him what Katharine Harcomb had said to me. 'By the Holy Virgin,
Hamilton,' said he, speaking like the good Catholic he is, 'get hold of
the young rascal. Never let him out of your sight until you have
obtained all he hath found, and know all he can tell you.'"

"Did he say that?"

"Ay he did. I tell you he puts great store on it."

"But the fellow hath it not."

"No, and what is worse we have so nearly killed him that he might as
well be dead."

"Well, what are we to do?"

"We can do nought but return to London, and wait for the coming of the
king. At all events the king is king, thanks to Monk."

"He's to be made a duke, I hear."

"After Denman's wife tried to send him to heaven?"

"Ay, and would have succeeded, but for a mishap."

"Nay, nay. She might have sent him to hell, but never to heaven."

"Well, from all I hear no one could wish to be sent to the other world
by a fairer hand. Men have it that when Denman married Master Leslie's
daughter, he wedded a face as fair as an angel's."

"Well, it'll not save her from the gallows. Had her father not been such
a Puritan, it might have gained her favour with King Charles, but I hear
that the very name stinks in his nostrils. I am told that she nearly
escaped, but a man rode night and day to Dover to tell Monk that she had
been captured, and was safely lodged in Bedford Gaol."

"She must be a brave woman. Were she not the wife of such a fellow as
Denman I would strike a blow for her deliverance. Bedford Gaol is not a
hard place to get out of, for the gaoler not only loves his wine, but
will take a bribe. Besides, the woman who tried to send Monk into
eternity deserves some help. But say, what are we to do with this young
jackanapes?"

"Do you think he's dead?"

"No; he lives, although there's no knowing how much we've hurt him. We
dare not let it be known that we've had aught to do with him. Duke James
was very careful to tell us that everything must be done in secret."

"Then let him lie, while we make our way to London."

"Shall we take his money? He will think then that we are footpads."

"No, we cannot do that, badly as we need it. After all, a gentleman is a
gentleman."

"Nor his horse? It is a good one."

"Nay, that might tell tales. Besides, we are well supplied; let us on to
London. A good night's rest to you, Master Rashcliffe."

"With apologies for delay."

"And a curse upon you for not having what we wanted."

I heard them laugh as they mounted and rode away, as though they were
pleased with themselves. For some time I did not move; I thought it
would be wiser to keep up the part I had been playing, for fear they
might come back. Presently I heard the sound of horses coming towards me
from the Canterbury road, and this led me to get up with all speed, and
to call Black Ben to my side. A few minutes later I was again on
horseback, but little the worse for my happening, although sore vexed
with myself for being mastered so easily. Still, I had learnt something.
I was not the only one who was trying to obtain Lucy Walters' marriage
contract, while my father was not the only one to whom Katharine Harcomb
had spoken concerning the thing. Moreover I had been confirmed in my
information concerning the prison of Mistress Denman, neither did I fail
to take note of what was said about the gaoler.

On the whole, therefore, I was not ill-pleased with the night's events,
and possessed no very bitter feelings towards either Master Rickmore or
Master Hamilton.

Nothing of importance happened further to me that night. As I drew
nearer London, I found the people talking much about the gay doings
which were to take place when the king came back to his loyal city, as
well as the terrible punishments which would be meted out to all who in
any way took part in King Charles' death. I did not stay in London
longer than I could help, however, for, foolish as it may appear, I
determined to ride to Bedford, and if possible deliver from prison the
woman who had been my companion to Pycroft Hall but a few nights
before.

CHAPTER XIV

HOW I SAW A MAN WHO BECAME FAMOUS!

The night was falling fast as I drew near Bedford town. The weather was
very fine, however, and the country side was fair to behold. Flowers
were blooming on all sides, and the scent of the young and bursting life
was indeed pleasant. Not that I was in a mood to enter into the
joyousness of that spring evening, for I had ridden hard since morning,
and I noticed that Black Ben's head drooped, and he dragged one leg
wearily after another. Besides, my mind was filled with many doubts and
fears. Why had I come to a town of which I knew nothing? And why should
I seek to rescue a woman from prison who thought so little of my help
that she had treated my offer with but little respect? Added to this,
why should I, the son of a gentleman who had fought for Charles Stuart,
seek to befriend the woman who had attempted murder in order to prevent
the rightful king of the country from coming back to his throne?

These questions, which persisted in coming to me, were real and forceful
enough, and try as I would I could find no satisfactory answer to them.
Yet did I ride straight on, determined to do that which reason and
welfare declared to be madness. For the woman's face haunted me. The
look of despair I had seen in her eyes, the tone of her voice, appealed
to me so strongly for help that I could not resist. More than that, the
very mystery which surrounded her strengthened my determination. What
led her to Folkestone, and what connection had she with the old man with
whom I had had such strange experiences at Pycroft Hall?

All this determined me to get to Bedford that night, and then to use my
utmost endeavour to deliver her from the hands of Monk's minions and
from the king's power.

I heard the bells from the old church at Bedford pealing out a note of
joy, when I saw a man in plain homely garments trudging along the road
in front of me.

"Give you good even," he said, as I rode up.

"Good even," I replied, trying to discern in the fast failing light
whether he was a man of quality.

"You look as though you have ridden far."

"From London," I replied, reflecting that although he looked not like a
man of wealth, there was an air of authority about him, which made it
impossible to pass him by without a second look.

"Ah," he said eagerly. "And what is the news from London?"

"There is much," I replied; "and yet it will not take long in the
telling."

"And how is that?"

"Because it all hath to do with the same thing. When you have said that
the new king is on his way thither and that the people are preparing to
welcome him, you have told all."

"Ah, but that means much, I fear."

"You fear?"

"Ay, I fear, young master, for I fear me the devil is unloosed in London
town. If what I have heard be true, then all those things which the
children of the Lord have fought against, and driven into the darkness,
are to be flaunted in broad daylight, and no man will dare to cry
shame."

"The new king loves pleasure," I made answer.

He looked at me steadily, and was silent.

I would have ridden on at this; but thinking he might be able to tell me
things I desired to know, I determined to alight and walk by his side.

"We are not far from Bedford, I take it?" I said.

"But a mile."

"Know you of a good hostelry there?"

"I know all that may be found there."

"Then, by your leave, I will walk back with you, for I judge you are
travelling thither."

"Ay," he replied, "my home is at Bedford, and my wife and dear ones live
there."

There was a quiet dignity in the way he spoke, and although I detected
none of the evidences of the schoolman in his speech, I could not help
feeling that he was a man of some authority.

"Do you love God, young master?" he said, the moment I had dismounted,
and walked by his side.

"How may a man do that?" I asked, for the question took me aback.

"By loving His Son, whom He hath sent in the flesh to proclaim his love,
by dying for a sinful world."

"And what may be the signs which show forth that one loves the Son of
God?" I continued, concluding that I had happened across one of the
Puritans of the district.

"The sign of love is obedience," he replied. "For what are His Words?
'He that hath My commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth
Me.'"

"That also may need explanation," I replied, for I determined not to
endanger myself in any way by hasty speech.

"The explanation is simple," he replied quietly. "The teaching of Christ
is that we do good, not only in lip but in life. That we love one
another, and that we also love the truth of God. It is also that we obey
God at all costs, even as the Apostles did of olden time. We have a safe
guide to the will of God in the Holy Scriptures, and especially is it
made clear to us in the New Testament Scriptures. The proofs of love to
God are trust in and obedience to Him, as is set forth therein. For what
said Martin Luther, when he stood before his judges, who called upon him
to recant. 'Confute me with scripture; if you cannot do that, neither
can I recant, for it is neither safe nor wise for a man to disobey his
conscience.' So then he loves God who is true to Him, and this he does
by instructing his conscience by Holy Writ and much prayer, and then
obeying his conscience whatever may befall him."

"But may a man not need instruction in Holy Writ?" I asked.

"A man's prayer obtains the best instruction," he made answer. "If we
read the Scriptures in prayer and reverence, God will guide us. Thus it
is that a wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err in the ways of
truth."

"But suppose that one be led in reading the Scriptures to hold views
different from those of those set in authority over us?" I asked.

He lifted his large eyes to mine, and scanned my face intently.

"Yet should he hold fast by his integrity," he replied.

"Even if the teachers of the Church command otherwise?" I asked.

"Who are the teachers of the Church?" he asked. "Are they such as
Cardinal Pole, and Stephen Gardiner, falsely called the Bishop of
Winchester, or Dr. Ridley and Master Hugh Latimer, whom they put to
death by fire? Ay, and to whose voice shall we listen; that of Laud, the
Papist in disguise, and his lying master Charles Stuart, or to such as
Cromwell, and Pym, and Hampden, who saved England from Popery and
slavery?"

"That is treason," I said.

"To whom--God or man?" he asked quietly.

"To man," I made answer, even before I knew the words had escaped from
my lips.

"Ay, to man," he replied; "but he who loves God will never be a traitor
to Him. Nevertheless, may God grant that the will of man and the will of
God may never be set against each other."

"Do you fear they will?" I asked.

"What say men in London town?" he asked.

"That the king will bring in a new order of things," I made answer, "and
that those who favoured his father's death shall be punished."

"Ay, ay," he said slowly. "But what of the Church, young master, what of
the Church?"

