neighbourhood of Tunstall\r\nHouse.\r\n\r\nWhen the night was at length fairly come, Throgmorton was led to a room\r\noverlooking an angle of the moat.  Thence he was lowered with every\r\nprecaution; the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief period;\r\nthen a black figure was observed to land by the branches of a willow and\r\ncrawl away among the grass.  For some half hour Sir Daniel and Hatch\r\nstood eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet.  The messenger had got\r\naway in safety.\r\n\r\nSir Daniel\'s brow grew clearer.  He turned to Hatch.\r\n\r\n"Bennet," he said, "this John Amend-All is no more than a man, ye see.\r\nHe sleepeth.  We will make a good end of him, go to!"\r\n\r\nAll the afternoon and evening, Dick had been ordered hither and thither,\r\none command following another, till he was bewildered with the number and\r\nthe hurry of commissions.  All that time he had seen no more of Sir\r\nOliver, and nothing of Matcham; and yet both the priest and the young lad\r\nran continually in his mind.  It was now his chief purpose to escape from\r\nTunstall Moat House as speedily as might be; and yet, before he went, he\r\ndesired a word with both of these.\r\n\r\nAt length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to his new apartment.  It\r\nwas large, low, and somewhat dark.  The window looked upon the moat, and\r\nalthough it was so high up, it was heavily barred.  The bed was\r\nluxurious, with one pillow of down and one of lavender, and a red\r\ncoverlet worked in a pattern of roses.  All about the walls were\r\ncupboards, locked and padlocked, and concealed from view by hangings of\r\ndark-coloured arras.  Dick made the round, lifting the arras, sounding\r\nthe panels, seeking vainly to open the cupboards.  He assured himself\r\nthat the door was strong and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp\r\nupon a bracket, and once more looked all around.\r\n\r\nFor what reason had he been given this chamber?  It was larger and finer\r\nthan his own.  Could it conceal a snare?  Was there a secret entrance?\r\nWas it, indeed, haunted?  His blood ran a little chilly in his veins.\r\n\r\nImmediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads.  Below\r\nhim, he knew, was the arched roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel\r\nwas the hall.  Certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the eye\r\nthat had watched him from the arras gave him proof of that.  Was it not\r\nmore than probable that the passage extended to the chapel, and, if so,\r\nthat it had an opening in his room?\r\n\r\nTo sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy.  He made his\r\nweapons ready, and took his position in a corner of the room behind the\r\ndoor.  If ill was intended, he would sell his life dear.\r\n\r\nThe sound of many feet, the challenge, and the password, sounded overhead\r\nalong the battlements; the watch was being changed.\r\n\r\nAnd just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber; it grew\r\na little louder; then a whisper:\r\n\r\n"Dick, Dick, it is I!"\r\n\r\nDick ran to the door, drew the bolt, and admitted Matcham.  He was very\r\npale, and carried a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other.\r\n\r\n"Shut me the door," he whispered.  "Swift, Dick!  This house is full of\r\nspies; I hear their feet follow me in the corridors; I hear them breathe\r\nbehind the arras."\r\n\r\n"Well, content you," returned Dick, "it is closed.  We are safe for this\r\nwhile, if there be safety anywhere within these walls.  But my heart is\r\nglad to see you.  By the mass, lad, I thought ye were sped!  Where hid\r\nye?"\r\n\r\n"It matters not," returned Matcham.  "Since we be met, it matters not.\r\nBut, Dick, are your eyes open?  Have they told you of to-morrow\'s\r\ndoings?"\r\n\r\n"Not they," replied Dick.  "What make they to-morrow?"\r\n\r\n"To-morrow, or to-night, I know not," said the other, "but one time or\r\nother, Dick, they do intend upon your life.  I had the proof of it; I\r\nhave heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told me."\r\n\r\n"Ay," returned Dick, "is it so?  I had thought as much."\r\n\r\nAnd he told him the day\'s occurrences at length.\r\n\r\nWhen it was done, Matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the\r\napartment.\r\n\r\n"No," he said, "there is no entrance visible.  Yet \'tis a pure certainty\r\nthere is one.  Dick, I will stay by you.  An y\' are to die, I will die\r\nwith you.  And I can help--look!  I have stolen a dagger--I will do my\r\nbest!  And meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could\r\nget opened, or any window that we might descend by, I will most joyfully\r\nface any jeopardy to flee with you."\r\n\r\n"Jack," said Dick, "by the mass, Jack, y\' are the best soul, and the\r\ntruest, and the bravest in all England!  Give me your hand, Jack."\r\n\r\nAnd he grasped the other\'s hand in silence.\r\n\r\n"I will tell you," he resumed.  "There is a window, out of which the\r\nmessenger descended; the rope should still be in the chamber.  \'Tis a\r\nhope."\r\n\r\n"Hist!" said Matcham.\r\n\r\nBoth gave ear.  There was a sound below the floor; then it paused, and\r\nthen began again.\r\n\r\n"Some one walketh in the room below," whispered Matcham.\r\n\r\n"Nay," returned Dick, "there is no room below; we are above the chapel.\r\nIt is my murderer in the secret passage.  Well, let him come; it shall go\r\nhard with him;" and he ground his teeth.\r\n\r\n"Blow me the lights out," said the other.  "Perchance he will betray\r\nhimself."\r\n\r\nThey blew out both the lamps and lay still as death.  The footfalls\r\nunderneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible.  Several times\r\nthey came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a\r\nlock, followed by a considerable silence.\r\n\r\nPresently the steps began again, and then, all of a sudden, a chink of\r\nlight appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner.  It widened;\r\na trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light.  They could see\r\nthe strong hand pushing it up; and Dick raised his cross-bow, waiting for\r\nthe head to follow.\r\n\r\nBut now there came an interruption.  From a distant corner of the Moat\r\nHouse shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several,\r\ncrying aloud upon a name.  This noise had plainly disconcerted the\r\nmurderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the\r\nsteps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and died\r\naway in the distance.\r\n\r\nHere was a moment\'s respite.  Dick breathed deep, and then, and not till\r\nthen, he gave ear to the disturbance which had interrupted the attack,\r\nand which was now rather increasing than diminishing.  All about the Moat\r\nHouse feet were running, doors were opening and slamming, and still the\r\nvoice of Sir Daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting for "Joanna."\r\n\r\n"Joanna!" repeated Dick.  "Why, who the murrain should this be?  Here is\r\nno Joanna, nor ever hath been.  What meaneth it?"\r\n\r\nMatcham was silent.  He seemed to have drawn further away.  But only a\r\nlittle faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the\r\napartment, where the pair were, the darkness was complete.\r\n\r\n"Jack," said Dick, "I wot not where ye were all day.  Saw ye this\r\nJoanna?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," returned Matcham, "I saw her not."\r\n\r\n"Nor heard tell of her?" he pursued.\r\n\r\nThe steps drew nearer.  Sir Daniel was still roaring the name of Joanna\r\nfrom the courtyard.\r\n\r\n"Did ye hear of her?" repeated Dick.\r\n\r\n"I heard of her," said Matcham.\r\n\r\n"How your voice twitters!  What aileth you?" said Dick.  "\'Tis a most\r\nexcellent good fortune, this Joanna; it will take their minds from us."\r\n\r\n"Dick," cried Matcham, "I am lost; we are both lost.  Let us flee if\r\nthere be yet time.  They will not rest till they have found me.  Or, see!\r\nlet me go forth; when they have found me, ye may flee.  Let me forth,\r\nDick--good Dick, let me away!"\r\n\r\nShe was groping for the bolt, when Dick at last comprehended.\r\n\r\n"By the mass!" he cried, "y\' are no Jack; y\' are Joanna Sedley; y\' are\r\nthe maid that would not marry me!"\r\n\r\nThe girl paused, and stood silent and motionless.  Dick, too, was silent\r\nfor a little; then he spoke again.\r\n\r\n"Joanna," he said, "y\' \'ave saved my life, and I have saved yours; and we\r\nhave seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies--ay, and I took my\r\nbelt to thrash you; and all that time I thought ye were a boy.  But now\r\ndeath has me, and my time\'s out, and before I die I must say this: Y\' are\r\nthe best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if only I could live, I\r\nwould marry you blithely; and, live or die, I love you."\r\n\r\nShe answered nothing.\r\n\r\n"Come," he said, "speak up, Jack.  Come, be a good maid, and say ye love\r\nme!"\r\n\r\n"Why, Dick," she cried, "would I be here?"\r\n\r\n"Well, see ye here," continued Dick, "an we but escape whole we\'ll marry;\r\nand an we\'re to die, we die, and there\'s an end on\'t.  But now that I\r\nthink, how found ye my chamber?"\r\n\r\n"I asked it of Dame Hatch," she answered.\r\n\r\n"Well, the dame\'s staunch," he answered; "she\'ll not tell upon you.  We\r\nhave time before us."\r\n\r\nAnd just then, as if to contradict his words, feet came down the\r\ncorridor, and a fist beat roughly on the door.\r\n\r\n"Here!" cried a voice.  "Open, Master Dick; open!"  Dick neither moved\r\nnor answered.\r\n\r\n"It is all over," said the girl; and she put her arms about Dick\'s neck.\r\n\r\nOne after another, men came trooping to the door.  Then Sir Daniel\r\narrived himself, and there was a sudden cessation of the noise.\r\n\r\n"Dick," cried the knight, "be not an ass.  The Seven Sleepers had been\r\nawake ere now.  We know she is within there.  Open, then, the door, man."\r\n\r\nDick was again silent.\r\n\r\n"Down with it," said Sir Daniel.  And immediately his followers fell\r\nsavagely upon the door with foot and fist.  Solid as it was, and strongly\r\nbolted, it would soon have given way; but once more fortune interfered.\r\nOver the thunderstorm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard; it was\r\nfollowed by another; shouts ran along the battlements, shouts answered\r\nout of the wood.  In the first moment of alarm it sounded as if the\r\nforesters were carrying the Moat House by assault.  And Sir Daniel and\r\nhis men, desisting instantly from their attack upon Dick\'s chamber,\r\nhurried to defend the walls.\r\n\r\n"Now," cried Dick, "we are saved."\r\n\r\nHe seized the great old bedstead with both hands, and bent himself in\r\nvain to move it.\r\n\r\n"Help me, Jack.  For your life\'s sake, help me stoutly!" he cried.\r\n\r\nBetween them, with a huge effort, they dragged the big frame of oak\r\nacross the room, and thrust it endwise to the chamber door.\r\n\r\n"Ye do but make things worse," said Joanna, sadly.  "He will then enter\r\nby the trap."\r\n\r\n"Not so," replied Dick.  "He durst not tell his secret to so many.  It is\r\nby the trap that we shall flee.  Hark!  The attack is over.  Nay, it was\r\nnone!"\r\n\r\nIt had, indeed, been no attack; it was the arrival of another party of\r\nstragglers from the defeat of Risingham that had disturbed Sir Daniel.\r\nThey had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they had been\r\nadmitted by the great gate; and now, with a great stamping of hoofs and\r\njingle of accoutrements and arms, they were dismounting in the court.\r\n\r\n"He will return anon," said Dick.  "To the trap!"\r\n\r\nHe lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room.\r\nThe open chink through which some light still glittered was easily\r\ndiscovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, Dick thrust\r\nit deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt.  The trap\r\nmoved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open.  Seizing it with\r\ntheir hands, the two young folk threw it back.  It disclosed a few steps\r\ndescending, and at the foot of them, where the would-be murderer had left\r\nit, a burning lamp.\r\n\r\n"Now," said Dick, "go first and take the lamp.  I will follow to close\r\nthe trap."\r\n\r\nSo they descended one after the other, and as Dick lowered the trap, the\r\nblows began once again to thunder on the panels of the door.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV--THE PASSAGE\r\n\r\n\r\nThe passage in which Dick and Joanna now found themselves was narrow,\r\ndirty, and short.  At the other end of it, a door stood partly open; the\r\nsame door, without doubt, that they had heard the man unlocking.  Heavy\r\ncobwebs hung from the roof; and the paved flooring echoed hollow under\r\nthe lightest tread.\r\n\r\nBeyond the door there were two branches, at right angles.  Dick chose one\r\nof them at random, and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along\r\nthe hollow of the chapel roof.  The top of the arched ceiling rose like a\r\nwhale\'s back in the dim glimmer of the lamp.  Here and there were\r\nspyholes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice;\r\nand looking down through one of these, Dick saw the paved floor of the\r\nchapel--the altar, with its burning tapers--and stretched before it on\r\nthe steps, the figure of Sir Oliver praying with uplifted hands.\r\n\r\nAt the other end, they descended a few steps.  The passage grew narrower;\r\nthe wall upon one hand was now of wood; the noise of people talking, and\r\na faint flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and presently\r\nthey came to a round hole about the size of a man\'s eye, and Dick,\r\nlooking down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, and some half a\r\ndozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep and\r\ndemolishing a venison pie.  These were certainly some of the late\r\narrivals.\r\n\r\n"Here is no help," said Dick.  "Let us try back."\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Joanna; "maybe the passage goeth farther."\r\n\r\nAnd she pushed on.  But a few yards farther the passage ended at the top\r\nof a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the\r\nsoldiers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side.\r\n\r\nThey retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to\r\nexplore the other branch.  It was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough\r\nfor a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little\r\nbreak-neck stairs, until even Dick had lost all notion of his\r\nwhereabouts.\r\n\r\nAt length it grew both narrower and lower; the stairs continued to\r\ndescend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch; and\r\nfar in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats.\r\n\r\n"We must be in the dungeons," Dick remarked.\r\n\r\n"And still there is no outlet," added Joanna.\r\n\r\n"Nay, but an outlet there must be!" Dick answered.  Presently, sure\r\nenough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage ended in a\r\nflight of steps.  On the top of that there was a solid flag of stone by\r\nway of trap, and to this they both set their backs.  It was immovable.\r\n"Some one holdeth it," suggested Joanna.\r\n\r\n"Not so," said Dick; "for were a man strong as ten, he must still yield a\r\nlittle.  But this resisteth like dead rock.  There is a weight upon the\r\ntrap.  Here is no issue; and, by my sooth, good Jack, we are here as\r\nfairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle bones.  Sit ye\r\nthen down, and let us talk.  After a while we shall return, when\r\nperchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and, who\r\nknoweth? we may break out and stand a chance.  But, in my poor opinion,\r\nwe are as good as shent."\r\n\r\n"Dick!" she cried, "alas the day that ever ye should have seen me!  For\r\nlike a most unhappy and unthankful maid, it is I have led you hither."\r\n\r\n"What cheer!" returned Dick.  "It was all written, and that which is\r\nwritten, willy nilly, cometh still to pass.  But tell me a little what\r\nmanner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into Sir Daniel\'s hands; that\r\nwill do better than to bemoan yourself, whether for your sake or mine."\r\n\r\n"I am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother," said Joanna; "and\r\nfor my great misfortune, Dick, and hitherto for yours, I am a rich\r\nmarriage.  My Lord Foxham had me to ward; yet it appears Sir Daniel\r\nbought the marriage of me from the king, and a right dear price he paid\r\nfor it.  So here was I, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting\r\nwhich should marry me, and I still at nurse!  Well, then the world\r\nchanged, and there was a new chancellor, and Sir Daniel bought the\r\nwarding of me over the Lord Foxham\'s head.  And then the world changed\r\nagain, and Lord Foxham bought my marriage over Sir Daniel\'s; and from\r\nthen to now it went on ill betwixt the two of them.  But still Lord\r\nFoxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me.  And at last I\r\nwas to be married--or sold, if ye like it better.  Five hundred pounds\r\nLord Foxham was to get for me.  Hamley was the groom\'s name, and\r\nto-morrow, Dick, of all days in the year, was I to be betrothed.  Had it\r\nnot come to Sir Daniel, I had been wedded, sure--and never seen thee,\r\nDick--dear Dick!"\r\n\r\nAnd here she took his hand, and kissed it, with the prettiest grace; and\r\nDick drew her hand to him and did the like.\r\n\r\n"Well," she went on, "Sir Daniel took me unawares in the garden, and made\r\nme dress in these men\'s clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and,\r\nbesides, they fit me not.  He rode with me to Kettley, as ye saw, telling\r\nme I was to marry you; but I, in my heart, made sure I would marry Hamley\r\nin his teeth."\r\n\r\n"Ay!" cried Dick, "and so ye loved this Hamley!"\r\n\r\n"Nay," replied Joanna, "not I.  I did but hate Sir Daniel.  And then,\r\nDick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart\r\nturned towards you in mine own despite; and now, if we can in any way\r\ncompass it, I would marry you with right goodwill.  And if, by cruel\r\ndestiny, it may not be, still ye\'ll be dear to me.  While my heart beats,\r\nit\'ll be true to you."\r\n\r\n"And I," said Dick, "that never cared a straw for any manner of woman\r\nuntil now, I took to you when I thought ye were a boy.  I had a pity to\r\nyou, and knew not why.  When I would have belted you, the hand failed me.\r\nBut when ye owned ye were a maid, Jack--for still I will call you Jack--I\r\nmade sure ye were the maid for me.  Hark!" he said, breaking off--"one\r\ncometh."\r\n\r\nAnd indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the echoing passage, and the\r\nrats again fled in armies.\r\n\r\nDick reconnoitred his position.  The sudden turn gave him a post of\r\nvantage.  He could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall.  But\r\nit was plain the light was too near him, and, running some way forward,\r\nhe set down the lamp in the middle of the passage, and then returned to\r\nwatch.\r\n\r\nPresently, at the far end of the passage, Bennet hove in sight.  He\r\nseemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which\r\nmade him the better mark.\r\n\r\n"Stand, Bennet!" cried Dick.  "Another step, and y\' are dead."\r\n\r\n"So here ye are," returned Hatch, peering forward into the darkness.  "I\r\nsee you not.  Aha! y\' \'ave done wisely, Dick; y\' \'ave put your lamp\r\nbefore you.  By my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave\r\nbody, I do rejoice to see ye profit of my lessons!  And now, what make\r\nye? what seek ye here?  Why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend?  And\r\nhave ye the young gentlewoman there?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, Bennet, it is I should question and you answer," replied Dick.\r\n"Why am I in this jeopardy of my life?  Why do men come privily to slay\r\nme in my bed?  Why am I now fleeing in mine own guardian\'s strong house,\r\nand from the friends that I have lived among and never injured?"\r\n\r\n"Master Dick, Master Dick," said Bennet, "what told I you?  Y\' are brave,\r\nbut the most uncrafty lad that I can think upon!"\r\n\r\n"Well," returned Dick, "I see ye know all, and that I am doomed indeed.\r\nIt is well.  Here, where I am, I stay.  Let Sir Daniel get me out if he\r\nbe able!"\r\n\r\nHatch was silent for a space.\r\n\r\n"Hark ye," he began, "return to Sir Daniel, to tell him where ye are, and\r\nhow posted; for, in truth, it was to that end he sent me.  But you, if ye\r\nare no fool, had best be gone ere I return."\r\n\r\n"Begone!" repeated Dick.  "I would be gone already, an\' I wist how.  I\r\ncannot move the trap."\r\n\r\n"Put me your hand into the corner, and see what ye find there," replied\r\nBennet.  "Throgmorton\'s rope is still in the brown chamber.  Fare ye\r\nwell."\r\n\r\nAnd Hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of\r\nthe passage.\r\n\r\nDick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the hint.\r\nAt one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall.  Pushing\r\nhis arm into the aperture, Dick found an iron bar, which he thrust\r\nvigorously upwards.  There followed a snapping noise, and the slab of\r\nstone instantly started in its bed.\r\n\r\nThey were free of the passage.  A little exercise of strength easily\r\nraised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on\r\none hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were\r\nrubbing down the horses of the last arrivals.  A torch or two, each stuck\r\nin an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V--HOW DICK CHANGED SIDES\r\n\r\n\r\nDick, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way\r\nup-stairs and along the corridor.  In the brown chamber the rope had been\r\nmade fast to the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed.  It had not\r\nbeen detached, and Dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower it\r\nslowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night.  Joan stood by; but\r\nas the rope lengthened, and still Dick continued to pay it out, extreme\r\nfear began to conquer her resolution.\r\n\r\n"Dick," she said, "is it so deep?  I may not essay it. I should\r\ninfallibly fall, good Dick."\r\n\r\nIt was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke.\r\nDick started; the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the\r\nend fell with a splash into the moat.  Instantly, from the battlement\r\nabove, the voice of a sentinel cried, "Who goes?"\r\n\r\n"A murrain!" cried Dick.  "We are paid now!  Down with you--take the\r\nrope."\r\n\r\n"I cannot," she cried, recoiling.\r\n\r\n"An ye cannot, no more can I," said Shelton.  "How can I swim the moat\r\nwithout you?  Do you desert me, then?"\r\n\r\n"Dick," she gasped, "I cannot.  The strength is gone from me."\r\n\r\n"By the mass, then, we are all shent!" he shouted, stamping with his\r\nfoot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to the room door and sought to\r\nclose it.\r\n\r\nBefore he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were thrusting it back upon\r\nhim from the other side.  He struggled for a second; then, feeling\r\nhimself overpowered, ran back to the window.  The girl had fallen against\r\nthe wall in the embrasure of the window; she was more than half\r\ninsensible; and when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body was limp\r\nand unresponsive.\r\n\r\nAt the same moment the men who had forced the door against him laid hold\r\nupon him.  The first he poinarded at a blow, and the others falling back\r\nfor a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, bestrode the\r\nwindow-sill, seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip.\r\n\r\nThe cord was knotted, which made it the easier to descend; but so furious\r\nwas Dick\'s hurry, and so small his experience of such gymnastics, that he\r\nspan round and round in mid-air like a criminal upon a gibbet, and now\r\nbeat his head, and now bruised his hands, against the rugged stonework of\r\nthe wall.  The air roared in his ears; he saw the stars overhead, and the\r\nreflected stars below him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves before\r\nthe tempest.  And then he lost hold, and fell, and soused head over ears\r\ninto the icy water.\r\n\r\nWhen he came to the surface his hand encountered the rope, which, newly\r\nlightened of his weight, was swinging wildly to and fro.  There was a red\r\nglow overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of several torches\r\nand a cresset full of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces.\r\nHe saw the men\'s eyes turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he\r\nwas too far below, the light reached him not, and they looked in vain.\r\n\r\nAnd now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long, and he\r\nbegan to struggle as well as he could towards the other side of the moat,\r\nstill keeping his head above water.  In this way he got much more than\r\nhalfway over; indeed the bank was almost within reach, before the rope\r\nbegan to draw him back by its own weight.  Taking his courage in both\r\nhands, he left go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of willow that\r\nhad already, that same evening, helped Sir Daniel\'s messenger to land.\r\nHe went down, rose again, sank a second time, and then his hand caught a\r\nbranch, and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself into the\r\nthick of the tree and clung there, dripping and panting, and still half\r\nuncertain of his escape.\r\n\r\nBut all this had not been done without a considerable splashing, which\r\nhad so far indicated his position to the men along the battlements.\r\nArrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, thick like\r\ndriving hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down--flared through the\r\nair in its swift passage--stuck for a moment on the edge of the bank,\r\nwhere it burned high and lit up its whole surroundings like a\r\nbonfire--and then, in a good hour for Dick, slipped off, plumped into the\r\nmoat, and was instantly extinguished.\r\n\r\nIt had served its purpose.  The marksmen had had time to see the willow,\r\nand Dick ensconced among its boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang\r\nhigher up the bank, and ran for his life, he was yet not quick enough to\r\nescape a shot.  An arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his\r\nhead.\r\n\r\nThe pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had no sooner got upon the\r\nlevel than he took to his heels and ran straight before him in the dark,\r\nwithout a thought for the direction of his flight.\r\n\r\nFor a few steps missiles followed him, but these soon ceased; and when at\r\nlength he came to a halt and looked behind, he was already a good way\r\nfrom the Moat House, though he could still see the torches moving to and\r\nfro along its battlements.\r\n\r\nHe leaned against a tree, streaming with blood and water, bruised,\r\nwounded, alone, and unarmed.  For all that, he had saved his life for\r\nthat bout; and though Joanna remained behind in the power of Sir Daniel,\r\nhe neither blamed himself for an accident that it had been beyond his\r\npower to prevent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to the girl\r\nherself.  Sir Daniel was cruel, but he was not likely to be cruel to a\r\nyoung gentlewoman who had other protectors, willing and able to bring him\r\nto account.  It was more probable he would make haste to marry her to\r\nsome friend of his own.\r\n\r\n"Well," thought Dick, "between then and now I will find me the means to\r\nbring that traitor under; for I think, by the mass, that I be now\r\nabsolved from any gratitude or obligation; and when war is open, there is\r\na fair chance for all."\r\n\r\nIn the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight.\r\n\r\nFor some little way farther he struggled forward through the forest; but\r\nwhat with the pain of his wounds, the darkness of the night, and the\r\nextreme uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon became equally\r\nunable to guide himself or to continue to push through the close\r\nundergrowth, and he was fain at length to sit down and lean his back\r\nagainst a tree.\r\n\r\nWhen he awoke from something betwixt sleep and swooning, the grey of the\r\nmorning had begun to take the place of night.  A little chilly breeze was\r\nbustling among the trees, and as he still sat staring before him, only\r\nhalf awake, he became aware of something dark that swung to and fro among\r\nthe branches, some hundred yards in front of him.  The progressive\r\nbrightening of the day and the return of his own senses at last enabled\r\nhim to recognise the object.  It was a man hanging from the bough of a\r\ntall oak.  His head had fallen forward on his breast; but at every\r\nstronger puff of wind his body span round and round, and his legs and\r\narms tossed, like some ridiculous plaything.\r\n\r\nDick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and leaning on the\r\ntree-trunks as he went, drew near to this grim object.\r\n\r\nThe bough was perhaps twenty feet above the ground, and the poor fellow\r\nhad been drawn up so high by his executioners that his boots swung clear\r\nabove Dick\'s reach; and as his hood had been drawn over his face, it was\r\nimpossible to recognise the man.\r\n\r\nDick looked about him right and left; and at last he perceived that the\r\nother end of the cord had been made fast to the trunk of a little\r\nhawthorn which grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty arcade of the\r\noak.  With his dagger, which alone remained to him of all his arms, young\r\nShelton severed the rope, and instantly, with a dead thump, the corpse\r\nfell in a heap upon the ground.\r\n\r\nDick raised the hood; it was Throgmorton, Sir Daniel\'s messenger.  He had\r\nnot gone far upon his errand.  A paper, which had apparently escaped the\r\nnotice of the men of the Black Arrow, stuck from the bosom of his\r\ndoublet, and Dick, pulling it forth, found it was Sir Daniel\'s letter to\r\nLord Wensleydale.\r\n\r\n"Come," thought he, "if the world changes yet again, I may have here the\r\nwherewithal to shame Sir Daniel--nay, and perchance to bring him to the\r\nblock."\r\n\r\nAnd he put the paper in his own bosom, said a prayer over the dead man,\r\nand set forth again through the woods.\r\n\r\nHis fatigue and weakness increased; his ears sang, his steps faltered,\r\nhis mind at intervals failed him, so low had he been brought by loss of\r\nblood.  Doubtless he made many deviations from his true path, but at last\r\nhe came out upon the high-road, not very far from Tunstall hamlet.\r\n\r\nA rough voice bid him stand.\r\n\r\n"Stand?" repeated Dick.  "By the mass, but I am nearer falling."\r\n\r\nAnd he suited the action to the word, and fell all his length upon the\r\nroad.\r\n\r\nTwo men came forth out of the thicket, each in green forest jerkin, each\r\nwith long-bow and quiver and short sword.\r\n\r\n"Why, Lawless," said the younger of the two, "it is young Shelton."\r\n\r\n"Ay, this will be as good as bread to John Amend-All," returned the\r\nother.  "Though, faith, he hath been to the wars.  Here is a tear in his\r\nscalp that must \'a\' cost him many a good ounce of blood."\r\n\r\n"And here," added Greensheve, "is a hole in his shoulder that must have\r\npricked him well.  Who hath done this, think ye?  If it be one of ours,\r\nhe may all to prayer; Ellis will give him a short shrift and a long\r\nrope."\r\n\r\n"Up with the cub," said Lawless.  "Clap him on my back."\r\n\r\nAnd then, when Dick had been hoisted to his shoulders, and he had taken\r\nthe lad\'s arms about his neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-Grey\r\nFriar added:\r\n\r\n"Keep ye the post, brother Greensheve.  I will on with him by myself."\r\n\r\nSo Greensheve returned to his ambush on the wayside, and Lawless trudged\r\ndown the hill, whistling as he went, with Dick, still in a dead faint,\r\ncomfortably settled on his shoulders.\r\n\r\nThe sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the wood and saw Tunstall\r\nhamlet straggling up the opposite hill.  All seemed quiet, but a strong\r\npost of some half a score of archers lay close by the bridge on either\r\nside of the road, and, as soon as they perceived Lawless with his\r\nburthen, began to bestir themselves and set arrow to string like vigilant\r\nsentries.\r\n\r\n"Who goes?" cried the man in command.\r\n\r\n"Will Lawless, by the rood--ye know me as well as your own hand,"\r\nreturned the outlaw, contemptuously.\r\n\r\n"Give the word, Lawless," returned the other.\r\n\r\n"Now, Heaven lighten thee, thou great fool," replied Lawless.  "Did I not\r\ntell it thee myself?  But ye are all mad for this playing at soldiers.\r\nWhen I am in the greenwood, give me greenwood ways; and my word for this\r\ntide is: \'A fig for all mock soldiery!\'"\r\n\r\n"Lawless, ye but show an ill example; give us the word, fool jester,"\r\nsaid the commander of the post.\r\n\r\n"And if I had forgotten it?" asked the other.\r\n\r\n"An ye had forgotten it--as I know y\' \'ave not--by the mass, I would clap\r\nan arrow into your big body," returned the first.\r\n\r\n"Nay, an y\' are so ill a jester," said Lawless, "ye shall have your word\r\nfor me.  \'Duckworth and Shelton\' is the word; and here, to the\r\nillustration, is Shelton on my shoulders, and to Duckworth do I carry\r\nhim."\r\n\r\n"Pass, Lawless," said the sentry.\r\n\r\n"And where is John?" asked the Grey Friar.\r\n\r\n"He holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh rents as to the manner\r\nborn!" cried another of the company.\r\n\r\nSo it proved.  When Lawless got as far up the village as the little inn,\r\nhe found Ellis Duckworth surrounded by Sir Daniel\'s tenants, and, by the\r\nright of his good company of archers, coolly taking rents, and giving\r\nwritten receipts in return for them.  By the faces of the tenants, it was\r\nplain how little this proceeding pleased them; for they argued very\r\nrightly that they would simply have to pay them twice.\r\n\r\nAs soon as he knew what had brought Lawless, Ellis dismissed the\r\nremainder of the tenants, and, with every mark of interest and\r\napprehension, conducted Dick into an inner chamber of the inn.  There the\r\nlad\'s hurts were looked to; and he was recalled, by simple remedies, to\r\nconsciousness.\r\n\r\n"Dear lad," said Ellis, pressing his hand, "y\' are in a friend\'s hands\r\nthat loved your father, and loves you for his sake.  Rest ye a little\r\nquietly, for ye are somewhat out of case.  Then shall ye tell me your\r\nstory, and betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for all."\r\n\r\nA little later in the day, and after Dick had awakened from a comfortable\r\nslumber to find himself still very weak, but clearer in mind and easier\r\nin body, Ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside, begged him, in\r\nthe name of his father, to relate the circumstance of his escape from\r\nTunstall Moat House.  There was something in the strength of Duckworth\'s\r\nframe, in the honesty of his brown face, in the clearness and shrewdness\r\nof his eyes, that moved Dick to obey him; and from first to last the lad\r\ntold him the story of his two days\' adventures.\r\n\r\n"Well," said Ellis, when he had done, "see what the kind saints have done\r\nfor you, Dick Shelton, not alone to save your body in so numerous and\r\ndeadly perils, but to bring you into my hands that have no dearer wish\r\nthan to assist your father\'s son.  Be but true to me--and I see y\' are\r\ntrue--and betwixt you and me, we shall bring that false-heart traitor to\r\nthe death."\r\n\r\n"Will ye assault the house?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"I were mad, indeed, to think of it," returned Ellis.  "He hath too much\r\npower; his men gather to him; those that gave me the slip last night, and\r\nby the mass came in so handily for you--those have made him safe.  Nay,\r\nDick, to the contrary, thou and I and my brave bowmen, we must all slip\r\nfrom this forest speedily, and leave Sir Daniel free."\r\n\r\n"My mind misgiveth me for Jack," said the lad.\r\n\r\n"For Jack!" repeated Duckworth.  "O, I see, for the wench!  Nay, Dick, I\r\npromise you, if there come talk of any marriage we shall act at once;\r\ntill then, or till the time is ripe, we shall all disappear, even like\r\nshadows at morning; Sir Daniel shall look east and west, and see none\r\nenemies; he shall think, by the mass, that he hath dreamed awhile, and\r\nhath now awakened in his bed.  But our four eyes, Dick, shall follow him\r\nright close, and our four hands--so help us all the army of the\r\nsaints!--shall bring that traitor low!"\r\n\r\nTwo days later Sir Daniel\'s garrison had grown to such a strength that he\r\nventured on a sally, and at the head of some two score horsemen, pushed\r\nwithout opposition as far as Tunstall hamlet.  Not an arrow flew, not a\r\nman stirred in the thicket; the bridge was no longer guarded, but stood\r\nopen to all corners; and as Sir Daniel crossed it, he saw the villagers\r\nlooking timidly from their doors.\r\n\r\nPresently one of them, taking heart of grace, came forward, and with the\r\nlowliest salutations, presented a letter to the knight.\r\n\r\nHis face darkened as he read the contents.  It ran thus:\r\n\r\n    _To the most untrue and cruel gentylman_, _Sir Daniel Brackley_,\r\n    _Knyght_, _These_:\r\n\r\n    I fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first.  Ye have my father\'s\r\n    blood upon your hands; let be, it will not wasshe.  Some day ye shall\r\n    perish by my procurement, so much I let you to wytte; and I let you\r\n    to wytte farther, that if ye seek to wed to any other the\r\n    gentylwoman, Mistresse Joan Sedley, whom that I am bound upon a great\r\n    oath to wed myself, the blow will be very swift.  