"It is said that the bishops are already looking forward to the time
when schism shall be overcome, and that they are already making
preparation for the change. That they are overjoyed that the king is
coming back is but to make suggestion of the whole truth."

"Ay, ay," he replied; "but we fight not with carnal weapons; our
strength is in the Lord of Hosts. The three Hebrew youths would not fall
down and worship, and they were thrown into the furnace seven times
heated, yet did the Lord deliver them. The Apostles were commanded not
to preach the Gospel, yet did they preach it, and were thrown into
prison; but the Lord opened the prison doors. At present the cloud is no
bigger than a man's hand, yet it will darken this land. I can see it
plainly, yet must the children of God bear witness to the truth."

The man spoke like one would think the prophets of old times spoke, so
calm and quiet, and yet so full of authority were his tones.

"Methinks, those who call themselves the children of God fight with
other than carnal weapons," I made answer. "If ever there was a man of
the sword it was Oliver Cromwell."

"Ay, but he trusted not in the arm of flesh, but in the Lord God," he
made answer, "else would his armies have been but burning stubble in a
strong wind. It was the men of God whom Cromwell selected, who won
Marston Moor and Naseby. On the other hand, it was the lies and the base
living of Charles and his followers which caused their defeat."

"Ay, but Cromwell is dead, and men have it that a whining, hypocritical
crew have taken his place. There have been some Judas Iscariots and
traitors at the head of England for many months."

"Ay, and some Monks too," he added, a little bitterly, I thought.

"Ay, and a Puritan woman sought to kill him, and if report speaks truly,
she is even now in Bedford Gaol."

I thought I saw him start as I spoke, so being young and foolish, and
wishing to get the better of an argument of which, as I thought, he had
the best all the way, I went on--

"Men have it that Master John Leslie, the father of this woman, is a
great man among the hot-gospellers and Independents, while Sir Charles
Denman, her husband, is almost as much renowned for his preaching as
Hugh Peters himself."

For a moment he stopped still in the road, and he lifted his right hand
above his head. Even in the dim light I noted his sturdy thick-set
figure, his broad mouth, and his searching, yet kindly eyes.

"Is that what men are saying?" he asked presently, dropping his hand.

"It is common gossip," I replied.

"Men have it that Constance, daughter of John Leslie, together with her
husband and father, plotted the murder of Monk, have they? Is that the
talk in London town?"

"It is given out by General Monk himself," I replied. "It is told to the
new king and his counsellors, and more it hath been proved by many
witnesses. The wound in the arm of Monk's secretary is sufficient
proof."

He stood still for a minute without speaking, then he said quietly--

"And have you heard aught concerning the probable fate of this maiden?"

"She is to be brought to London without delay after the king hath
arrived thither, and then she is to be tried, condemned, and put to
death. Men also have it that there is a warrant out against Sir Charles
Denman and Master John Leslie."

"Perhaps it is the will of God," he said, presently. "The blood of the
martyr hath ever been the seed of the Church of the living God."

"Martyr," I said, for something made me feel that this man knew much of
these people. "Can the death of a woman who hath attempted murder be
called martyrdom?"

I could have almost bitten my tongue for having uttered these words, for
although my reason told me they were true, my heart went against them,
and accused me of being unjust to the woman to whom I had avowed that
she could never do an unworthy deed.

"There be many things known only to God," he replied solemnly, "and
God's ways are not our ways, neither His thoughts our thoughts, yet will
we trust Him though He slay us."

"Know you aught of this woman?" I asked.

"I know what all men know," he answered. "I know that she was on her way
to Bedford to visit her father, who is a man of substance in Bedford, as
well as in London, and that while coming hither she was taken by the
minions of Monk, and dragged to gaol."

"From whence did she come?"

"From the south, somewhere."

"But had she no protector?"

"She had none. She was taken during the night."

"But surely she could not travel from the south on foot."

"Nay, she rode a good horse."

I wanted to ask other questions, but I was afraid, for I knew not who
the man was, and I dared not trust him so far as to lead him to think I
knew anything concerning her.

"Know you aught of her, young master?"

"I have come from the south," I answered, "and it was said that she had
been seen not twenty miles from where the king landed but yesterday."

"Ay, poor child, I fear me that this led her to think she would be safe
here. For you are mistaken in believing that a warrant is out against
her father. It is not true. It hath been proved that Master Leslie had
neither part nor lot in the attempt to murder Monk, and in proof of my
words he may be seen in Bedford town, although in sore grief that his
daughter is now awaiting such a fearful end."

"But he would have sheltered her, ay, and have sought to hide her, had
she reached his house?" I said.

"Did not the early Christians hide each other in Rome?" he asked. "And
did not men hide their faithful friends in the time of Mary?"

"But they were innocent?"

"And is not she innocent?"

At this I did not speak, although there seemed but little doubt, as I
gathered from the words spoken to the king, that proofs of her guilt
were unanswerable.

"Nevertheless," he went on, "although Master John Leslie is a man of
station and wealth, he has been much insulted these last three days. Men
wag their heads as he passes by, especially those who are godless, and
rejoice because they believe the coming of the king will mean
godlessness and licentiousness. Ay, and whatever be the state of things
in London, it seems as though the devil is unchained. Drunkenness and
vice walk naked and not ashamed, while many who I thought were founded
in the faith have joined the hosts of those who love not the Lord."

By this time we had entered the town, and I began to look around me for
some inn where I could find fodder for my horse and a supper for myself.

"Stay you long in Bedford, young master?"

"I hope my stay may be brief," I replied. "Will you show me to the best
inn the town affords?"

"The place most free from reproach, and where men of standing gather, is
_The Bull_," he replied, "but methinks even that will scarce be a
fitting place to-night for a well-behaved youth, as you seem to be."

"And why?" I asked.

"Because, as I told you, the whole town, since the news of the coming of
the king, hath been a scene of drunkenness and revelry. Wherever there
is much ale there is much devilry, whether it be drunk at _The Bull_ or
elsewhere. Even the ostlers cannot be got to attend to their duties,
therefore I fear you will have to groom and feed your horse yourself. As
for sleep, I much fear me that you will not be able to obtain it. I will
e'en call with you so that you may see for yourself, and if the place is
given over to carousal, then if you can think of nought better, I will
gladly offer you a bed in my own poor home."

"Thank you, good friend," I made answer, "I trust I may not need to take
advantage of your good nature; all the same I am grateful to you, and
would like to know the name of one who hath proffered such kindness."

"My name is John Bunyan," he replied, "and I minister to God's people in
this town."

"You are then an Independent preacher?" I asked.

"I am called to preach the Gospel of Christ," he replied, "and God hath
so blessed me, that I, who was a vile sinner, have been able to point a
great multitude to the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the
world."

I do not know why it was, but although my father had not influenced me
to lean either towards the Episcopal Church or towards the Dissenters, I
felt prejudiced against him. I determined therefore that nothing should
induce me to sleep at his house, and when we presently reached _The
Bull_, and I found the place given over to drinking and revelry even as
he had said, I persisted in having the room offered to me.

"Perhaps we shall meet again, young master," he said, as he walked away.
"God hath a purpose in bringing people together, and although when I
went out this evening to speak words of comfort to a sick member of my
flock, I had no premonition that I should meet you, yet I believe God
had a purpose in it, for truly I can see that thou art not far from the
Kingdom."

It was some time before I was able to obtain an ostler to feed and groom
my horse; at length, however, I succeeded in so doing by the promise of
extra payment, and then having satisfied myself on this score, I found
my way to the inn again, in the hope of supper. But in this I found
great difficulty. Drink was plentiful enough, but something to eat was a
different matter. Every one in the house seemed too busy in supplying
drink to those who came hither to drink the king's health to be able to
care aught for the needs of a traveller such as myself. At length,
however, I obtained some boiled beef and bread, and with this I had to
be content, and after partaking thereof I found my way into a room where
I was told the people of quality had congregated.

Little notice was taken of my coming, until it became known that I had
come from London town, after which I became a person of great
importance, and was plied with many questions. These I answered freely
enough. First because my answers could arouse no suspicion, and second
because I thought I should thereby lead my questioners to talk about the
woman who was imprisoned at Bedford Gaol. In this I found I had
conjectured rightly, and when, presently, I found that one of those who
talked with me was no less a person than the governor of the gaol, I
rejoiced greatly that I had not accepted the hospitality of Master John
Bunyan.

"Ah, but it is a feather in my cap," said this man, whose name I found
to be John Sturgeon, "and I doubt not that when all the happenings reach
the king's ears he will be mightily pleased with me."

I saw that he had been drinking freely, and that he weighed not his
words. Moreover, he seemed to be a man of choleric temper, and did not
brook opposition from any one.

"And how may that be, Master Sturgeon?" I said. "Think you the king will
have so little to do when he arrives at Whitehall that he will pay heed
to the imprisonment of what you have called a Puritan woman?"

"Surely you have not lived in London, or you would not speak so
foolishly," he cried. "Suppose, I say, suppose she had killed General
Monk, would the king have been welcomed back? I tell you no. Therefore
will the king bear in mind all who have had aught to do with the capture
of such a one."

"Ay, but," I urged, "the governor of the gaol is not the constable who
caught her coming hither?"

"Again you speak like a fool, young master, or you would know that I am
a man of authority in Bedford. Moreover, was it not I who had Master
John Leslie watched? Did I not note his looks of uneasiness, and did not
the inquiries I made concerning him lead me to place men along the roads
to London? Ah, but it was by the merest shave that they took her. For
what was she dressed like, think you? As a witch? Nay, but as a saucy
young springald. Moreover, she carried things with a high hand, and
threatened Jonathan Wild, the biggest constable in Bedford, to horsewhip
him. But her face betrayed her, for one of the men, although she hath
lived much in London, and is but little known in Bedford, recognized her
in the moonlight, and then having suspicions, pulled off her headgear,
whereupon her hair fell down her back."

At this there was much laughter, and many coarse jests.

"Ah, well," went on Master Sturgeon, "I never did like Master Leslie,
for he sent many a good fellow to Bedford Gaol, simply because they were
not straightlaced Puritans like himself. Things are changed now, and
mayhap that I shall have even him under lock and key."

"How did she get her horse and her attire?" I asked.

"That I cannot tell," he replied, "but I doubt not it will all come out
when she is tried."

"When and where is the trial to be?"

"In London, I do hear. This, I think, is a shame, for why should all the
fun be in London. Still the deed was done there, and mayhap the king,
who loves a pretty face, may wish to be at the trial."

Although much more was said, there was little of importance; moreover I
found that men were too eager to talk of the events which were to take
place in London because of the king's coming, to pay much heed to the
woman who had attempted the life of General Monk, wife to Sir Charles
Denman though she might be.

Still I kept in the room until wellnigh midnight, when Master Sturgeon
rose to go. I was told that he boasted of being able to carry more drink
than any man in Bedford, nevertheless I saw that he staggered somewhat
on leaving the inn. As he put on his hat a plan was suddenly born in my
mind, and without weighing its value I followed him into the street,
determining to make my first attempt that very night to obtain the
liberty of the woman into whose company I had been so strangely thrown.

CHAPTER XV

MASTER STURGEON, THE GAOLER

Master Sturgeon had walked but a few steps when I came to his side.

"I am a stranger in Bedford, Master Sturgeon," I said, "therefore the
company of such a well-known man as yourself is of great interest to me,
and if I may, I will e'en walk a little way with you."

"Ah, it is you, Master Stranger?" he made answer, "and you have seen
that I am a man of no mean import in the town? Ah, well, you are a youth
of great penetration."

"Every one here seems to know you," I said.

"How can it be otherwise?" he said, with half-drunken gravity. "Am I not
the father of the town? It is true that many would say that Master
Leslie is of greater importance than I, because he is a justice, and
because he comes of an old family. But what of that? I am here always
and he is only here sometimes. And besides--will not this drag him down,
and lift me up? He will say, of course, that Sir Charles Denman egged
her on, and not he: that may be true; but why was she on her way to
Goodlands, which is the name of Master Leslie's house? You see, she was
hardly ever seen at Bedford. None of the family liked the place. Master
Leslie came sometimes, and crowed it over people who have made the town,
but his wife and children considered themselves too high and mighty to
come."

"Master Leslie hath other children, then?"

"Ay, that he hath."

"How many?"

"As to that I know not, for, as I have said, he lived much in London,
and was great friends with Old Noll. But when he did come here, he
showed what a strong Quaker he was, going sometimes to hear the tinker,
and at others to hear Master Gaystone, who is as great a Presbyterian as
ever lived. Would you mind taking my arm, young master? My head is clear
enough, but I seem to see the road rising up before me."

I took his arm, and continued to ply him with questions, for though he
stammered and hiccuped much, he seemed desirous of talking. Moreover, he
was not so drunk but that he understood what he was saying.

"And Sir Charles Denman. Know you aught of him?"

"Nay, nothing much. A great friend of Master Leslie's and a bigoted
Puritan. A money lover, too, and one, I am told, who is as secret as an
oyster. Men have wondered that a maid so young and so fair to look upon
should have married him; but no man can tell what a woman will do."

"Is she, then, so very beautiful?"

"Ay, that she is. When I saw her brought into the gaol, I fair started.
It seemed impossible that one so young and so fair could attempt to
murder a man. But there it is, no man may say what these Puritans will
do."

"The king may thank his stars he hath such a zealous officer in this
town of Bedford," I said, trying to play upon his vanity. "It ought to
be made known what a valuable subject he possesseth."

"Ah, you see that! What I fear is that my part will not be mentioned to
his Majesty. Why, a man hath been knighted for less!"

"Many's the time," I said; "yet would you believe that, although I was
at Dover when the king landed, and although I heard an officer tell him
that the woman was captured, your name was never once mentioned?"

"You at Dover! You heard men tell the news to the king!" he cried.

"Ay, and I spoke to the king," I made answer; "but I left him at
Canterbury, for I desired to reach London town quickly, having affairs
of importance to transact."

"And the king spoke to you, young master! Tell me, did the king speak to
you?"

"Ay, that he did," I replied. "Why not?"

My news seemed to startle him so that his voice lost some of its
thickness, and I thought he became soberer.

"I fear I have taken liberties with my betters," he said solemnly.

"Oh, as to that I take no account," I replied. "It was not for me to
blazon it abroad that I had spoken to the king, or to tell them that he
asked me if I desired a favour, therefore you would think of me as you
would think of any other traveller coming into the town. Still, I saw
that you were a man of authority, and I desired to speak with you."

"Tell me, young master," he said eagerly, "hath the king sent you here?
Are you here for anything like statecraft?"

"As to that, Master Sturgeon, young as I am I am old enough to hold my
peace on such matters. Only this I will say: I have a stronger hold on
the king than many whose names are bandied from mouth to mouth, and a
word from me will in the time to come weigh much with him."

"Your name, worshipful master, what might your name be?"

"As I said before, a man doth not shout his name to the people when he
hath important affairs to perform," I replied.

"If there is aught I can do for you, young master," he said, "say the
word, and John Sturgeon is at your command."

I had measured my man rightly. Vain as a peacock when sober, and a fool
in the bargain when his brains were muddled by drink, I saw that I could
work my will with him if I played my game carefully.

We were passing by a gloomy building as we spoke, and he noted my
interest in it.

"The gaol, young master, the gaol. Would you like to see it? To-morrow I
will be at your service, and I will show you, ay, I will show you the
beauteous daughter of Master John Leslie."

"To-morrow," I replied slowly: "to-morrow I ought to be far from
Bedford, Master Sturgeon; yet methinks the king would be interested to
know that I saw the woman safely guarded. As you said some time ago, had
General Monk been killed, Lambert would have been master, and then I
doubt much if Charles would have been brought back. You say you have no
one above you in this gaol, Master Sturgeon? You are the sole master
here?"

"Ay, the sole master," he replied with pride. "Any command I make is
obeyed. Either in town or county gaol, John Sturgeon is chief man."

"Then would I visit the gaol, and see this woman before I go to bed
to-night," I made answer.

I saw that my request had startled him. Perhaps doubts came into his
mind concerning my request. Perhaps never in his life had he a prisoner
of such importance. Mostly the people under his care would be thieving
vagrants, or perhaps occasionally some low-browed murderer. This woman,
however, made him realize his importance more than ever. She was the
daughter of one of the chief men in the neighbourhood, and the
importance of her capture was not confined to the little town in which
he lived.

"I would rather it should be to-morrow if it please you, young master,"
he said presently, and I could see that his judgment, muddled as it was
by drink, was still sufficiently clear to know that my request was not
unaccompanied by danger to him.

"I do not think I need trouble you to-morrow," I replied. "If I desire
to see the gaol then, it is probable I shall be accompanied by one of
the justices of the town. But to-night all is quiet, and perchance I
might be enabled to take back a better report to London than if I saw
things under the guidance of a justice."

"Oh, I will see to it, young master," he said hurriedly.

"The turnkeys will be either drunk or asleep, but I can open all doors.
Come with me. Not but I would rather it had been to-morrow, for the ale
was strong, and try as I may I cannot help being sleepy."

He led the way into the gaol courtyard, a small and--as I plainly saw in
the moonlight--an ill-kept place,--and then proceeded to open the door
which led into the building.

The prison was as silent as death. In the distance I heard the noise of
those who were still at their carousals, as well as many whom we had
passed in the streets. Some were singing the songs which had been
composed about the coming of the king, others were quarrelling, while
others still were shouting in their drunken revelry; but here all was as
still as death. I saw that Master Sturgeon spoke truly when he said the
strong ale had got into his head. He fumbled much with his keys, and in
truth seemed wellnigh asleep.

"You will speak well of me to the king, young master," I heard him
mumble; "ay, and you ought, for there is not in all the realm a more
zealous subject of his Majesty. God save the king!"

"How many gaolers have you here?" I asked, my heart beating fast, for
now that I had once entered the prison the reality of what I was trying
to do came to me with more vividness than ever.

"How many?" he replied solemnly, "not many; besides, doth not the king
ride to London to-day? And have they not been drinking the king's
health, even as I have?"

"And is it not right to drink the king's health?" I made answer.

"Right? ay, that it is. Besides, a sup of ale would make me awake again.
Well thought of."