The first step\r\n    therinne will be thy first step to the grave.\r\n\r\n                                                             RIC. SHELTON.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK III--MY LORD FOXHAM\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I--THE HOUSE BY THE SHORE\r\n\r\n\r\nMonths had passed away since Richard Shelton made his escape from the\r\nhands of his guardian.  These months had been eventful for England.  The\r\nparty of Lancaster, which was then in the very article of death, had once\r\nmore raised its head.  The Yorkists defeated and dispersed, their leader\r\nbutchered on the field, it seemed,--for a very brief season in the winter\r\nfollowing upon the events already recorded, as if the House of Lancaster\r\nhad finally triumphed over its foes.\r\n\r\nThe small town of Shoreby-on-the-Till was full of the Lancastrian nobles\r\nof the neighbourhood.  Earl Risingham was there, with three hundred\r\nmen-at-arms; Lord Shoreby, with two hundred; Sir Daniel himself, high in\r\nfavour and once more growing rich on confiscations, lay in a house of his\r\nown, on the main street, with three-score men.  The world had changed\r\nindeed.\r\n\r\nIt was a black, bitter cold evening in the first week of January, with a\r\nhard frost, a high wind, and every likelihood of snow before the morning.\r\n\r\nIn an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the harbour, three or four men\r\nsat drinking ale and eating a hasty mess of eggs.  They were all likely,\r\nlusty, weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold of eye; and though they\r\nwore plain tabards, like country ploughmen, even a drunken soldier might\r\nhave looked twice before he sought a quarrel in such company.\r\n\r\nA little apart before the huge fire sat a younger man, almost a boy,\r\ndressed in much the same fashion, though it was easy to see by his looks\r\nthat he was better born, and might have worn a sword, had the time\r\nsuited.\r\n\r\n"Nay," said one of the men at the table, "I like it not.  Ill will come\r\nof it.  This is no place for jolly fellows.  A jolly fellow loveth open\r\ncountry, good cover, and scarce foes; but here we are shut in a town,\r\ngirt about with enemies; and, for the bull\'s-eye of misfortune, see if it\r\nsnow not ere the morning."\r\n\r\n"\'Tis for Master Shelton there," said another, nodding his head towards\r\nthe lad before the fire.\r\n\r\n"I will do much for Master Shelton," returned the first; "but to come to\r\nthe gallows for any man--nay, brothers, not that!"\r\n\r\nThe door of the inn opened, and another man entered hastily and\r\napproached the youth before the fire.\r\n\r\n"Master Shelton," he said, "Sir Daniel goeth forth with a pair of links\r\nand four archers."\r\n\r\nDick (for this was our young friend) rose instantly to his feet.\r\n\r\n"Lawless," he said, "ye will take John Capper\'s watch.  Greensheve,\r\nfollow with me.  Capper, lead forward.  We will follow him this time, an\r\nhe go to York."\r\n\r\nThe next moment they were outside in the dark street, and Capper, the man\r\nwho had just come, pointed to where two torches flared in the wind at a\r\nlittle distance.\r\n\r\nThe town was already sound asleep; no one moved upon the streets, and\r\nthere was nothing easier than to follow the party without observation.\r\nThe two link-bearers went first; next followed a single man, whose long\r\ncloak blew about him in the wind; and the rear was brought up by the four\r\narchers, each with his bow upon his arm.  They moved at a brisk walk,\r\nthreading the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to the shore.\r\n\r\n"He hath gone each night in this direction?" asked Dick, in a whisper.\r\n\r\n"This is the third night running, Master Shelton," returned Capper, "and\r\nstill at the same hour and with the same small following, as though his\r\nend were secret."\r\n\r\nSir Daniel and his six men were now come to the outskirts of the country.\r\nShoreby was an open town, and though the Lancastrian lords who lay there\r\nkept a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible to enter or\r\ndepart unseen by any of the lesser streets or across the open country.\r\n\r\nThe lane which Sir Daniel had been following came to an abrupt end.\r\nBefore him there was a stretch of rough down, and the noise of the\r\nsea-surf was audible upon one hand.  There were no guards in the\r\nneighbourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town.\r\n\r\nDick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the object of their\r\nchase, and presently, as they came forth from between the houses and\r\ncould see a little farther upon either hand, they were aware of another\r\ntorch drawing near from another direction.\r\n\r\n"Hey," said Dick, "I smell treason."\r\n\r\nMeanwhile, Sir Daniel had come to a full halt.  The torches were stuck\r\ninto the sand, and the men lay down, as if to await the arrival of the\r\nother party.\r\n\r\nThis drew near at a good rate.  It consisted of four men only--a pair of\r\narchers, a varlet with a link, and a cloaked gentleman walking in their\r\nmidst.\r\n\r\n"Is it you, my lord?" cried Sir Daniel.\r\n\r\n"It is I, indeed; and if ever true knight gave proof I am that man,"\r\nreplied the leader of the second troop; "for who would not rather face\r\ngiants, sorcerers, or pagans, than this pinching cold?"\r\n\r\n"My lord," returned Sir Daniel, "beauty will be the more beholden,\r\nmisdoubt it not.  But shall we forth? for the sooner ye have seen my\r\nmerchandise, the sooner shall we both get home."\r\n\r\n"But why keep ye her here, good knight?" inquired the other.  "An she be\r\nso young, and so fair, and so wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth\r\namong her mates?  Ye would soon make her a good marriage, and no need to\r\nfreeze your fingers and risk arrow-shots by going abroad at such untimely\r\nseasons in the dark."\r\n\r\n"I have told you, my lord," replied Sir Daniel, "the reason thereof\r\nconcerneth me only.  Neither do I purpose to explain it farther.  Suffice\r\nit, that if ye be weary of your old gossip, Daniel Brackley, publish it\r\nabroad that y\' are to wed Joanna Sedley, and I give you my word ye will\r\nbe quit of him right soon.  Ye will find him with an arrow in his back."\r\n\r\nMeantime the two gentlemen were walking briskly forward over the down;\r\nthe three torches going before them, stooping against the wind and\r\nscattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up by\r\nthe six archers.\r\n\r\nClose upon the heels of these, Dick followed.  He had, of course, heard\r\nno word of this conversation; but he had recognised in the second of the\r\nspeakers old Lord Shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputation, whom\r\neven Sir Daniel affected, in public, to condemn.\r\n\r\nPresently they came close down upon the beach.  The air smelt salt; the\r\nnoise of the surf increased; and here, in a large walled garden, there\r\nstood a small house of two storeys, with stables and other offices.\r\n\r\nThe foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the wall, and after the\r\nwhole party had passed into the garden, again closed and locked it on the\r\nother side.\r\n\r\nDick and his men were thus excluded from any farther following, unless\r\nthey should scale the wall and thus put their necks in a trap.\r\n\r\nThey sat down in a tuft of furze and waited.  The red glow of the torches\r\nmoved up and down and to and fro within the enclosure, as if the link\r\nbearers steadily patrolled the garden.\r\n\r\nTwenty minutes passed, and then the whole party issued forth again upon\r\nthe down; and Sir Daniel and the baron, after an elaborate salutation,\r\nseparated and turned severally homeward, each with his own following of\r\nmen and lights.\r\n\r\nAs soon as the sound of their steps had been swallowed by the wind, Dick\r\ngot to his feet as briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching\r\nwith the cold.\r\n\r\n"Capper, ye will give me a back up," he said.\r\n\r\nThey advanced, all three, to the wall; Capper stooped, and Dick, getting\r\nupon his shoulders, clambered on to the cope-stone.\r\n\r\n"Now, Greensheve," whispered Dick, "follow me up here; lie flat upon your\r\nface, that ye may be the less seen; and be ever ready to give me a hand\r\nif I fall foully on the other side."\r\n\r\nAnd so saying he dropped into the garden.\r\n\r\nIt was all pitch dark; there was no light in the house.  The wind\r\nwhistled shrill among the poor shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach;\r\nthere was no other sound.  Cautiously Dick footed it forth, stumbling\r\namong bushes, and groping with his hands; and presently the crisp noise\r\nof gravel underfoot told him that he had struck upon an alley.\r\n\r\nHere he paused, and taking his crossbow from where he kept it concealed\r\nunder his long tabard, he prepared it for instant action, and went\r\nforward once more with greater resolution and assurance.  The path led\r\nhim straight to the group of buildings.\r\n\r\nAll seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of the house were\r\nsecured by crazy shutters; the stables were open and empty; there was no\r\nhay in the hay-loft, no corn in the corn-box.  Any one would have\r\nsupposed the place to be deserted.  But Dick had good reason to think\r\notherwise.  He continued his inspection, visiting the offices, trying all\r\nthe windows.  At length he came round to the sea-side of the house, and\r\nthere, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one of the upper\r\nwindows.\r\n\r\nHe stepped back a little way, till he thought he could see the movement\r\nof a shadow on the wall of the apartment.  Then he remembered that, in\r\nthe stable, his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, and he\r\nreturned with all despatch to bring it.  The ladder was very short, but\r\nyet, by standing on the topmost round, he could bring his hands as high\r\nas the iron bars of the window; and seizing these, he raised his body by\r\nmain force until his eyes commanded the interior of the room.\r\n\r\nTwo persons were within; the first he readily knew to be Dame Hatch; the\r\nsecond, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady, in a long, embroidered\r\ndress--could that be Joanna Sedley? his old wood-companion, Jack, whom he\r\nhad thought to punish with a belt?\r\n\r\nHe dropped back again to the top round of the ladder in a kind of\r\namazement.  He had never thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a\r\nbeing, and he was instantly taken with a feeling of diffidence.  But he\r\nhad little opportunity for thought.  A low "Hist!" sounded from close by,\r\nand he hastened to descend the ladder.\r\n\r\n"Who goes?" he whispered.\r\n\r\n"Greensheve," came the reply, in tones similarly guarded.\r\n\r\n"What want ye?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"The house is watched, Master Shelton," returned the outlaw.  "We are not\r\nalone to watch it; for even as I lay on my belly on the wall I saw men\r\nprowling in the dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the other."\r\n\r\n"By my sooth," said Dick, "but this is passing strange!  Were they not\r\nmen of Sir Daniel\'s?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, sir, that they were not," returned Greensheve; "for if I have eyes\r\nin my head, every man-Jack of them weareth me a white badge in his\r\nbonnet, something chequered with dark."\r\n\r\n"White, chequered with dark," repeated Dick.  "Faith, \'tis a badge I know\r\nnot.  It is none of this country\'s badges.  Well, an that be so, let us\r\nslip as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here we are in an\r\nevil posture for defence.  Beyond all question there are men of Sir\r\nDaniel\'s in that house, and to be taken between two shots is a\r\nbeggarman\'s position.  Take me this ladder; I must leave it where I found\r\nit."\r\n\r\nThey returned the ladder to the stable, and groped their way to the place\r\nwhere they had entered.\r\n\r\nCapper had taken Greensheve\'s position on the cope, and now he leaned\r\ndown his hand, and, first one and then the other, pulled them up.\r\n\r\nCautiously and silently, they dropped again upon the other side; nor did\r\nthey dare to speak until they had returned to their old ambush in the\r\ngorse.\r\n\r\n"Now, John Capper," said Dick, "back with you to Shoreby, even as for\r\nyour life.  Bring me instantly what men ye can collect.  Here shall be\r\nthe rendezvous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at hand\r\nbefore they muster, let the place be something farther back, and by the\r\nentering in of the town.  Greensheve and I lie here to watch.  Speed ye,\r\nJohn Capper, and the saints aid you to despatch.  And now, Greensheve,"\r\nhe continued, as soon as Capper had departed, "let thou and I go round\r\nabout the garden in a wide circuit.  I would fain see whether thine eyes\r\nbetrayed thee."\r\n\r\nKeeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting by every height and\r\nhollow, they passed about two sides, beholding nothing.  On the third\r\nside the garden wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve the\r\ndistance necessary to their purpose, they had to go some way down upon\r\nthe sands.  Although the tide was still pretty far out, the surf was so\r\nhigh, and the sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of froth\r\nand water came careering over the expanse, and Dick and Greensheve made\r\nthis part of their inspection wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep\r\nas to the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the German Ocean.\r\n\r\nSuddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the garden wall, the\r\nfigure of a man was seen, like a faint Chinese shadow, violently\r\nsignalling with both arms.  As he dropped again to the earth, another\r\narose a little farther on and repeated the same performance.  And so,\r\nlike a silent watch word, these gesticulations made the round of the\r\nbeleaguered garden.\r\n\r\n"They keep good watch," Dick whispered.\r\n\r\n"Let us back to land, good master," answered Greensheve.  "We stand here\r\ntoo open; for, look ye, when the seas break heavy and white out there\r\nbehind us, they shall see us plainly against the foam."\r\n\r\n"Ye speak sooth," returned Dick.  "Ashore with us, right speedily."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II--A SKIRMISH IN THE DARK\r\n\r\n\r\nThoroughly drenched and chilled, the two adventurers returned to their\r\nposition in the gorse.\r\n\r\n"I pray Heaven that Capper make good speed!" said Dick.  "I vow a candle\r\nto St. Mary of Shoreby if he come before the hour!"\r\n\r\n"Y\' are in a hurry, Master Dick?" asked Greensheve.\r\n\r\n"Ay, good fellow," answered Dick; "for in that house lieth my lady, whom\r\nI love, and who should these be that lie about her secretly by night?\r\nUnfriends, for sure!"\r\n\r\n"Well," returned Greensheve, "an John come speedily, we shall give a good\r\naccount of them.  They are not two score at the outside--I judge so by\r\nthe spacing of their sentries--and, taken where they are, lying so\r\nwidely, one score would scatter them like sparrows.  And yet, Master\r\nDick, an she be in Sir Daniel\'s power already, it will little hurt that\r\nshe should change into another\'s.  Who should these be?"\r\n\r\n"I do suspect the Lord of Shoreby," Dick replied.  "When came they?"\r\n\r\n"They began to come, Master Dick," said Greensheve, "about the time ye\r\ncrossed the wall.  I had not lain there the space of a minute ere I\r\nmarked the first of the knaves crawling round the corner."\r\n\r\nThe last light had been already extinguished in the little house when\r\nthey were wading in the wash of the breakers, and it was impossible to\r\npredict at what moment the lurking men about the garden wall might make\r\ntheir onslaught.  Of two evils, Dick preferred the least.  He preferred\r\nthat Joanna should remain under the guardianship of Sir Daniel rather\r\nthan pass into the clutches of Lord Shoreby; and his mind was made up, if\r\nthe house should be assaulted, to come at once to the relief of the\r\nbesieged.\r\n\r\nBut the time passed, and still there was no movement.  From quarter of an\r\nhour to quarter of an hour the same signal passed about the garden wall,\r\nas if the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance of his\r\nscattered followers; but in every other particular the neighbourhood of\r\nthe little house lay undisturbed.\r\n\r\nPresently Dick\'s reinforcements began to arrive.  The night was not yet\r\nold before nearly a score of men crouched beside him in the gorse.\r\n\r\nSeparating these into two bodies, he took the command of the smaller\r\nhimself, and entrusted the larger to the leadership of Greensheve.\r\n\r\n"Now, Kit," said he to this last, "take me your men to the near angle of\r\nthe garden wall upon the beach.  Post them strongly, and wait till that\r\nye hear me falling on upon the other side.  It is those upon the sea\r\nfront that I would fain make certain of, for there will be the leader.\r\nThe rest will run; even let them.  And now, lads, let no man draw an\r\narrow; ye will but hurt friends.  Take to the steel, and keep to the\r\nsteel; and if we have the uppermost, I promise every man of you a gold\r\nnoble when I come to mine estate."\r\n\r\nOut of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, murderers, and ruined\r\npeasantry, whom Duckworth had gathered together to serve the purposes of\r\nhis revenge, some of the boldest and the most experienced in war had\r\nvolunteered to follow Richard Shelton.  The service of watching Sir\r\nDaniel\'s movements in the town of Shoreby had from the first been irksome\r\nto their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble loudly and\r\nthreaten to disperse.  The prospect of a sharp encounter and possible\r\nspoils restored them to good humour, and they joyfully prepared for\r\nbattle.\r\n\r\nTheir long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, some in plain green\r\njerkins, and some in stout leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore\r\nbonnets strengthened by iron plates; and, for offensive armour, swords,\r\ndaggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen of bright bills, put them\r\nin a posture to engage even regular feudal troops.  The bows, quivers,\r\nand tabards were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set\r\nresolutely forward.\r\n\r\nDick, when he had reached the other side of the house, posted his six men\r\nin a line, about twenty yards from the garden wall, and took position\r\nhimself a few paces in front.  Then they all shouted with one voice, and\r\nclosed upon the enemy.\r\n\r\nThese, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and taken at unawares,\r\nsprang stupidly to their feet, and stood undecided.  Before they had time\r\nto get their courage about them, or even to form an idea of the number\r\nand mettle of their assailants, a similar shout of onslaught sounded in\r\ntheir ears from the far side of the enclosure.  Thereupon they gave\r\nthemselves up for lost and ran.\r\n\r\nIn this way the two small troops of the men of the Black Arrow closed\r\nupon the sea front of the garden wall, and took a part of the strangers,\r\nas it were, between two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran for\r\ntheir lives in different directions, and were soon scattered in the\r\ndarkness.\r\n\r\nFor all that, the fight was but beginning.  Dick\'s outlaws, although they\r\nhad the advantage of the surprise, were still considerably outnumbered by\r\nthe men they had surrounded.  The tide had flowed, in the meanwhile; the\r\nbeach was narrowed to a strip; and on this wet field, between the surf\r\nand the garden wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful, furious,\r\nand deadly contest.\r\n\r\nThe strangers were well armed; they fell in silence upon their\r\nassailants; and the affray became a series of single combats.  Dick, who\r\nhad come first into the mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut\r\ndown at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him, hotly, he was\r\nfain to give ground before their onset.  One of these two was a huge\r\nfellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with a two-handed sword,\r\nwhich he brandished like a switch.  Against this opponent, with his reach\r\nof arm and the length and weight of his weapon, Dick and his bill were\r\nquite defenceless; and had the other continued to join vigorously in the\r\nattack, the lad must have indubitably fallen.  This second man, however,\r\nless in stature and slower in his movements, paused for a moment to peer\r\nabout him in the darkness, and to give ear to the sounds of the battle.\r\n\r\nThe giant still pursued his advantage, and still Dick fled before him,\r\nspying for his chance.  Then the huge blade flashed and descended, and\r\nthe lad, leaping on one side and running in, slashed sideways and upwards\r\nwith his bill.  A roar of agony responded, and, before the wounded man\r\ncould raise his formidable weapon, Dick, twice repeating his blow, had\r\nbrought him to the ground.\r\n\r\nThe next moment he was engaged, upon more equal terms, with his second\r\npursuer.  Here there was no great difference in size, and though the man,\r\nfighting with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary and quick\r\nof fence, had a certain superiority of arms, Dick more than made it up by\r\nhis greater agility on foot.  Neither at first gained any obvious\r\nadvantage; but the older man was still insensibly profiting by the ardour\r\nof the younger to lead him where he would; and presently Dick found that\r\nthey had crossed the whole width of the beach, and were now fighting\r\nabove the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers.  Here his own\r\nsuperior activity was rendered useless; he found himself more or less at\r\nthe discretion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back turned upon\r\nhis own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adversary was bent upon\r\ndrawing him farther and farther away.\r\n\r\nDick ground his teeth.  He determined to decide the combat instantly; and\r\nwhen the wash of the next wave had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed in,\r\ncaught a blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of his\r\nopponent.  The man went down backwards, with Dick still upon the top of\r\nhim; and the next wave, speedily succeeding to the last, buried him below\r\na rush of water.\r\n\r\nWhile he was still submerged, Dick forced his dagger from his grasp, and\r\nrose to his feet, victorious.\r\n\r\n"Yield ye!" he said.  "I give you life."\r\n\r\n"I yield me," said the other, getting to his knees.  "Ye fight, like a\r\nyoung man, ignorantly and foolhardily; but, by the array of the saints,\r\nye fight bravely!"\r\n\r\nDick turned to the beach.  The combat was still raging doubtfully in the\r\nnight; over the hoarse roar of the breakers steel clanged upon steel, and\r\ncries of pain and the shout of battle resounded.\r\n\r\n"Lead me to your captain, youth," said the conquered knight.  "It is fit\r\nthis butchery should cease."\r\n\r\n"Sir," replied Dick, "so far as these brave fellows have a captain, the\r\npoor gentleman who here addresses you is he."\r\n\r\n"Call off your dogs, then, and I will bid my villains hold," returned the\r\nother.\r\n\r\nThere was something noble both in the voice and manner of his late\r\nopponent, and Dick instantly dismissed all fears of treachery.\r\n\r\n"Lay down your arms, men!" cried the stranger knight.  "I have yielded\r\nme, upon promise of life."\r\n\r\nThe tone of the stranger was one of absolute command, and almost\r\ninstantly the din and confusion of the mellay ceased.\r\n\r\n"Lawless," cried Dick, "are ye safe?"\r\n\r\n"Ay," cried Lawless, "safe and hearty."\r\n\r\n"Light me the lantern," said Dick.\r\n\r\n"Is not Sir Daniel here?" inquired the knight.\r\n\r\n"Sir Daniel?" echoed Dick.  "Now, by the rood, I pray not.  It would go\r\nill with me if he were."\r\n\r\n"Ill with _you_, fair sir?" inquired the other.  "Nay, then, if ye be not\r\nof Sir Daniel\'s party, I profess I comprehend no longer.  Wherefore,\r\nthen, fell ye upon mine ambush? in what quarrel, my young and very fiery\r\nfriend? to what earthly purpose? and, to make a clear end of questioning,\r\nto what good gentleman have I surrendered?"\r\n\r\nBut before Dick could answer, a voice spoke in the darkness from close\r\nby.  Dick could see the speaker\'s black and white badge, and the\r\nrespectful salute which he addressed to his superior.\r\n\r\n"My lord," said he, "if these gentlemen be unfriends to Sir Daniel, it is\r\npity, indeed, we should have been at blows with them; but it were tenfold\r\ngreater that either they or we should linger here.  The watchers in the\r\nhouse--unless they be all dead or deaf--have heard our hammering this\r\nquarter-hour agone; instantly they will have signalled to the town; and\r\nunless we be the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken, both\r\nof us, by a fresh foe."\r\n\r\n"Hawksley is in the right," added the lord.  "How please ye, sir?\r\nWhither shall we march?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, my lord," said Dick, "go where ye will for me.  I do begin to\r\nsuspect we have some ground of friendship, and if, indeed, I began our\r\nacquaintance somewhat ruggedly, I would not churlishly continue.  Let us,\r\nthen, separate, my lord, you laying your right hand in mine; and at the\r\nhour and place that ye shall name, let us encounter and agree."\r\n\r\n"Y\' are too trustful, boy," said the other; "but this time your trust is\r\nnot misplaced.  I will meet you at the point of day at St. Bride\'s Cross.\r\nCome, lads, follow!"\r\n\r\nThe strangers disappeared from the scene with a rapidity that seemed\r\nsuspicious; and, while the outlaws fell to the congenial task of rifling\r\nthe dead bodies, Dick made once more the circuit of the garden wall to\r\nexamine the front of the house.  In a little upper loophole of the roof\r\nhe beheld a light set; and as it would certainly be visible in town from\r\nthe back windows of Sir Daniel\'s mansion, he doubted not that this was\r\nthe signal feared by Hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the Knight\r\nof Tunstall would arrive upon the scene.\r\n\r\nHe put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to him as if he heard a\r\njarring and hollow noise from townward.  Back to the beach he went\r\nhurrying.  But the work was already done; the last body was disarmed and\r\nstripped to the skin, and four fellows were already wading seaward to\r\ncommit it to the mercies of the deep.\r\n\r\nA few minutes later, when there debauched out of the nearest lanes of\r\nShoreby some two score horsemen, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop\r\nof their steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea was\r\nentirely silent and deserted.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile, Dick and his men had returned to the ale-house of the Goat and\r\nBagpipes to snatch some hours of sleep before the morning tryst.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III--ST. BRIDE\'S CROSS\r\n\r\n\r\nSt. Bride\'s cross stood a little way back from Shoreby, on the skirts of\r\nTunstall Forest.  Two roads met: one, from Holywood across the forest;\r\none, that road from Risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a\r\nLancastrian army fleeing in disorder.  Here the two joined issue, and\r\nwent on together down the hill to Shoreby; and a little back from the\r\npoint of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the\r\nancient and weather-beaten cross.\r\n\r\nHere, then, about seven in the morning, Dick arrived.  It was as cold as\r\never; the earth was all grey and silver with the hoarfrost, and the day\r\nbegan to break in the east with many colours of purple and orange.\r\n\r\nDick set him down upon the lowest step of the cross, wrapped himself well\r\nin his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides.  He had not long to\r\nwait.  Down the road from Holywood a gentleman in very rich and bright\r\narmour, and wearing over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came pacing\r\non a splendid charger.  Twenty yards behind him followed a clump of\r\nlances; but these halted as soon as they came in view of the\r\ntrysting-place, while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued to\r\nadvance alone.\r\n\r\nHis visor was raised, and showed a countenance of great command and\r\ndignity, answerable to the richness of his attire and arms.  And it was\r\nwith some confusion of manner that Dick arose from the cross and stepped\r\ndown the bank to meet his prisoner.\r\n\r\n"I thank you, my lord, for your exactitude," he said, louting very low.\r\n"Will it please your lordship to set foot to earth?"\r\n\r\n"Are ye here alone, young man?" inquired the other.\r\n\r\n"I was not so simple," answered Dick; "and, to be plain with your\r\nlordship, the woods upon either hand of this cross lie full of mine\r\nhonest fellows lying on their weapons."\r\n\r\n"Y\' \'ave done wisely," said the lord.  "It pleaseth me the rather, since\r\nlast night ye fought foolhardily, and more like a salvage Saracen lunatic\r\nthan any Christian warrior.  But it becomes not me to complain that had\r\nthe undermost."\r\n\r\n"Ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye so fell," returned Dick;\r\n"but had the waves not holpen me, it was I that should have had the\r\nworst.  Ye were pleased to make me yours with several dagger marks, which\r\nI still carry.  And in fine, my lord, methinks I had all the danger, as\r\nwell as all the profit, of that little blind-man\'s mellay on the beach."\r\n\r\n"Y\' are shrewd enough to make light of it, I see," returned the stranger.\r\n\r\n"Nay, my lord, not shrewd," replied Dick, "in that I shoot at no\r\nadvantage to myself.  But when, by the light of this new day, I see how\r\nstout a knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and\r\nthe darkness, and the surf--and how easily the battle had gone otherwise,\r\nwith a soldier so untried and rustic as myself--think it not strange, my\r\nlord, if I feel confounded with my victory."\r\n\r\n"Ye speak well," said the stranger.  "Your name?"\r\n\r\n"My name, an\'t like you, is Shelton," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Men call me the Lord Foxham," added the other.\r\n\r\n"Then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye are guardian to the\r\nsweetest maid in England," replied Dick; "and for your ransom, and the\r\nransom of such as were taken with you on the beach, there will be no\r\nuncertainty of terms.  I pray you, my lord, of your goodwill and charity,\r\nyield me the hand of my mistress, Joan Sedley; and take ye, upon the\r\nother part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers, and (if ye\r\nwill have it) my gratitude and service till I die."\r\n\r\n"But are ye not ward to Sir Daniel?  Methought, if y\' are Harry Shelton\'s\r\nson, that I had heard it so reported," said Lord Foxham.\r\n\r\n"Will it please you, my lord, to alight?  I would fain tell you fully who\r\nI am, how situate, and why so bold in my demands.  Beseech you, my lord,\r\ntake place upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and judge me with\r\nallowance."\r\n\r\nAnd so saying, Dick lent a hand to Lord Foxham to dismount; led him up\r\nthe knoll to the cross; installed him in the place where he had himself\r\nbeen sitting; and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner,\r\nrelated the story of his fortunes up to the events of the evening before.\r\n\r\nLord Foxham listened gravely, and when Dick had done, "Master Shelton,"\r\nhe said, "ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what\r\nfortune y\' \'ave had, that ye have amply merited; and what unfortune, ye\r\nhave noways deserved.  Be of a good cheer; for ye have made a friend who\r\nis devoid neither of power nor favour.  For yourself, although it fits\r\nnot for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, I must own ye are\r\nboth brave and honourable; very dangerous in battle, right courteous in\r\npeace; a youth of excellent disposition and brave bearing.  For your\r\nestates, ye will never see them till the world shall change again; so\r\nlong as Lancaster hath the strong hand, so long shall Sir Daniel enjoy\r\nthem for his own.  For my ward, it is another matter; I had promised her\r\nbefore to a gentleman, a kinsman of my house, one Hamley; the promise is\r\nold--"\r\n\r\n"Ay, my lord, and now Sir Daniel hath promised her to my Lord Shoreby,"\r\ninterrupted Dick.  "And his promise, for all it is but young, is still\r\nthe likelier to be made good."\r\n\r\n"\'Tis the plain truth," returned his lordship.  "And considering,\r\nmoreover, that I am your prisoner, upon no better composition than my\r\nbare life, and over and above that, that the maiden is unhappily in other\r\nhands, I will so far consent.  Aid me with your good fellows"--\r\n\r\n"My lord," cried Dick, "they are these same outlaws that ye blame me for\r\nconsorting with."\r\n\r\n"Let them be what they will, they can fight," returned Lord Foxham.\r\n"Help me, then; and if between us we regain the maid, upon my knightly\r\nhonour, she shall marry you!"\r\n\r\nDick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leaping up lightly from\r\nthe cross, caught the lad up and embraced him like a son.\r\n\r\n"Come," he said, "an y\' are to marry Joan, we must be early friends."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV--THE GOOD HOPE\r\n\r\n\r\nAn hour thereafter, Dick was back at the Goat and Bagpipes, breaking his\r\nfast, and receiving the report of his messengers and sentries.  Duckworth\r\nwas still absent from Shoreby; and this was frequently the case, for he\r\nplayed many parts in the world, shared many different interests, and\r\nconducted many various affairs.  He had founded that fellowship of the\r\nBlack Arrow, as a ruined man longing for vengeance and money; and yet\r\namong those who knew him best, he was thought to be the agent and\r\nemissary of the great King-maker of England, Richard, Earl of Warwick.\r\n\r\nIn his absence, at any rate, it fell upon Richard Shelton to command\r\naffairs in Shoreby; and, as he sat at meat, his mind was full of care,\r\nand his face heavy with consideration.  It had been determined, between\r\nhim and the Lord Foxham, to make one bold stroke that evening, and, by\r\nbrute force, to set Joanna free.  The obstacles, however, were many; and\r\nas one after another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more\r\ndiscomfortable news.\r\n\r\nSir Daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night before.  He had\r\nincreased the garrison of the house in the garden; but not content with\r\nthat, he had stationed horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that he\r\nmight have instant word of any movement.  Meanwhile, in the court of his\r\nmansion, steeds stood saddled, and the riders, armed at every point,\r\nawaited but the signal to ride.\r\n\r\nThe adventure of the night appeared more and more difficult of execution,\r\ntill suddenly Dick\'s countenance lightened.\r\n\r\n"Lawless!" he cried, "you that were a shipman, can ye steal me a ship?"\r\n\r\n"Master Dick," replied Lawless, "if ye would back me, I would agree to\r\nsteal York Minster."\r\n\r\nPresently after, these two set forth and descended to the harbour.  It\r\nwas a considerable basin, lying among sand hills, and surrounded with\r\npatches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums of the\r\ntown.  Many decked ships and many open boats either lay there at anchor,\r\nor had been drawn up on the beach.  A long duration of bad weather had\r\ndriven them from the high seas into the shelter of the port; and the\r\ngreat trooping of black clouds, and the cold squalls that followed one\r\nanother, now with a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind,\r\npromised no improvement but rather threatened a more serious storm in the\r\nimmediate future.\r\n\r\nThe seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had for the most part slunk\r\nashore, and were now roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns.  Many\r\nof the ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as the day wore\r\non, and the weather offered no appearance of improvement, the number was\r\ncontinually being augmented.  It was to these deserted ships, and, above\r\nall, to those of them that lay far out, that Lawless directed his\r\nattention; while Dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded in\r\nthe sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices of\r\nthe gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in a neighbouring\r\ntavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and concerns in the\r\nagreeable recollection of Lord Foxham\'s promise.\r\n\r\nHe was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder.  It was Lawless, pointing\r\nto a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within but a little of\r\nthe harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the entering\r\nswell.  A pale gleam of winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on the\r\nvessel\'s deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and in\r\nthis momentary glitter Dick could see a couple of men hauling the skiff\r\nalongside.\r\n\r\n"There, sir," said Lawless, "mark ye it well!  There is the ship for\r\nto-night."\r\n\r\nPresently the skiff put out from the vessel\'s side, and the two men,\r\nkeeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore.  Lawless\r\nturned to a loiterer.\r\n\r\n"How call ye her?" he asked, pointing to the little vessel.\r\n\r\n"They call her the Good Hope, of Dartmouth," replied the loiterer.  "Her\r\ncaptain, Arblaster by name.  He pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff."\r\n\r\nThis was all that Lawless wanted.  Hurriedly thanking the man, he moved\r\nround the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was\r\nheading.  There he took up his position, and as soon as they were within\r\nearshot, opened fire on the sailors of the Good Hope.\r\n\r\n"What!  Gossip Arblaster!" he cried.  "Why, ye be well met; nay, gossip,\r\nye be right well met, upon the rood!  And is that the Good Hope?  Ay, I\r\nwould know her among ten thousand!--a sweet shear, a sweet boat!  But\r\nmarry come up, my gossip, will ye drink?  I have come into mine estate\r\nwhich doubtless ye remember to have heard on.  I am now rich; I have left\r\nto sail upon the sea; I do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale.\r\nCome, fellow; thy hand upon \'t!  Come, drink with an old shipfellow!"\r\n\r\nSkipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a\r\nknife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world\r\nlike any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious\r\namazement and distrust.  But the name of an estate, and a certain air of\r\ntipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which Lawless very well\r\naffected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his countenance\r\nrelaxed, and he at once extended his open hand and squeezed that of the\r\noutlaw in a formidable grasp.\r\n\r\n"Nay," he said, "I cannot mind you.  But what o\' that?  I would drink\r\nwith any man, gossip, and so would my man Tom.  Man Tom," he added,\r\naddressing his follower, "here is my gossip, whose name I cannot mind,\r\nbut no doubt a very good seaman.  Let\'s go drink with him and his shore\r\nfriend."\r\n\r\nLawless led the way, and they were soon seated in an alehouse, which, as\r\nit was very new, and stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less\r\ncrowded than those nearer to the centre of the port.  It was but a shed\r\nof timber, much like a blockhouse in the backwoods of to-day, and was\r\ncoarsely furnished with a press or two, a number of naked benches, and\r\nboards set upon barrels to play the part of tables.  In the middle, and\r\nbesieged by half a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreck-wood blazed\r\nand vomited thick smoke.\r\n\r\n"Ay, now," said Lawless, "here is a shipman\'s joy--a good fire and a good\r\nstiff cup ashore, with foul weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring\r\nin the roof!  Here\'s to the Good Hope!  May she ride easy!"\r\n\r\n"Ay," said Skipper Arblaster, "\'tis good weather to be ashore in, that is\r\nsooth.  Man Tom, how say ye to that?  Gossip, ye speak well, though I can\r\nnever think upon your name; but ye speak very well.  May the Good Hope\r\nride easy!  Amen!"\r\n\r\n"Friend Dickon," resumed Lawless, addressing his commander, "ye have\r\ncertain matters on hand, unless I err?  Well, prithee be about them\r\nincontinently.  For here I be with the choice of all good company, two\r\ntough old shipmen; and till that ye return I will go warrant these brave\r\nfellows will bide here and drink me cup for cup.  We are not like\r\nshore-men, we old, tough tarry-Johns!"\r\n\r\n"It is well meant," returned the skipper.  "Ye can go, boy; for I will\r\nkeep your good friend and my good gossip company till curfew--ay, and by\r\nSt. Mary, till the sun get up again!  For, look ye, when a man hath been\r\nlong enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the clay upon his bones; and\r\nlet him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched."\r\n\r\nThus encouraged upon all hands, Dick rose, saluted his company, and going\r\nforth again into the gusty afternoon, got him as speedily as he might to\r\nthe Goat and Bagpipes.  Thence he sent word to my Lord Foxham that, so\r\nsoon as ever the evening closed, they would have a stout boat to keep the\r\nsea in.  And then leading along with him a couple of outlaws who had some\r\nexperience of the sea, he returned himself to the harbour and the little\r\nsandy creek.\r\n\r\nThe skiff of the Good Hope lay among many others, from which it was\r\neasily distinguished by its extreme smallness and fragility.  Indeed,\r\nwhen Dick and his two men had taken their places, and begun to put forth\r\nout of the creek into the open harbour, the little cockle dipped into the\r\nswell and staggered under every gust of wind, like a thing upon the point\r\nof sinking.\r\n\r\nThe Good Hope, as we have said, was anchored far out, where the swell was\r\nheaviest.  No other vessel lay nearer than several cables\' length; those\r\nthat were the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and as the skiff\r\napproached, a thick flurry of snow and a sudden darkening of the weather\r\nfurther concealed the movements of the outlaws from all possible espial.\r\nIn a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and the skiff was\r\ndancing at the stern.  The Good Hope was captured.\r\n\r\nShe was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and amidships, but open in\r\nthe stern.  She carried one mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a\r\nlugger.  It would seem that Skipper Arblaster had made an excellent\r\nventure, for the hold was full of pieces of French wine; and in the\r\nlittle cabin, besides the Virgin Mary in the bulkhead which proved the\r\ncaptain\'s piety, there were many lockfast chests and cupboards, which\r\nshowed him to be rich and careful.\r\n\r\nA dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, furiously barked and bit\r\nthe heels of the boarders; but he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the\r\ndoor shut upon his just resentment.  A lamp was lit and fixed in the\r\nshrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the shore; one of the wine pieces\r\nin the hold was broached, and a cup of excellent Gascony emptied to the\r\nadventure of the evening; and then, while one of the outlaws began to get\r\nready his bow and arrows and prepare to hold the ship against all comers,\r\nthe other hauled in the skiff and got overboard, where he held on,\r\nwaiting for Dick.\r\n\r\n"Well, Jack, keep me a good watch," said the young commander, preparing\r\nto follow his subordinate.  "Ye will do right well."\r\n\r\n"Why," returned Jack, "I shall do excellent well indeed, so long as we\r\nlie here; but once we put the nose of this poor ship outside the\r\nharbour--See, there she trembles!  Nay, the poor shrew heard the words,\r\nand the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs.  But look, Master Dick!\r\nhow black the weather gathers!"\r\n\r\nThe darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing.  Great billows heaved up out\r\nof the blackness, one after another; and one after another the Good Hope\r\nbuoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon the further side.  A thin\r\nsprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered the\r\ndeck; and the wind harped dismally among the rigging.\r\n\r\n"In sooth, it looketh evilly," said Dick.  "But what cheer!  \'Tis but a\r\nsquall, and presently it will blow over."  But, in spite of his words, he\r\nwas depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the\r\nwailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over the side of the Good\r\nHope and made once more for the landing-creek with the best speed of\r\noars, he crossed himself devoutly, and recommended to Heaven the lives of\r\nall who should adventure on the sea.\r\n\r\nAt the landing-creek there had already gathered about a dozen of the\r\noutlaws.  To these the skiff was left, and they were bidden embark\r\nwithout delay.\r\n\r\nA little further up the beach Dick found Lord Foxham hurrying in quest of\r\nhim, his face concealed with a dark hood, and his bright armour covered\r\nby a long russet mantle of a poor appearance.\r\n\r\n"Young Shelton," he said, "are ye for sea, then, truly?"\r\n\r\n"My lord," replied Richard, "they lie about the house with horsemen; it\r\nmay not be reached from the land side without alarum; and Sir Daniel once\r\nadvertised of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good end than,\r\nsaving your presence, we could ride upon the wind.  Now, in going round\r\nby sea, we do run some peril by the elements; but, what much outweighteth\r\nall, we have a chance to make good our purpose and bear off the maid."\r\n\r\n"Well," returned Lord Foxham, "lead on.  I will, in some sort, follow you\r\nfor shame\'s sake; but I own I would I were in bed."\r\n\r\n"Here, then," said Dick.  "Hither we go to fetch our pilot."\r\n\r\nAnd he led the way to the rude alehouse where he had given rendezvous to\r\na portion of his men.  Some of these he found lingering round the door\r\noutside; others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places as near\r\nas possible to where they saw their comrade, gathered close about Lawless\r\nand the two shipmen.  These, to judge by the distempered countenance and\r\ncloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries of moderation; and\r\nas Richard entered, closely followed by Lord Foxham, they were all three\r\ntuning up an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing of the\r\ngale.\r\n\r\nThe young leader cast a rapid glance about the shed.  The fire had just\r\nbeen replenished, and gave forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was\r\ndifficult to see clearly in the further corners.  It was plain, however,\r\nthat the outlaws very largely outnumbered the remainder of the guests.\r\nSatisfied upon this point, in case of any failure in the operation of his\r\nplan, Dick strode up to the table and resumed his place upon the bench.\r\n\r\n"Hey?" cried the skipper, tipsily, "who are ye, hey?"\r\n\r\n"I want a word with you without, Master Arblaster," returned Dick; "and\r\nhere is what we shall talk of."  And he showed him a gold noble in the\r\nglimmer of the firelight.\r\n\r\nThe shipman\'s eyes burned, although he still failed to recognise our\r\nhero.\r\n\r\n"Ay, boy," he said, "I am with you.  Gossip, I will be back anon.  Drink\r\nfair, gossip;" and, taking Dick\'s arm to steady his uneven steps, he\r\nwalked to the door of the alehouse.\r\n\r\nAs soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong arms had seized and\r\nbound him; and in two minutes more, with his limbs trussed one to\r\nanother, and a good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and crop\r\ninto a neighbouring hay-barn.  Presently, his man Tom, similarly secured,\r\nwas tossed beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth\r\nreflections for the night.\r\n\r\nAnd now, as the time for concealment had gone by, Lord Foxham\'s followers\r\nwere summoned by a preconcerted signal, and the party, boldly taking\r\npossession of as many boats as their numbers required, pulled in a\r\nflotilla for the light in the rigging of the ship.  Long before the last\r\nman had climbed to the deck of the Good Hope, the sound of furious\r\nshouting from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the seamen had\r\ndiscovered the loss of their skiffs.\r\n\r\nBut it was now too late, whether for recovery or revenge.  Out of some\r\nforty fighting men now mustered in the stolen ship, eight had been to\r\nsea, and could play the part of mariners.  With the aid of these, a slice\r\nof sail was got upon her.  The cable was cut.  Lawless, vacillating on\r\nhis feet, and still shouting the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long\r\ntiller in his hands: and the Good Hope began to flit forward into the\r\ndarkness of the night, and to face the great waves beyond the harbour\r\nbar.\r\n\r\nRichard took his place beside the weather rigging.  Except for the ship\'s\r\nown lantern, and for some lights in Shoreby town, that were already\r\nfading to leeward, the whole world of air was as black as in a pit.  Only\r\nfrom time to time, as the Good Hope swooped dizzily down into the valley\r\nof the rollers, a crest would break--a great cataract of snowy foam would\r\nleap in one instant into being--and, in an instant more, would stream\r\ninto the wake and vanish.\r\n\r\nMany of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; many more were sick,\r\nand had crept into the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo.  And\r\nwhat with the extreme violence of the motion, and the continued drunken\r\nbravado of Lawless, still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest\r\nheart on board may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the result.\r\n\r\nBut Lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the ship across the\r\nbreakers, struck the lee of a great sandbank, where they sailed for\r\nawhile in smooth water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude,\r\nstone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay ducking and grinding\r\nin the dark.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V--THE GOOD HOPE (continued)\r\n\r\n\r\nThe pier was not far distant from the house in which Joanna lay; it now\r\nonly remained to get the men on shore, to surround the house with a\r\nstrong party, burst in the door and carry off the captive.  They might\r\nthen regard themselves as done with the Good Hope; it had placed them on\r\nthe rear of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should succeed\r\nor fail in the main enterprise, would be directed with a greater measure\r\nof hope in the direction of the forest and my Lord Foxham\'s reserve.\r\n\r\nTo get the men on shore, however, was no easy task; many had been sick,\r\nall were pierced with cold; the promiscuity and disorder on board had\r\nshaken their discipline; the movement of the ship and the darkness of the\r\nnight had cowed their spirits.  They made a rush upon the pier; my lord,\r\nwith his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in front;\r\nand this impulse of rabblement was not restrained without a certain\r\nclamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case.\r\n\r\nWhen some degree of order had been restored, Dick, with a few chosen men,\r\nset forth in advance.  The darkness on shore, by contrast with the\r\nflashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the\r\nhowling and whistling of the gale drowned any lesser noise.\r\n\r\nHe had scarce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a\r\nlull of the wind; and in this he seemed to hear on shore the hollow\r\nfooting of horses and the clash of arms.  Checking his immediate\r\nfollowers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even setting foot upon\r\nthe down; and here he made sure he could detect the shape of men and\r\nhorses moving.  A strong discouragement assailed him.  If their enemies\r\nwere really on the watch, if they had beleaguered the shoreward end of\r\nthe pier, he and Lord Foxham were taken in a posture of very poor\r\ndefence, the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow\r\ncauseway.  He gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon.\r\n\r\nIt proved to be a signal far more than he desired.  Instantly there fell,\r\nthrough the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so\r\nclose were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and\r\nthe arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain.  In this first\r\ndischarge, Lord Foxham was struck down; Hawksley had him carried on board\r\nagain at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the skirmish,\r\nfought (when they fought at all) without guidance.  That was perhaps the\r\nchief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow.\r\n\r\nAt the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, Dick held his own\r\nwith a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed\r\nsteel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when in the\r\ntwinkling of an eye the tide turned against the party from the ship.\r\nSomeone cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour to\r\nlend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up.  "On\r\nboard, lads, for your lives!" cried another.  A third, with the true\r\ninstinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats:\r\n"We are betrayed!"  And in a moment the whole mass of men went surging\r\nand jostling backward down the pier, turning their defenceless backs on\r\ntheir pursuers and piercing the night with craven outcry.\r\n\r\nOne coward thrust off the ship\'s stern, while another still held her by\r\nthe bows.  The fugitives leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or\r\nfell back and perished in the sea.  Some were cut down upon the pier by\r\nthe pursuers.  Many were injured on the ship\'s deck in the blind haste\r\nand terror of the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a third on\r\nboth.  At last, and whether by design or accident, the bows of the Good\r\nHope were liberated; and the ever-ready Lawless, who had maintained his\r\nplace at the helm through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body\r\nand a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her on the proper\r\ntack.  The ship began to move once more forward on the stormy sea, its\r\nscuppers running blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and\r\nstruggling in the dark.\r\n\r\nThereupon, Lawless sheathed his dagger, and turning to his next\r\nneighbour, "I have left my mark on them, gossip," said he, "the yelping,\r\ncoward hounds."\r\n\r\nNow, while they were all leaping and struggling for their lives, the men\r\nhad not appeared to observe the rough shoves and cutting stabs with which\r\nLawless had held his post in the confusion.  But perhaps they had already\r\nbegun to understand somewhat more clearly, or perhaps another ear had\r\noverheard, the helmsman\'s speech.\r\n\r\nPanic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who have just disgraced\r\nthemselves by cowardice, as if to wipe out the memory of their fault,\r\nwill sometimes run straight into the opposite extreme of insubordination.\r\nSo it was now; and the same men who had thrown away their weapons and\r\nbeen hauled, feet foremost, into the Good Hope, began to cry out upon\r\ntheir leaders, and demand that someone should be punished.\r\n\r\nThis growing ill-feeling turned upon Lawless.\r\n\r\nIn order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had put the head of the\r\nGood Hope to seaward.\r\n\r\n"What!" bawled one of the grumblers, "he carrieth us to seaward!"\r\n\r\n"\'Tis sooth," cried another.  "Nay, we are betrayed for sure."\r\n\r\nAnd they all began to cry out in chorus that they were betrayed, and in\r\nshrill tones and with abominable oaths bade Lawless go about-ship and\r\nbring them speedily ashore.  Lawless, grinding his teeth, continued in\r\nsilence to steer the true course, guiding the Good Hope among the\r\nformidable billows.  To their empty terrors, as to their dishonourable\r\nthreats, between drink and dignity he scorned to make reply.  The\r\nmalcontents drew together a little abaft the mast, and it was plain they\r\nwere like barnyard cocks, "crowing for courage."  Presently they would be\r\nfit for any extremity of injustice or ingratitude.  Dick began to mount\r\nby the ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the outlaws, who was also\r\nsomething of a seaman, got beforehand.\r\n\r\n"Lads," he began, "y\' are right wooden heads, I think.  For to get back,\r\nby the mass, we must have an offing, must we not?  And this old\r\nLawless--"\r\n\r\nSomeone struck the speaker on the mouth, and the next moment, as a fire\r\nsprings among dry straw, he was felled upon the deck, trampled under the\r\nfeet, and despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions.  At this\r\nthe wrath of Lawless rose and broke.\r\n\r\n"Steer yourselves," he bellowed, with a curse; and, careless of the\r\nresult, he left the helm.\r\n\r\nThe Good Hope was, at that moment, trembling on the summit of a swell.\r\nShe subsided, with sickening velocity, upon the farther side.  A wave,\r\nlike a great black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, with a\r\nstaggering blow, she plunged headforemost through that liquid hill.  The\r\ngreen water passed right over her from stem to stern, as high as a man\'s\r\nknees; the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose again upon the\r\nother side, with an appalling, tremulous indecision, like a beast that\r\nhas been deadly wounded.\r\n\r\nSix or seven of the malcontents had been carried bodily overboard; and as\r\nfor the remainder, when they found their tongues again, it was to bellow\r\nto the saints and wail upon Lawless to come back and take the tiller.\r\n\r\nNor did Lawless wait to be twice bidden.  The terrible result of his\r\nfling of just resentment sobered him completely.  He knew, better than\r\nany one on board, how nearly the Good Hope had gone bodily down below\r\ntheir feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which she met the\r\nsea, that the peril was by no means over.\r\n\r\nDick, who had been thrown down by the concussion and half drowned, rose\r\nwading to his knees in the swamped well of the stern, and crept to the\r\nold helmsman\'s side.\r\n\r\n"Lawless," he said, "we do all depend on you; y\' are a brave, steady man,\r\nindeed, and crafty in the management of ships; I shall put three sure men\r\nto watch upon your safety."\r\n\r\n"Bootless, my master, bootless," said the steersman, peering forward\r\nthrough the dark.  "We come every moment somewhat clearer of these\r\nsandbanks; with every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, and\r\nfor all these whimperers, they will presently be on their backs.  For, my\r\nmaster, \'tis a right mystery, but true, there never yet was a bad man\r\nthat was a good shipman.  None but the honest and the bold can endure me\r\nthis tossing of a ship."\r\n\r\n"Nay, Lawless," said Dick, laughing, "that is a right shipman\'s byword,\r\nand hath no more of sense than the whistle of the wind.  But, prithee,\r\nhow go we?  Do we lie well?  Are we in good case?"\r\n\r\n"Master Shelton," replied Lawless, "I have been a Grey Friar--I praise\r\nfortune--an archer, a thief, and a shipman.  Of all these coats, I had\r\nthe best fancy to die in the Grey Friar\'s, as ye may readily conceive,\r\nand the least fancy to die in John Shipman\'s tarry jacket; and that for\r\ntwo excellent good reasons: first, that the death might take a man\r\nsuddenly; and second, for the horror of that great, salt smother and\r\nwelter under my foot here"--and Lawless stamped with his foot.\r\n"Howbeit," he went on, "an I die not a sailor\'s death, and that this\r\nnight, I shall owe a tall candle to our Lady."\r\n\r\n"Is it so?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"It is right so," replied the outlaw.  "Do ye not feel how heavy and dull\r\nshe moves upon the waves?  Do ye not hear the water washing in her hold?\r\nShe will scarce mind the rudder even now.  Bide till she has settled a\r\nbit lower; and she will either go down below your boots like a stone\r\nimage, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and come all to pieces like a\r\ntwist of string."\r\n\r\n"Ye speak with a good courage," returned Dick.  "Ye are not then\r\nappalled?"\r\n\r\n"Why, master," answered Lawless, "if ever a man had an ill crew to come\r\nto port with, it is I--a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest on\'t.\r\nWell, ye may wonder, but I keep a good hope in my wallet; and if that I\r\nbe to drown, I will drown with a bright eye, Master Shelton, and a steady\r\nhand."\r\n\r\nDick returned no answer; but he was surprised to find the old vagabond of\r\nso resolute a temper, and fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set\r\nforth upon his quest for three sure men.  The great bulk of the men had\r\nnow deserted the deck, which was continually wetted with the flying\r\nsprays, and where they lay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind.\r\nThey had gathered, instead, into the hold of the merchandise, among the\r\nbutts of wine, and lighted by two swinging lanterns.\r\n\r\nHere a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted each other deep in\r\nArblaster\'s Gascony wine.  But as the Good Hope continued to tear through\r\nthe smoking waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high in air\r\nand deep into white foam, the number of these jolly companions diminished\r\nwith every moment and with every lurch.  Many sat apart, tending their\r\nhurts, but the majority were already prostrated with sickness, and lay\r\nmoaning in the bilge.\r\n\r\nGreensheve, Cuckow, and a young fellow of Lord Foxham\'s whom Dick had\r\nalready remarked for his intelligence and spirit, were still, however,\r\nboth fit to understand and willing to obey.  These Dick set, as a\r\nbody-guard, about the person of the steersman, and then, with a last look\r\nat the black sky and sea, he turned and went below into the cabin,\r\nwhither Lord Foxham had been carried by his servants.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI--THE GOOD HOPE (concluded)\r\n\r\n\r\nThe moans of the wounded baron blended with the wailing of the ship\'s\r\ndog.  The poor animal, whether he was merely sick at heart to be\r\nseparated from his friends, or whether he indeed recognised some peril in\r\nthe labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above the\r\nroar of wave and weather; and the more superstitious of the men heard, in\r\nthese sounds, the knell of the Good Hope.\r\n\r\nLord Foxham had been laid in a berth upon a fur cloak.  A little lamp\r\nburned dim before the Virgin in the bulkhead, and by its glimmer Dick\r\ncould see the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man.\r\n\r\n"I am sore hurt," said he.  "Come near to my side, young Shelton; let\r\nthere be one by me who, at least, is gentle born; for after having lived\r\nnobly and richly all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that I\r\nshould get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, in a\r\nfoul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls."\r\n\r\n"Nay, my lord," said Dick, "I pray rather to the saints that ye will\r\nrecover you of your hurt, and come soon and sound ashore."\r\n\r\n"How!" demanded his lordship.  "Come sound ashore?  There is, then, a\r\nquestion of it?"\r\n\r\n"The ship laboureth--the sea is grievous and contrary," replied the lad;\r\n"and by what I can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we shall do well,\r\nindeed, if we come dryshod to land."\r\n\r\n"Ha!" said the baron, gloomily, "thus shall every terror attend upon the\r\npassage of my soul! Sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy,\r\nthan to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to the pipe and tabor,\r\nand, in the last hour, be plunged among misfortunes!  Howbeit, I have\r\nthat upon my mind that must not be delayed.  We have no priest aboard?"\r\n\r\n"None," replied Dick.\r\n\r\n"Here, then, to my secular interests," resumed Lord Foxham: "ye must be\r\nas good a friend to me dead, as I found you a gallant enemy when I was\r\nliving.  I fall in an evil hour for me, for England, and for them that\r\ntrusted me.  My men are being brought by Hamley--he that was your rival;\r\nthey will rendezvous in the long holm at Holywood; this ring from off my\r\nfinger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and I shall write,\r\nbesides, two words upon this paper, bidding Hamley yield to you the\r\ndamsel.  Will he obey?  I know not."\r\n\r\n"But, my lord, what orders?" inquired Dick.\r\n\r\n"Ay," quoth the baron, "ay--the orders;" and he looked upon Dick with\r\nhesitation.  "Are ye Lancaster or York?" he asked, at length.\r\n\r\n"I shame to say it," answered Dick, "I can scarce clearly answer.  But so\r\nmuch I think is certain: since I serve with Ellis Duckworth, I serve the\r\nhouse of York.  Well, if that be so, I declare for York."\r\n\r\n"It is well," returned the other; "it is exceeding well.  For, truly, had\r\nye said Lancaster, I wot not for the world what I had done.  But sith ye\r\nare for York, follow me.  I came hither but to watch these lords at\r\nShoreby, while mine excellent young lord, Richard of Gloucester, {1}\r\nprepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them.  I have made\r\nme notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and\r\nthese I was to deliver to my young lord on Sunday, an hour before noon,\r\nat St. Bride\'s Cross beside the forest.  This tryst I am not like to\r\nkeep, but I pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that\r\nnot pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pestilence withhold you from\r\nthe hour and place, for the welfare of England lieth upon this cast."\r\n\r\n"I do soberly take this up on me," said Dick.  "In so far as in me lieth,\r\nyour purpose shall be done."\r\n\r\n"It is good," said the wounded man. "My lord duke shall order you\r\nfarther, and if ye obey him with spirit and good will, then is your\r\nfortune made.  Give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till that I\r\nwrite these words for you."\r\n\r\nHe wrote a note "to his worshipful kinsman, Sir John Hamley;" and then a\r\nsecond, which he-left without external superscripture.\r\n\r\n"This is for the duke," he said.  "The word is \'England and Edward,\' and\r\nthe counter, \'England and York.\'"\r\n\r\n"And Joanna, my lord?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"Nay, ye must get Joanna how ye can," replied the baron.  "I have named\r\nyou for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for\r\nyourself, boy.  I have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my\r\nlife.  More could no man do."\r\n\r\nBy this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and Dick, putting\r\nthe precious papers in his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him\r\nto repose.\r\n\r\nThe day was beginning to break, cold and blue, with flying squalls of\r\nsnow.  Close under the lee of the Good Hope, the coast lay in alternate\r\nrocky headlands and sandy bays; and further inland the wooded hill-tops\r\nof Tunstall showed along the sky.  Both the wind and the sea had gone\r\ndown; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves.\r\n\r\nLawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the\r\nmen had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the\r\ninhospitable coast.\r\n\r\n"Are we going ashore?" asked Dick.\r\n\r\n"Ay," said Lawless, "unless we get first to the bottom."\r\n\r\nAnd just then the ship rose so languidly to meet a sea, and the water\r\nweltered so loudly in her hold, that Dick involuntarily seized the\r\nsteersman by the arm.\r\n\r\n"By the mass!" cried Dick, as the bows of the Good Hope reappeared above\r\nthe foam, "I thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my\r\nthroat."\r\n\r\nIn the waist, Greensheve, Hawksley, and the better men of both companies\r\nwere busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these Dick joined\r\nhimself, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament.  But,\r\neven as he worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and every one of\r\nher dull lurches, as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled him\r\nwith a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death.\r\n\r\nPresently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in below\r\na promontory; a piece of ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea\r\nbroke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and, above that,\r\nagain, a house appeared, crowning a down.\r\n\r\nInside the bay the seas ran gayly, raised the Good Hope upon their\r\nfoam-flecked shoulders, carried her beyond the control of the steersman,\r\nand in a moment dropped her, with a great concussion, on the sand, and\r\nbegan to break over her half-mast high, and roll her to and fro.  Another\r\ngreat wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet farther in;\r\nand then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more\r\ndangerous breakers, wedged upon a bank.\r\n\r\n"Now, boys," cried Lawless, "the saints have had a care of us, indeed.\r\nThe tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before\r\nhalf an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge."\r\n\r\nA barrel was broached, and, sitting in what shelter they could find from\r\nthe flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup around,\r\nand sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits.\r\n\r\nDick, meanwhile, returned to Lord Foxham, who lay in great perplexity and\r\nfear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp,\r\nwhich had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the violence of\r\nthe blow.\r\n\r\n"My lord," said young Shelton, "fear not at all; the saints are plainly\r\nfor us; the seas have cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide\r\nhath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet."\r\n\r\nIt was nearly an hour before the vessel was sufficiently deserted by the\r\nebbing sea; and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly\r\nbefore them through a veil of driving snow.\r\n\r\nUpon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled\r\ntogether, suspiciously observing the movements of the new arrivals.\r\n\r\n"They might draw near and offer us some comfort," Dick remarked.\r\n\r\n"Well, an\' they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them," said\r\nHawksley.  "The sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed the better\r\nfor my poor lord."\r\n\r\nBut they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock, before the\r\nmen, with one consent, rose suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight\r\nof well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company.\r\n\r\n"Back! back!" cried his lordship.  "Beware, in Heaven\'s name, that ye\r\nreply not."\r\n\r\n"Nay," cried Greensheve, pulling an arrow from his leather jack.  "We are\r\nin no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary,\r\nand three-parts frozen; but, for the love of old England, what aileth\r\nthem to shoot thus cruelly on their poor country people in distress?"\r\n\r\n"They take us to be French pirates," answered Lord Foxham.  "In these\r\nmost troublesome and degenerate days we cannot keep our own shores of\r\nEngland; but our old enemies, whom we once chased on sea and land, do now\r\nrange at pleasure, robbing and slaughtering and burning.  It is the pity\r\nand reproach of this poor land."\r\n\r\nThe men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, while they trailed\r\nupward from the beach and wound inland among desolate sand-hills; for a\r\nmile or so they even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a sign,\r\nto pour another volley on the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was\r\nonly when, striking at length upon a firm high-road, Dick began to call\r\nhis men to some more martial order, that these jealous guardians of the\r\ncoast of England silently disappeared among the snow.  They had done what\r\nthey desired; they had protected their own homes and farms, their own\r\nfamilies and cattle; and their private interest being thus secured, it\r\nmattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the\r\nFrenchmen should carry blood and fire to every other parish in the realm\r\nof England.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK IV--THE DISGUISE\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I--THE DEN\r\n\r\n\r\nThe place where Dick had struck the line of a high-road was not far from\r\nHolywood, and within nine or ten miles of Shoreby-on-the-Till; and here,\r\nafter making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies\r\nseparated.  Lord Foxham\'s followers departed, carrying their wounded\r\nmaster towards the comfort and security of the great abbey; and Dick, as\r\nhe saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling\r\nsnow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder\r\nof his troop of volunteers.\r\n\r\nSome were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and long\r\nexposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more, they\r\ngrumbled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders.  Dick emptied his\r\npurse among them, leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the courage\r\nthey had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his\r\nheart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened the\r\neffect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their way,\r\neither severally or in pairs, to Shoreby and the Goat and Bagpipes.\r\n\r\nFor his own part, influenced by what he had seen on board of the Good\r\nHope, he chose Lawless to be his companion on the walk.  The snow was\r\nfalling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the\r\nwind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; and the whole world was\r\nblotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation.  There was\r\ngreat danger of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and\r\nLawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, and holding his\r\nhead forward like a hunting dog upon the scent, inquired his way of every\r\ntree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship among\r\ndangers.\r\n\r\nAbout a mile into the forest they came to a place where several ways met,\r\nunder a grove of lofty and contorted oaks.  Even in the narrow horizon of\r\nthe falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be recognised; and\r\nLawless evidently recognised it with particular delight.\r\n\r\n"Now, Master Richard," said he, "an y\' are not too proud to be the guest\r\nof a man who is neither a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good\r\nChristian, I can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the\r\nmarrow in your frozen bones."\r\n\r\n"Lead on, Will," answered Dick.  "A cup of wine and a good fire!  