Without even stopping to lock the door behind him, he made his way to a
room near the entrance, where after much ado, having lit a candle, he
found a jar of ale.

"Jiggins of _The Bull_ says he brews the best ale in Bedford," he said,
"but this is better, this is better;" and he drank a deep draught.

"Come and let me see the prisoner," I said, for I feared he would soon
be too drunk to render me any service.

"Plenty of time, plenty of time," he said sleepily. "Let me pull myself
together a bit. Her door is the second on the right, and the key is
there," and he pointed to a key hanging on the wall. "I don't like
Master Leslie, he hath never treated me as one man of quality should
treat another; but I had to put her in the best cell. Oh, she hath a
good bed, and good victuals. For what saith her father? 'Nothing is
proved against her yet,' he saith, so I had to be careful. But you'll
tell the king, young master. It was because of me that she was taken,
and--but that ale is good; I will e'en have another drink."

A minute after he sat down in an armchair which stood close to the open
fireplace.

"A man may rest in his own room, king or no king," he went on with
sleepy gravity. "Besides, am I not the governor? Who dares ask me
questions? Even the justices say, 'Ah, we must leave all things to
Master Sturgeon.' And they may, they may. The king's most trusted
servant--that's what I am. Won't you drink, young master? There's no
hurry. Her door is close by, and the key is handy. I always see to that.
I always have my own keys for my own use. Ah, Master Leslie will soon
know who's master now! The father of Bedford, that's what I am."

I let him wander on. If he had spoken truly there was no need of
interruption, for, as some one at _The Bull_ had said, there would be
few men in Bedford sober that night. The king had given commands that
the people should drink his health, and there was no reason to suppose
that they were slow in obeying his royal will. I doubted not that the
gaolers had made the most of the king's bounty, even as others had, and
if so, there was little fear of being disturbed.

I saw that Master Sturgeon was regarding me in a dazed sort of way, as
though he wondered why I was there, but by this time the liquor had got
too strong a hold upon his brain for him to think of asking questions.
He lay back heavily in his chair, and I saw that he had great difficulty
in keeping his film-covered eyes open. A few minutes later he was fast
asleep, and I was in Bedford Gaol without a guide to conduct me whither
I would go.

Taking the key he had indicated from the nail on which it hung, I made
my way out of the room, holding the candle in my hand. But Master
Sturgeon paid no heed to me, and to all appearances he would sleep for
many hours to come.

Once outside the door, I carefully turned the key in the lock, and then
I silently walked along the passages, taking care, however, to make no
sound. It was seemingly in my power to set at liberty every prisoner in
the gaol, but I thought not of them. All my interest was centred in the
woman whom I had accompanied from Folkestone Town to Pycroft Hall.
Indeed, I doubt if there were many prisoners to be liberated, for I had
heard at the inn that all save those who had committed serious crime had
been liberated in order to shew forth the king's clemency.

At the second door I stopped and listened. All was silent as death. Not
a sound was heard in the whole dark gloomy building. Even the noise of
the revellers from the outside did not reach me here. I did not stop to
consider the danger of carrying out the plan that had been born in my
mind. I did not consider that if I was caught in the act of seeking to
liberate Constance Denman my own liberty would be at stake. I was simply
filled with an eager desire to look on her face again, to hear her
voice, and to give her liberty. All the fears and doubts which haunted
me through the day troubled me no longer. The madness of thus seeking
out a woman of whom I knew so little troubled me not one whit. My heart
was young and warm, and at that moment the desire to find the king's
marriage contract with Lucy Walters was of far less importance to me
than to befriend the woman who was accused of trying to murder General
Monk.

As I said, I stopped and listened intently. The candle in my hand cast
flickering shadows along the gloomy passage in which I stood. The air
felt cold and dead. The silence was unearthly, and only the beating of
my own heart broke the stillness of the night.

I did not knock at the door at once. What, I reflected, if Master
Sturgeon was not as drunk as he appeared? What if he awoke, and
discovered that I had locked him in his room? Would he not cry aloud,
and arouse some sleepy official, who would be doubtless within call?
Loose as had been the discipline in prisons since the coming of the king
had been proclaimed, there must be still some semblance of order
remaining. I therefore crept back to his door again and listened. Yes,
there could be no doubt about it. He was breathing heavily like a man
who would not awake for several hours. I therefore found my way back
again, and listened at the door in which he said the woman was
confined.

Yes, there could be no doubt about it, there was a movement within. I
heard the rustle of a woman's dress. I heard some one sighing. I
listened if possible more silently, and heard a voice, a woman's voice.
I will write down what I heard, for although I deem it an ill-judged
act, as a rule, to repeat a woman's prayers, yet because it may shew
that I had reason for believing in the woman's innocence in spite of all
that had been said to her discredit, I will even do so. For the woman
was praying.

"Great Judge of men," she said, "Thou who art God over all, and hast in
all ages been kind to those that trust in Thee, be pleased to deliver
me. For I am sorely set about with danger. Thou knowest the thoughts of
my heart, Thou understandest why I am brought to this condition. Thus
because Thou understandest all things I come to Thee with confidence. Be
pleased to set at nought the cunning devices of men, and even as the
doors of the prison were thrown open to the Apostles of old time, be
pleased to open the doors of my prison. But if it is Thy will that I
should suffer, help me to deport myself even as one who trusts in Thy
mercy through the merits of Christ, who died for the world."

At this there was a silence, and after waiting a moment I made a slight
noise at the door, so that she might be prepared for my coming. Then I
put my lips to the keyhole, and spoke. "Be silent and fear not," I said
in a whisper.

"Who is there?" I heard her say.

"A friend," I replied, "be not afraid."

Upon this I put the key in the door, and to my delight it opened wide. A
moment later I stood within the woman's prison house.

Dim as was the light of the candle, for a moment it dazzled her eyes, so
that she could not see plainly, but ere long she made out who I was, and
then I saw that she was overcome with astonishment.

"Master Rashcliffe!" she said in a frightened whisper.

"Yes," I made answer.

"How came you here?"

"To deliver you--if I can."

For a moment she seemed too overwhelmed for further speech, but
presently I saw that she conquered her astonishment, and I thought I saw
that half-angry half-defiant look which I had detected when I first
overtook her on the road outside Folkestone.

"Do you know you run great danger?" she asked.

"Perhaps," I replied, for somehow her presence seemed to make me slow of
speech.

"Then what led you to enter these walls?"

"I have told you," I replied.

"But how could you gain entrance?"

"Another time I will tell you, but there is no time now. Once outside
the town I can tell you concerning this and many other matters, but now
your liberty is my chief concern."

She looked up into my face as though she would read the story of my life
therein, and as she did so I was able to see her more plainly than ever
it had been my lot to do. I saw now what the man at the inn had meant
when he said she was fair to look upon, for she possessed a beauty such
as I had never seen before. And yet she was different from the beauties
of Charles' Court, concerning whom I had heard my father speak. Hers was
the beauty of a woman who was as pure as the angels. Concerning this
many may smile, and say that I saw her with the eyes of foolish boyhood.
Yet although many years have passed since then, and although many harsh
judgments have been formed concerning the deed of which she was accused,
I hold fast to what I say. Her eyes had all the innocence of the eyes of
a child. Her face was as free from marks of passion and guilt as were
the faces of which artists dreamt when they painted pictures of the
Mother of Christ. Nevertheless, hers was not the face of a child. It was
strong and resolute. There was neither fear nor shrinking in her gaze as
she turned her eyes to my face. Wonder there was, even amounting to
astonishment, but there was more. I saw that this woman with such a
beauteous face was capable of deeds of daring and sacrifice. That Joan
of Arc, the story of whose deeds had so inspired my imagination years
before, was not capable of greater daring than she, and that this woman
would follow the call of God as faithfully as did the Maid of Orleans
more than two hundred years before. Moreover, her presence suggested no
weakness. I saw that though barely twenty years of age, she was not
weak, nor of delicate appearance. The blood of health coursed through
her veins. Her hands were firm, the light of her eyes burned steadily.
Moreover, she was not cast in a small mould, rather she was taller than
most women, and was perfectly proportioned.

All this I saw at a glance even although it has taken me some time to
set it down on paper, and if I had ever hesitated in my determination to
save her from the doom which awaited her, it had now flown to the winds.
For I knew that her life was not worth a silver groat. General Monk had
determined on her death, and in spite of all talk about the king's
clemency, it was freely said that he would shew no mercy on those who
had aught to do with his father's death. Moreover, as it was given out
that both Sir Charles Denman and Master Leslie were much implicated in
this matter, the woman who was so closely connected with them both could
expect no mercy.

"You know the meaning of what I told you when we stood together outside
Pycroft Hall," she said quietly. "You know of what I am accused now?"

"Yes."

"And you believe it?"

"I believe nothing unworthy of you."

"But you have heard of the proofs?"

"Ay, I have heard; but I know nought of them. They are nothing to me. I
promised to befriend you, and I have come to fulfil my promise."

"But can you?"

"Ay, I can."

I meant what I said, for at that moment all difficulties appeared as
nothing.

"You can take me outside these prison walls?"

"Ay."

"And after that?"

"After that I know not. Perhaps you have plans in your own mind, but if
you have not I can save you."

Perhaps the confident way in which I spoke gave her courage; moreover, I
saw by the flash in her eyes that she comprehended what to many other
women would have seemed mysterious. For she was no woman of dull
intelligence, but one who thought quickly and to purpose.

"If I can reach my father's house I am safe," she said.

"Your father's house? That surely is the first place men will go when
they hear of your escape from here."

"Nay, it is not. They will never believe that I should go thither now.
If they do, it will not matter; I shall be safe there, and even my
father will not know of my presence."

"You have trusty servants, and there are secret places at Goodlands," I
said.

She gave me a glance which made my heart burn, although I knew not why.

"But for an accident I should have taken refuge there," she said. "While
I was at Pycroft it was given out that I had been recognized in the
neighbourhood, and endeavours were made to capture me. So I made my way
to Dorking, where I made myself known to those whose business it was to
take me. But I escaped from there, leaving no trace behind, and hoped to
reach my father's house."

"But how did you do this?"

"I have many friends."

"But why did you make yourself known at Dorking?"

She looked at me steadily and seemed on the point of speaking; but no
word escaped her lips.

"And did Sir Charles Denman accompany you?" I said.

"No," she replied, and there was, as I thought, anger in her tones. "No,
he did not."

Why it was I did not know, but I rejoiced at this.

"And you do not know where he is now?"

"No, I do not know," she answered.

She paused a moment, and although it was a joy beyond the telling to be
with her and hear her speak, it came to me that not a moment was to be
lost if I was to lead her to liberty.

CHAPTER XVI

THE ESCAPE

"There is no time for further questioning," I said, "even although there
are many things I would ask you;" and then in a few words I told her how
I had been able to come thither. She said no word while I spoke to her
concerning this, not even to ask a question; nevertheless what I said
convinced her that never again would she have such a favourable
opportunity of escaping, so without any ado we found our way outside the
gaol without a single mishap. Indeed, so easy was the escape from
Bedford Gaol that I have wondered many times since concerning our good
fortune. But as I have said, the coming of the king, and the carousals
consequent thereupon, had caused many things to be turned topsy-turvy,
so that we got outside the prison gates without so much as a single word
spoken to us. For that matter, I believe that no man save Master
Sturgeon ever dreamed that I had entered the place, and no man knew when
I went out.

Once outside the prison gates she drew a deep breath, and then I saw her
lips move as if in prayer. She had brought a cloak with her, which she
now threw over her head, and then she hurried rapidly into the street.
We were in the very heart of the town, yet saw we no man, for the time
was now past midnight, and most of the revellers had gone to sleep.

"Which way would you go?" I asked.

"Along the Woburn Road," she whispered. "But stay, we must not go as
though we were followed. May I take your arm, Master Rashcliffe?"

I felt every fibre of my body tingle as her hand rested on my left arm,
and I felt that it should go hard with the man who tried to take her
from me. I saw to it, therefore, that my sword was loose in its sheath,
and that my pistols were easy to command.

"If once we can cross the river we shall be safer, I think," she said.
"The town lies this side the river, and once away from the bridge we
shall be less likely to meet any who might molest us."

The night was quiet, I remember. Not a breath of wind stirred, and the
moon having been hidden by the passing clouds, there was but little
light.

We had not gone above twenty paces along the road, which I think the
townspeople called the High Street, when we met two men, who, as I
judged, were people of authority.

"Who are you and where go you?" one asked.

"Who are you, and where go you?" I retorted quickly.

"Who am I?" he asked. "I am the town clerk. Now tell me who you are."

"Sir William Bilton is the chief man in Bedford," said my companion in a
whisper.

I caught her meaning, and spoke as loudly as I dared. "If a guest of Sir
William Bilton may not walk through the town to see how it behaves on
the day when the king arrives in London without being stopped by the
town clerk, it is passing strange," I answered. "Moreover, I will see to
it that he knows concerning the matter."

The man's tone changed in a moment. "I hope no offence, young master,"
he said humbly. "Will you be pleased to pay my humble respects to Sir
William, and to tell him that I only seek to do my duty?"

"That is very well," I answered in a tone of offended dignity. "I find
no fault with a zealous officer of the town, nevertheless I thought a
man in your position could distinguish between a drunken brawler and a
man of quality."

"I crave your pardon, worshipful sir," he said, "but I have had much
trouble to-night, for nearly every constable and night watchman is
drunk. Therefore, although there is much licence at such a time, yet for
the good name of the town I must e'en do my duty."

"Ay, I see that, and I will at the first opportunity I have tell Sir
William what a faithful town clerk he has. Moreover, you may not take a
crown amiss with which to drink the king's health, also that of Sir
William."

A moment later we were left alone again, and then we walked slowly down
the street. Had I been alone I think I should have hastened, but my
companion pressed my arm, and bade me in a whisper to go slowly.

I heard the two men talking together, as though they doubted who we
were, but presently they decided to go on their way, and great was my
delight as I heard their retreating footsteps.

A minute later we reached the river, which was crossed by means of a
roughly built bridge. I noted that the river ran slowly here, and was
perchance a little more than forty yards wide. On our left was a dark
building, which looked grim and forbidding, standing as it did upon the
river bank.

"That is the town gaol," said my companion. "I hoped when I was taken
that I should have been imprisoned there. Then would I have escaped two
days ago."

"How?" I asked.

"I would have crept out by one of the windows, and swum across the
river," she answered.

"But how could you have crept out by the windows?"

"There are those within that gaol who would do aught for me," she
answered.

This she said as we crossed the bridge, eagerly looking around her as
she spoke.

We still kept straight on, perhaps a hundred yards or more, when she
suddenly took a turning to the right.

"And where go we now--Lady Denman?" I asked.

She gave a start, and then stood still as I mentioned her name.

"Nay, not that," she said almost hoarsely.

"It is not easy to speak to you unless I call you by your name," I said.

"Nay, but call me not by his name. He hath been the cause of all our
troubles!"

She said these words with such bitterness of voice that she might not
have been the same woman who had been speaking a few moments before.

"But he is your husband," I said almost brutally.

She hesitated a few seconds, and then, still holding my arm, she walked
by my side along the road.

"There be many reasons which lead a woman to call a man husband," she
said. "Not every woman loves the man whose name she bears, and--" here
she stopped again like one who seemed to fear she had said too much.
"Besides," she went on, "certain subjects are painful. I can go faster
if you wish."

"I am sorry if I have said aught to make you angry with me, Lady----"

"Constance," she said; "call me Mistress Constance. Nay, you have done
nought to make me angry. Hark! what is that?"

We were now outside the town, and houses were not so plentiful;
nevertheless, here and there cottages were scattered, and from some of
the windows I saw flickering lights. What we heard was the sound of
footsteps and the shout of men's voices.

"They come towards us, not after us," I heard her murmur.

"Perchance there is an alehouse on the road," I suggested, "and these
are men who have been drinking there."

"There is an alehouse; but listen----"

We stopped and listened, and I felt sure I was right in my conjecture.

"Am I a constable," I heard one say, "and shall I see such goings on? I
tell you, you are drunk!"

"Ay, I am, and so are you, Master Blewitt. The man who is not drunk
to-day is not worthy to be called an Englishman. It is only Puritans and
women who are not drunk. Ah, we had not been so drunk if Master Leslie's
daughter had not been safely in gaol. Had Master Leslie been able to
hold up his head he would have done much to keep the town sober, king or
no king."

"Ay, that is the worst of these Puritans, and that is why I am glad the
king hath come back. There will be no sin in getting drunk now, nay, nor
no sin in kissing a pretty girl. Down with the Puritans, I say, and to
the gallows with Master Leslie's pretty daughter."

"Nay, 'twould be a pity to put a piece of rope around such a pretty
neck."

"What, man! You never saw her neck."

"Ay, but I did, and her face too. I never saw it till she was brought to
the river's bank. But I saw it then, and I shall never forget it. Ay, I
would know it among ten thousand."

I felt Mistress Constance grasp my arm more tightly with her right hand,
while with her left she drew her mantle more closely around her face.

"Shall we go back?" she asked.

"What, towards the prison?"

"Oh no--let us go on."

Indeed we could do nought else, for the men had caught sight of us by
this time, and I heard one man exclaim, "Ay, here is a man and a wench
coming!"

"Do not fear," I whispered: "there be but three, and they are wellnigh
drunk. If the worst comes to the worst I will fight them all--and
meanwhile you can escape."

I felt her shiver, even while her fingers gripped my arm still more
tightly. Brave as she was, she was still a woman, who shrank from being
brought into contact with brutal and profane men.

"Do not leave me if you can help it," she whispered, and then she seemed
to master herself, and we walked boldly towards them.

"Good morrow," said one of the men.

"Good morrow," I replied.

"And whither go you?"

"That is my business."

"Ay, and mine too. Know you I am a constable and carry a truncheon?
Come, tell me who you are."

"Ay, and let the wench show us her face," said another.

"Ay, and let her give us a kiss," said the third.

My anger was getting the better of me now, for not only did they say
what I have written down, but much more, which must have been sorely
distasteful to Mistress Constance's ears.

Without any more ado, therefore, I drew my sword.

"The man who approaches a step nearer will have to swallow six inches of
steel," I said.