Nay, I\r\nwould go a far way round to see them."\r\n\r\nLawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking\r\nresolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that\r\nhad now drifted a quarter full of snow.  On the verge, a great beech-tree\r\nhung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some\r\nbushy underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth.\r\n\r\nThe beech had, in some violent gale, been half-uprooted, and had torn up\r\na considerable stretch of turf and it was under this that old Lawless had\r\ndug out his forest hiding-place.  The roots served him for rafters, the\r\nturf was his thatch; for walls and floor he had his mother the earth.\r\nRude as it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the\r\npresence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron,\r\nshowed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a\r\ndigging beast.\r\n\r\nThough the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of\r\nthis earth cavern, yet was the air much warmer than without; and when\r\nLawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze\r\nand crackle on the hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air of\r\ncomfort and of home.\r\n\r\nWith a sigh of great contentment, Lawless spread his broad hands before\r\nthe fire, and seemed to breathe the smoke.\r\n\r\n"Here, then," he said, "is this old Lawless\'s rabbit-hole; pray Heaven\r\nthere come no terrier!  Far I have rolled hither and thither, and here\r\nand about, since that I was fourteen years of mine age and first ran away\r\nfrom mine abbey, with the sacrist\'s gold chain and a mass-book that I\r\nsold for four marks.  I have been in England and France and Burgundy, and\r\nin Spain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and upon the sea, which\r\nis no man\'s country.  But here is my place, Master Shelton.  This is my\r\nnative land, this burrow in the earth!  Come rain or wind--and whether\r\nit\'s April, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my\r\nbed--or whether it\'s winter, and I sit alone with my good gossip the\r\nfire, and robin red breast twitters in the woods--here, is my church and\r\nmarket, and my wife and child.  It\'s here I come back to, and it\'s here,\r\nso please the saints, that I would like to die."\r\n\r\n"\'Tis a warm corner, to be sure," replied Dick, "and a pleasant, and a\r\nwell hid."\r\n\r\n"It had need to be," returned Lawless, "for an they found it, Master\r\nShelton, it would break my heart.  But here," he added, burrowing with\r\nhis stout fingers in the sandy floor, "here is my wine cellar; and ye\r\nshall have a flask of excellent strong stingo."\r\n\r\nSure enough, after but a little digging, he produced a big leathern\r\nbottle of about a gallon, nearly three-parts full of a very heady and\r\nsweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the fire\r\nhad been replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full length,\r\nthawing and steaming, and divinely warm.\r\n\r\n"Master Shelton," observed the outlaw, "y\' \'ave had two mischances this\r\nlast while, and y\' are like to lose the maid--do I take it aright?"\r\n\r\n"Aright!" returned Dick, nodding his head.\r\n\r\n"Well, now," continued Lawless, "hear an old fool that hath been\r\nnigh-hand everything, and seen nigh-hand all!  Ye go too much on other\r\npeople\'s errands, Master Dick.  Ye go on Ellis\'s; but he desireth rather\r\nthe death of Sir Daniel.  Ye go on Lord Foxham\'s; well--the saints\r\npreserve him!--doubtless he meaneth well.  But go ye upon your own, good\r\nDick.  Come right to the maid\'s side.  Court her, lest that she forget\r\nyou.  Be ready; and when the chance shall come, off with her at the\r\nsaddle-bow."\r\n\r\n"Ay, but, Lawless, beyond doubt she is now in Sir Daniel\'s own mansion."\r\nanswered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Thither, then, go we," replied the outlaw.\r\n\r\nDick stared at him.\r\n\r\n"Nay, I mean it," nodded Lawless.  "And if y\' are of so little faith, and\r\nstumble at a word, see here!"\r\n\r\nAnd the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest,\r\nand dipping and groping deep among its contents, produced first a friar\'s\r\nrobe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, heavy\r\nenough to be counted as a weapon.\r\n\r\n"Here," he said, "is for you.  On with them!"\r\n\r\nAnd then, when Dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise,\r\nLawless produced some colours and a pencil, and proceeded, with the\r\ngreatest cunning, to disguise his face.  The eyebrows he thickened and\r\nproduced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a\r\nlike service; while, by a few lines around the eye, he changed the\r\nexpression and increased the apparent age of this young monk.\r\n\r\n"Now," he resumed, "when I have done the like, we shall make as bonny a\r\npair of friars as the eye could wish.  Boldly to Sir Daniel\'s we shall\r\ngo, and there be hospitably welcome for the love of Mother Church."\r\n\r\n"And how, dear Lawless," cried the lad, "shall I repay you?"\r\n\r\n"Tut, brother," replied the outlaw, "I do naught but for my pleasure.\r\nMind not for me.  I am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself.  When\r\nthat I lack, I have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery bell--I\r\ndo ask, my son; and where asking faileth, I do most usually take."\r\n\r\nThe old rogue made a humorous grimace; and although Dick was displeased\r\nto lie under so great favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet\r\nunable to restrain his mirth.\r\n\r\nWith that, Lawless returned to the big chest, and was soon similarly\r\ndisguised; but, below his gown, Dick wondered to observe him conceal a\r\nsheaf of black arrows.\r\n\r\n"Wherefore do ye that?" asked the lad.  "Wherefore arrows, when ye take\r\nno bow?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," replied Lawless, lightly, "\'tis like there will be heads\r\nbroke--not to say backs--ere you and I win sound from where we\'re going\r\nto; and if any fall, I would our fellowship should come by the credit\r\non\'t.  A black arrow, Master Dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth\r\nyou who writ the bill."\r\n\r\n"An ye prepare so carefully," said Dick, "I have here some papers that,\r\nfor mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were better\r\nleft behind than found upon my body.  Where shall I conceal them, Will?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," replied Lawless, "I will go forth into the wood and whistle me\r\nthree verses of a song; meanwhile, do you bury them where ye please, and\r\nsmooth the sand upon the place."\r\n\r\n"Never!" cried Richard.  "I trust you, man.  I were base indeed if I not\r\ntrusted you."\r\n\r\n"Brother, y\' are but a child," replied the old outlaw, pausing and\r\nturning his face upon Dick from the threshold of the den.  "I am a kind\r\nold Christian, and no traitor to men\'s blood, and no sparer of mine own\r\nin a friend\'s jeopardy.  But, fool, child, I am a thief by trade and\r\nbirth and habit.  If my bottle were empty and my mouth dry, I would rob\r\nyou, dear child, as sure as I love, honour, and admire your parts and\r\nperson!  Can it be clearer spoken?  No."\r\n\r\nAnd he stumped forth through the bushes with a snap of his big fingers.\r\n\r\nDick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought upon the inconsistencies\r\nof his companion\'s character, hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his\r\npapers.  One only he reserved to carry along with him, since it in nowise\r\ncompromised his friends, and yet might serve him, in a pinch, against Sir\r\nDaniel.  That was the knight\'s own letter to Lord Wensleydale, sent by\r\nThrogmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at Risingham, and found next day\r\nby Dick upon the body of the messenger.\r\n\r\nThen, treading down the embers of the fire, Dick left the den, and\r\nrejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks,\r\nand was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow.  Each\r\nlooked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was the\r\ndisguise.\r\n\r\n"Yet I would it were but summer and a clear day," grumbled the outlaw,\r\n"that I might see myself in the mirror of a pool.  There be many of Sir\r\nDaniel\'s men that know me; and if we fell to be recognised, there might\r\nbe two words for you, brother, but as for me, in a paternoster while, I\r\nshould be kicking in a rope\'s-end."\r\n\r\nThus they set forth together along the road to Shoreby, which, in this\r\npart of its course, kept near along the margin or the forest, coming\r\nforth, from time to time, in the open country, and passing beside poor\r\nfolks\' houses and small farms.\r\n\r\nPresently at sight of one of these, Lawless pulled up.\r\n\r\n"Brother Martin," he said, in a voice capitally disguised, and suited to\r\nhis monkish robe, "let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners.\r\n_Pax vobiscum_!  Ay," he added, in his own voice, "\'tis as I feared; I\r\nhave somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good Master\r\nShelton, ye must suffer me to practise in these country places, before\r\nthat I risk my fat neck by entering Sir Daniel\'s.  But look ye a little,\r\nwhat an excellent thing it is to be a Jack-of-all-trades!  An I had not\r\nbeen a shipman, ye had infallibly gone down in the Good Hope; an I had\r\nnot been a thief, I could not have painted me your face; and but that I\r\nhad been a Grey Friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate hearty at the\r\nboard, I could not have carried this disguise, but the very dogs would\r\nhave spied us out and barked at us for shams."\r\n\r\nHe was by this time close to the window of the farm, and he rose on his\r\ntip-toes and peeped in.\r\n\r\n"Nay," he cried, "better and better.  We shall here try our false faces\r\nwith a vengeance, and have a merry jest on Brother Capper to boot."\r\n\r\nAnd so saying, he opened the door and led the way into the house.\r\n\r\nThree of their own company sat at the table, greedily eating.  Their\r\ndaggers, stuck beside them in the board, and the black and menacing looks\r\nwhich they continued to shower upon the people of the house, proved that\r\nthey owed their entertainment rather to force than favour.  On the two\r\nmonks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the\r\nfarm, they seemed to turn with a particular resentment; and one--it was\r\nJohn Capper in person--who seemed to play the leading part, instantly and\r\nrudely ordered them away.\r\n\r\n"We want no beggars here!" he cried.\r\n\r\nBut another--although he was as far from recognising Dick and\r\nLawless--inclined to more moderate counsels.\r\n\r\n"Not so," he cried.  "We be strong men, and take; these be weak, and\r\ncrave; but in the latter end these shall be uppermost and we below.  Mind\r\nhim not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a\r\nbenediction."\r\n\r\n"Y\' are men of a light mind, carnal, and accursed," said the monk.  "Now,\r\nmay the saints forbid that ever I should drink with such companions!  But\r\nhere, for the pity I bear to sinners, here I do leave you a blessed\r\nrelic, the which, for your soul\'s interest, I bid you kiss and cherish."\r\n\r\nSo far Lawless thundered upon them like a preaching friar; but with these\r\nwords he drew from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board\r\nin front of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same instant, and,\r\ntaking Dick along with him, was out of the room and out of sight among\r\nthe falling snow before they had time to utter a word or move a finger.\r\n\r\n"So," he said, "we have proved our false faces, Master Shelton.  I will\r\nnow adventure my poor carcase where ye please."\r\n\r\n"Good!" returned Richard.  "It irks me to be doing.  Set we on for\r\nShoreby!"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II--"IN MINE ENEMIES\' HOUSE"\r\n\r\n\r\nSir Daniel\'s residence in Shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered\r\nmansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of\r\nthatch.  To the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit-trees,\r\nalleys, and thick arbours, and overlooked from the far end by the tower\r\nof the abbey church.\r\n\r\nThe house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue of a greater person\r\nthan Sir Daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub.  The court rang\r\nwith arms and horseshoe-iron; the kitchens roared with cookery like a\r\nbees\'-hive; minstrels, and the players of instruments, and the cries of\r\ntumblers, sounded from the hall.  Sir Daniel, in his profusion, in the\r\ngaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with Lord Shoreby,\r\nand eclipsed Lord Risingham.\r\n\r\nAll guests were made welcome.  Minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, the\r\nsellers of relics, medicines, perfumes, and enchantments, and along with\r\nthese every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were made welcome to the\r\nlower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards\r\nof the long dining-hall.\r\n\r\nOn the afternoon following the wreck of the Good Hope, the buttery, the\r\nkitchens, the stables, the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of\r\nthe court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to Sir\r\nDaniel\'s establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and blue,\r\npartly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and received\r\nby the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of the time.\r\n\r\nThe snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of the\r\nair, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter.\r\nWine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the\r\nstraw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal.  To\r\nthe eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the\r\neye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at a\r\nfestive season.\r\n\r\nTwo monks--a young and an old--had arrived late, and were now warming\r\nthemselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed.  A mixed crowd\r\nsurrounded them--jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these the\r\nelder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged\r\nso many loud guffaws and country witticisms, that the group momentarily\r\nincreased in number.\r\n\r\nThe younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised Dick\r\nShelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself\r\naway.  He listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by\r\nthe grave expression of his countenance, he made but little account of\r\nhis companion\'s pleasantries.\r\n\r\nAt last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a guard\r\nupon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession\r\nentering by the main gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction.\r\nTwo ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were followed by a\r\npair of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms.  The next moment they\r\nhad disappeared within the house; and Dick, slipping through the crowd of\r\nloiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit.\r\n\r\n"The taller of these twain was Lady Brackley," he thought; "and where\r\nLady Brackley is, Joan will not be far."\r\n\r\nAt the door of the house the four men-at-arms had ceased to follow, and\r\nthe ladies were now mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no\r\nbetter escort than that of the two waiting-women.  Dick followed close\r\nbehind.  It was already the dusk of the day; and in the house the\r\ndarkness of the night had almost come.  On the stair-landings, torches\r\nflared in iron holders; down the long, tapestried corridors, a lamp\r\nburned by every door.  And where the door stood open, Dick could look in\r\nupon arras-covered walls and rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the\r\nlight of the wood fires.\r\n\r\nTwo floors were passed, and at every landing the younger and shorter of\r\nthe two ladies had looked back keenly at the monk.  He, keeping his eyes\r\nlowered, and affecting the demure manners that suited his disguise, had\r\nbut seen her once, and was unaware that he had attracted her attention.\r\nAnd now, on the third floor, the party separated, the younger lady\r\ncontinuing to ascend alone, the other, followed by the waiting-maids,\r\ndescending the corridor to the right.\r\n\r\nDick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to the corner, thrust forth\r\nhis head and followed the three women with his eyes.  Without turning or\r\nlooking behind them, they continued to descend the corridor.\r\n\r\n"It is right well," thought Dick.  "Let me but know my Lady Brackley\'s\r\nchamber, and it will go hard an I find not Dame Hatch upon an errand."\r\n\r\nAnd just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, with a bound and a\r\nchoked cry, he turned to grapple his assailant.\r\n\r\nHe was somewhat abashed to find, in the person whom he had so roughly\r\nseized, the short young lady in the furs.  She, on her part, was shocked\r\nand terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in his grasp.\r\n\r\n"Madam," said Dick, releasing her, "I cry you a thousand pardons; but I\r\nhave no eyes behind, and, by the mass, I could not tell ye were a maid."\r\n\r\nThe girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, terror began to be\r\nsucceeded by surprise, and surprise by suspicion.  Dick, who could read\r\nthese changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that\r\nhostile house.\r\n\r\n"Fair maid," he said, affecting easiness, "suffer me to kiss your hand,\r\nin token ye forgive my roughness, and I will even go."\r\n\r\n"Y\' are a strange monk, young sir," returned the young lady, looking him\r\nboth boldly and shrewdly in the face; "and now that my first astonishment\r\nhath somewhat passed away, I can spy the layman in each word you utter.\r\nWhat do ye here?  Why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked out?  Come ye in\r\npeace or war?  And why spy ye after Lady Brackley like a thief?"\r\n\r\n"Madam," quoth Dick, "of one thing I pray you to be very sure: I am no\r\nthief.  And even if I come here in war, as in some degree I do, I make no\r\nwar upon fair maids, and I hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and to\r\nleave me be.  For, indeed, fair mistress, cry out--if such be your\r\npleasure--cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor gentleman\r\nbefore you is merely a dead man.  I cannot think ye would be cruel,"\r\nadded Dick; and taking the girl\'s hand gently in both of his, he looked\r\nat her with courteous admiration.\r\n\r\n"Are ye, then, a spy--a Yorkist?" asked the maid.\r\n\r\n"Madam," he replied, "I am indeed a Yorkist, and, in some sort, a spy.\r\nBut that which bringeth me into this house, the same which will win for\r\nme the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither of York nor\r\nLancaster.  I will wholly put my life in your discretion.  I am a lover,\r\nand my name--"\r\n\r\nBut here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly upon Dick\'s mouth,\r\nlooked hastily up and down and east and west, and, seeing the coast\r\nclear, began to drag the young man, with great strength and vehemence,\r\nup-stairs.\r\n\r\n"Hush!" she said, "and come!  Shalt talk hereafter."\r\n\r\nSomewhat bewildered, Dick suffered himself to be pulled up-stairs,\r\nbustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like\r\nso many of the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth.\r\n\r\n"Now," said the young lady, forcing him down upon a stool, "sit ye there\r\nand attend my sovereign good pleasure.  I have life and death over you,\r\nand I will not scruple to abuse my power.  Look to yourself; y\' \'ave\r\ncruelly mauled my arm.  He knew not I was a maid, quoth he!  Had he known\r\nI was a maid, he had ta\'en his belt to me, forsooth!"\r\n\r\nAnd with these words, she whipped out of the room and left Dick gaping\r\nwith wonder, and not very sure if he were dreaming or awake.\r\n\r\n"Ta\'en my belt to her!" he repeated.  "Ta\'en my belt to her!"  And the\r\nrecollection of that evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind, and\r\nhe once more saw Matcham\'s wincing body and beseeching eyes.\r\n\r\nAnd then he was recalled to the dangers of the present.  In the next room\r\nhe heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which\r\nsounded strangely near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet\r\nonce more began.  As he stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the\r\nwall; there was the sound of a door being opened, the hangings divided,\r\nand, lamp in hand, Joanna Sedley entered the apartment.\r\n\r\nShe was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm colours, such as befit\r\nthe winter and the snow.  Upon her head, her hair had been gathered\r\ntogether and became her as a crown.  And she, who had seemed so little\r\nand so awkward in the attire of Matcham, was now tall like a young\r\nwillow, and swam across the floor as though she scorned the drudgery of\r\nwalking.\r\n\r\nWithout a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the\r\nyoung monk.\r\n\r\n"What make ye here, good brother?" she inquired.  "Ye are doubtless\r\nill-directed.  Whom do ye require?  And she set her lamp upon the\r\nbracket.\r\n\r\n"Joanna," said Dick; and then his voice failed him.  "Joanna," he began\r\nagain, "ye said ye loved me; and the more fool I, but I believed it!"\r\n\r\n"Dick!" she cried.  "Dick!"\r\n\r\nAnd then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful and tall young lady\r\nmade but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck and gave him a\r\nhundred kisses all in one.\r\n\r\n"Oh, the fool fellow!" she cried.  "Oh, dear Dick!  Oh, if ye could see\r\nyourself!  Alack!" she added, pausing.  "I have spoilt you, Dick!  I have\r\nknocked some of the paint off.  But that can be mended.  What cannot be\r\nmended, Dick--or I much fear it cannot!--is my marriage with Lord\r\nShoreby."\r\n\r\n"Is it decided, then?" asked the lad.\r\n\r\n"To-morrow, before noon, Dick, in the abbey church," she answered, "John\r\nMatcham and Joanna Sedley both shall come to a right miserable end.\r\nThere is no help in tears, or I could weep mine eyes out.  I have not\r\nspared myself to pray, but Heaven frowns on my petition.  And, dear\r\nDick--good Dick--but that ye can get me forth of this house before the\r\nmorning, we must even kiss and say good-bye."\r\n\r\n"Nay," said Dick, "not I; I will never say that word.  \'Tis like despair;\r\nbut while there\'s life, Joanna, there is hope.  Yet will I hope.  Ay, by\r\nthe mass, and triumph!  Look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did\r\nI not follow--did I not rouse good men--did I not stake my life upon the\r\nquarrel?  And now that I have seen you for what ye are--the fairest maid\r\nand stateliest of England--think ye I would turn?--if the deep sea were\r\nthere, I would straight through it; if the way were full of lions, I\r\nwould scatter them like mice."\r\n\r\n"Ay," she said, dryly, "ye make a great ado about a sky-blue robe!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, Joan," protested Dick, "\'tis not alone the robe.  But, lass, ye\r\nwere disguised.  Here am I disguised; and, to the proof, do I not cut a\r\nfigure of fun--a right fool\'s figure?"\r\n\r\n"Ay, Dick, an\' that ye do!" she answered, smiling.\r\n\r\n"Well, then!" he returned, triumphant.  "So was it with you, poor\r\nMatcham, in the forest.  In sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at.  But\r\nnow!"\r\n\r\nSo they ran on, holding each other by both hands, exchanging smiles and\r\nlovely looks, and melting minutes into seconds; and so they might have\r\ncontinued all night long.  But presently there was a noise behind them;\r\nand they were aware of the short young lady, with her finger on her lips.\r\n\r\n"Saints!" she cried, "but what a noise ye keep!  Can ye not speak in\r\ncompass?  And now, Joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will ye give\r\nyour gossip for bringing you your sweetheart?"\r\n\r\nJoanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced her fierily.\r\n\r\n"And you, sir," added the young lady, "what do ye give me?"\r\n\r\n"Madam," said Dick, "I would fain offer to pay you in the same money."\r\n\r\n"Come, then," said the lady, "it is permitted you."\r\n\r\nBut Dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand.\r\n\r\n"What ails ye at my face, fair sir?" she inquired, curtseying to the very\r\nground; and then, when Dick had at length and most tepidly embraced her,\r\n"Joanna," she added, "your sweetheart is very backward under your eyes;\r\nbut I warrant you, when first we met he was more ready.  I am all black\r\nand blue, wench; trust me never, if I be not black and blue!  And now,"\r\nshe continued, "have ye said your sayings? for I must speedily dismiss\r\nthe paladin."\r\n\r\nBut at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the\r\nnight was still very young, and that they would not be separated so\r\nearly.\r\n\r\n"And supper?" asked the young lady.  "Must we not go down to supper?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, to be sure!" cried Joan.  "I had forgotten."\r\n\r\n"Hide me, then," said Dick, "put me behind the arras, shut me in a chest,\r\nor what ye will, so that I may be here on your return.  Indeed, fair\r\nlady," he added, "bear this in mind, that we are sore bested, and may\r\nnever look upon each other\'s face from this night forward till we die."\r\n\r\nAt this the young lady melted; and when, a little after, the bell\r\nsummoned Sir Daniel\'s household to the board, Dick was planted very\r\nstiffly against the wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry\r\npermitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to see into the room.\r\n\r\nHe had not been long in this position, when he was somewhat strangely\r\ndisturbed.  The silence, in that upper storey of the house, was only\r\nbroken by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log in\r\nthe chimney; but presently, to Dick\'s strained hearing, there came the\r\nsound of some one walking with extreme precaution; and soon after the\r\ndoor opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish fellow, in Lord Shoreby\'s\r\ncolours, pushed first his head, and then his crooked body, into the\r\nchamber.  His mouth was open, as though to hear the better; and his eyes,\r\nwhich were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro.  He\r\nwent round and round the room, striking here and there upon the hangings;\r\nbut Dick, by a miracle, escaped his notice.  Then he looked below the\r\nfurniture, and examined the lamp; and, at last, with an air of cruel\r\ndisappointment, was preparing to go away as silently as he had come, when\r\ndown he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from among the rushes\r\non the floor, examined it, and, with every signal of delight, concealed\r\nit in the wallet at his belt.\r\n\r\nDick\'s heart sank, for the object in question was a tassel from his own\r\ngirdle; and it was plain to him that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign\r\ndelight in his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to his\r\nmaster, the baron.  He was half-tempted to throw aside the arras, fall\r\nupon the scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the telltale\r\ntoken.  And while he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was\r\nadded.  A voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began to be audible from the\r\nstair; and presently after, uneven, wandering, and heavy footsteps\r\nsounded without along the passage.\r\n\r\n"What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?" sang the\r\nvoice.  "What make ye here?  Hey! sots, what make ye here?" it added,\r\nwith a rattle of drunken laughter; and then, once more breaking into\r\nsong:\r\n\r\n    "If ye should drink the clary wine,\r\n    Fat Friar John, ye friend o\' mine--\r\n    If I should eat, and ye should drink,\r\n    Who shall sing the mass, d\'ye think?"\r\n\r\nLawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for a\r\ncorner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations.  Dick inwardly\r\nraged.  The spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found he\r\nhad to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a movement of cat-like\r\nrapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone from Richard\'s eyes.\r\n\r\nWhat was to be done?  If he lost touch of Lawless for the night, he was\r\nleft impotent, whether to plan or carry forth Joanna\'s rescue.  If, on\r\nthe other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might\r\nstill be lingering within sight, and the most fatal consequences ensue.\r\n\r\nIt was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that Dick decided.  Slipping\r\nfrom behind the tapestry, he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber,\r\nwith a warning hand upraised.  Lawless, flushed crimson, with his eyes\r\ninjected, vacillating on his feet, drew still unsteadily nearer.  At last\r\nhe hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of Dick\'s\r\nimperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name.\r\n\r\nDick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously.\r\n\r\n"Beast!" he hissed--"beast and no man!  It is worse than treachery to be\r\nso witless.  We may all be shent for thy sotting."\r\n\r\nBut Lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young Shelton\r\non the back.\r\n\r\nAnd just then Dick\'s quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras.  He\r\nleaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging\r\nhad been torn down, and Dick and the spy were sprawling together in its\r\nfolds.  Over and over they rolled, grappling for each other\'s throat, and\r\nstill baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly fury.  But\r\nDick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay prostrate under his\r\nknee, and, with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III--THE DEAD SPY\r\n\r\n\r\nThroughout this furious and rapid passage, Lawless had looked on\r\nhelplessly, and even when all was over, and Dick, already re-arisen to\r\nhis feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant\r\nbustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old outlaw was still\r\nwavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly\r\nstaring on the face of the dead man.\r\n\r\n"It is well," said Dick, at length; "they have not heard us, praise the\r\nsaints!  But, now, what shall I do with this poor spy?  At least, I will\r\ntake my tassel from his wallet."\r\n\r\nSo saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money,\r\nthe tassel, and a letter addressed to Lord Wensleydale, and sealed with\r\nmy Lord Shoreby\'s seal.  The name awoke Dick\'s recollection; and he\r\ninstantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter.  It was\r\nshort, but, to Dick\'s delight, it gave evident proof that Lord Shoreby\r\nwas treacherously corresponding with the House of York.\r\n\r\nThe young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him,\r\nand so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able\r\nto write these words upon a corner of the paper:\r\n\r\n    My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is\r\n    ded?  But let me rede you, marry not.\r\n\r\n                                                            JON AMEND-ALL.\r\n\r\nHe laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then Lawless, who had\r\nbeen looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering returns\r\nof intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his robe, and\r\ntherewith pinned the paper in its place.  The sight of this disrespect,\r\nor, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from\r\nyoung Shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed.\r\n\r\n"Nay, I will have the credit for mine order," he hiccupped.  "My jolly\r\nboys must have the credit on\'t--the credit, brother;" and then, shutting\r\nhis eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to\r\nthunder, in a formidable voice:\r\n\r\n    "If ye should drink the clary wine"--\r\n\r\n"Peace, sot!" cried Dick, and thrust him hard against the wall.  "In two\r\nwords--if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine than\r\nwit in him--in two words, and, a-Mary\'s name, begone out of this house,\r\nwhere, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but me\r\nalso!  Faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, I may forget that\r\nI am in some sort your captain and in some your debtor!  Go!"\r\n\r\nThe sham monk was now, in some degree, recovering the use of his\r\nintelligence; and the ring in Dick\'s voice, and the glitter in Dick\'s\r\neye, stamped home the meaning of his words.\r\n\r\n"By the mass," cried Lawless, "an I be not wanted, I can go;" and he\r\nturned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder down-stairs,\r\nlurching against the wall.\r\n\r\nSo soon as he was out of sight, Dick returned to his hiding-place,\r\nresolutely fixed to see the matter out.  Wisdom, indeed, moved him to be\r\ngone; but love and curiosity were stronger.\r\n\r\nTime passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras.  The\r\nfire in the room began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to\r\nsmoke.  And still there was no word of the return of any one to these\r\nupper quarters of the house; still the faint hum and clatter of the\r\nsupper party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall of\r\nthe snow, Shoreby town lay silent upon every side.\r\n\r\nAt length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair;\r\nand presently after several of Sir Daniel\'s guests arrived upon the\r\nlanding, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the\r\nbody of the spy.\r\n\r\nSome ran forward and some back, and all together began to cry aloud.\r\n\r\nAt the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and,\r\nin a word, all the inhabitants of that great house, came flying from\r\nevery direction, and began to join their voices to the tumult.\r\n\r\nSoon a way was cleared, and Sir Daniel came forth in person, followed by\r\nthe bridegroom of the morrow, my Lord Shoreby.\r\n\r\n"My lord," said Sir Daniel, "have I not told you of this knave Black\r\nArrow?  To the proof, behold it!  There it stands, and, by the rood, my\r\ngossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your colours!"\r\n\r\n"In good sooth, it was a man of mine," replied Lord Shoreby, hanging\r\nback.  "I would I had more such.  He was keen as a beagle and secret as a\r\nmole."\r\n\r\n"Ay, gossip, truly?" asked Sir Daniel, keenly.  "And what came he\r\nsmelling up so many stairs in my poor mansion?  But he will smell no\r\nmore."\r\n\r\n"An\'t please you, Sir Daniel," said one, "here is a paper written upon\r\nwith some matter, pinned upon his breast."\r\n\r\n"Give it me, arrow and all," said the knight.  And when he had taken into\r\nhis hand the shaft, he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a\r\nsullen musing.  "Ay," he said, addressing Lord Shoreby, "here is a hate\r\nthat followeth hard and close upon my heels.  This black stick, or its\r\njust likeness, shall yet bring me down.  And, gossip, suffer a plain\r\nknight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee!  \'Tis\r\nlike a sickness--it still hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs.  But let us\r\nsee what they have written.  It is as I thought, my lord; y\' are marked,\r\nlike an old oak, by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the\r\naxe.  But what wrote ye in a letter?"\r\n\r\nLord Shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, read it, crumpled it\r\nbetween his hands, and, overcoming the reluctance which had hitherto\r\nwithheld him from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside the body\r\nand eagerly groped in the wallet.\r\n\r\nHe rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled countenance.\r\n\r\n"Gossip," he said, "I have indeed lost a letter here that much imported;\r\nand could I lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should\r\nincontinently grace a halter.  But let us, first of all, secure the\r\nissues of the house.  Here is enough harm already, by St. George!"\r\n\r\nSentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on\r\nevery landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and\r\nyet another about the bonfire in the shed.  Sir Daniel\'s followers were\r\nsupplemented by Lord Shoreby\'s; there was thus no lack of men or weapons\r\nto make the house secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be\r\nthere.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow\r\nand deposited in the abbey church.\r\n\r\nIt was not until these dispositions had been taken, and all had returned\r\nto a decorous silence, that the two girls drew Richard Shelton from his\r\nplace of concealment, and made a full report to him of what had passed.\r\nHe, upon his side, recounted the visit of the spy, his dangerous\r\ndiscovery, and speedy end.\r\n\r\nJoanna leaned back very faint against the curtained wall.\r\n\r\n"It will avail but little," she said.  "I shall be wed to-morrow, in the\r\nmorning, after all!"\r\n\r\n"What!" cried her friend.  "And here is our paladin that driveth lions\r\nlike mice!  Ye have little faith, of a surety.  But come, friend\r\nlion-driver, give us some comfort; speak, and let us hear bold counsels."\r\n\r\nDick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words;\r\nbut though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly.\r\n\r\n"Truly," said he, "we are in straits.  Yet, could I but win out of this\r\nhouse for half an hour, I do honestly tell myself that all might still go\r\nwell; and for the marriage, it should be prevented."\r\n\r\n"And for the lions," mimicked the girl, "they shall be driven."\r\n\r\n"I crave your excuse," said Dick.  "I speak not now in any boasting\r\nhumour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if I get\r\nnot forth of this house and through these sentinels, I can do less than\r\nnaught.  Take me, I pray you, rightly."\r\n\r\n"Why said ye he was rustic, Joan?" the girl inquired.  "I warrant he hath\r\na tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleasure.\r\nWhat would ye more?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," sighed Joanna, with a smile, "they have changed me my friend Dick,\r\n\'tis sure enough.  When I beheld him, he was rough indeed.  But it\r\nmatters little; there is no help for my hard case, and I must still be\r\nLady Shoreby!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, then," said Dick, "I will even make the adventure.  A friar is not\r\nmuch regarded; and if I found a good fairy to lead me up, I may find\r\nanother belike to carry me down.  How call they the name of this spy?"\r\n\r\n"Rutter," said the young lady; "and an excellent good name to call him\r\nby.  But how mean ye, lion-driver?  What is in your mind to do?"\r\n\r\n"To offer boldly to go forth," returned Dick; "and if any stop me, to\r\nkeep an unchanged countenance, and say I go to pray for Rutter.  They\r\nwill be praying over his poor clay even now."\r\n\r\n"The device is somewhat simple," replied the girl, "yet it may hold."\r\n\r\n"Nay," said young Shelton, "it is no device, but mere boldness, which\r\nserveth often better in great straits."\r\n\r\n"Ye say true," she said.  "Well, go, a-Mary\'s name, and may Heaven speed\r\nyou!  Ye leave here a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another that\r\nis most heartily your friend.  Be wary, for their sakes, and make not\r\nshipwreck of your safety."\r\n\r\n"Ay," added Joanna, "go, Dick.  Ye run no more peril, whether ye go or\r\nstay.  Go; ye take my heart with you; the saints defend you!"\r\n\r\nDick passed the first sentry with so assured a countenance that the\r\nfellow merely figeted and stared; but at the second landing the man\r\ncarried his spear across and bade him name his business.\r\n\r\n"_Pax vobiscum_," answered Dick.  "I go to pray over the body of this\r\npoor Rutter."\r\n\r\n"Like enough," returned the sentry; "but to go alone is not permitted\r\nyou."  He leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill.  "One\r\ncometh!" he cried; and then motioned Dick to pass.\r\n\r\nAt the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot and awaiting his\r\narrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of\r\nthe post ordered four men out to accompany him to the church.\r\n\r\n"Let him not slip, my lads," he said.  "Bring him to Sir Oliver, on your\r\nlives!"\r\n\r\nThe door was then opened; one of the men took Dick by either arm, another\r\nmarched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on\r\nthe string, brought up the rear.  In this order they proceeded through\r\nthe garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the scattering\r\nsnow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the abbey church.\r\n\r\nAt the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter they\r\ncould find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered with\r\nthe snow; and it was not until Dick\'s conductors had exchanged a word\r\nwith these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the nave of\r\nthe sacred edifice.\r\n\r\nThe church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar, and\r\nby a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private\r\nchapels of illustrious families.  In the midst of the choir the dead spy\r\nlay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier.\r\n\r\nA hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures knelt\r\nin the stalls of the choir, and on the steps of the high altar a priest\r\nin pontifical vestments celebrated mass.\r\n\r\nUpon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming\r\ndown the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the\r\nnave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him\r\nto the church.  Out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke\r\nin guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge, empty building caught up\r\ntheir words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles.\r\n\r\n"A monk!" returned Sir Oliver (for he it was), when he had heard the\r\nreport of the archer.  "My brother, I looked not for your coming," he\r\nadded, turning to young Shelton.  "In all civility, who are ye? and at\r\nwhose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?"\r\n\r\nDick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to Sir Oliver to move a\r\npace or two aside from the archers; and, so soon as the priest had done\r\nso, "I cannot hope to deceive you, sir," he said.  "My life is in your\r\nhands."\r\n\r\nSir Oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a space\r\nhe was silent.\r\n\r\n"Richard," he said, "what brings you here, I know not; but I much\r\nmisdoubt it to be evil.  Nevertheless, for the kindness that was, I would\r\nnot willingly deliver you to harm.  Ye shall sit all night beside me in\r\nthe stalls: ye shall sit there till my Lord of Shoreby be married, and\r\nthe party gone safe home; and if all goeth well, and ye have planned no\r\nevil, in the end ye shall go whither ye will.  But if your purpose be\r\nbloody, it shall return upon your head.  Amen!"\r\n\r\nAnd the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned and louted to the\r\naltar.\r\n\r\nWith that, he spoke a few words more to the soldiers, and taking Dick by\r\nthe hand, led him up to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside his\r\nown, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and appear\r\nto be busy with his devotions.\r\n\r\nHis mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering.  Three of the\r\nsoldiers, he observed, instead of returning to the house, had got them\r\nquietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt that\r\nthey had done so by Sir Oliver\'s command.  Here, then, he was trapped.\r\nHere he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow of the\r\nchurch, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in the\r\nmorning, he must see his sweetheart married to another man before his\r\neyes.\r\n\r\nBut, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built himself\r\nup in patience to await the issue.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV--IN THE ABBEY CHURCH\r\n\r\n\r\nIn Shoreby Abbey Church the prayers were kept up all night without\r\ncessation, now with the singing of psalms, now with a note or two upon\r\nthe bell.\r\n\r\nRutter, the spy, was nobly waked.  There he lay, meanwhile, as they had\r\narranged him, his dead hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes\r\nstaring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain him\r\nwaited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning.\r\n\r\nOnce only, in the course of the hours, Sir Oliver leaned across to his\r\ncaptive.\r\n\r\n"Richard," he whispered, "my son, if ye mean me evil, I will certify, on\r\nmy soul\'s welfare, ye design upon an innocent man.  Sinful in the eye of\r\nHeaven I do declare myself; but sinful as against you I am not, neither\r\nhave been ever."\r\n\r\n"My father," returned Dick, in the same tone of voice, "trust me, I\r\ndesign nothing; but as for your innocence, I may not forget that ye\r\ncleared yourself but lamely."\r\n\r\n"A man may be innocently guilty," replied the priest.  "He may be set\r\nblindfolded upon a mission, ignorant of its true scope.  So it was with\r\nme.  I did decoy your father to his death; but as Heaven sees us in this\r\nsacred place, I knew not what I did."\r\n\r\n"It may be," returned Dick.  "But see what a strange web ye have woven,\r\nthat I should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge;\r\nthat ye should both threaten my days and deprecate my anger.  Methinks,\r\nif ye had been all your life a true man and good priest, ye would neither\r\nthus fear nor thus detest me.  And now to your prayers.  I do obey you,\r\nsince needs must; but I will not be burthened with your company."\r\n\r\nThe priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had almost touched the lad\r\ninto some sentiment of pity, and he bowed his head upon his hands like a\r\nman borne down below a weight of care.  He joined no longer in the\r\npsalms; but Dick could hear the beads rattle through his fingers and the\r\nprayers a-pattering between his teeth.\r\n\r\nYet a little, and the grey of the morning began to struggle through the\r\npainted casements of the church, and to put to shame the glimmer of the\r\ntapers.  The light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently through\r\nthe south-eastern clerestories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the\r\nwalls.  The storm was over; the great clouds had disburdened their snow\r\nand fled farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry winter\r\nlandscape sheathed in white.\r\n\r\nA bustle of church officers followed; the bier was carried forth to the\r\ndeadhouse, and the stains of blood were cleansed from off the tiles, that\r\nno such ill-omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of Lord\r\nShoreby.  At the same time, the very ecclesiastics who had been so\r\ndismally engaged all night began to put on morning faces, to do honour to\r\nthe merrier ceremony which was about to follow.  And further to announce\r\nthe coming of the day, the pious of the town began to assemble and fall\r\nto prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their turn at the\r\nconfessionals.\r\n\r\nFavoured by this stir, it was of course easily possible for any man to\r\navoid the vigilance of Sir Daniel\'s sentries at the door; and presently\r\nDick, looking about him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than\r\nWill Lawless, still in his monk\'s habit.\r\n\r\nThe outlaw, at the same moment, recognised his leader, and privily signed\r\nto him with hand and eye.\r\n\r\nNow, Dick was far from having forgiven the old rogue his most untimely\r\ndrunkenness, but he had no desire to involve him in his own predicament;\r\nand he signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to begone.\r\n\r\nLawless, as though he had understood, disappeared at once behind a\r\npillar, and Dick breathed again.\r\n\r\nWhat, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked by the sleeve and to\r\nfind the old robber installed beside him, upon the next seat, and, to all\r\nappearance, plunged in his devotions!\r\n\r\nInstantly Sir Oliver arose from his place, and, gliding behind the\r\nstalls, made for the soldiers in the aisle.  If the priest\'s suspicions\r\nhad been so lightly wakened, the harm was already done, and Lawless a\r\nprisoner in the church.\r\n\r\n"Move not," whispered Dick.  "We are in the plaguiest pass, thanks,\r\nbefore all things, to thy swinishness of yestereven.  When ye saw me\r\nhere, so strangely seated where I have neither right nor interest, what a\r\nmurrain I could ye not smell harm and get ye gone from evil?"\r\n\r\n"Nay," returned Lawless, "I thought ye had heard from Ellis, and were\r\nhere on duty."\r\n\r\n"Ellis!" echoed Dick.  "Is Ellis, then, returned?\r\n\r\n"For sure," replied the outlaw.  "He came last night, and belted me sore\r\nfor being in wine--so there ye are avenged, my master.  A furious man is\r\nEllis Duckworth!  He hath ridden me hot-spur from Craven to prevent this\r\nmarriage; and, Master Dick, ye know the way of him--do so he will!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, then," returned Dick, with composure, "you and I, my poor brother,\r\nare dead men; for I sit here a prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was\r\nto answer for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar.  I had a fair\r\nchoice, by the rood! to lose my sweetheart or else lose my life!  Well,\r\nthe cast is thrown--it is to be my life."\r\n\r\n"By the mass," cried Lawless, half arising, "I am gone!"\r\n\r\nBut Dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder.\r\n\r\n"Friend Lawless, sit ye still," he said.  "An ye have eyes, look yonder\r\nat the corner by the chancel arch; see ye not that, even upon the motion\r\nof your rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept you?  Yield\r\nye, friend.  Ye were bold aboard ship, when ye thought to die a\r\nsea-death; be bold again, now that y\' are to die presently upon the\r\ngallows."\r\n\r\n"Master Dick," gasped Lawless, "the thing hath come upon me somewhat of\r\nthe suddenest.  But give me a moment till I fetch my breath again; and,\r\nby the mass, I will be as stout-hearted as yourself."\r\n\r\n"Here is my bold fellow!" returned Dick.  "And yet, Lawless, it goes hard\r\nagainst the grain with me to die; but where whining mendeth nothing,\r\nwherefore whine?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, that indeed!" chimed Lawless.  "And a fig for death, at worst!  It\r\nhas to be done, my master, soon or late.  And hanging in a good quarrel\r\nis an easy death, they say, though I could never hear of any that came\r\nback to say so."\r\n\r\nAnd so saying, the stout old rascal leaned back in his stall, folded his\r\narms, and began to look about him with the greatest air of insolence and\r\nunconcern.\r\n\r\n"And for the matter of that," Dick added, "it is yet our best chance to\r\nkeep quiet.  We wot not yet what Duckworth purposes; and when all is\r\nsaid, and if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it."\r\n\r\nNow that they ceased talking, they were aware of a very distant and thin\r\nstrain of mirthful music which steadily drew nearer, louder, and merrier.\r\nThe bells in the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, and a\r\ngreater and greater concourse of people to crowd into the church,\r\nshuffling the snow from off their feet, and clapping and blowing in their\r\nhands.  The western door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of\r\nsunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the shrewd air of the\r\nmorning; and in short, it became plain by every sign that Lord Shoreby\r\ndesired to be married very early in the day, and that the wedding-train\r\nwas drawing near.\r\n\r\nSome of Lord Shoreby\'s men now cleared a passage down the middle aisle,\r\nforcing the people back with lance-stocks; and just then, outside the\r\nportal, the secular musicians could be descried drawing near over the\r\nfrozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet in the face with lusty\r\nblowing, the drummers and the cymbalists beating as for a wager.\r\n\r\nThese, as they drew near the door of the sacred building, filed off on\r\neither side, and, marking time to their own vigorous music, stood\r\nstamping in the snow.  As they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of\r\nthis noble bridal train appeared behind and between them; and such was\r\nthe variety and gaiety of their attire, such the display of silks and\r\nvelvet, fur and satin, embroidery and lace, that the procession showed\r\nforth upon the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted window in a\r\nwall.\r\n\r\nFirst came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as winter, clinging to Sir\r\nDaniel\'s arm, and attended, as brides-maid, by the short young lady who\r\nhad befriended Dick the night before.  Close behind, in the most radiant\r\ntoilet, followed the bridegroom, halting on a gouty foot; and as he\r\npassed the threshold of the sacred building and doffed his hat, his bald\r\nhead was seen to be rosy with emotion.\r\n\r\nAnd now came the hour of Ellis Duckworth.\r\n\r\nDick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, grasping the desk in front\r\nof him, beheld a movement in the crowd, people jostling backward, and\r\neyes and arms uplifted.  Following these signs, he beheld three or four\r\nmen with bent bows leaning from the clerestory gallery.  At the same\r\ninstant they delivered their discharge, and before the clamour and cries\r\nof the astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the ear, they had\r\nflitted from their perch and disappeared.\r\n\r\nThe nave was full of swaying heads and voices screaming; the\r\necclesiastics thronged in terror from their places; the music ceased, and\r\nthough the bells overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon the\r\nair, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its way at last even to the\r\nchamber where the ringers were leaping on their ropes, and they also\r\ndesisted from their merry labours.\r\n\r\nRight in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay stone-dead, pierced by\r\ntwo black arrows.  The bride had fainted.  Sir Daniel stood, towering\r\nabove the crowd in his surprise and anger, a clothyard shaft quivering in\r\nhis left forearm, and his face streaming blood from another which had\r\ngrazed his brow.\r\n\r\nLong before any search could be made for them, the authors of this tragic\r\ninterruption had clattered down a turnpike stair and decamped by a\r\npostern door.\r\n\r\nBut Dick and Lawless still remained in pawn; they had, indeed, arisen on\r\nthe first alarm, and pushed manfully to gain the door; but what with the\r\nnarrowness of the stalls and the crowding of terrified priests and\r\nchoristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had stoically resumed\r\ntheir places.\r\n\r\nAnd now, pale with horror, Sir Oliver rose to his feet and called upon\r\nSir Daniel, pointing with one hand to Dick.\r\n\r\n"Here," he cried, "is Richard Shelton--alas the hour!--blood guilty!\r\nSeize him!--bid him be seized!  For all our lives\' sakes, take him and\r\nbind him surely!  He hath sworn our fall."\r\n\r\nSir Daniel was blinded by anger--blinded by the hot blood that still\r\nstreamed across his face.\r\n\r\n"Where?" he bellowed.  "Hale him forth!  By the cross of Holywood, but he\r\nshall rue this hour!"\r\n\r\nThe crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded the choir, laid rough\r\nhands on Dick, dragged him head-foremost from the stall, and thrust him\r\nby the shoulders down the chancel steps.  Lawless, on his part, sat as\r\nstill as a mouse.\r\n\r\nSir Daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared blinkingly upon\r\nhis captive.\r\n\r\n"Ay," he said, "treacherous and insolent, I have thee fast; and by all\r\npotent oaths, for every drop of blood that now trickles in mine eyes, I\r\nwill wring a groan out of thy carcase.  Away with him!" he added.  "Here\r\nis no place!  Off with him to my house.  I will number every joint of thy\r\nbody with a torture."\r\n\r\nBut Dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his voice.\r\n\r\n"Sanctuary!" he shouted.  "Sanctuary!  Ho, there, my fathers!  They would\r\ndrag me from the church!"\r\n\r\n"From the church thou hast defiled with murder, boy," added a tall man,\r\nmagnificently dressed.\r\n\r\n"On what probation?" cried Dick.  "They do accuse me, indeed, of some\r\ncomplicity, but have not proved one tittle.  I was, in truth, a suitor\r\nfor this damsel\'s hand; and she, I will be bold to say it, repaid my suit\r\nwith favour.  But what then?  To love a maid is no offence, I trow--nay,\r\nnor to gain her love.  In all else, I stand here free from guiltiness."\r\n\r\nThere was a murmur of approval among the bystanders, so boldly Dick\r\ndeclared his innocence; but at the same time a throng of accusers arose\r\nupon the other side, crying how he had been found last night in Sir\r\nDaniel\'s house, how he wore a sacrilegious disguise; and in the midst of\r\nthe babel, Sir Oliver indicated Lawless, both by voice and gesture, as\r\naccomplice to the fact.  He, in his turn, was dragged from his seat and\r\nset beside his leader.  The feelings of the crowd rose high on either\r\nside, and while some dragged the prisoners to and fro to favour their\r\nescape, others cursed and struck them with their fists.  Dick\'s ears rang\r\nand his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling in the eddies of a\r\nfurious river.\r\n\r\nBut the tall man who had already answered Dick, by a prodigious exercise\r\nof voice restored silence and order in the mob.\r\n\r\n"Search them," he said, "for arms.  We may so judge of their intentions."\r\n\r\nUpon Dick they found no weapon but his poniard, and this told in his\r\nfavour, until one man officiously drew it from its sheath, and found it\r\nstill uncleansed of the blood of Rutter.  At this there was a great shout\r\namong Sir Daniel\'s followers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture\r\nand an imperious glance.  But when it came to the turn of Lawless, there\r\nwas found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had\r\nbeen shot.\r\n\r\n"How say ye now?" asked the tall man, frowningly, of Dick.\r\n\r\n"Sir," replied Dick, "I am here in sanctuary, is it not so?  Well, sir, I\r\nsee by your bearing that ye are high in station, and I read in your\r\ncountenance the marks of piety and justice.  To you, then, I will yield\r\nme prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advantage of this holy\r\nplace.  But rather than to be yielded into the discretion of that\r\nman--whom I do here accuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my\r\nnatural father and the unjust retainer of my lands and revenues--rather\r\nthan that, I would beseech you, under favour, with your own gentle hand,\r\nto despatch me on the spot.  Your own ears have heard him, how before\r\nthat I was proven guilty he did threaten me with torments.  It standeth\r\nnot with your own honour to deliver me to my sworn enemy and old\r\noppressor, but to try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that I be\r\nguilty indeed, to slay me mercifully."\r\n\r\n"My lord," cried Sir Daniel, "ye will not hearken to this wolf?  His\r\nbloody dagger reeks him the lie into his face."\r\n\r\n"Nay, but suffer me, good knight," returned the tall stranger; "your own\r\nvehemence doth somewhat tell against yourself."\r\n\r\nAnd here the bride, who had come to herself some minutes past and looked\r\nwildly on upon this scene, broke loose from those that held her, and fell\r\nupon her knees before the last speaker.\r\n\r\n"My Lord of Risingham," she cried, "hear me, in justice.  I am here in\r\nthis man\'s custody by mere force, reft from mine own people.  Since that\r\nday I had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the face of man--but\r\nfrom him only--Richard Shelton--whom they now accuse and labour to undo.\r\nMy lord, if he was yesternight in Sir Daniel\'s mansion, it was I that\r\nbrought him there; he came but at my prayer, and thought to do no hurt.\r\nWhile yet Sir Daniel was a good lord to him, he fought with them of the\r\nBlack Arrow loyally; but when his foul guardian sought his life by\r\npractices, and he fled by night, for his soul\'s sake, out of that bloody\r\nhouse, whither was he to turn--he, helpless and penniless?  Or if he be\r\nfallen among ill company, whom should ye blame--the lad that was unjustly\r\nhandled, or the guardian that did abuse his trust?"\r\n\r\nAnd then the short young lady fell on her knees by Joanna\'s side.\r\n\r\n"And I, my good lord and natural uncle," she added, "I can bear\r\ntestimony, on my conscience and before the face of all, that what this\r\nmaiden saith is true.  It was I, unworthy, that did lead the young man\r\nin."\r\n\r\nEarl Risingham had heard in silence, and when the voices ceased, he still\r\nstood silent for a space.  Then he gave Joanna his hand to arise, though\r\nit was to be observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to her who\r\nhad called herself his niece.\r\n\r\n"Sir Daniel," he said, "here is a right intricate affair, the which, with\r\nyour good leave, it shall be mine to examine and adjust.  Content ye,\r\nthen; your business is in careful hands; justice shall be done you; and\r\nin the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have your hurts\r\nattended.  The air is shrewd, and I would not ye took cold upon these\r\nscratches."\r\n\r\nHe made a sign with his hand; it was passed down the nave by obsequious\r\nservants, who waited there upon his smallest gesture.  Instantly, without\r\nthe church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal archers\r\nand men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the colours and wearing the badge\r\nof Lord Risingham, began to file into the church, took Dick and Lawless\r\nfrom those who still detained them, and, closing their files about the\r\nprisoners, marched forth again and disappeared.\r\n\r\nAs they were passing, Joanna held both her hands to Dick and cried him\r\nher farewell; and the bridesmaid, nothing downcast by her uncle\'s evident\r\ndispleasure, blew him a kiss, with a "Keep your heart up, lion-driver!"\r\nthat for the first time since the accident called up a smile to the faces\r\nof the crowd.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V--EARL RISINGHAM\r\n\r\n\r\nEarl Risingham, although by far the most important person then in\r\nShoreby, was poorly lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon the\r\nextreme outskirts of the town.  Nothing but the armed men at the doors,\r\nand the mounted messengers that kept arriving and departing, announced\r\nthe temporary residence of a great lord.\r\n\r\nThus it was that, from lack of space, Dick and Lawless were clapped into\r\nthe same apartment.\r\n\r\n"Well spoken, Master Richard," said the outlaw; "it was excellently well\r\nspoken, and, for my part, I thank you cordially.  Here we are in good\r\nhands; we shall be justly tried, and, some time this evening, decently\r\nhanged on the same tree."\r\n\r\n"Indeed, my poor friend, I do believe it," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Yet have we a string to our bow," returned Lawless.  "Ellis Duckworth is\r\na man out of ten thousand; he holdeth you right near his heart, both for\r\nyour own and for your father\'s sake; and knowing you guiltless of this\r\nfact, he will stir earth and heaven to bear you clear."\r\n\r\n"It may not be," said Dick.  "What can he do?  He hath but a handful.\r\nAlack, if it were but to-morrow--could I but keep a certain tryst an hour\r\nbefore noon to-morrow--all were, I think, otherwise.  But now there is no\r\nhelp."\r\n\r\n"Well," concluded Lawless, "an ye will stand to it for my innocence, I\r\nwill stand to it for yours, and that stoutly.  It shall naught avail us;\r\nbut an I be to hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing."\r\n\r\nAnd then, while Dick gave himself over to his reflections, the old rogue\r\ncurled himself down into a corner, pulled his monkish hood about his\r\nface, and composed himself to sleep.  Soon he was loudly snoring, so\r\nutterly had his long life of hardship and adventure blunted the sense of\r\napprehension.\r\n\r\nIt was long after noon, and the day was already failing, before the door\r\nwas opened and Dick taken forth and led up-stairs to where, in a warm\r\ncabinet, Earl Risingham sat musing over the fire.\r\n\r\nOn his captive\'s entrance he looked up.\r\n\r\n"Sir," he said, "I knew your father, who was a man of honour, and this\r\ninclineth me to be the more lenient; but I may not hide from you that\r\nheavy charges lie against your character.  Ye do consort with murderers\r\nand robbers; upon a clear probation ye have carried war against the\r\nking\'s peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized upon a ship; ye\r\nare found skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your enemy\'s house;\r\na man is slain that very evening--"\r\n\r\n"An it like you, my lord," Dick interposed, "I will at once avow my\r\nguilt, such as it is.  I slew this fellow Rutter; and to the\r\nproof"--searching in his bosom--"here is a letter from his wallet."\r\n\r\nLord Risingham took the letter, and opened and read it twice.\r\n\r\n"Ye have read this?" he inquired.\r\n\r\n"I have read it," answered Dick.\r\n\r\n"Are ye for York or Lancaster?" the earl demanded.\r\n\r\n"My lord, it was but a little while back that I was asked that question,\r\nand knew not how to answer it," said Dick; "but having answered once, I\r\nwill not vary.  My lord, I am for York."\r\n\r\nThe earl nodded approvingly.\r\n\r\n"Honestly replied," he said.  "But wherefore, then, deliver me this\r\nletter?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides arrayed?" cried\r\nDick.\r\n\r\n"I would they were, young gentleman," returned the earl; "and I do at\r\nleast approve your saying.  There is more youth than guile in you, I do\r\nperceive; and were not Sir Daniel a mighty man upon our side, I were\r\nhalf-tempted to espouse your quarrel.  For I have inquired, and it\r\nappears ye have been hardly dealt with, and have much excuse.  But look\r\nye, sir, I am, before all else, a leader in the queen\'s interest; and\r\nthough by nature a just man, as I believe, and leaning even to the excess\r\nof mercy, yet must I order my goings for my party\'s interest, and, to\r\nkeep Sir Daniel, I would go far about."\r\n\r\n"My lord," returned Dick, "ye will think me very bold to counsel you; but\r\ndo ye count upon Sir Daniel\'s faith?  Methought he had changed sides\r\nintolerably often."\r\n\r\n"Nay, it is the way of England.  What would ye have?" the earl demanded.\r\n"But ye are unjust to the knight of Tunstall; and as faith goes, in this\r\nunfaithful generation, he hath of late been honourably true to us of\r\nLancaster.  Even in our last reverses he stood firm."\r\n\r\n"An it pleased you, then," said Dick, "to cast your eye upon this letter,\r\nye might somewhat change your thought of him;" and he handed to the earl\r\nSir Daniel\'s letter to Lord Wensleydale.\r\n\r\nThe effect upon the earl\'s countenance was instant; he lowered like an\r\nangry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger.\r\n\r\n"Ye have read this also?" he asked.\r\n\r\n"Even so," said Dick.  "It is your lordship\'s own estate he offers to\r\nLord Wensleydale?"\r\n\r\n"It is my own estate, even as ye say!" returned the earl.  "I am your\r\nbedesman for this letter.  It hath shown me a fox\'s hole.  Command me,\r\nMaster Shelton; I will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin with,\r\nYork or Lancaster, true man or thief, I do now set you at freedom.  Go, a\r\nMary\'s name!  But judge it right that I retain and hang your fellow,\r\nLawless.  The crime hath been most open, and it were fitting that some\r\nopen punishment should follow."\r\n\r\n"My lord, I make it my first suit to you to spare him also," pleaded\r\nDick.\r\n\r\n"It is an old, condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, Master Shelton,"\r\nsaid the earl.  "He hath been gallows-ripe this score of years.  And,\r\nwhether for one thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after,\r\nwhere is the great choice?"\r\n\r\n"Yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he came hither," answered\r\nDick, "and I were churlish and thankless to desert him."\r\n\r\n"Master Shelton, ye are troublesome," replied the earl, severely.  "It is\r\nan evil way to prosper in this world.  Howbeit, and to be quit of your\r\nimportunity, I will once more humour you.  Go, then, together; but go\r\nwarily, and get swiftly out of Shoreby town.  For this Sir Daniel (whom\r\nmay the saints confound!) thirsteth most greedily to have your blood."\r\n\r\n"My lord, I do now offer you in words my gratitude, trusting at some\r\nbrief date to pay you some of it in service," replied Dick, as he turned\r\nfrom the apartment.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI--ARBLASTER AGAIN\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen Dick and Lawless were suffered to steal, by a back way, out of the\r\nhouse where Lord Risingham held his garrison, the evening had already\r\ncome.\r\n\r\nThey paused in shelter of the garden wall to consult on their best\r\ncourse.  The danger was extreme.  If one of Sir Daniel\'s men caught sight\r\nof them and raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and butchered\r\ninstantly.  And not only was the town of Shoreby a mere net of peril for\r\ntheir lives, but to make for the open country was to run the risk of the\r\npatrols.\r\n\r\nA little way off, upon some open ground, they spied a windmill standing;\r\nand hard by that, a very large granary with open doors.\r\n\r\n"How if we lay there until the night fall?" Dick proposed.\r\n\r\nAnd Lawless having no better suggestion to offer, they made a straight\r\npush for the granary at a run, and concealed themselves behind the door\r\namong some straw.  The daylight rapidly departed; and presently the moon\r\nwas silvering the frozen snow.  Now or never was their opportunity to\r\ngain the Goat and Bagpipes unobserved and change their tell-tale\r\ngarments.  Yet even then it was advisable to go round by the outskirts,\r\nand not run the gauntlet of the market-place, where, in the concourse of\r\npeople, they stood the more imminent peril to be recognised and slain.\r\n\r\nThis course was a long one.  It took them not far from the house by the\r\nbeach, now lying dark and silent, and brought them forth at last by the\r\nmargin of the harbour.  Many of the ships, as they could see by the clear\r\nmoonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profiting by the calm sky, proceeded\r\nfor more distant parts; answerably to this, the rude alehouses along the\r\nbeach (although in defiance of the curfew law, they still shone with fire\r\nand candle) were no longer thronged with customers, and no longer echoed\r\nto the chorus of sea-songs.\r\n\r\nHastily, half-running, with their monkish raiment kilted to the knee,\r\nthey plunged through the deep snow and threaded the labyrinth of marine\r\nlumber; and they were already more than half way round the harbour when,\r\nas they were passing close before an alehouse, the door suddenly opened\r\nand let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures.\r\n\r\nInstantly they stopped, and made believe to be engaged in earnest\r\nconversation.\r\n\r\nThree men, one after another, came out of the ale-house, and the last\r\nclosed the door behind him.  All three were unsteady upon their feet, as\r\nif they had passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood wavering\r\nin the moonlight, like men who knew not what they would be after.  The\r\ntallest of the three was talking in a loud, lamentable voice.\r\n\r\n"Seven pieces of as good Gascony as ever a tapster broached," he was\r\nsaying, "the best ship out o\' the port o\' Dartmouth, a Virgin Mary\r\nparcel-gilt, thirteen pounds of good gold money--"\r\n\r\n"I have bad losses, too," interrupted one of the others.  "I have had\r\nlosses of mine own, gossip Arblaster.  I was robbed at Martinmas of five\r\nshillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing."\r\n\r\nDick\'s heart smote him at what he heard.  Until that moment he had not\r\nperhaps thought twice of the poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss\r\nof the Good Hope; so careless, in those days, were men who wore arms of\r\nthe goods and interests of their inferiors.  But this sudden encounter\r\nreminded him sharply of the high-handed manner and ill-ending of his\r\nenterprise; and both he and Lawless turned their heads the other way, to\r\navoid the chance of recognition.\r\n\r\nThe ship\'s dog had, however, made his escape from the wreck and found his\r\nway back again to Shoreby.  He was now at Arblaster\'s heels, and suddenly\r\nsniffing and pricking his ears, he darted forward and began to bark\r\nfuriously at the two sham friars.\r\n\r\nHis master unsteadily followed him.\r\n\r\n"Hey, shipmates!" he cried.  "Have ye ever a penny pie for a poor old\r\nshipman, clean destroyed by pirates?  I am a man that would have paid for\r\nyou both o\' Thursday morning; and now here I be, o\' Saturday night,\r\nbegging for a flagon of ale!  Ask my man Tom, if ye misdoubt me.  Seven\r\npieces of good Gascon wine, a ship that was mine own, and was my father\'s\r\nbefore me, a Blessed Mary of plane-tree wood and parcel-gilt, and\r\nthirteen pounds in gold and silver.  Hey! what say ye?  A man that fought\r\nthe French, too; for I have fought the French; I have cut more French\r\nthroats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails out of Dartmouth.\r\nCome, a penny piece."\r\n\r\nNeither Dick nor Lawless durst answer him a word, lest he should\r\nrecognise their voices; and they stood there as helpless as a ship\r\nashore, not knowing where to turn nor what to hope.\r\n\r\n"Are ye dumb, boy?" inquired the skipper.  "Mates," he added, with a\r\nhiccup, "they be dumb.  I like not this manner of discourtesy; for an a\r\nman be dumb, so be as he\'s courteous, he will still speak when he was\r\nspoken to, methinks."\r\n\r\nBy this time the sailor, Tom, who was a man of great personal strength,\r\nseemed to have conceived some suspicion of these two speechless figures;\r\nand being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly before him, took\r\nLawless roughly by the shoulder, and asked him, with an oath, what ailed\r\nhim that he held his tongue.  To this the outlaw, thinking all was over,\r\nmade answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the sailor on the sand,\r\nand, calling upon Dick to follow him, took to his heels among the lumber.\r\n\r\nThe affair passed in a second.  Before Dick could run at all, Arblaster\r\nhad him in his arms; Tom, crawling on his face, had caught him by one\r\nfoot, and the third man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above his head.