Drunk as they were they started back. One, however, who did not seem
quite as drunk as the others, eyed us closely.

"Now, then, Peter Blewitt," he said, "you boast that you are a brave
man, and you carry a truncheon. At him! At him!"

But Peter Blewitt did not move.

"And you say you are never frightened!" sneered the other. "You say that
you will take me to the lock-up. You! you haven't the courage of a
bantam cock!"

This seemed to sting the drunken constable, for he made as though he
would come towards me, and throwing off Mistress Constance's hand, I
seized a pistol, and held it towards them.

"Unless you go your way I shoot," I cried.

"Now then, Peter Blewitt, surely you are not afraid of a boy's popgun?
At him, man! at him!"

With drunken gravity the constable drew his truncheon and came towards
me. I was loth, great as the danger was, to use my weapons, for though I
had been trained to the use of both, I had never had occasion to defend
myself by them before. In this case my hesitation almost led to my
undoing, for the feel of the truncheon having evidently given the
constable fresh courage, he rushed upon me suddenly, and struck at me
with all his might. He did not miss me by more than six inches, and had
I not slipped aside, I should have been completely at his mercy, for he
was a strong man. As it was, however, he missed me completely, and not
only that, but wellnigh fell down at my feet. Peter Blewitt's action,
however, proved an example for the others.

"I'll see who the wench is, pistol or no pistol," I heard one say, and I
saw him seize Mistress Constance's cloak, and try to pull it aside.

At this I hesitated no longer, but struck at him with my sword. Whether
the blade cut its way through the man's thick clothes I know not, but he
dropped his arm in a moment, and then, carried away by my desire to be
rid of them, I lifted my left arm and fired. I have been told since that
the bullet only grazed the man's shoulder, but he cried out like one in
the death agony. "I'm killed, I'm killed! Help!" he cried.

At this he took to his heels, and flew as though the furies were at his
heels, while the others, apparently frightened at the report of the
pistol, followed him howling at the top of their voices.

"Are you hurt?" asked Mistress Constance.

"No; and you are safe!"

"Yes. The man did not see my face. Come, let us go."

We hurried along the road for it may be five minutes; then she stopped.

"There is a stile here somewhere," she said. "I am sure we have not
passed it. Ah, there it is."

She leaped lightly over it, and then followed the windings of a
footpath. Through two fields we passed together without speaking, then
she turned on me suddenly.

"Thank you, Master Rashcliffe," she said; "you are a brave man."

"What do you mean?" I stammered.

"I am safe now. You need not fear for me any more. I thank you from the
depths of my heart."

"But you are not arrived at your destination yet."

"No, but I shall be there soon. You see those trees? Once behind them I
am safe."

"But----"

"It will not be well for you to come farther, Master Rashcliffe. You
need not fear for me. Forgive me if I desire to be alone. It is not
because I am not grateful. You have saved me from death, a terrible
death. Good-bye. We shall never meet again."

My heart grew cold within me. "You have told me nothing," I stammered.
"That is, the time may come when I can be of--that is, I desire to be
your friend, even as I told you more than a week ago at--that is, on the
night I saw you first."

"No, no. I had better tell you nothing. If I am not taken prisoner
again--which I shall not be; no, I will die first!--you will never see
me more. But I will pray for you, pray that God will preserve you and
give you happiness. But tell me," she cried, and it seemed as though she
had remembered something else, "can you get away in safety? You must
have had difficulty in coming to me."

"There is no need to fear for me, Mistress Constance," I said, fearing
to give her pain on my account, and thus saying words which I was far
from being sure of. "I will get away from Bedford without any man being
the wiser, and you need not fear that I will ever tell any man that I
have seen you. But I thought not to part from you so soon. There are
many things I would ask of you. Much hath happened since I saw you last,
and perchance you can give me an explanation."

"I can tell you nothing, nothing."

"But you spoke to that old man. You knew him, I saw him also. I had
speech with him, and I would know who he was. The knowledge would
advantage me much."

"No, no, I must not, I dare not. Good-bye. I thank you beyond words for
what you have done, and you need not fear for me. I am safe now. I can
hide while search is being made. After that I shall find a home in
another land."

"Another land?"

"Ay. There can be no longer a home in England for such as I. Good-bye."

Again she held out her hand, and in so doing she allowed her cloak to
drop, so that I saw her face again, and again my heart grew warm as I
saw it.

"I cannot let you go like this," I said. "Perchance you will need help
again. If you do, then I desire to be at your side to render such
service as may lie in my power."

"Why should you?" she asked. "I am a stranger to you. Our pathways have
strangely crossed each other, and you have been kind to me. For this I
thank you, oh, so much! but we can never meet again. Our paths lie
apart. I dare not show my face to my country people. I am a Dissenter.
My father is hated of the new king, while I"--here her voice grew hoarse
and harsh--"I attempted to kill the man whose actions brought him back.
Do you realize that, Master Rashcliffe? Since that day I have been
hunted as though I were a mad dog. Since that day I have had to adopt
all sorts of disguises. I have had to hide in secret places, sometimes
alone, sometimes in the company of a man who--who made me do his will,
even when my heart grew sick at the thought of it."

"Then you need a friend all the more. I know nothing of the history of
your marriage with Sir Charles Denman, and----"

"Do not seek to know it," she cried passionately. "I shall escape now.
Since God hath led you to deliver me from Bedford Gaol, even when hope
had died within my heart, will He forsake me now?"

"No, but if you need me?" I cried. "Will you not promise to send for me
if you need me?"

"Is that your desire? Knowing what you know of me, do you wish to
endanger yourself for me?"

"Does not my presence in Bedford to-night prove it?"

"But how may that be? Where can I send?"

"There is a man near St. Paul's Cross who keeps an inn called the
_Virgin Queen_," I made answer. "He was once a servant of my father's.
His name is Caleb Bullen. I will speak to him directly I return to
London, and if you send a letter to me in care of him it will surely
reach me."

I saw that she looked steadily towards me as I spoke, and I thought she
hesitated.

"When I need help I will send to you. But stay! I may need protection
from my--husband. Will you shield me from him?"

She said this bitterly, and as she spoke my heart became hard. Why
should I seek to befriend the wife of another man? Was not her place at
his side? Then I remembered the way he spoke to her in the inn at
Folkestone, and while I pitied the woman, I felt like hating the man.

"I will help you against all who would harm you," I said.

She grasped my hand convulsively.

"God protect you and preserve you," she said; and then before I realized
what she had done, I saw her speeding swiftly across the meadows towards
the trees she had spoken of.

I started to follow her, but deemed such an action to be unwise;
therefore I stopped and listened. Full five minutes did I wait, but not
a sound did I hear. She had disappeared from my view as though she were
a shadow of the night. For a time she seemed but the creature of one's
dreams, and the events of the night only the imaginings of a disordered
mind. Yet I knew it was not so.

Presently, drawn by a curiosity which I was unable to overcome, I went
towards the group of trees I have spoken of, and presently I saw a large
house wellnigh hidden by much foliage. After that I stayed not a minute,
but hurried back with all speed towards Bedford.

The reason for this will be plain. While I was with Mistress Constance,
my one thought was to ensure her safety, but directly I was convinced
that she had found a refuge, I realized my own danger. It came upon me
with great suddenness that I must leave the town within an hour. I knew
that the woman's flight from the gaol might be discovered any moment,
and thus I should, if I were not careful, be drawn into a net of
difficulties. It would be easy to raise the hue and cry, and then I
should nowhere find rest for the sole of my foot. I realized that the
carousals consequent upon the coming of the king had allowed me to
effect her escape. At no other time would it have been possible to have
done such a thing. But vigilance had been suspended, and every turnkey
had deemed it his duty to become drunk in the king's honour. In this
also lay my hope for escape from Bedford that night.

My work, therefore, was to get into the town with all speed, to saddle
Black Ben in secret, and to ride away before any man should become aware
of my whereabouts. If Master Sturgeon were still asleep this might be
easy, for I had taken care to examine the exits from the stable at the
time when I had taken up my quarters at _The Bull_. Moreover, Black Ben,
although I wished he had many more hours' rest, had been well fed, and
would by this time be ready for a gallop. It is true I had ridden him
sixty miles, but his staying power was wonderful, and I knew he would go
till he dropped.

It did not take me long to reach _The Bull_, where I found the carousers
still lingering. It struck me, however, that something of importance had
happened. The drinkers were not singing and shouting, but talking
eagerly.

"You say she hath escaped?" I heard some one say.

"Ay."

"What, from the county gaol?"

"Ay, and Master Sturgeon is murdered."

"Murdered!"

"It is thought that some friend of Master Leslie's found his way into
the gaol, and did away with him."

"And the woman is gone?"

"So it is said. I am going thither to see. I heard the news only a
minute ago."

"Who told thee?"

"One of the night watchers, and he had it from one of the turnkeys."

All this time I stood in the yard of _The Bull_ beneath an open window.

"Stay, I will go with thee," said one.

"Ay, and I would too," said another, "but I am too drunk."

"Ay, and I too," said another, "and whether Master Leslie's wench hath
escaped or no, I will e'en drink till daylight."

With that two or three left the inn, while I cautiously found my way
into the stable.