\r\n\r\nIt was not so much the danger, it was not so much the annoyance, that now\r\nbowed down the spirits of young Shelton; it was the profound humiliation\r\nto have escaped Sir Daniel, convinced Lord Risingham, and now fall\r\nhelpless in the hands of this old, drunken sailor; and not merely\r\nhelpless, but, as his conscience loudly told him when it was too late,\r\nactually guilty--actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he\r\nhad stolen and lost.\r\n\r\n"Bring me him back into the alehouse, till I see his face," said\r\nArblaster.\r\n\r\n"Nay, nay," returned Tom; "but let us first unload his wallet, lest the\r\nother lads cry share."\r\n\r\nBut though he was searched from head to foot, not a penny was found upon\r\nhim; nothing but Lord Foxham\'s signet, which they plucked savagely from\r\nhis finger.\r\n\r\n"Turn me him to the moon," said the skipper; and taking Dick by the chin,\r\nhe cruelly jerked his head into the air.  "Blessed Virgin!" he cried, "it\r\nis the pirate!"\r\n\r\n"Hey!" cried Tom.\r\n\r\n"By the Virgin of Bordeaux, it is the man himself!" repeated Arblaster.\r\n"What, sea-thief, do I hold you?" he cried.  "Where is my ship?  Where is\r\nmy wine?  Hey! have I you in my hands?  Tom, give me one end of a cord\r\nhere; I will so truss me this sea-thief, hand and foot together, like a\r\nbasting turkey--marry, I will so bind him up--and thereafter I will so\r\nbeat--so beat him!"\r\n\r\nAnd so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about Dick\'s limbs with the\r\ndexterity peculiar to seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it\r\nwith a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull.\r\n\r\nWhen he had done, the lad was a mere package in his hands--as helpless as\r\nthe dead.  The skipper held him at arm\'s length, and laughed aloud.  Then\r\nhe fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then turned him about,\r\nand furiously kicked and kicked him.  Anger rose up in Dick\'s bosom like\r\na storm; anger strangled him, and he thought to have died; but when the\r\nsailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped him all his length upon the\r\nsand and turned to consult with his companions, he instantly regained\r\ncommand of his temper.  Here was a momentary respite; ere they began\r\nagain to torture him, he might have found some method to escape from this\r\ndegrading and fatal misadventure.\r\n\r\nPresently, sure enough, and while his captors were still discussing what\r\nto do with him, he took heart of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice,\r\naddressed them.\r\n\r\n"My masters," he began, "are ye gone clean foolish?  Here hath Heaven put\r\ninto your hands as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever shipman\r\nhad--such as ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not find\r\nagain--and, by the mass I what do ye?  Beat me?--nay; so would an angry\r\nchild!  But for long-headed tarry-Johns, that fear not fire nor water,\r\nand that love gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise."\r\n\r\n"Ay," said Tom, "now y\' are trussed ye would cozen us."\r\n\r\n"Cozen you!" repeated Dick.  "Nay, if ye be fools, it would be easy.  But\r\nif ye be shrewd fellows, as I trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your\r\ninterest lies.  When I took your ship from you, we were many, we were\r\nwell clad and armed; but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that\r\narray?  One incontestably that hath much gold.  And if he, being already\r\nrich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face of storms--bethink\r\nyou once more--shall there not be a treasure somewhere hidden?"\r\n\r\n"What meaneth he?" asked one of the men.\r\n\r\n"Why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of vinegary wine,"\r\ncontinued Dick, "forget them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather\r\nbuckle to an adventure worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make\r\nor mar you for ever.  But take me up from where I lie, and let us go\r\nsomewhere near at hand and talk across a flagon, for I am sore and\r\nfrozen, and my mouth is half among the snow."\r\n\r\n"He seeks but to cozen us," said Tom, contemptuously.\r\n\r\n"Cozen! cozen!" cried the third man.  "I would I could see the man that\r\ncould cozen me!  He were a cozener indeed!  Nay, I was not born\r\nyesterday.  I can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for my\r\npart, gossip Arblaster, methinks there is some sense in this young man.\r\nShall we go hear him, indeed?  Say, shall we go hear him?"\r\n\r\n"I would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good Master Pirret,"\r\nreturned Arblaster.  "How say ye, Tom?  But then the wallet is empty."\r\n\r\n"I will pay," said the other--"I will pay.  I would fain see this matter\r\nout; I do believe, upon my conscience, there is gold in it."\r\n\r\n"Nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!" cried Tom.\r\n\r\n"Gossip Arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too much liberty,"\r\nreturned Master Pirret.  "Would ye be led by a hired man?  Fy, fy!"\r\n\r\n"Peace, fellow!" said Arblaster, addressing Tom.  "Will ye put your oar\r\nin?  Truly a fine pass, when the crew is to correct the skipper!"\r\n\r\n"Well, then, go your way," said Tom; "I wash my hands of you."\r\n\r\n"Set him, then, upon his feet," said Master Pirret.  "I know a privy\r\nplace where we may drink and discourse."\r\n\r\n"If I am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at liberty," said Dick,\r\nwhen he had been once more planted upright like a post.\r\n\r\n"He saith true," laughed Pirret.  "Truly, he could not walk accoutred as\r\nhe is.  Give it a slit--out with your knife and slit it, gossip."\r\n\r\nEven Arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his companion continued to\r\ninsist, and Dick had the sense to keep the merest wooden indifference of\r\nexpression, and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the skipper\r\nconsented at last, and cut the cords which tied his prisoner\'s feet and\r\nlegs.  Not only did this enable Dick to walk; but the whole network of\r\nhis bonds being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm behind his back\r\nbegin to move more freely, and could hope, with time and trouble, to\r\nentirely disengage it.  So much he owed already to the owlish silliness\r\nand greed of Master Pirret.\r\n\r\nThat worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted them to the very same\r\nrude alehouse where Lawless had taken Arblaster on the day of the gale.\r\nIt was now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, radiating\r\nthe most ardent heat; and when they had chosen their places, and the\r\nlandlord had set before them a measure of mulled ale, both Pirret and\r\nArblaster stretched forth their legs and squared their elbows like men\r\nbent upon a pleasant hour.\r\n\r\nThe table at which they sat, like all the others in the alehouse,\r\nconsisted of a heavy, square board, set on a pair of barrels; and each of\r\nthe four curiously-assorted cronies sat at one side of the square, Pirret\r\nfacing Arblaster, and Dick opposite to the common sailor.\r\n\r\n"And now, young man," said Pirret, "to your tale.  It doth appear,\r\nindeed, that ye have somewhat abused our gossip Arblaster; but what then?\r\nMake it up to him--show him but this chance to become wealthy--and I will\r\ngo pledge he will forgive you."\r\n\r\nSo far Dick had spoken pretty much at random; but it was now necessary,\r\nunder the supervision of six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous\r\nstory, and, if it were possible, get back into his hands the\r\nall-important signet.  To squander time was the first necessity.  The\r\nlonger his stay lasted, the more would his captors drink, and the surer\r\nshould he be when he attempted his escape.\r\n\r\nWell, Dick was not much of an inventor, and what he told was pretty much\r\nthe tale of Ali Baba, with Shoreby and Tunstall Forest substituted for\r\nthe East, and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated than\r\ndiminished.  As the reader is aware, it is an excellent story, and has\r\nbut one drawback--that it is not true; and so, as these three simple\r\nshipmen now heard it for the first time, their eyes stood out of their\r\nfaces, and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger\'s.\r\n\r\nPretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was called for; and while Dick\r\nwas still artfully spinning out the incidents a third followed the\r\nsecond.\r\n\r\nHere was the position of the parties towards the end: Arblaster,\r\nthree-parts drunk and one-half asleep, hung helpless on his stool.  Even\r\nTom had been much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance had abated\r\nin proportion.  Meanwhile, Dick had gradually wormed his right arm clear\r\nof its bonds, and was ready to risk all.\r\n\r\n"And so," said Pirret, "y\' are one of these?"\r\n\r\n"I was made so," replied Dick, "against my will; but an I could but get a\r\nsack or two of gold coin to my share, I should be a fool indeed to\r\ncontinue dwelling in a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a\r\nsoldier.  Here be we four; good!  Let us, then, go forth into the forest\r\nto-morrow ere the sun be up.  Could we come honestly by a donkey, it were\r\nbetter; but an we cannot, we have our four strong backs, and I warrant me\r\nwe shall come home staggering."\r\n\r\nPirret licked his lips.\r\n\r\n"And this magic," he said--"this password, whereby the cave is\r\nopened--how call ye it, friend?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, none know the word but the three chiefs," returned Dick; "but here\r\nis your great good fortune, that, on this very evening, I should be the\r\nbearer of a spell to open it.  It is a thing not trusted twice a year\r\nbeyond the captain\'s wallet."\r\n\r\n"A spell!" said Arblaster, half awakening, and squinting upon Dick with\r\none eye.  "Aroint thee! no spells!  I be a good Christian.  Ask my man\r\nTom, else."\r\n\r\n"Nay, but this is white magic," said Dick.  "It doth naught with the\r\ndevil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets."\r\n\r\n"Ay, ay," said Pirret; "\'tis but white magic, gossip.  There is no sin\r\ntherein, I do assure you.  But proceed, good youth.  This spell--in what\r\nshould it consist?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, that I will incontinently show you," answered Dick.  "Have ye there\r\nthe ring ye took from my finger?  Good!  Now hold it forth before you by\r\nthe extreme finger-ends, at the arm\'s-length, and over against the\r\nshining of these embers.  \'Tis so exactly.  Thus, then, is the spell."\r\n\r\nWith a haggard glance, Dick saw the coast was clear between him and the\r\ndoor.  He put up an internal prayer.  Then whipping forth his arm, he\r\nmade but one snatch of the ring, and at the same instant, levering up the\r\ntable, he sent it bodily over upon the seaman Tom.  He, poor soul, went\r\ndown bawling under the ruins; and before Arblaster understood that\r\nanything was wrong, or Pirret could collect his dazzled wits, Dick had\r\nrun to the door and escaped into the moonlit night.\r\n\r\nThe moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and the extreme whiteness of\r\nthe snow, made the open ground about the harbour bright as day; and young\r\nShelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber, was a conspicuous\r\nfigure from afar.\r\n\r\nTom and Pirret followed him with shouts; from every drinking-shop they\r\nwere joined by others whom their cries aroused; and presently a whole\r\nfleet of sailors was in full pursuit.  But Jack ashore was a bad runner,\r\neven in the fifteenth century, and Dick, besides, had a start, which he\r\nrapidly improved, until, as he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane,\r\nhe even paused and looked laughingly behind him.\r\n\r\nUpon the white floor of snow, all the shipmen of Shoreby came clustering\r\nin an inky mass, and tailing out rearward in isolated clumps.  Every man\r\nwas shouting or screaming; every man was gesticulating with both arms in\r\nair; some one was continually falling; and to complete the picture, when\r\none fell, a dozen would fall upon the top of him.\r\n\r\nThe confused mass of sound which they rolled up as high as to the moon\r\nwas partly comical and partly terrifying to the fugitive whom they were\r\nhunting.  In itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman in the\r\nport could run him down.  But the mere volume of noise, in so far as it\r\nmust awake all the sleepers in Shoreby and bring all the skulking\r\nsentries to the street, did really threaten him with danger in the front.\r\nSo, spying a dark doorway at a corner, he whipped briskly into it, and\r\nlet the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting and gesticulating, and all\r\nred with hurry and white with tumbles in the snow.\r\n\r\nIt was a long while, indeed, before this great invasion of the town by\r\nthe harbour came to an end, and it was long before silence was restored.\r\nFor long, lost sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting\r\nthrough the streets in all directions and in every quarter of the town.\r\nQuarrels followed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes with the men of\r\nthe patrols; knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more than\r\none dead body remained behind upon the snow.\r\n\r\nWhen, a full hour later, the last seaman returned grumblingly to the\r\nharbour side and his particular tavern, it may fairly be questioned if he\r\nhad ever known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was absolutely\r\nsure that he had now forgotten.  By next morning there were many strange\r\nstories flying; and a little while after, the legend of the devil\'s\r\nnocturnal visit was an article of faith with all the lads of Shoreby.\r\n\r\nBut the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, set free young\r\nShelton from his cold imprisonment in the doorway.\r\n\r\nFor some time after, there was a great activity of patrols; and special\r\nparties came forth to make the round of the place and report to one or\r\nother of the great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually broken.\r\n\r\nThe night was already well spent before Dick ventured from his\r\nhiding-place and came, safe and sound, but aching with cold and bruises,\r\nto the door of the Goat and Bagpipes.  As the law required, there was\r\nneither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his way into a corner\r\nof the icy guest-room, found an end of a blanket, which he hitched around\r\nhis shoulders, and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost\r\nin slumber.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK V--CROOKBACK\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I--THE SHRILL TRUMPET\r\n\r\n\r\nVery early the next morning, before the first peep of the day, Dick\r\narose, changed his garments, armed himself once more like a gentleman,\r\nand set forth for Lawless\'s den in the forest.  There, it will be\r\nremembered, he had left Lord Foxham\'s papers; and to get these and be\r\nback in time for the tryst with the young Duke of Gloucester could only\r\nbe managed by an early start and the most vigorous walking.\r\n\r\nThe frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless and dry, and\r\nstinging to the nostril.  The moon had gone down, but the stars were\r\nstill bright and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear and\r\ncheerful.  There was no need for a lamp to walk by; nor, in that still\r\nbut ringing air, the least temptation to delay.\r\n\r\nDick had crossed the greater part of the open ground between Shoreby and\r\nthe forest, and had reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred\r\nyards below the Cross of St. Bride, when, through the stillness of the\r\nblack morn, there rang forth the note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and\r\npiercing, that he thought he had never heard the match of it for\r\naudibility.  It was blown once, and then hurriedly a second time; and\r\nthen the clash of steel succeeded.\r\n\r\nAt this young Shelton pricked his ears, and drawing his sword, ran\r\nforward up the hill.\r\n\r\nPresently he came in sight of the cross, and was aware of a most fierce\r\nencounter raging on the road before it.  There were seven or eight\r\nassailants, and but one to keep head against them; but so active and\r\ndexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge and scatter his\r\nopponents, so deftly keep his footing on the ice, that already, before\r\nDick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the\r\nwhole in check.\r\n\r\nStill, it was by a miracle that he continued his defence, and at any\r\nmoment, any accident, the least slip of foot or error of hand, his life\r\nwould be a forfeit.\r\n\r\n"Hold ye well, sir!  Here is help!" cried Richard; and forgetting that he\r\nwas alone, and that the cry was somewhat irregular, "To the Arrow! to the\r\nArrow!" he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants.\r\n\r\nThese were stout fellows also, for they gave not an inch at this\r\nsurprise, but faced about, and fell with astonishing fury upon Dick.\r\nFour against one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight; the\r\nsparks flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell--in the stir of\r\nthe fight he hardly knew why; then he himself was struck across the head,\r\nand though the steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow beat him\r\ndown upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill sail.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, instead of joining in the\r\nconflict, had, on the first sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown\r\nagain, and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced\r\ntrumpet that began the alarm.  Next moment, indeed, his foes were on him,\r\nand he was once more charging and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping to\r\nhis knee, and using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and hand, with\r\nthe same unshaken courage and feverish energy and speed.\r\n\r\nBut that ear-piercing summons had been heard at last.  There was a\r\nmuffled rushing in the snow; and in a good hour for Dick, who saw the\r\nsword-points glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of the\r\nwood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of mounted men-at-arms, each\r\ncased in iron, and with visor lowered, each bearing his lance in rest, or\r\nhis sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to speak, a passenger,\r\nin the shape of an archer or page, who leaped one after another from\r\ntheir perches, and had presently doubled the array.\r\n\r\nThe original assailants; seeing themselves outnumbered and surrounded,\r\nthrew down their arms without a word.\r\n\r\n"Seize me these fellows!" said the hero of the trumpet; and when his\r\norder had been obeyed, he drew near to Dick and looked him in the face.\r\n\r\nDick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find in one who had\r\ndisplayed such strength, skill and energy, a lad no older than\r\nhimself--slightly deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and\r\nof a pale, painful, and distorted countenance. {2}  The eyes, however,\r\nwere very clear and bold.\r\n\r\n"Sir," said this lad, "ye came in good time for me, and none too early."\r\n\r\n"My lord," returned Dick, with a faint sense that he was in the presence\r\nof a great personage, "ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman\r\nthat I believe ye had managed them single-handed.  Howbeit, it was\r\ncertainly well for me that your men delayed no longer than they did."\r\n\r\n"How knew ye who I was?" demanded the stranger.\r\n\r\n"Even now, my lord," Dick answered, "I am ignorant of whom I speak with."\r\n\r\n"Is it so?" asked the other.  "And yet ye threw yourself head first into\r\nthis unequal battle."\r\n\r\n"I saw one man valiantly contending against many," replied Dick, "and I\r\nhad thought myself dishonoured not to bear him aid."\r\n\r\nA singular sneer played about the young nobleman\'s mouth as he made\r\nanswer:\r\n\r\n"These are very brave words.  But to the more essential--are ye Lancaster\r\nor York?"\r\n\r\n"My lord, I make no secret; I am clear for York," Dick answered.\r\n\r\n"By the mass!" replied the other, "it is well for you."\r\n\r\nAnd so saying, he turned towards one of his followers.\r\n\r\n"Let me see," he continued, in the same sneering and cruel tones--"let me\r\nsee a clean end of these brave gentlemen.  Truss me them up."\r\n\r\nThere were but five survivors of the attacking party.  Archers seized\r\nthem by the arms; they were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each\r\nplaced below a tree of suitable dimension; the rope was adjusted; an\r\narcher, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered overhead; and before a\r\nminute was over, and without a word passing upon either hand, the five\r\nmen were swinging by the neck.\r\n\r\n"And now," cried the deformed leader, "back to your posts, and when I\r\nsummon you next, be readier to attend."\r\n\r\n"My lord duke," said one man, "beseech you, tarry not here alone.  Keep\r\nbut a handful of lances at your hand."\r\n\r\n"Fellow," said the duke, "I have forborne to chide you for your slowness.\r\nCross me not, therefore.  I trust my hand and arm, for all that I be\r\ncrooked.  Ye were backward when the trumpet sounded; and ye are now too\r\nforward with your counsels.  But it is ever so; last with the lance and\r\nfirst with tongue.  Let it be reversed."\r\n\r\nAnd with a gesture that was not without a sort of dangerous nobility, he\r\nwaved them off.\r\n\r\nThe footmen climbed again to their seats behind the men-at-arms, and the\r\nwhole party moved slowly away and disappeared in twenty different\r\ndirections, under the cover of the forest.\r\n\r\nThe day was by this time beginning to break, and the stars to fade.  The\r\nfirst grey glimmer of dawn shone upon the countenances of the two young\r\nmen, who now turned once more to face each other.\r\n\r\n"Here," said the duke, "ye have seen my vengeance, which is, like my\r\nblade, both sharp and ready.  But I would not have you, for all\r\nChristendom, suppose me thankless.  You that came to my aid with a good\r\nsword and a better courage--unless that ye recoil from my\r\nmisshapenness--come to my heart."\r\n\r\nAnd so saying, the young leader held out his arms for an embrace.\r\n\r\nIn the bottom of his heart Dick already entertained a great terror and\r\nsome hatred for the man whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so\r\nworded that it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, to\r\nrefuse or hesitate; and he hastened to comply.\r\n\r\n"And now, my lord duke," he said, when he had regained his freedom, "do I\r\nsuppose aright?  Are ye my Lord Duke of Gloucester?"\r\n\r\n"I am Richard of Gloucester," returned the other.  "And you--how call\r\nthey you?"\r\n\r\nDick told him his name, and presented Lord Foxham\'s signet, which the\r\nduke immediately recognised.\r\n\r\n"Ye come too soon," he said; "but why should I complain?  Ye are like me,\r\nthat was here at watch two hours before the day.  But this is the first\r\nsally of mine arms; upon this adventure, Master Shelton, shall I make or\r\nmar the quality of my renown.  There lie mine enemies, under two old,\r\nskilled captains--Risingham and Brackley--well posted for strength, I do\r\nbelieve, but yet upon two sides without retreat, enclosed betwixt the\r\nsea, the harbour, and the river.  Methinks, Shelton, here were a great\r\nblow to be stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly."\r\n\r\n"I do think so, indeed," cried Dick, warming.\r\n\r\n"Have ye my Lord Foxham\'s notes?" inquired the duke.\r\n\r\nAnd then, Dick, having explained how he was without them for the moment,\r\nmade himself bold to offer information every jot as good, of his own\r\nknowledge.  "And for mine own part, my lord duke," he added, "an ye had\r\nmen enough, I would fall on even at this present.  For, look ye, at the\r\npeep of day the watches of the night are over; but by day they keep\r\nneither watch nor ward--only scour the outskirts with horsemen.  Now,\r\nthen, when the night watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at their\r\nmorning cup--now were the time to break them."\r\n\r\n"How many do ye count?" asked Gloucester.\r\n\r\n"They number not two thousand," Dick replied.\r\n\r\n"I have seven hundred in the woods behind us," said the duke; "seven\r\nhundred follow from Kettley, and will be here anon; behind these, and\r\nfurther, are four hundred more; and my Lord Foxham hath five hundred half\r\na day from here, at Holywood.  Shall we attend their coming, or fall on?"\r\n\r\n"My lord," said Dick, "when ye hanged these five poor rogues ye did\r\ndecide the question.  Churls although they were, in these uneasy, times\r\nthey will be lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given.  Therefore,\r\nmy lord, if ye do count upon the advantage of a surprise, ye have not, in\r\nmy poor opinion, one whole hour in front of you."\r\n\r\n"I do think so indeed," returned Crookback.  "Well, before an hour, ye\r\nshall be in the thick on\'t, winning spurs.  A swift man to Holywood,\r\ncarrying Lord Foxham\'s signet; another along the road to speed my\r\nlaggards!  Nay, Shelton, by the rood, it may be done!"\r\n\r\nTherewith he once more set his trumpet to his lips and blew.\r\n\r\nThis time he was not long kept waiting.  In a moment the open space about\r\nthe cross was filled with horse and foot.  Richard of Gloucester took his\r\nplace upon the steps, and despatched messenger after messenger to hasten\r\nthe concentration of the seven hundred men that lay hidden in the\r\nimmediate neighbourhood among the woods; and before a quarter of an hour\r\nhad passed, all his dispositions being taken, he put himself at their\r\nhead, and began to move down the hill towards Shoreby.\r\n\r\nHis plan was simple.  He was to seize a quarter of the town of Shoreby\r\nlying on the right hand of the high road, and make his position good\r\nthere in the narrow lanes until his reinforcements followed.\r\n\r\nIf Lord Risingham chose to retreat, Richard would follow upon his rear,\r\nand take him between two fires; or, if he preferred to hold the town, he\r\nwould be shut in a trap, there to be gradually overwhelmed by force of\r\nnumbers.\r\n\r\nThere was but one danger, but that was imminent and great--Gloucester\'s\r\nseven hundred might be rolled up and cut to pieces in the first\r\nencounter, and, to avoid this, it was needful to make the surprise of\r\ntheir arrival as complete as possible.\r\n\r\nThe footmen, therefore, were all once more taken up behind the riders,\r\nand Dick had the signal honour meted out to him of mounting behind\r\nGloucester himself.  For as far as there was any cover the troops moved\r\nslowly, and when they came near the end of the trees that lined the\r\nhighway, stopped to breathe and reconnoitre.\r\n\r\nThe sun was now well up, shining with a frosty brightness out of a yellow\r\nhalo, and right over against the luminary, Shoreby, a field of snowy\r\nroofs and ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns of morning smoke.\r\nGloucester turned round to Dick.\r\n\r\n"In that poor place," he said, "where people are cooking breakfast,\r\neither you shall gain your spurs and I begin a life of mighty honour and\r\nglory in the world\'s eye, or both of us, as I conceive it, shall fall\r\ndead and be unheard of.  Two Richards are we.  Well, then, Richard\r\nShelton, they shall be heard about, these two!  Their swords shall not\r\nring more loudly on men\'s helmets than their names shall ring in people\'s\r\nears."\r\n\r\nDick was astonished at so great a hunger after fame, expressed with so\r\ngreat vehemence of voice and language, and he answered very sensibly and\r\nquietly, that, for his part, he promised he would do his duty, and\r\ndoubted not of victory if everyone did the like.\r\n\r\nBy this time the horses were well breathed, and the leader holding up his\r\nsword and giving rein, the whole troop of chargers broke into the gallop\r\nand thundered, with their double load of fighting men, down the remainder\r\nof the hill and across the snow-covered plain that still divided them\r\nfrom Shoreby.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II--THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY\r\n\r\n\r\nThe whole distance to be crossed was not above a quarter of a mile.  But\r\nthey had no sooner debauched beyond the cover of the trees than they were\r\naware of people fleeing and screaming in the snowy meadows upon either\r\nhand.  Almost at the same moment a great rumour began to arise, and\r\nspread and grow continually louder in the town; and they were not yet\r\nhalfway to the nearest house before the bells began to ring backward from\r\nthe steeple.\r\n\r\nThe young duke ground his teeth together.  By these so early signals of\r\nalarm he feared to find his enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a\r\nfooting in the town, he knew that his small party would soon be broken\r\nand exterminated in the open.\r\n\r\nIn the town, however, the Lancastrians were far from being in so good a\r\nposture.  It was as Dick had said.  The night-guard had already doffed\r\ntheir harness; the rest were still hanging--unlatched, unbraced, all\r\nunprepared for battle--about their quarters; and in the whole of Shoreby\r\nthere were not, perhaps, fifty men full armed, or fifty chargers ready to\r\nbe mounted.\r\n\r\nThe beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of men who ran about the\r\nstreets crying and beating upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly short\r\nspace at least two score out of that half hundred.  These got speedily to\r\nhorse, and, the alarm still flying wild and contrary, galloped in\r\ndifferent directions.\r\n\r\nThus it befell that, when Richard of Gloucester reached the first house\r\nof Shoreby, he was met in the mouth of the street by a mere handful of\r\nlances, whom he swept before his onset as the storm chases the bark.\r\n\r\nA hundred paces into the town, Dick Shelton touched the duke\'s arm; the\r\nduke, in answer, gathered his reins, put the shrill trumpet to his mouth,\r\nand blowing a concerted point, turned to the right hand out of the direct\r\nadvance.  Swerving like a single rider, his whole command turned after\r\nhim, and, still at the full gallop of the chargers, swept up the narrow\r\nbye-street.  Only the last score of riders drew rein and faced about in\r\nthe entrance; the footmen, whom they carried behind them, leapt at the\r\nsame instant to the earth, and began, some to bend their bows, and others\r\nto break into and secure the houses upon either hand.\r\n\r\nSurprised at this sudden change of direction, and daunted by the firm\r\nfront of the rear-guard, the few Lancastrians, after a momentary\r\nconsultation, turned and rode farther into town to seek for\r\nreinforcements.\r\n\r\nThe quarter of the town upon which, by the advice of Dick, Richard of\r\nGloucester had now seized, consisted of five small streets of poor and\r\nill-inhabited houses, occupying a very gentle eminence, and lying open\r\ntowards the back.\r\n\r\nThe five streets being each secured by a good guard, the reserve would\r\nthus occupy the centre, out of shot, and yet ready to carry aid wherever\r\nit was needed.\r\n\r\nSuch was the poorness of the neighbourhood that none of the Lancastrian\r\nlords, and but few of their retainers, had been lodged therein; and the\r\ninhabitants, with one accord, deserted their houses and fled, squalling,\r\nalong the streets or over garden walls.\r\n\r\nIn the centre, where the five ways all met, a somewhat ill-favoured\r\nalehouse displayed the sign of the Chequers; and here the Duke of\r\nGloucester chose his headquarters for the day.\r\n\r\nTo Dick he assigned the guard of one of the five streets.\r\n\r\n"Go," he said, "win your spurs.  Win glory for me: one Richard for\r\nanother.  I tell you, if I rise, ye shall rise by the same ladder.  Go,"\r\nhe added, shaking him by the hand.\r\n\r\nBut, as soon as Dick was gone, he turned to a little shabby archer at his\r\nelbow.\r\n\r\n"Go, Dutton, and that right speedily," he added.  "Follow that lad.  If\r\nye find him faithful, ye answer for his safety, a head for a head.  Woe\r\nunto you, if ye return without him!  But if he be faithless--or, for one\r\ninstant, ye misdoubt him--stab him from behind."\r\n\r\nIn the meanwhile Dick hastened to secure his post.  The street he had to\r\nguard was very narrow, and closely lined with houses, which projected and\r\noverhung the roadway; but narrow and dark as it was, since it opened upon\r\nthe market-place of the town, the main issue of the battle would probably\r\nfall to be decided on that spot.\r\n\r\nThe market-place was full of townspeople fleeing in disorder; but there\r\nwas as yet no sign of any foeman ready to attack, and Dick judged he had\r\nsome time before him to make ready his defence.\r\n\r\nThe two houses at the end stood deserted, with open doors, as the\r\ninhabitants had left them in their flight, and from these he had the\r\nfurniture hastily tossed forth and piled into a barrier in the entry of\r\nthe lane.  A hundred men were placed at his disposal, and of these he\r\nthrew the more part into the houses, where they might lie in shelter and\r\ndeliver their arrows from the windows.  With the rest, under his own\r\nimmediate eye, he lined the barricade.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had continued to prevail\r\nthroughout the town; and what with the hurried clashing of bells, the\r\nsounding of trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of horse, the cries of\r\nthe commanders, and the shrieks of women, the noise was almost deafening\r\nto the ear.  Presently, little by little, the tumult began to subside;\r\nand soon after, files of men in armour and bodies of archers began to\r\nassemble and form in line of battle in the market-place.\r\n\r\nA large portion of this body were in murrey and blue, and in the mounted\r\nknight who ordered their array Dick recognised Sir Daniel Brackley.\r\n\r\nThen there befell a long pause, which was followed by the almost\r\nsimultaneous sounding of four trumpets from four different quarters of\r\nthe town.  A fifth rang in answer from the market-place, and at the same\r\nmoment the files began to move, and a shower of arrows rattled about the\r\nbarricade, and sounded like blows upon the walls of the two flanking\r\nhouses.\r\n\r\nThe attack had begun, by a common signal, on all the five issues of the\r\nquarter.  Gloucester was beleaguered upon every side; and Dick judged, if\r\nhe would make good his post, he must rely entirely on the hundred men of\r\nhis command.\r\n\r\nSeven volleys of arrows followed one upon the other, and in the very\r\nthick of the discharges Dick was touched from behind upon the arm, and\r\nfound a page holding out to him a leathern jack, strengthened with bright\r\nplates of mail.\r\n\r\n"It is from my Lord of Gloucester," said the page.  "He hath observed,\r\nSir Richard, that ye went unarmed."\r\n\r\nDick, with a glow at his heart at being so addressed, got to his feet\r\nand, with the assistance of the page, donned the defensive coat.  Even as\r\nhe did so, two arrows rattled harmlessly upon the plates, and a third\r\nstruck down the page, mortally wounded, at his feet.\r\n\r\nMeantime the whole body of the enemy had been steadily drawing nearer\r\nacross the market-place; and by this time were so close at hand that Dick\r\ngave the order to return their shot.  Immediately, from behind the\r\nbarrier and from the windows of the houses, a counterblast of arrows\r\nsped, carrying death.  But the Lancastrians, as if they had but waited\r\nfor a signal, shouted loudly in answer; and began to close at a run upon\r\nthe barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, with visors lowered.\r\n\r\nThen followed an obstinate and deadly struggle, hand to hand.  The\r\nassailants, wielding their falchions with one hand, strove with the other\r\nto drag down the structure of the barricade.  On the other side, the\r\nparts were reversed; and the defenders exposed themselves like madmen to\r\nprotect their rampart.  So for some minutes the contest raged almost in\r\nsilence, friend and foe falling one upon another.  But it is always the\r\neasier to destroy; and when a single note upon the tucket recalled the\r\nattacking party from this desperate service, much of the barricade had\r\nbeen removed piecemeal, and the whole fabric had sunk to half its height,\r\nand tottered to a general fall.\r\n\r\nAnd now the footmen in the market-place fell back, at a run, on every\r\nside.  The horsemen, who had been standing in a line two deep, wheeled\r\nsuddenly, and made their flank into their front; and as swift as a\r\nstriking adder, the long, steel-clad column was launched upon the ruinous\r\nbarricade.\r\n\r\nOf the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and steed, and was ridden down\r\nby his companions.  The second leaped clean upon the summit of the\r\nrampart, transpiercing an archer with his lance.  Almost in the same\r\ninstant he was dragged from the saddle and his horse despatched.\r\n\r\nAnd then the full weight and impetus of the charge burst upon and\r\nscattered the defenders.  The men-at-arms, surmounting their fallen\r\ncomrades, and carried onward by the fury of their onslaught, dashed\r\nthrough Dick\'s broken line and poured thundering up the lane beyond, as a\r\nstream bestrides and pours across a broken dam.\r\n\r\nYet was the fight not over.  Still, in the narrow jaws of the entrance,\r\nDick and a few survivors plied their bills like woodmen; and already,\r\nacross the width of the passage, there had been formed a second, a\r\nhigher, and a more effectual rampart of fallen men and disembowelled\r\nhorses, lashing in the agonies of death.\r\n\r\nBaffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of the cavalry fell back;\r\nand as, at the sight of this movement, the flight of arrows redoubled\r\nfrom the casements of the houses, their retreat had, for a moment, almost\r\ndegenerated into flight.\r\n\r\nAlmost at the same time, those who had crossed the barricade and charged\r\nfarther up the street, being met before the door of the Chequers by the\r\nformidable hunchback and the whole reserve of the Yorkists, began to come\r\nscattering backward, in the excess of disarray and terror.\r\n\r\nDick and his fellows faced about, fresh men poured out of the houses; a\r\ncruel blast of arrows met the fugitives full in the face, while\r\nGloucester was already riding down their rear; in the inside of a minute\r\nand a half there was no living Lancastrian in the street.\r\n\r\nThen, and not till then, did Dick hold up his reeking blade and give the\r\nword to cheer.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile Gloucester dismounted from his horse and came forward to\r\ninspect the post.  His face was as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in\r\nhis head like some strange jewel, and his voice, when he spoke, was\r\nhoarse and broken with the exultation of battle and success.  He looked\r\nat the rampart, which neither friend nor foe could now approach without\r\nprecaution, so fiercely did the horses struggle in the throes of death,\r\nand at the sight of that great carnage he smiled upon one side.\r\n\r\n"Despatch these horses," he said; "they keep you from your vantage.\r\nRichard Shelton," he added, "ye have pleased me.  Kneel."\r\n\r\nThe Lancastrians had already resumed their archery, and the shafts fell\r\nthick in the mouth of the street; but the duke, minding them not at all,\r\ndeliberately drew his sword and dubbed Richard a knight upon the spot.\r\n\r\n"And now, Sir Richard," he continued, "if that ye see Lord Risingham,\r\nsend me an express upon the instant.  Were it your last man, let me hear\r\nof it incontinently.  I had rather venture the post than lose my stroke\r\nat him.  For mark me, all of ye," he added, raising his voice, "if Earl\r\nRisingham fall by another hand than mine, I shall count this victory a\r\ndefeat."\r\n\r\n"My lord duke," said one of his attendants, "is your grace not weary of\r\nexposing his dear life unneedfully?  Why tarry we here?"\r\n\r\n"Catesby," returned the duke, "here is the battle, not elsewhere.  The\r\nrest are but feigned onslaughts.  Here must we vanquish.  And for the\r\nexposure--if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked at you\r\nupon the street, ye would count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory\r\nworth a life.  Howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other\r\nposts.  Sir Richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this entry,\r\nwhere he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood.  Him can we trust.  But mark\r\nit, Sir Richard, ye are not yet done.  The worst is yet to ward.  Sleep\r\nnot."\r\n\r\nHe came right up to young Shelton, looking him hard in the eyes, and\r\ntaking his hand in both of his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the\r\nblood had nearly spurted.  Dick quailed before his eyes.  The insane\r\nexcitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read therein filled him\r\nwith dismay about the future.  This young duke\'s was indeed a gallant\r\nspirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war; but after the battle, in\r\nthe days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, that mind, it\r\nwas to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the fruits of death.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III--THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY (Concluded)\r\n\r\n\r\nDick, once more left to his own counsels, began to look about him.  The\r\narrow-shot had somewhat slackened.  On all sides the enemy were falling\r\nback; and the greater part of the market-place was now left empty, the\r\nsnow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed with gore, scattered\r\nall over with dead men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered\r\narrows.\r\n\r\nOn his own side the loss had been cruel.  The jaws of the little street\r\nand the ruins of the barricade were heaped with the dead and dying; and\r\nout of the hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there were not\r\nseventy left who could still stand to arms.\r\n\r\nAt the same time, the day was passing.  The first reinforcements might be\r\nlooked for to arrive at any moment; and the Lancastrians, already shaken\r\nby the result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, were in an\r\nill temper to support a fresh invader.\r\n\r\nThere was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking houses; and this,\r\nin the frosty winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon.\r\n\r\nDick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little insignificant\r\narcher, binding a cut in his arm.\r\n\r\n"It was well fought," he said, "and, by my sooth, they will not charge us\r\ntwice."\r\n\r\n"Sir," said the little archer, "ye have fought right well for York, and\r\nbetter for yourself.  Never hath man in so brief space prevailed so\r\ngreatly on the duke\'s affections.  That he should have entrusted such a\r\npost to one he knew not is a marvel.  But look to your head, Sir Richard!\r\nIf ye be vanquished--ay, if ye give way one foot\'s breadth--axe or cord\r\nshall punish it; and I am set if ye do aught doubtful, I will tell you\r\nhonestly, here to stab you from behind."\r\n\r\nDick looked at the little man in amaze.\r\n\r\n"You!" he cried.  "And from behind!"\r\n\r\n"It is right so," returned the archer; "and because I like not the affair\r\nI tell it you.  Ye must make the post good, Sir Richard, at your peril.\r\nO, our Crookback is a bold blade and a good warrior; but, whether in cold\r\nblood or in hot, he will have all things done exact to his commandment.\r\nIf any fail or hinder, they shall die the death."\r\n\r\n"Now, by the saints!" cried Richard, "is this so?  And will men follow\r\nsuch a leader?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, they follow him gleefully," replied the other; "for if he be exact\r\nto punish, he is most open-handed to reward.  And if he spare not the\r\nblood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal of his own, still in the\r\nfirst front of battle, still the last to sleep.  He will go far, will\r\nCrookback Dick o\' Gloucester!"\r\n\r\nThe young knight, if he had before been brave and vigilant, was now all\r\nthe more inclined to watchfulness and courage.  His sudden favour, he\r\nbegan to perceive, had brought perils in its train.  And he turned from\r\nthe archer, and once more scanned anxiously the market-place.  It lay\r\nempty as before.\r\n\r\n"I like not this quietude," he said.  "Doubtless they prepare us some\r\nsurprise."\r\n\r\nAnd, as if in answer to his remark, the archers began once more to\r\nadvance against the barricade, and the arrows to fall thick.  But there\r\nwas something hesitating in the attack.  They came not on roundly, but\r\nseemed rather to await a further signal.\r\n\r\nDick looked uneasily about him, spying for a hidden danger.  And sure\r\nenough, about half way up the little street, a door was suddenly opened\r\nfrom within, and the house continued, for some seconds, and both by door\r\nand window, to disgorge a torrent of Lancastrian archers.  These, as they\r\nleaped down, hurriedly stood to their ranks, bent their bows, and\r\nproceeded to pour upon Dick\'s rear a flight of arrows.\r\n\r\nAt the same time, the assailants in the market-place redoubled their\r\nshot, and began to close in stoutly upon the barricade.\r\n\r\nDick called down his whole command out of the houses, and facing them\r\nboth ways, and encouraging their valour both by word and gesture,\r\nreturned as best he could the double shower of shafts that fell about his\r\npost.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile house after house was opened in the street, and the\r\nLancastrians continued to pour out of the doors and leap down from the\r\nwindows, shouting victory, until the number of enemies upon Dick\'s rear\r\nwas almost equal to the number in his face.  It was plain that he could\r\nhold the post no longer; what was worse, even if he could have held it,\r\nit had now become useless; and the whole Yorkist army lay in a posture of\r\nhelplessness upon the brink of a complete disaster.\r\n\r\nThe men behind him formed the vital flaw in the general defence; and it\r\nwas upon these that Dick turned, charging at the head of his men.  So\r\nvigorous was the attack, that the Lancastrian archers gave ground and\r\nstaggered, and, at last, breaking their ranks, began to crowd back into\r\nthe houses from which they had so recently and so vaingloriously sallied.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile the men from the market-place had swarmed across the undefended\r\nbarricade, and fell on hotly upon the other side; and Dick must once\r\nagain face about, and proceed to drive them back.  Once again the spirit\r\nof his men prevailed; they cleared the street in a triumphant style, but\r\neven as they did so the others issued again out of the houses, and took\r\nthem, a third time, upon the rear.\r\n\r\nThe Yorkists began to be scattered; several times Dick found himself\r\nalone among his foes and plying his bright sword for life; several times\r\nhe was conscious of a hurt.  And meanwhile the fight swayed to and fro in\r\nthe street without determinate result.\r\n\r\nSuddenly Dick was aware of a great trumpeting about the outskirts of the\r\ntown.  The war-cry of York began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many\r\nand triumphant voices.  And at the same time the men in front of him\r\nbegan to give ground rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon\r\nthe market-place.  Some one gave the word to fly.  Trumpets were blown\r\ndistractedly, some for a rally, some to charge.  It was plain that a\r\ngreat blow had been struck, and the Lancastrians were thrown, at least\r\nfor the moment, into full disorder, and some degree of panic.\r\n\r\nAnd then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last act of Shoreby\r\nBattle.  The men in front of Richard turned tail, like a dog that has\r\nbeen whistled home, and fled like the wind.  At the same moment there\r\ncame through the market-place a storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing,\r\nthe Lancastrians turning back to strike with the sword, the Yorkists\r\nriding them down at the point of the lance.\r\n\r\nConspicuous in the mellay, Dick beheld the Crookback.  He was already\r\ngiving a foretaste of that furious valour and skill to cut his way across\r\nthe ranks of war, which, years afterwards upon the field of Bosworth, and\r\nwhen he was stained with crimes, almost sufficed to change the fortunes\r\nof the day and the destiny of the English throne.  Evading, striking,\r\nriding down, he so forced and so manoeuvred his strong horse, so aptly\r\ndefended himself, and so liberally scattered death to his opponents, that\r\nhe was now far ahead of the foremost of his knights, hewing his way, with\r\nthe truncheon of a bloody sword, to where Lord Risingham was rallying the\r\nbravest.  A moment more and they had met; the tall, splendid, and famous\r\nwarrior against the deformed and sickly boy.\r\n\r\nYet Shelton had never a doubt of the result; and when the fight next\r\nopened for a moment, the figure of the earl had disappeared; but still,\r\nin the first of the danger, Crookback Dick was launching his big horse\r\nand plying the truncheon of his sword.\r\n\r\nThus, by Shelton\'s courage in holding the mouth of the street against the\r\nfirst attack, and by the opportune arrival of his seven hundred\r\nreinforcements, the lad, who was afterwards to be handed down to the\r\nexecration of posterity under the name of Richard III., had won his first\r\nconsiderable fight.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV--THE SACK OF SHOREBY\r\n\r\n\r\nThere was not a foe left within striking distance; and Dick, as he looked\r\nruefully about him on the remainder of his gallant force, began to count\r\nthe cost of victory.  He was himself, now that the danger was ended, so\r\nstiff and sore, so bruised and cut and broken, and, above all, so utterly\r\nexhausted by his desperate and unremitting labours in the fight, that he\r\nseemed incapable of any fresh exertion.\r\n\r\nBut this was not yet the hour for repose.  Shoreby had been taken by\r\nassault; and though an open town, and not in any manner to be charged\r\nwith the resistance, it was plain that these rough fighters would be not\r\nless rough now that the fight was over, and that the more horrid part of\r\nwar would fall to be enacted.  Richard of Gloucester was not the captain\r\nto protect the citizens from his infuriated soldiery; and even if he had\r\nthe will, it might be questioned if he had the power.\r\n\r\nIt was, therefore, Dick\'s business to find and to protect Joanna; and\r\nwith that end he looked about him at the faces of his men.  The three or\r\nfour who seemed likeliest to be obedient and to keep sober he drew aside;\r\nand promising them a rich reward and a special recommendation to the\r\nduke, led them across the market-place, now empty of horsemen, and into\r\nthe streets upon the further side.\r\n\r\nEvery here and there small combats of from two to a dozen still raged\r\nupon the open street; here and there a house was being besieged, the\r\ndefenders throwing out stools and tables on the heads of the assailants.\r\nThe snow was strewn with arms and corpses; but except for these partial\r\ncombats the streets were deserted, and the houses, some standing open,\r\nand some shuttered and barricaded, had for the most part ceased to give\r\nout smoke.\r\n\r\nDick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, led his followers\r\nbriskly in the direction of the abbey church; but when he came the length\r\nof the main street, a cry of horror broke from his lips.  Sir Daniel\'s\r\ngreat house had been carried by assault.  The gates hung in splinters\r\nfrom the hinges, and a double throng kept pouring in and out through the\r\nentrance, seeking and carrying booty.  Meanwhile, in the upper storeys,\r\nsome resistance was still being offered to the pillagers; for just as\r\nDick came within eyeshot of the building, a casement was burst open from\r\nwithin, and a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screaming and resisting,\r\nwas forced through the embrasure and tossed into the street below.\r\n\r\nThe most sickening apprehension fell upon Dick.  He ran forward like one\r\npossessed, forced his way into the house among the foremost, and mounted\r\nwithout pause to the chamber on the third floor where he had last parted\r\nfrom Joanna.  It was a mere wreck; the furniture had been overthrown, the\r\ncupboards broken open, and in one place a trailing corner of the arras\r\nlay smouldering on the embers of the fire.\r\n\r\nDick, almost without thinking, trod out the incipient conflagration, and\r\nthen stood bewildered.  Sir Daniel, Sir Oliver, Joanna, all were gone;\r\nbut whether butchered in the rout or safe escaped from Shoreby, who\r\nshould say?\r\n\r\nHe caught a passing archer by the tabard.\r\n\r\n"Fellow," he asked, "were ye here when this house was taken?"\r\n\r\n"Let be," said the archer.  "A murrain! let be, or I strike."\r\n\r\n"Hark ye," returned Richard, "two can play at that.  Stand and be plain."\r\n\r\nBut the man, flushed with drink and battle, struck Dick upon the shoulder\r\nwith one hand, while with the other he twitched away his garment.\r\nThereupon the full wrath of the young leader burst from his control.  He\r\nseized the fellow in his strong embrace, and crushed him on the plates of\r\nhis mailed bosom like a child; then, holding him at arm\'s length, he bid\r\nhim speak as he valued life.\r\n\r\n"I pray you mercy!" gasped the archer.  "An I had thought ye were so\r\nangry I would \'a\' been charier of crossing you.  I was here indeed."\r\n\r\n"Know ye Sir Daniel?" pursued Dick.\r\n\r\n"Well do I know him," returned the man.\r\n\r\n"Was he in the mansion?"\r\n\r\n"Ay, sir, he was," answered the archer; "but even as we entered by the\r\nyard gate he rode forth by the garden."\r\n\r\n"Alone?" cried Dick.\r\n\r\n"He may \'a\' had a score of lances with him," said the man.\r\n\r\n"Lances!  No women, then?" asked Shelton.\r\n\r\n"Troth, I saw not," said the archer.  "But there were none in the house,\r\nif that be your quest."\r\n\r\n"I thank you," said Dick.  "Here is a piece for your pains."  But groping\r\nin his wallet, Dick found nothing.  "Inquire for me to-morrow," he\r\nadded--"Richard Shelt--Sir Richard Shelton," he corrected, "and I will\r\nsee you handsomely rewarded."\r\n\r\nAnd then an idea struck Dick.  He hastily descended to the courtyard, ran\r\nwith all his might across the garden, and came to the great door of the\r\nchurch.  It stood wide open; within, every corner of the pavement was\r\ncrowded with fugitive burghers, surrounded by their families and laden\r\nwith the most precious of their possessions, while, at the high altar,\r\npriests in full canonicals were imploring the mercy of God.  Even as Dick\r\nentered, the loud chorus began to thunder in the vaulted roofs.\r\n\r\nHe hurried through the groups of refugees, and came to the door of the\r\nstair that led into the steeple.  And here a tall churchman stepped\r\nbefore him and arrested his advance.\r\n\r\n"Whither, my son?" he asked, severely.\r\n\r\n"My father," answered Dick, "I am here upon an errand of expedition.\r\nStay me not.  I command here for my Lord of Gloucester."\r\n\r\n"For my Lord of Gloucester?" repeated the priest.  "Hath, then, the\r\nbattle gone so sore?"\r\n\r\n"The battle, father, is at an end, Lancaster clean sped, my Lord of\r\nRisingham--Heaven rest him!--left upon the field.  And now, with your\r\ngood leave, I follow mine affairs."  And thrusting on one side the\r\npriest, who seemed stupefied at the news, Dick pushed open the door and\r\nrattled up the stairs four at a bound, and without pause or stumble, till\r\nhe stepped upon the open platform at the top.\r\n\r\nShoreby Church tower not only commanded the town, as in a map, but looked\r\nfar, on both sides, over sea and land.  It was now near upon noon; the\r\nday exceeding bright, the snow dazzling.  And as Dick looked around him,\r\nhe could measure the consequences of the battle.\r\n\r\nA confused, growling uproar reached him from the streets, and now and\r\nthen, but very rarely, the clash of steel.  Not a ship, not so much as a\r\nskiff remained in harbour; but the sea was dotted with sails and\r\nrow-boats laden with fugitives.  On shore, too, the surface of the snowy\r\nmeadows was broken up with bands of horsemen, some cutting their way\r\ntowards the borders of the forest, others, who were doubtless of the\r\nYorkist side, stoutly interposing and beating them back upon the town.\r\nOver all the open ground there lay a prodigious quantity of fallen men\r\nand horses, clearly defined upon the snow.\r\n\r\nTo complete the picture, those of the foot soldiers as had not found\r\nplace upon a ship still kept up an archery combat on the borders of the\r\nport, and from the cover of the shoreside taverns.  In that quarter,\r\nalso, one or two houses had been fired, and the smoke towered high in the\r\nfrosty sunlight, and blew off to sea in voluminous folds.\r\n\r\nAlready close upon the margin of the woods, and somewhat in the line of\r\nHolywood, one particular clump of fleeing horsemen riveted the attention\r\nof the young watcher on the tower.  It was fairly numerous; in no other\r\nquarter of the field did so many Lancastrians still hold together; thus\r\nthey had left a wide, discoloured wake upon the snow, and Dick was able\r\nto trace them step by step from where they had left the town.\r\n\r\nWhile Dick stood watching them, they had gained, unopposed, the first\r\nfringe of the leafless forest, and, turning a little from their\r\ndirection, the sun fell for a moment full on their array, as it was\r\nrelieved against the dusky wood.\r\n\r\n"Murrey and blue!" cried Dick.  "I swear it--murrey and blue!"\r\n\r\nThe next moment he was descending the stairway.\r\n\r\nIt was now his business to seek out the Duke of Gloucester, who alone, in\r\nthe disorder of the forces, might be able to supply him with a\r\nsufficiency of men.  The fighting in the main town was now practically at\r\nan end; and as Dick ran hither and thither, seeking the commander, the\r\nstreets were thick with wandering soldiers, some laden with more booty\r\nthan they could well stagger under, others shouting drunk.  None of them,\r\nwhen questioned, had the least notion of the duke\'s whereabouts; and, at\r\nlast, it was by sheer good fortune that Dick found him, where he sat in\r\nthe saddle directing operations to dislodge the archers from the harbour\r\nside.\r\n\r\n"Sir Richard Shelton, ye are well found," he said.  "I owe you one thing\r\nthat I value little, my life; and one that I can never pay you for, this\r\nvictory.  Catesby, if I had ten such captains as Sir Richard, I would\r\nmarch forthright on London.  But now, sir, claim your reward."\r\n\r\n"Freely, my lord," said Dick, "freely and loudly.  One hath escaped to\r\nwhom I owe some grudges, and taken with him one whom I owe love and\r\nservice.  Give me, then, fifty lances, that I may pursue; and for any\r\nobligation that your graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be clean\r\ndischarged."\r\n\r\n"How call ye him?" inquired the duke.\r\n\r\n"Sir Daniel Brackley," answered Richard.\r\n\r\n"Out upon him, double-face!" cried Gloucester.  "Here is no reward, Sir\r\nRichard; here is fresh service offered, and, if that ye bring his head to\r\nme, a fresh debt upon my conscience.  Catesby, get him these lances; and\r\nyou, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or profit\r\nit shall be mine to give you."\r\n\r\nJust then the Yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns,\r\nswarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking its\r\ndefenders.  Crookback Dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and pushing\r\nhis horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners.\r\n\r\nThere were four or five of them--two men of my Lord Shoreby\'s and one of\r\nLord Risingham\'s among the number, and last, but in Dick\'s eyes not\r\nleast, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober,\r\nand with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels.\r\n\r\nThe young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review.\r\n\r\n"Good," he said.  "Hang them."\r\n\r\nAnd he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight.\r\n\r\n"My lord," said Dick, "so please you, I have found my reward.  Grant me\r\nthe life and liberty of yon old shipman."\r\n\r\nGloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face.\r\n\r\n"Sir Richard," he said, "I make not war with peacock\'s feathers, but\r\nsteel shafts.  Those that are mine enemies I slay, and that without\r\nexcuse or favour.  For, bethink ye, in this realm of England, that is so\r\ntorn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a brother or a friend\r\nupon the other party.  If, then, I did begin to grant these pardons, I\r\nmight sheathe my sword."\r\n\r\n"It may be so, my lord; and yet I will be overbold, and at the risk of\r\nyour disfavour, recall your lordship\'s promise," replied Dick.\r\n\r\nRichard of Gloucester flushed.\r\n\r\n"Mark it right well," he said, harshly.  "I love not mercy, nor yet\r\nmercymongers.  Ye have this day laid the foundations of high fortune.  If\r\nye oppose to me my word, which I have plighted, I will yield.  But, by\r\nthe glory of heaven, there your favour dies!\r\n\r\n"Mine is the loss," said Dick.\r\n\r\n"Give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he turned\r\nhis back upon young Shelton.\r\n\r\nDick was nor glad nor sorry.  He had seen too much of the young duke to\r\nset great store on his affection; and the origin and growth of his own\r\nfavour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence.  One\r\nthing alone he feared--that the vindictive leader might revoke the offer\r\nof the lances.  But here he did justice neither to Gloucester\'s honour\r\n(such as it was) nor, above all, to his decision.  If he had once judged\r\nDick to be the right man to pursue Sir Daniel, he was not one to change;\r\nand he soon proved it by shouting after Catesby to be speedy, for the\r\npaladin was waiting.\r\n\r\nIn the meanwhile, Dick turned to the old shipman, who had seemed equally\r\nindifferent to his condemnation and to his subsequent release.\r\n\r\n"Arblaster," said Dick, "I have done you ill; but now, by the rood, I\r\nthink I have cleared the score."\r\n\r\nBut the old skipper only looked upon him dully and held his peace.\r\n\r\n"Come," continued Dick, "a life is a life, old shrew, and it is more than\r\nships or liquor.  Say ye forgive me; for if your life be worth nothing to\r\nyou, it hath cost me the beginnings of my fortune.  Come, I have paid for\r\nit dearly; be not so churlish."\r\n\r\n"An I had had my ship," said Arblaster, "I would \'a\' been forth and safe\r\non the high seas--I and my man Tom.  But ye took my ship, gossip, and I\'m\r\na beggar; and for my man Tom, a knave fellow in russet shot him down.\r\n\'Murrain!\' quoth he, and spake never again.  \'Murrain\' was the last of\r\nhis words, and the poor spirit of him passed.  \'A will never sail no\r\nmore, will my Tom.\'"\r\n\r\nDick was seized with unavailing penitence and pity; he sought to take the\r\nskipper\'s hand, but Arblaster avoided his touch.\r\n\r\n"Nay," said he, "let be.  Y\' have played the devil with me, and let that\r\ncontent you."\r\n\r\nThe words died in Richard\'s throat.  He saw, through tears, the poor old\r\nman, bemused with liquor and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed head,\r\nacross the snow, and the unnoticed dog whimpering at his heels, and for\r\nthe first time began to understand the desperate game that we play in\r\nlife; and how a thing once done is not to be changed or remedied, by any\r\npenitence.\r\n\r\nBut there was no time left to him for vain regret.\r\n\r\nCatesby had now collected the horsemen, and riding up to Dick he\r\ndismounted, and offered him his own horse.\r\n\r\n"This morning," he said, "I was somewhat jealous of your favour; it hath\r\nnot been of a long growth; and now, Sir Richard, it is with a very good\r\nheart that I offer you this horse--to ride away with."\r\n\r\n"Suffer me yet a moment," replied Dick.  "This favour of mine--whereupon\r\nwas it founded?"\r\n\r\n"Upon your name," answered Catesby.  "It is my lord\'s chief superstition.\r\nWere my name Richard, I should be an earl to-morrow."\r\n\r\n"Well, sir, I thank you," returned Dick; "and since I am little likely to\r\nfollow these great fortunes, I will even say farewell.  I will not\r\npretend I was displeased to think myself upon the road to fortune; but I\r\nwill not pretend, neither, that I am over-sorry to be done with it.\r\nCommand and riches, they are brave things, to be sure; but a word in your\r\near--yon duke of yours, he is a fearsome lad."\r\n\r\nCatesby laughed.\r\n\r\n"Nay," said he, "of a verity he that rides with Crooked Dick will ride\r\ndeep.  Well, God keep us all from evil!  Speed ye well."\r\n\r\nThereupon Dick put himself at the head of his men, and giving the word of\r\ncommand, rode off.\r\n\r\nHe made straight across the town, following what he supposed to be the\r\nroute of Sir Daniel, and spying around for any signs that might decide if\r\nhe were right.\r\n\r\nThe streets were strewn with the dead and the wounded, whose fate, in the\r\nbitter frost, was far the more pitiable.  Gangs of the victors went from\r\nhouse to house, pillaging and stabbing, and sometimes singing together as\r\nthey went.\r\n\r\nFrom different quarters, as he rode on, the sounds of violence and\r\noutrage came to young Shelton\'s ears; now the blows of the sledge-hammer\r\non some barricaded door, and now the miserable shrieks of women.\r\n\r\nDick\'s heart had just been awakened.  He had just seen the cruel\r\nconsequences of his own behaviour; and the thought of the sum of misery\r\nthat was now acting in the whole of Shoreby filled him with despair.\r\n\r\nAt length he reached the outskirts, and there, sure enough, he saw\r\nstraight before him the same broad, beaten track across the snow that he\r\nhad marked from the summit of the church.  Here, then, he went the faster\r\non; but still, as he rode, he kept a bright eye upon the fallen men and\r\nhorses that lay beside the track.  Many of these, he was relieved to see,\r\nwore Sir Daniel\'s colours, and the faces of some, who lay upon their\r\nback, he even recognised.\r\n\r\nAbout half-way between the town and the forest, those whom he was\r\nfollowing had plainly been assailed by archers; for the corpses lay\r\npretty closely scattered, each pierced by an arrow.  And here Dick spied\r\namong the rest the body of a very young lad, whose face was somehow\r\nhauntingly familiar to him.\r\n\r\nHe halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the lad\'s head.  As he did\r\nso, the hood fell back, and a profusion of long brown hair unrolled\r\nitself.  At the same time the eyes opened.\r\n\r\n"Ah! lion driver!" said a feeble voice.  "She is farther on.  Ride--ride\r\nfast!"\r\n\r\nAnd then the poor young lady fainted once again.\r\n\r\nOne of Dick\'s men carried a flask of some strong cordial, and with this\r\nDick succeeded in reviving consciousness.  Then he took Joanna\'s friend\r\nupon his saddlebow, and once more pushed toward the forest.\r\n\r\n"Why do ye take me?" said the girl.  "Ye but delay your speed."\r\n\r\n"Nay, Mistress Risingham," replied Dick.  "Shoreby is full of blood and\r\ndrunkenness and riot.  Here ye are safe; content ye."\r\n\r\n"I will not be beholden to any of your faction," she cried; "set me\r\ndown."\r\n\r\n"Madam, ye know not what ye say," returned Dick.  "Y\' are hurt"--\r\n\r\n"I am not," she said.  "It was my horse was slain."\r\n\r\n"It matters not one jot," replied Richard.  "Ye are here in the midst of\r\nopen snow, and compassed about with enemies.  Whether ye will or not, I\r\ncarry you with me.  Glad am I to have the occasion; for thus shall I\r\nrepay some portion of our debt."\r\n\r\nFor a little while she was silent.  Then, very suddenly, she asked:\r\n\r\n"My uncle?"\r\n\r\n"My Lord Risingham?" returned Dick.  "I would I had good news to give\r\nyou, madam; but I have none.  I saw him once in the battle, and once\r\nonly.  Let us hope the best."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V--NIGHT IN THE WOODS: ALICIA RISINGHAM\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was almost certain that Sir Daniel had made for the Moat House; but,\r\nconsidering the heavy snow, the lateness of the hour, and the necessity\r\nunder which he would lie of avoiding the few roads and striking across\r\nthe wood, it was equally certain that he could not hope to reach it ere\r\nthe morrow.\r\n\r\nThere were two courses open to Dick; either to continue to follow in the\r\nknight\'s trail, and, if he were able, to fall upon him that very night in\r\ncamp, or to strike out a path of his own, and seek to place himself\r\nbetween Sir Daniel and his destination.\r\n\r\nEither scheme was open to serious objection, and Dick, who feared to\r\nexpose Joanna to the hazards of a fight, had not yet decided between them\r\nwhen he reached the borders of the wood.\r\n\r\nAt this point Sir Daniel had turned a little to his left, and then\r\nplunged straight under a grove of very lofty timber.  His party had then\r\nformed to a narrower front, in order to pass between the trees, and the\r\ntrack was trod proportionally deeper in the snow.  The eye followed it\r\nunder the leafless tracery of the oaks, running direct and narrow; the\r\ntrees stood over it, with knotty joints and the great, uplifted forest of\r\ntheir boughs; there was no sound, whether of man or beast--not so much as\r\nthe stirring of a robin; and over the field of snow the winter sun lay\r\ngolden among netted shadows.\r\n\r\n"How say ye," asked Dick of one of the men, "to follow straight on, or\r\nstrike across for Tunstall?"\r\n\r\n"Sir Richard," replied the man-at-arms, "I would follow the line until\r\nthey scatter."\r\n\r\n"Ye are, doubtless, right," returned Dick; "but we came right hastily\r\nupon the errand, even as the time commanded.  Here are no houses, neither\r\nfor food nor shelter, and by the morrow\'s dawn we shall know both cold\r\nfingers and an empty belly.  How say ye, lads?  Will ye stand a pinch for\r\nexpedition\'s sake, or shall we turn by Holywood and sup with Mother\r\nChurch?  The case being somewhat doubtful, I will drive no man; yet if ye\r\nwould suffer me to lead you, ye would choose the first."\r\n\r\nThe men answered, almost with one voice, that they would follow Sir\r\nRichard where he would.\r\n\r\nAnd Dick, setting spur to his horse, began once more to go forward.\r\n\r\nThe snow in the trail had been trodden very hard, and the pursuers had\r\nthus a great advantage over the pursued.  They pushed on, indeed, at a\r\nround trot, two hundred hoofs beating alternately on the dull pavement of\r\nthe snow, and the jingle of weapons and the snorting of horses raising a\r\nwarlike noise along the arches of the silent wood.\r\n\r\nPresently, the wide slot of the pursued came out upon the high road from\r\nHolywood; it was there, for a moment, indistinguishable; and, where it\r\nonce more plunged into the unbeaten snow upon the farther side, Dick was\r\nsurprised to see it narrower and lighter trod.  Plainly, profiting by the\r\nroad, Sir Daniel had begun already to scatter his command.\r\n\r\nAt all hazards, one chance being equal to another, Dick continued to\r\npursue the straight trail; and that, after an hour\'s riding, in which it\r\nled into the very depths of the forest, suddenly split, like a bursting\r\nshell, into two dozen others, leading to every point of the compass.\r\n\r\nDick drew bridle in despair.  The short winter\'s day was near an end; the\r\nsun, a dull red orange, shorn of rays, swam low among the leafless\r\nthickets; the shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the frost bit\r\ncruelly at the finger-nails; and the breath and steam of the horses\r\nmounted in a cloud.\r\n\r\n"Well, we are outwitted," Dick confessed.  "Strike we for Holywood, after\r\nall.  It is still nearer us than Tunstall--or should be by the station of\r\nthe sun."\r\n\r\nSo they wheeled to their left, turning their backs on the red shield of\r\nsun, and made across country for the abbey.  But now times were changed\r\nwith them; they could no longer spank forth briskly on a path beaten firm\r\nby the passage of their foes, and for a goal to which that path itself\r\nconducted them.  Now they must plough at a dull pace through the\r\nencumbering snow, continually pausing to decide their course, continually\r\nfloundering in drifts.  The sun soon left them; the glow of the west\r\ndecayed; and presently they were wandering in a shadow of blackness,\r\nunder frosty stars.\r\n\r\nPresently, indeed, the moon would clear the hilltops, and they might\r\nresume their march.  But till then, every random step might carry them\r\nwider of their march.  There was nothing for it but to camp and wait.\r\n\r\nSentries were posted; a spot of ground was cleared of snow, and, after\r\nsome failures, a good fire blazed in the midst.  The men-at-arms sat\r\nclose about this forest hearth, sharing such provisions as they had, and\r\npassing about the flask; and Dick, having collected the most delicate of\r\nthe rough and scanty fare, brought it to Lord Risingham\'s niece, where\r\nshe sat apart from the soldiery against a tree.\r\n\r\nShe sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in another, and stared straight\r\nbefore her at the firelit scene.  At the offer of food she started, like\r\none wakened from a dream, and then silently refused.\r\n\r\n"Madam," said Dick, "let me beseech you, punish me not so cruelly.\r\nWherein I have offended you, I know not; I have, indeed, carried you\r\naway, but with a friendly violence; I have, indeed, exposed you to the\r\ninclemency of night, but the hurry that lies upon me hath for its end the\r\npreservation of another, who is no less frail and no less unfriended than\r\nyourself.  At least, madam, punish not yourself; and eat, if not for\r\nhunger, then for strength."\r\n\r\n"I will eat nothing at the hands that slew my kinsman," she replied.\r\n\r\n"Dear madam," Dick cried, "I swear to you upon the rood I touched him\r\nnot."\r\n\r\n"Swear to me that he still lives," she returned.\r\n\r\n"I will not palter with you," answered Dick.  "Pity bids me to wound you.\r\nIn my heart I do believe him dead."\r\n\r\n"And ye ask me to eat!" she cried.  "Ay, and they call you \'sir!\'  Y\'\r\nhave won your spurs by my good kinsman\'s murder.  And had I not been fool\r\nand traitor both, and saved you in your enemy\'s house, ye should have\r\ndied the death, and he--he that was worth twelve of you--were living."\r\n\r\n"I did but my man\'s best, even as your kinsman did upon the other party,"\r\nanswered Dick.  "Were he still living--as I vow to Heaven I wish it!--he\r\nwould praise, not blame me."\r\n\r\n"Sir Daniel hath told me," she replied.  "He marked you at the barricade.\r\nUpon you, he saith, their party foundered; it was you that won the\r\nbattle.  Well, then, it was you that killed my good Lord Risingham, as\r\nsure as though ye had strangled him.  And ye would have me eat with\r\nyou--and your hands not washed from killing?  But Sir Daniel hath sworn\r\nyour downfall.  He \'tis that will avenge me!"\r\n\r\nThe unfortunate Dick was plunged in gloom.  