I knew that if I did not get away within the next few minutes my
liberty, and perhaps my life, could not be valued at a silver groat.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW I LEFT BEDFORD

If ever a man worked quickly and silently it was I. In less time than it
takes me to tell I had thrown Black Ben's saddle across his back and
buckled the girths thereof. As the saddle-bags contained nought of
value, I had no trouble with them, and before a minute had passed away
the bridle was around my horse's head.

"Come, my boy," I whispered, "there is a hard gallop before you, so we
must haste."

Whether he understood me or no I dare not say, but he whinnied as though
he knew my will, and followed my lead into the yard. I had opened the
gate on entering, and it had struck me, even as I had done this, how
easy it would have been for a horse-thief to enter the stable and take
whatever nag he pleased, as far as the ostler was concerned. Not that I
troubled about Black Ben, for no man but myself had been on his back
since he was foaled, neither, for that matter, dare any man do this. For
while he was obedient to my hand, and was as gentle as a lamb with me,
he would not suffer another to mount him. In truth, the ostler was
afraid of him when I brought him in, neither would Black Ben have
allowed him even to bring his corn had I not spoken to him, and bidden
him be quiet. I had no fear, therefore, that any man would steal him.
Thus when I unfastened the stable gate with so much ease, I had no fear
that I should not find him waiting for me.

As I led him out into the yard Black Ben pricked up his ears, as though
he heard strange sounds, and on seeing this my heart sank in my shoes,
for I heard a number of people running, and as far as I could judge
they were coming towards the inn.

"Where is he? Is he gone?"

"Where is who gone?"

This question was asked by some one who stood by the front door of the
inn.

"The young stranger from London."

"Why, what hath he done?"

"Spirited away Master Leslie's daughter. Where is he?"

"In bed hours ago, I expect. He drank nought, but just listened to what
the rest were saying."

"Hath he paid his count?"

"Nay. He hath had nought but boiled beef for his supper, and a pint of
ale to wash it down. That is but a little matter. Then when he hath paid
for his bed and breakfast, he will owe me but a crown."

"But is he in bed?"

"Nay, I know not. This is not a time to know whether a man be in bed or
no. Every man hath desired to drink the king's health, and so I have
e'en been kept busy drawing ale. But I will send and find out."

"Ay, send and find out. But did you not see him go away with Master
Sturgeon?"

"That did I not. Have I not told you that I have been over-busy
to-night?"

"Well, he must be found. It is he who hath spirited away Master Leslie's
daughter."

"Nay, man, how could he do that?"

"He wellnigh killed Master Sturgeon, locked him in the county gaol, took
his keys, and liberated the maid. I tell you he hath done this."

"A pretty cock-and-bull story!"

"But I tell you he hath. One of the turnkeys was found sober enough to
unlock the governor's door, and after he woke him, Master Sturgeon told
the turnkey that he had been imprisoned by the young stranger from
London."

"Say that Queen Mary hath come to life again. I tell you, you be all too
drunk to know the truth of this."

"Not so, Master Jiggins; we have been drinking as men should, but we be
not so drunk as that. Besides, Master Fulton--the town clerk, saw a man
and a woman together not far from the gaol, but he did not think it
could be Master Leslie's daughter, because the man claimed to be the
friend of Sir William Bilton, and, as you know, Sir William despises
Master Leslie as every Quaker rascal should be despised."

At this moment some one must have spoken to Master Jiggins from within,
for I heard him say, "The chambermaid hath it that no one is in the
young stranger's bedchamber."

"Then hath he escaped. But we must find him. The town clerk hath it that
ten guineas will be given to him who will lay hands on him."

"But where is the warrant for this?"

"Master Fulton's word is enough warrant, Master Jiggins. But stay, he
hath a horse. Is the horse in the stable?"

At this I knew that what I did must be done quickly. I was therefore on
Black Ben's back before they could enter the yard by the door of which I
had been hiding while they were speaking.

"Here he is!" cried the man who had been chief spokesman, and he made a
dash at the horse's head.

"At him, my boy!" I cried, and the faithful animal darted at the fellow
with open mouth.

In spite of themselves the crowd made way for me as I dashed through.
Partly, I suspect, because they were not sure who I was, and partly
because Black Ben careered so wildly that no man dared to approach him.

"Your count, you blackguard, your count!" I heard Master Jiggins say,
who evidently cared more about that than the recapturing of Mistress
Constance. Indeed, I heard in after days that Master Jiggins had a warm
affection for Master Leslie, and rejoiced that she had escaped from the
hands of the drunken governor.

I threw him a couple of crowns as I dashed away.

"That is double what you would have asked, Master Jiggins," I cried, and
then I laughed aloud, for the whole pack of them--and there must have
been at least twenty of them--stood open mouthed even while I rode away.
Never did I realize how silly a number of drunken men could be, and how
easy one who had kept his head clear could deal with them. Through the
whole night I had worked my will because of the king's command that
every man should drink his health, and now at the last I rode away
unscathed, having accomplished the thing I had come to Bedford to
perform.

It was no wonder, therefore, that I should laugh. The spirit of
adventure was hot within me, and now that I sat upon Black Ben's back, I
knew that unless they had firearms no man could harm me. For although he
had travelled from London to Bedford that day, I knew that now he had
had a few hours' rest and a good feed of corn, he could do the whole
journey back again and be none the worse for it. Moreover, I doubted if
there was a horse in Bedford which could overtake me.

"After him! after him!" I heard some one shout. "He hath flouted us, and
laughed in our faces."

Then I heard a louder cry, followed by a silence as though some one in
authority had come upon the scene. I longed to shout back, so as to put
them upon a false track, but reflected that the least said was the
soonest mended, so I gave Black Ben rein, and before long was out of
both sight and hearing of Bedford town.

Had I known then that I should soon see Bedford again under different
circumstances, I do not think I should have been so light of heart. But
coming events do not always cast their shadows before them, in spite of
old women's wisdom; and so, feeling my good horse beneath me, and seeing
the hedges fly by me as he dashed along the road, I felt that I had
nought to fear.

Besides, I had succeeded far beyond my expectations. I felt sure that
Mistress Constance was safe, for I knew that she was one who spoke not
lightly, and as I remembered what she told me in the prison I knew that
she was even then in some secret hiding-place, watched over by a
faithful servant, and that perhaps even her father knew not what had
become of her.

[Illustration: "I gave Black Ben rein, and before long was out of both
sight and hearing of Bedford Tower."]

As may be imagined, I rode straight towards London. Had it been safe I
think I should have stayed near Bedford, so that I might in case of need
have rendered help to Mistress Constance. But I reflected that I should
do more harm than good by staying there, and in spite of passing doubts
I felt sure that she was safe. Moreover, London was the place I desired
to be in. It would be difficult for any man from Bedford to find me
there, and I had plans in my mind which I hoped would forward the
schemes which had been formulating there. I also wanted to see my father
again, and to know what he had been doing since we parted at Canterbury.

I had not long left Bedford before morning began to dawn, and by the
time I had reached the town of Hitchin it was broad daylight. Much as I
desired to rest here, both for the sake of Black Ben as well as myself,
I rode straight on, barely entering the town, but taking a narrow and
somewhat unfrequented road instead. Not a soul did I meet, and this
pleased me much, because, in case of pursuers, no one would be able to
give information. When I had covered half the distance between Hitchin
and St. Albans, I stopped by a wayside inn for an hour, keeping a sharp
look-out on the road all the while. By noon I had reached St. Albans,
but I did not stay here, pushing on instead to the town of Barnet, where
I deemed myself safe from pursuit. Moreover, having once arrived at
Barnet, I found the roads so full of travellers, who were on their way
to London to join in the revels, as well as others coming from them,
that my presence could not call for any comment. Nevertheless, I was
very thankful when I reached the _Virgin Queen_, an inn close by St.
Paul's Cross, where I gave my horse in charge of Caleb Bullen, an
old-Ptime and faithful servitor of my father's.

I spent two days in London trying to find my father, as well as taking
part in the festivities which were held, but although I went everywhere
that the public gathered, never once did I catch a glimpse of my father,
neither did I meet with any man who had seen aught of him. I concluded
therefore that he had again returned home, and had settled down to the
old quiet life. Much as I wanted to see him I deemed it wise not to go
thither. First, because if any at Bedford had by any means whatsoever
become acquainted with my name, they might place watchers there; and
second, because I knew that by going home I should put myself outside
the possibility of hearing whatever news might be stirring. I therefore
counted the crowns which I still possessed, and, finding that I had
enough for my needs, I remained at the _Virgin Queen_, and partook of
the good fare which Caleb Bullen provided.

For a week London town was a scene of constant gaiety, for although the
great rejoicing took place on the day when the king rode into London, it
took the people a full week to settle down to the ordinary course of
life. The playhouses which Oliver Cromwell had closed were all open,
while seemingly all traces of the old Puritan life which had grown up
under the great Protector were swept away in a day. Laws were relaxed,
and the old stern system of morals was not only broken, but laughed at
as unworthy of a free people.

It was not until the fourth day after I had come back to London that I
heard it declared that Master Leslie's daughter had escaped from prison,
and that in spite of every endeavour to discover her hiding-place, she
had not been found. It was said, moreover, that her escape had been
brought around by a friend of Master Leslie's, who had succeeded in
putting a sleeping potion in the drink of the gaolers, and had thus
succeeded in his plans.