Old Arblaster returned upon\r\nhis mind, and he groaned aloud.\r\n\r\n"Do ye hold me so guilty?" he said; "you that defended me--you that are\r\nJoanna\'s friend?"\r\n\r\n"What made ye in the battle?" she retorted.  "Y\' are of no party; y\' are\r\nbut a lad--but legs and body, without government of wit or counsel!\r\nWherefore did ye fight?  For the love of hurt, pardy!"\r\n\r\n"Nay," cried Dick, "I know not.  But as the realm of England goes, if\r\nthat a poor gentleman fight not upon the one side, perforce he must fight\r\nupon the other.  He may not stand alone; \'tis not in nature."\r\n\r\n"They that have no judgment should not draw the sword," replied the young\r\nlady.  "Ye that fight but for a hazard, what are ye but a butcher?  War\r\nis but noble by the cause, and y\' have disgraced it."\r\n\r\n"Madam," said the miserable Dick, "I do partly see mine error.  I have\r\nmade too much haste; I have been busy before my time.  Already I stole a\r\nship--thinking, I do swear it, to do well--and thereby brought about the\r\ndeath of many innocent, and the grief and ruin of a poor old man whose\r\nface this very day hath stabbed me like a dagger.  And for this morning,\r\nI did but design to do myself credit, and get fame to marry with, and,\r\nbehold! I have brought about the death of your dear kinsman that was good\r\nto me.  And what besides, I know not.  For, alas! I may have set York\r\nupon the throne, and that may be the worser cause, and may do hurt to\r\nEngland.  O, madam, I do see my sin.  I am unfit for life.  I will, for\r\npenance sake and to avoid worse evil, once I have finished this\r\nadventure, get me to a cloister.  I will forswear Joanna and the trade of\r\narms.  I will be a friar, and pray for your good kinsman\'s spirit all my\r\ndays."\r\n\r\nIt appeared to Dick, in this extremity of his humiliation and repentance,\r\nthat the young lady had laughed.\r\n\r\nRaising his countenance, he found her looking down upon him, in the\r\nfire-light, with a somewhat peculiar but not unkind expression.\r\n\r\n"Madam," he cried, thinking the laughter to have been an illusion of his\r\nhearing, but still, from her changed looks, hoping to have touched her\r\nheart, "madam, will not this content you?  I give up all to undo what I\r\nhave done amiss; I make heaven certain for Lord Risingham.  And all this\r\nupon the very day that I have won my spurs, and thought myself the\r\nhappiest young gentleman on ground."\r\n\r\n"O boy," she said--"good boy!"\r\n\r\nAnd then, to the extreme surprise of Dick, she first very tenderly wiped\r\nthe tears away from his cheeks, and then, as if yielding to a sudden\r\nimpulse, threw both her arms about his neck, drew up his face, and kissed\r\nhim.  A pitiful bewilderment came over simple-minded Dick.\r\n\r\n"But come," she said, with great cheerfulness, "you that are a captain,\r\nye must eat.  Why sup ye not?"\r\n\r\n"Dear Mistress Risingham," replied Dick, "I did but wait first upon my\r\nprisoner; but, to say truth, penitence will no longer suffer me to endure\r\nthe sight of food.  I were better to fast, dear lady, and to pray."\r\n\r\n"Call me Alicia," she said; "are we not old friends?  And now, come, I\r\nwill eat with you, bit for bit and sup for sup; so if ye eat not, neither\r\nwill I; but if ye eat hearty, I will dine like a ploughman."\r\n\r\nSo there and then she fell to; and Dick, who had an excellent stomach,\r\nproceeded to bear her company, at first with great reluctance, but\r\ngradually, as he entered into the spirit, with more and more vigour and\r\ndevotion: until, at last, he forgot even to watch his model, and most\r\nheartily repaired the expenses of his day of labour and excitement.\r\n\r\n"Lion-driver," she said, at length, "ye do not admire a maid in a man\'s\r\njerkin?"\r\n\r\nThe moon was now up; and they were only waiting to repose the wearied\r\nhorses.  By the moon\'s light, the still penitent but now well-fed Richard\r\nbeheld her looking somewhat coquettishly down upon him.\r\n\r\n"Madam"--he stammered, surprised at this new turn in her manners.\r\n\r\n"Nay," she interrupted, "it skills not to deny; Joanna hath told me, but\r\ncome, Sir Lion-driver, look at me--am I so homely--come!"\r\n\r\nAnd she made bright eyes at him.\r\n\r\n"Ye are something smallish, indeed"--began Dick.\r\n\r\nAnd here again she interrupted him, this time with a ringing peal of\r\nlaughter that completed his confusion and surprise.\r\n\r\n"Smallish!" she cried.  "Nay, now, be honest as ye are bold; I am a\r\ndwarf, or little better; but for all that--come, tell me!--for all that,\r\npassably fair to look upon; is\'t not so?"\r\n\r\n"Nay, madam, exceedingly fair," said the distressed knight, pitifully\r\ntrying to seem easy.\r\n\r\n"And a man would be right glad to wed me?" she pursued.\r\n\r\n"O, madam, right glad!" agreed Dick.\r\n\r\n"Call me Alicia," said she.\r\n\r\n"Alicia," quoth Sir Richard.\r\n\r\n"Well, then, lion-driver," she continued, "sith that ye slew my kinsman,\r\nand left me without stay, ye owe me, in honour, every reparation; do ye\r\nnot?"\r\n\r\n"I do, madam," said Dick.  "Although, upon my heart, I do hold me but\r\npartially guilty of that brave knight\'s blood."\r\n\r\n"Would ye evade me?" she cried.\r\n\r\n"Madam, not so.  I have told you; at your bidding, I will even turn me a\r\nmonk," said Richard.\r\n\r\n"Then, in honour, ye belong to me?" she concluded.\r\n\r\n"In honour, madam, I suppose"--began the young man.\r\n\r\n"Go to!" she interrupted; "ye are too full of catches.  In honour do ye\r\nbelong to me, till ye have paid the evil?"\r\n\r\n"In honour, I do," said Dick.\r\n\r\n"Hear, then," she continued; "Ye would make but a sad friar, methinks;\r\nand since I am to dispose of you at pleasure, I will even take you for my\r\nhusband.  Nay, now, no words!" cried she.  "They will avail you nothing.\r\nFor see how just it is, that you who deprived me of one home, should\r\nsupply me with another.  And as for Joanna, she will be the first,\r\nbelieve me, to commend the change; for, after all, as we be dear friends,\r\nwhat matters it with which of us ye wed?  Not one whit!"\r\n\r\n"Madam," said Dick, "I will go into a cloister, an ye please to bid me;\r\nbut to wed with anyone in this big world besides Joanna Sedley is what I\r\nwill consent to neither for man\'s force nor yet for lady\'s pleasure.\r\nPardon me if I speak my plain thoughts plainly; but where a maid is very\r\nbold, a poor man must even be the bolder."\r\n\r\n"Dick," she said, "ye sweet boy, ye must come and kiss me for that word.\r\nNay, fear not, ye shall kiss me for Joanna; and when we meet, I shall\r\ngive it back to her, and say I stole it.  And as for what ye owe me, why,\r\ndear simpleton, methinks ye were not alone in that great battle; and even\r\nif York be on the throne, it was not you that set him there.  But for a\r\ngood, sweet, honest heart, Dick, y\' are all that; and if I could find it\r\nin my soul to envy your Joanna anything, I would even envy her your\r\nlove."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI--NIGHT IN THE WOODS (concluded): DICK AND JOAN\r\n\r\n\r\nThe horses had by this time finished the small store of provender, and\r\nfully breathed from their fatigues.  At Dick\'s command, the fire was\r\nsmothered in snow; and while his men got once more wearily to saddle, he\r\nhimself, remembering, somewhat late, true woodland caution, chose a tall\r\noak and nimbly clambered to the topmost fork.  Hence he could look far\r\nabroad on the moonlit and snow-paven forest.  On the south-west, dark\r\nagainst the horizon, stood those upland, heathy quarters where he and\r\nJoanna had met with the terrifying misadventure of the leper.  And there\r\nhis eye was caught by a spot of ruddy brightness no bigger than a\r\nneedle\'s eye.\r\n\r\nHe blamed himself sharply for his previous neglect.  Were that, as it\r\nappeared to be, the shining of Sir Daniel\'s camp-fire, he should long ago\r\nhave seen and marched for it; above all, he should, for no consideration,\r\nhave announced his neighbourhood by lighting a fire of his own.  But now\r\nhe must no longer squander valuable hours.  The direct way to the uplands\r\nwas about two miles in length; but it was crossed by a very deep,\r\nprecipitous dingle, impassable to mounted men; and for the sake of speed,\r\nit seemed to Dick advisable to desert the horses and attempt the\r\nadventure on foot.\r\n\r\nTen men were left to guard the horses; signals were agreed upon by which\r\nthey could communicate in case of need; and Dick set forth at the head of\r\nthe remainder, Alicia Risingham walking stoutly by his side.\r\n\r\nThe men had freed themselves of heavy armour, and left behind their\r\nlances; and they now marched with a very good spirit in the frozen snow,\r\nand under the exhilarating lustre of the moon.  The descent into the\r\ndingle, where a stream strained sobbing through the snow and ice, was\r\neffected with silence and order; and on the further side, being then\r\nwithin a short half mile of where Dick had seen the glimmer of the fire,\r\nthe party halted to breathe before the attack.\r\n\r\nIn the vast silence of the wood, the lightest sounds were audible from\r\nfar; and Alicia, who was keen of hearing, held up her finger warningly\r\nand stooped to listen.  All followed her example; but besides the groans\r\nof the choked brook in the dingle close behind, and the barking of a fox\r\nat a distance of many miles among the forest, to Dick\'s acutest\r\nhearkening, not a breath was audible.\r\n\r\n"But yet, for sure, I heard the clash of harness," whispered Alicia.\r\n\r\n"Madam," returned Dick, who was more afraid of that young lady than of\r\nten stout warriors, "I would not hint ye were mistaken; but it might well\r\nhave come from either of the camps."\r\n\r\n"It came not thence.  It came from westward," she declared.\r\n\r\n"It may be what it will," returned Dick; "and it must be as heaven\r\nplease.  Reck we not a jot, but push on the livelier, and put it to the\r\ntouch.  Up, friends--enough breathed."\r\n\r\nAs they advanced, the snow became more and more trampled with hoof-marks,\r\nand it was plain that they were drawing near to the encampment of a\r\nconsiderable force of mounted men.  Presently they could see the smoke\r\npouring from among the trees, ruddily coloured on its lower edge and\r\nscattering bright sparks.\r\n\r\nAnd here, pursuant to Dick\'s orders, his men began to open out, creeping\r\nstealthily in the covert, to surround on every side the camp of their\r\nopponents.  He himself, placing Alicia in the shelter of a bulky oak,\r\nstole straight forth in the direction of the fire.\r\n\r\nAt last, through an opening of the wood, his eye embraced the scene of\r\nthe encampment.  The fire had been built upon a heathy hummock of the\r\nground, surrounded on three sides by thicket, and it now burned very\r\nstrong, roaring aloud and brandishing flames.  Around it there sat not\r\nquite a dozen people, warmly cloaked; but though the neighbouring snow\r\nwas trampled down as by a regiment, Dick looked in vain for any horse.\r\nHe began to have a terrible misgiving that he was out-manoeuvred.  At the\r\nsame time, in a tall man with a steel salet, who was spreading his hands\r\nbefore the blaze, he recognised his old friend and still kindly enemy,\r\nBennet Hatch; and in two others, sitting a little back, he made out, even\r\nin their male disguise, Joanna Sedley and Sir Daniel\'s wife.\r\n\r\n"Well," thought he to himself, "even if I lose my horses, let me get my\r\nJoanna, and why should I complain?"\r\n\r\nAnd then, from the further side of the encampment, there came a little\r\nwhistle, announcing that his men had joined, and the investment was\r\ncomplete.\r\n\r\nBennet, at the sound, started to his feet; but ere he had time to spring\r\nupon his arms, Dick hailed him.\r\n\r\n"Bennet," he said--"Bennet, old friend, yield ye.  Ye will but spill\r\nmen\'s lives in vain, if ye resist."\r\n\r\n"\'Tis Master Shelton, by St. Barbary!" cried Hatch.  "Yield me?  Ye ask\r\nmuch.  What force have ye?"\r\n\r\n"I tell you, Bennet, ye are both outnumbered and begirt," said Dick.\r\n"Caesar and Charlemagne would cry for quarter.  I have two score men at\r\nmy whistle, and with one shoot of arrows I could answer for you all."\r\n\r\n"Master Dick," said Bennet, "it goes against my heart; but I must do my\r\nduty.  The saints help you!"  And therewith he raised a little tucket to\r\nhis mouth and wound a rousing call.\r\n\r\nThen followed a moment of confusion; for while Dick, fearing for the\r\nladies, still hesitated to give the word to shoot, Hatch\'s little band\r\nsprang to their weapons and formed back to back as for a fierce\r\nresistance.  In the hurry of their change of place, Joanna sprang from\r\nher seat and ran like an arrow to her lover\'s side.\r\n\r\n"Here, Dick!" she cried, as she clasped his hand in hers.\r\n\r\nBut Dick still stood irresolute; he was yet young to the more deplorable\r\nnecessities of war, and the thought of old Lady Brackley checked the\r\ncommand upon his tongue.  His own men became restive.  Some of them cried\r\non him by name; others, of their own accord, began to shoot; and at the\r\nfirst discharge poor Bennet bit the dust.  Then Dick awoke.\r\n\r\n"On!" he cried.  "Shoot, boys, and keep to cover.  England and York!"\r\n\r\nBut just then the dull beat of many horses on the snow suddenly arose in\r\nthe hollow ear of the night, and, with incredible swiftness, drew nearer\r\nand swelled louder.  At the same time, answering tuckets repeated and\r\nrepeated Hatch\'s call.\r\n\r\n"Rally, rally!" cried Dick.  "Rally upon me!  Rally for your lives!"\r\n\r\nBut his men--afoot, scattered, taken in the hour when they had counted on\r\nan easy triumph--began instead to give ground severally, and either stood\r\nwavering or dispersed into the thickets.  And when the first of the\r\nhorsemen came charging through the open avenues and fiercely riding their\r\nsteeds into the underwood, a few stragglers were overthrown or speared\r\namong the brush, but the bulk of Dick\'s command had simply melted at the\r\nrumour of their coming.\r\n\r\nDick stood for a moment, bitterly recognising the fruits of his\r\nprecipitate and unwise valour.  Sir Daniel had seen the fire; he had\r\nmoved out with his main force, whether to attack his pursuers or to take\r\nthem in the rear if they should venture the assault.  His had been\r\nthroughout the part of a sagacious captain; Dick\'s the conduct of an\r\neager boy.  And here was the young knight, his sweetheart, indeed,\r\nholding him tightly by the hand, but otherwise alone, his whole command\r\nof men and horses dispersed in the night and the wide forest, like a\r\npaper of pins in a bay barn.\r\n\r\n"The saints enlighten me!" he thought.  "It is well I was knighted for\r\nthis morning\'s matter; this doth me little honour."\r\n\r\nAnd thereupon, still holding Joanna, he began to run.\r\n\r\nThe silence of the night was now shattered by the shouts of the men of\r\nTunstall, as they galloped hither and thither, hunting fugitives; and\r\nDick broke boldly through the underwood and ran straight before him like\r\na deer.  The silver clearness of the moon upon the open snow increased,\r\nby contrast, the obscurity of the thickets; and the extreme dispersion of\r\nthe vanquished led the pursuers into wildly divergent paths.  Hence, in\r\nbut a little while, Dick and Joanna paused, in a close covert, and heard\r\nthe sounds of the pursuit, scattering abroad, indeed, in all directions,\r\nbut yet fainting already in the distance.\r\n\r\n"An I had but kept a reserve of them together," Dick cried, bitterly, "I\r\ncould have turned the tables yet!  Well, we live and learn; next time it\r\nshall go better, by the rood."\r\n\r\n"Nay, Dick," said Joanna, "what matters it?  Here we are together once\r\nagain."\r\n\r\nHe looked at her, and there she was--John Matcham, as of yore, in hose\r\nand doublet.  But now he knew her; now, even in that ungainly dress, she\r\nsmiled upon him, bright with love; and his heart was transported with\r\njoy.\r\n\r\n"Sweetheart," he said, "if ye forgive this blunderer, what care I?  Make\r\nwe direct for Holywood; there lieth your good guardian and my better\r\nfriend, Lord Foxham.  There shall we be wed; and whether poor or wealthy,\r\nfamous or unknown, what, matters it?  This day, dear love, I won my\r\nspurs; I was commended by great men for my valour; I thought myself the\r\ngoodliest man of war in all broad England.  Then, first, I fell out of my\r\nfavour with the great; and now have I been well thrashed, and clean lost\r\nmy soldiers.  There was a downfall for conceit!  But, dear, I care\r\nnot--dear, if ye still love me and will wed, I would have my knighthood\r\ndone away, and mind it not a jot."\r\n\r\n"My Dick!" she cried.  "And did they knight you?"\r\n\r\n"Ay, dear, ye are my lady now," he answered, fondly; "or ye shall, ere\r\nnoon to-morrow--will ye not?"\r\n\r\n"That will I, Dick, with a glad heart," she answered.\r\n\r\n"Ay, sir?  Methought ye were to be a monk!" said a voice in their ears.\r\n\r\n"Alicia!" cried Joanna.\r\n\r\n"Even so," replied the young lady, coming forward.  "Alicia, whom ye left\r\nfor dead, and whom your lion-driver found, and brought to life again,\r\nand, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to know!"\r\n\r\n"I\'ll not believe it," cried Joanna.  "Dick!"\r\n\r\n"Dick!" mimicked Alicia.  "Dick, indeed!  Ay, fair sir, and ye desert\r\npoor damsels in distress," she continued, turning to the young knight.\r\n"Ye leave them planted behind oaks.  But they say true--the age of\r\nchivalry is dead."\r\n\r\n"Madam," cried Dick, in despair, "upon my soul I had forgotten you\r\noutright.  Madam, ye must try to pardon me.  Ye see, I had new found\r\nJoanna!"\r\n\r\n"I did not suppose that ye had done it o\' purpose," she retorted.  "But I\r\nwill be cruelly avenged.  I will tell a secret to my Lady Shelton--she\r\nthat is to be," she added, curtseying.  "Joanna," she continued, "I\r\nbelieve, upon my soul, your sweetheart is a bold fellow in a fight, but\r\nhe is, let me tell you plainly, the softest-hearted simpleton in England.\r\nGo to--ye may do your pleasure with him!  And now, fool children, first\r\nkiss me, either one of you, for luck and kindness; and then kiss each\r\nother just one minute by the glass, and not one second longer; and then\r\nlet us all three set forth for Holywood as fast as we can stir; for these\r\nwoods, methinks, are full of peril and exceeding cold."\r\n\r\n"But did my Dick make love to you?" asked Joanna, clinging to her\r\nsweetheart\'s side.\r\n\r\n"Nay, fool girl," returned Alicia; "it was I made love to him.  I offered\r\nto marry him, indeed; but he bade me go marry with my likes.  These were\r\nhis words.  Nay, that I will say: he is more plain than pleasant.  But\r\nnow, children, for the sake of sense, set forward.  Shall we go once more\r\nover the dingle, or push straight for Holywood?"\r\n\r\n"Why," said Dick, "I would like dearly to get upon a horse; for I have\r\nbeen sore mauled and beaten, one way and another, these last days, and my\r\npoor body is one bruise.  But how think ye?  If the men, upon the alarm\r\nof the fighting, had fled away, we should have gone about for nothing.\r\n\'Tis but some three short miles to Holywood direct; the bell hath not\r\nbeat nine; the snow is pretty firm to walk upon, the moon clear; how if\r\nwe went even as we are?"\r\n\r\n"Agreed," cried Alicia; but Joanna only pressed upon Dick\'s arm.\r\n\r\nForth, then, they went, through open leafless groves and down snow-clad\r\nalleys, under the white face of the winter moon; Dick and Joanna walking\r\nhand in hand and in a heaven of pleasure; and their light-minded\r\ncompanion, her own bereavements heartily forgotten, followed a pace or\r\ntwo behind, now rallying them upon their silence, and now drawing happy\r\npictures of their future and united lives.\r\n\r\nStill, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the riders of Tunstall might\r\nbe heard urging their pursuit; and from time to time cries or the clash\r\nof steel announced the shock of enemies.  But in these young folk, bred\r\namong the alarms of war, and fresh from such a multiplicity of dangers,\r\nneither fear nor pity could be lightly wakened.  Content to find the\r\nsounds still drawing farther and farther away, they gave up their hearts\r\nto the enjoyment of the hour, walking already, as Alicia put it, in a\r\nwedding procession; and neither the rude solitude of the forest, nor the\r\ncold of the freezing night, had any force to shadow or distract their\r\nhappiness.\r\n\r\nAt length, from a rising hill, they looked below them on the dell of\r\nHolywood.  The great windows of the forest abbey shone with torch and\r\ncandle; its high pinnacles and spires arose very clear and silent, and\r\nthe gold rood upon the topmost summit glittered brightly in the moon.\r\nAll about it, in the open glade, camp-fires were burning, and the ground\r\nwas thick with huts; and across the midst of the picture the frozen river\r\ncurved.\r\n\r\n"By the mass," said Richard, "there are Lord Foxham\'s fellows still\r\nencamped.  The messenger hath certainly miscarried.  Well, then, so\r\nbetter.  We have power at hand to face Sir Daniel."\r\n\r\nBut if Lord Foxham\'s men still lay encamped in the long holm at Holywood,\r\nit was from a different reason from the one supposed by Dick.  They had\r\nmarched, indeed, for Shoreby; but ere they were half way thither, a\r\nsecond messenger met them, and bade them return to their morning\'s camp,\r\nto bar the road against Lancastrian fugitives, and to be so much nearer\r\nto the main army of York.  For Richard of Gloucester, having finished the\r\nbattle and stamped out his foes in that district, was already on the\r\nmarch to rejoin his brother; and not long after the return of my Lord\r\nFoxham\'s retainers, Crookback himself drew rein before the abbey door.\r\nIt was in honour of this august visitor that the windows shone with\r\nlights; and at the hour of Dick\'s arrival with his sweetheart and her\r\nfriend, the whole ducal party was being entertained in the refectory with\r\nthe splendour of that powerful and luxurious monastery.\r\n\r\nDick, not quite with his good will, was brought before them.  Gloucester,\r\nsick with fatigue, sat leaning upon one hand his white and terrifying\r\ncountenance; Lord Foxham, half recovered from his wound, was in a place\r\nof honour on his left.\r\n\r\n"How, sir?" asked Richard.  "Have ye brought me Sir Daniel\'s head?"\r\n\r\n"My lord duke," replied Dick, stoutly enough, but with a qualm at heart,\r\n"I have not even the good fortune to return with my command.  I have\r\nbeen, so please your grace, well beaten."\r\n\r\nGloucester looked upon him with a formidable frown.\r\n\r\n"I gave you fifty lances, {3} sir," he said.\r\n\r\n"My lord duke, I had but fifty men-at-arms," replied the young knight.\r\n\r\n"How is this?" said Gloucester.  "He did ask me fifty lances."\r\n\r\n"May it please your grace," replied Catesby, smoothly, "for a pursuit we\r\ngave him but the horsemen."\r\n\r\n"It is well," replied Richard, adding, "Shelton, ye may go."\r\n\r\n"Stay!" said Lord Foxham.  "This young man likewise had a charge from me.\r\nIt may be he hath better sped.  Say, Master Shelton, have ye found the\r\nmaid?"\r\n\r\n"I praise the saints, my lord," said Dick, "she is in this house."\r\n\r\n"Is it even so?  Well, then, my lord the duke," resumed Lord Foxham,\r\n"with your good will, to-morrow, before the army march, I do propose a\r\nmarriage.  This young squire--"\r\n\r\n"Young knight," interrupted Catesby.\r\n\r\n"Say ye so, Sir William?" cried Lord Foxham.\r\n\r\n"I did myself, and for good service, dub him knight," said Gloucester.\r\n"He hath twice manfully served me.  It is not valour of hands, it is a\r\nman\'s mind of iron, that he lacks.  He will not rise, Lord Foxham.  \'Tis\r\na fellow that will fight indeed bravely in a mellay, but hath a capon\'s\r\nheart.  Howbeit, if he is to marry, marry him in the name of Mary, and be\r\ndone!"\r\n\r\n"Nay, he is a brave lad--I know it," said Lord Foxham.  "Content ye,\r\nthen, Sir Richard.  I have compounded this affair with Master Hamley, and\r\nto-morrow ye shall wed."\r\n\r\nWhereupon Dick judged it prudent to withdraw; but he was not yet clear of\r\nthe refectory, when a man, but newly alighted at the gate, came running\r\nfour stairs at a bound, and, brushing through the abbey servants, threw\r\nhimself on one knee before the duke.\r\n\r\n"Victory, my lord," he cried.\r\n\r\nAnd before Dick had got to the chamber set apart for him as Lord Foxham\'s\r\nguest, the troops in the holm were cheering around their fires; for upon\r\nthat same day, not twenty miles away, a second crushing blow had been\r\ndealt to the power of Lancaster.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VII--DICK\'S REVENGE\r\n\r\n\r\nThe next morning Dick was afoot before the sun, and having dressed\r\nhimself to the best advantage with the aid of the Lord Foxham\'s baggage,\r\nand got good reports of Joan, he set forth on foot to walk away his\r\nimpatience.\r\n\r\nFor some while he made rounds among the soldiery, who were getting to\r\narms in the wintry twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of torches;\r\nbut gradually he strolled further afield, and at length passed clean\r\nbeyond the outposts, and walked alone in the frozen forest, waiting for\r\nthe sun.\r\n\r\nHis thoughts were both quiet and happy.  His brief favour with the Duke\r\nhe could not find it in his heart to mourn; with Joan to wife, and my\r\nLord Foxham for a faithful patron, he looked most happily upon the\r\nfuture; and in the past he found but little to regret.\r\n\r\nAs he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light of the morning grew\r\nmore clear, the east was already coloured by the sun, and a little\r\nscathing wind blew up the frozen snow.  He turned to go home; but even as\r\nhe turned, his eye lit upon a figure behind, a tree.\r\n\r\n"Stand!" he cried.  "Who goes?"\r\n\r\nThe figure stepped forth and waved its hand like a dumb person.  It was\r\narrayed like a pilgrim, the hood lowered over the face, but Dick, in an\r\ninstant, recognised Sir Daniel.\r\n\r\nHe strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the knight, putting his hand\r\nin his bosom, as if to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly awaited his\r\napproach.\r\n\r\n"Well, Dickon," said Sir Daniel, "how is it to be?  Do ye make war upon\r\nthe fallen?"\r\n\r\n"I made no war upon your life," replied the lad; "I was your true friend\r\nuntil ye sought for mine; but ye have sought for it greedily."\r\n\r\n"Nay--self-defence," replied the knight.  "And now, boy, the news of this\r\nbattle, and the presence of yon crooked devil here in mine own wood, have\r\nbroken me beyond all help.  I go to Holywood for sanctuary; thence\r\noverseas, with what I can carry, and to begin life again in Burgundy or\r\nFrance."\r\n\r\n"Ye may not go to Holywood," said Dick.\r\n\r\n"How!  May not?" asked the knight.\r\n\r\n"Look ye, Sir Daniel, this is my marriage morn," said Dick; "and yon sun\r\nthat is to rise will make the brightest day that ever shone for me.  Your\r\nlife is forfeit--doubly forfeit, for my father\'s death and your own\r\npractices to meward.  But I myself have done amiss; I have brought about\r\nmen\'s deaths; and upon this glad day I will be neither judge nor hangman.\r\nAn ye were the devil, I would not lay a hand on you.  An ye were the\r\ndevil, ye might go where ye will for me.  Seek God\'s forgiveness; mine ye\r\nhave freely.  But to go on to Holywood is different.  I carry arms for\r\nYork, and I will suffer no spy within their lines.  Hold it, then, for\r\ncertain, if ye set one foot before another, I will uplift my voice and\r\ncall the nearest post to seize you."\r\n\r\n"Ye mock me," said Sir Daniel.  "I have no safety out of Holywood."\r\n\r\n"I care no more," returned Richard.  "I let you go east, west, or south;\r\nnorth I will not.  Holywood is shut against you.  Go, and seek not to\r\nreturn.  For, once ye are gone, I will warn every post about this army,\r\nand there will be so shrewd a watch upon all pilgrims that, once again,\r\nwere ye the very devil, ye would find it ruin to make the essay."\r\n\r\n"Ye doom me," said Sir Daniel, gloomily.\r\n\r\n"I doom you not," returned Richard.  "If it so please you to set your\r\nvalour against mine, come on; and though I fear it be disloyal to my\r\nparty, I will take the challenge openly and fully, fight you with mine\r\nown single strength, and call for none to help me.  So shall I avenge my\r\nfather, with a perfect conscience."\r\n\r\n"Ay," said Sir Daniel, "y\' have a long sword against my dagger."\r\n\r\n"I rely upon Heaven only," answered Dick, casting his sword some way\r\nbehind him on the snow.  "Now, if your ill-fate bids you, come; and,\r\nunder the pleasure of the Almighty, I make myself bold to feed your bones\r\nto foxes."\r\n\r\n"I did but try you, Dickon," returned the knight, with an uneasy\r\nsemblance of a laugh.  "I would not spill your blood."\r\n\r\n"Go, then, ere it be too late," replied Shelton.  "In five minutes I will\r\ncall the post.  I do perceive that I am too long-suffering.  Had but our\r\nplaces been reversed, I should have been bound hand and foot some minutes\r\npast."\r\n\r\n"Well, Dickon, I will go," replied Sir Daniel.  "When we next meet, it\r\nshall repent you that ye were so harsh."\r\n\r\nAnd with these words, the knight turned and began to move off under the\r\ntrees.  Dick watched him with strangely-mingled feelings, as he went,\r\nswiftly and warily, and ever and again turning a wicked eye upon the lad\r\nwho had spared him, and whom he still suspected.\r\n\r\nThere was upon one side of where he went a thicket, strongly matted with\r\ngreen ivy, and, even in its winter state, impervious to the eye.  Herein,\r\nall of a sudden, a bow sounded like a note of music.  An arrow flew, and\r\nwith a great, choked cry of agony and anger, the Knight of Tunstall threw\r\nup his hands and fell forward in the snow.\r\n\r\nDick bounded to his side and raised him.  His face desperately worked;\r\nhis whole body was shaken by contorting spasms.\r\n\r\n"Is the arrow black?" he gasped.\r\n\r\n"It is black," replied Dick, gravely.\r\n\r\nAnd then, before he could add one word, a desperate seizure of pain shook\r\nthe wounded man from head to foot, so that his body leaped in Dick\'s\r\nsupporting arms, and with the extremity of that pang his spirit fled in\r\nsilence.\r\n\r\nThe young man laid him back gently on the snow and prayed for that\r\nunprepared and guilty spirit, and as he prayed the sun came up at a\r\nbound, and the robins began chirping in the ivy.\r\n\r\nWhen he rose to his feet, he found another man upon his knees but a few\r\nsteps behind him, and, still with uncovered head, he waited until that\r\nprayer also should be over.  It took long; the man, with his head bowed\r\nand his face covered with his hands, prayed like one in a great disorder\r\nor distress of mind; and by the bow that lay beside him, Dick judged that\r\nhe was no other than the archer who had laid Sir Daniel low.\r\n\r\nAt length he, also, rose, and showed the countenance of Ellis Duckworth.\r\n\r\n"Richard," he said, very gravely, "I heard you.  Ye took the better part\r\nand pardoned; I took the worse, and there lies the clay of mine enemy.\r\nPray for me."\r\n\r\nAnd he wrung him by the hand.\r\n\r\n"Sir," said Richard, "I will pray for you, indeed; though how I may\r\nprevail I wot not.  But if ye have so long pursued revenge, and find it\r\nnow of such a sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it not well to pardon\r\nothers?  Hatch--he is dead, poor shrew!  I would have spared a better;\r\nand for Sir Daniel, here lies his body.  But for the priest, if I might\r\nanywise prevail, I would have you let him go."\r\n\r\nA flash came into the eyes of Ellis Duckworth.\r\n\r\n"Nay," he said, "the devil is still strong within me.  But be at rest;\r\nthe Black Arrow flieth nevermore--the fellowship is broken.  They that\r\nstill live shall come to their quiet and ripe end, in Heaven\'s good time,\r\nfor me; and for yourself, go where your better fortune calls you, and\r\nthink no more of Ellis."\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VIII--CONCLUSION\r\n\r\n\r\nAbout nine in the morning, Lord Foxham was leading his ward, once more\r\ndressed as befitted her sex, and followed by Alicia Risingham, to the\r\nchurch of Holywood, when Richard Crookback, his brow already heavy with\r\ncares, crossed their path and paused.\r\n\r\n"Is this the maid?" he asked; and when Lord Foxham had replied in the\r\naffirmative, "Minion," he added, "hold up your face until I see its\r\nfavour."\r\n\r\nHe looked upon her sourly for a little.\r\n\r\n"Ye are fair," he said at last, "and, as they tell me, dowered.  How if I\r\noffered you a brave marriage, as became your face and parentage?"\r\n\r\n"My lord duke," replied Joanna, "may it please your grace, I had rather\r\nwed with Sir Richard."\r\n\r\n"How so?" he asked, harshly.  "Marry but the man I name to you, and he\r\nshall be my lord, and you my lady, before night.  For Sir Richard, let me\r\ntell you plainly, he will die Sir Richard."\r\n\r\n"I ask no more of Heaven, my lord, than but to die Sir Richard\'s wife,"\r\nreturned Joanna.\r\n\r\n"Look ye at that, my lord," said Gloucester, turning to Lord Foxham.\r\n"Here be a pair for you.  The lad, when for good services I gave him his\r\nchoice of my favour, chose but the grace of an old, drunken shipman.  I\r\ndid warn him freely, but he was stout in his besottedness.  \'Here dieth\r\nyour favour,\' said I; and he, my lord, with a most assured impertinence,\r\n\'Mine be the loss,\' quoth he.  It shall be so, by the rood!"\r\n\r\n"Said he so?" cried Alicia.  "Then well said, lion-driver!"\r\n\r\n"Who is this?" asked the duke.\r\n\r\n"A prisoner of Sir Richard\'s," answered Lord Foxham; "Mistress Alicia\r\nRisingham."\r\n\r\n"See that she be married to a sure man," said the duke.\r\n\r\n"I had thought of my kinsman, Hamley, an it like your grace," returned\r\nLord Foxham.  "He hath well served the cause."\r\n\r\n"It likes me well," said Richard.  "Let them be wedded speedily.  Say,\r\nfair maid, will you wed?"\r\n\r\n"My lord duke," said Alicia, "so as the man is straight"--And there, in a\r\nperfect consternation, the voice died on her tongue.\r\n\r\n"He is straight, my mistress," replied Richard, calmly.  "I am the only\r\ncrookback of my party; we are else passably well shapen.  Ladies, and\r\nyou, my lord," he added, with a sudden change to grave courtesy, "judge\r\nme not too churlish if I leave you.  A captain, in the time of war, hath\r\nnot the ordering of his hours."\r\n\r\nAnd with a very handsome salutation he passed on, followed by his\r\nofficers.\r\n\r\n"Alack," cried Alicia, "I am shent!"\r\n\r\n"Ye know him not," replied Lord Foxham.  "It is but a trifle; he hath\r\nalready clean forgot your words."\r\n\r\n"He is, then, the very flower of knighthood," said Alicia.\r\n\r\n"Nay, he but mindeth other things," returned Lord Foxham.  "Tarry we no\r\nmore."\r\n\r\nIn the chancel they found Dick waiting, attended by a few young men; and\r\nthere were he and Joan united.  When they came forth again, happy and yet\r\nserious, into the frosty air and sunlight, the long files of the army\r\nwere already winding forward up the road; already the Duke of\r\nGloucester\'s banner was unfolded and began to move from before the abbey\r\nin a clump of spears; and behind it, girt by steel-clad knights, the\r\nbold, black-hearted, and ambitious hunchback moved on towards his brief\r\nkingdom and his lasting infamy.  But the wedding party turned upon the\r\nother side, and sat down, with sober merriment, to breakfast.  The father\r\ncellarer attended on their wants, and sat with them at table.  Hamley,\r\nall jealousy forgotten, began to ply the nowise loth Alicia with\r\ncourtship.  And there, amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash of\r\narmoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth, Dick and Joan sat\r\nside by side, tenderly held hands, and looked, with ever growing\r\naffection, in each other\'s eyes.\r\n\r\nThenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly epoch passed them by.  They\r\ndwelt apart from alarms in the green forest where their love began.\r\n\r\nTwo old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in great prosperity and\r\npeace, and with perhaps a superfluity of ale and wine, in Tunstall\r\nhamlet.  One had been all his life a shipman, and continued to the last\r\nto lament his man Tom.  The other, who had been a bit of everything,\r\nturned in the end towards piety, and made a most religious death under\r\nthe name of Brother Honestus in the neighbouring abbey.  So Lawless had\r\nhis will, and died a friar.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nFootnotes:\r\n\r\n\r\n{1}  At the date of this story, Richard Crookback could not have been\r\ncreated Duke of Gloucester; but for clearness, with the reader\'s leave,\r\nhe shall so be called.\r\n\r\n{2}  Richard Crookback would have been really far younger at this date.\r\n\r\n{3}  Technically, the term "lance" included a not quite certain number of\r\nfoot soldiers attached to the man-at-arms.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK ARROW***\r\n\r\n\r\n******* This file should be named 848.txt or 848.zip *******\r\n\r\n\r\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\r\nhttp://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/4/848\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\r\nwill be renamed.\r\n\r\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\r\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\r\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\r\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  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