As may be imagined, this news caused me great satisfaction, most because
Mistress Constance was still at liberty, but also because no shadow of
suspicion rested upon me. The latter conviction was, however, rudely
shaken when at the end of a week I was told that two men had been at the
_Virgin Queen_ inquiring after me.

"What were they like?" I asked of Caleb Bullen, who I knew was my
faithful friend.

"They were gaily attired, Master Roland. They wore swords by their
sides, and long feathers in their caps."

"And you took them to be men of quality?"

"Ay, I should judge so," replied Caleb thoughtfully. "They swore much,
talked much, laughed much, and drank much wine, so I judged they were of
gentle blood. They mentioned great names with much freedom, and seemed
to know of all that was going on at Court."

"But what did they say?"

"They asked whether Master Roland Rashcliffe was living at the _Virgin
Queen_; whereupon I answered that you did, and that you were a good
customer, seeing you ate your victuals, drank your ale, and paid your
count without grumbling. Then they asked how long you had been staying
here, and I told them since the day of the coming of the king. Upon that
they said they would call again this evening at six by the clock, and
would I tell you that they would deem it polite of you not to go out at
that hour, as they would come on an affair of importance?"

This, as may be imagined, set me to pondering gravely, but after careful
consideration, and asking Caleb Bullen many questions, I came to the
conclusion that they could have nought to do with the folks at Bedford.
I determined, therefore, that I would be in the inn at the time
mentioned, wondering all the time what they wanted of me.

The clock at St. Paul's Cross had scarcely chimed six when I saw two
young men, dressed with much richness, and carrying themselves with a
jaunty air, enter the hall of the inn.

"Hath Master Rashcliffe yet arrived?" one asked of Caleb Bullen.

"Ay," replied mine host, pointing to me, whereupon with a great show of
ceremony they came to me.

"Master Roland Rashcliffe," said the older of the two.

"I am Roland Rashcliffe," I replied, looking at them closely, for I was
not yet free from fears that they had heard something of my doings at
Bedford.

"We bring you greeting, Master Rashcliffe, and if it would cause you no
trouble we would see you alone in a place where we can speak without
interruption."

I therefore led the way into a room where such quietness could be found,
and then, having bid them sit down near the window, I was able to get a
better view of them. They were both young men, not, as I judged, more
than thirty years of age, and I was not long in coming to the conclusion
that Caleb Bullen had judged rightly when he said they were men of
quality. Both were very richly attired in the kind of finery which came
into vogue directly the king returned and though, as I judged, both had
been drinking much wine, they carried their wine well, and shewed no
sign of loss of sense.

"We hear you were at Dover when his Majesty landed Master Rashcliffe,
and that you impressed him favourably. It is better to be born lucky
than rich, for, by my soul, his Majesty hath had so many hangers on
since he entered his faithful London that none of us, save a very few of
his chosen ones, can get more than a nod or a wave of his hand."

"I was indeed in Dover," I replied, "and a gay sight it was."

"The king spoke graciously to you, we heard."

"I was fortunate beyond my deserts."

"Ah, say not so, say not so. Corks will swim, and those whom the gods
favour will obtain the smile of kings. We are even now here on an errand
which, if it means not royal favour, is so near to it that a man can
scarcely distinguish it from such."

Again I examined them closely, and tried to guess from whence they came
and who sent them.

"Ah, but we have come here like a couple of grooms," the spokesman of
the two went on. "But forgive us, Master Rashcliffe. Manners, like
everything else, need constant practice, and since these Dissenters and
Puritans have ruled the land, there hath been no opportunity of showing
courtesy due from one gentleman to another. To such a state hath these
rascally psalm-singing knaves brought us. Let me say, then, that the
name of my friend here is the Honourable John Burleigh, youngest son of
Lord Burleigh, while I am Stanley Carew, son of Sir William Carew, of
Cornwall."

I bowed ceremoniously, even as they had done when they told me their
names.

Upon this Master Stanley Carew looked around the room as though some one
was in hiding; then, upon being assured that we were alone, he went on--

"We have come to you from one of royal blood, Master Rashcliffe, with
royal commands."

"From the king?" I asked.

"Nay, not from the king, that is exactly, but doubtless this letter will
explain much to you."

I took the letter, and noted that the paper was emblazoned with the
royal arms. It contained only these words: "_Master Roland Rashcliffe is
commanded to appear before us to-night at Whitehall at the hour of
eight._"

The signature I could not at first make out, but on closer scrutiny I
discovered it to be signed by James, Duke of York. On lifting my eyes
from the paper, I saw that both my visitors were looking eagerly towards
me, as though they would make out what had been written to me, but,
knowing so little of them, I folded the missive and put it beneath my
doublet.

"Doubtless you have received pleasant news, Master Rashcliffe?" said
Master Carew with a meaning smile.

"News from those in high places should always be pleasant," I replied.

"By the saints, no. And truly by the look on your face I judge that joy
doth not overcome you, Master Rashcliffe. Well, what then? A man of wit
must even use it to his own advantage. Moreover, doubtless the message
is of importance, seeing we were charged to deliver it into no hands but
your own. Is there aught in the way of information we can give you,
Master Rashcliffe?"

Now this set me thinking. It became plain to me that they knew not the
contents of the letter; moreover, I judged that they sought to obtain
information concerning it, and thereby obtain power which they hoped
would be useful.

"No," I replied, "I do not know that there are any questions that I
desire to ask."

I saw the two exchange glances as I spoke, but Master Carew went on
quite glibly. "Then we shall have naught to do but take back your answer,
Master Rashcliffe."

"Were you requested to take back an answer?" I queried.

"For that matter, no, I do not think we were; still, we thought you
would doubtless desire to send a fitting reply."

"As I understand it, no reply is needed, Master Carew," I replied.
"Nevertheless, I thank you for bringing me the letter, which I will lay
deeply to heart."

After this they stayed some time, trying by many means to let drop some
hint concerning what they had brought me. But I deemed it best to keep a
still tongue, and when they presently left me, looking as I thought not
over pleased with the success of their visit, I called to mind that I
had said nothing which could in any way advantage them.

Nevertheless, the letter gave me much food for anxious thought. Why
should the brother of the king desire to see me? To answer this I cast
my mind over my adventures since I had left my father's house, but only
one event led me to connect the Duke of York with them. That, as may be
remembered, was the speech of Master Rickmore and Master Hamilton on the
night when I had been dragged from my horse when riding from Canterbury
to London. I called to mind the words of the man Hamilton, who related
to the other what he said Duke James had said to him. "_By the Holy
Virgin get hold of the young rascal. Never let him out of your sight
until you have obtained all he hath found, and know all he can tell
you._"

For a long time I sat thinking of this, and of many other things in
relation thereto, and the more I thought the more was I convinced that I
ran no little risk in obeying the Duke of York's command. On the other
hand, I could see that it would not be wise to refuse. The king's
brother was next to the king himself, and if the story of Lucy Walters
was false was the next heir to the throne. To refuse his commands,
therefore, would be nearly as bad as refusing those of the king himself.
It would moreover arouse suspicion, and might possibly lead to many
unpleasant results.

But more than all this, I longed much to know what the duke would say to
me. I desired to find out the motives which prompted him to send for me.
I did not fear danger--thoughtless youth seldom apprehends that--but I
did ardently wish to discover what was in Duke James' mind.

The clock of St. Paul's struck the hour of seven. I had not therefore a
minute to spare. It was half an hour's walk from St. Paul's Cross to
Whitehall, so I went to my bedchamber to bedeck myself in the best
finery I possessed, and ere long I was passing Fleet prison, on my way
to Whitehall.

CHAPTER XVIII

JAMES, DUKE OF YORK

The clocks of Westminster were striking eight as I drew near the place I
had been bidden to come in Whitehall. My heart beat fast at thought of
what might happen to me, and of the commands which might be laid upon
me, yet did I go on without faltering, for the more I wondered at the
happening the more did I desire to know why I was commanded thither. The
clock had barely ceased striking when a hand was laid upon my shoulder.

"Master Roland Rashcliffe," a voice whispered in my ear.

"You speak as if you know," I replied, and turning I saw a man of grave
demeanour, and of somewhat sad countenance.

"Follow me. Ask no questions, and make no protest at aught you may see."

This he also said in a whisper, and although I obeyed him I liked not
the secrecy of the business. As I passed along I noticed that many
people were around, and that all seemed to be in gay humour and in gay
attire. Truly the coming of the king had made a difference to London
town. The whole city seemed to be given over to pleasure, and none of
that solemn decorum which marked it a year before was now manifest.

We had not gone far when we left Whitehall and entered the park which
lies behind. Here also were the same scenes of gaiety. Indeed, never had
I seen so many gaily-dressed women in my life before. The park was in
the summer of its loveliness, flowers bloomed on all sides, the trees
were in wellnigh full leaf, the birds sang, while loud laughter, both
among men and women, was to be heard continually. My companion paid no
heed to any of these things, however. He strode quickly along, stopped
at the door of one of the houses, and a minute later I stood behind him
in one of the great houses. Without hesitation he led the way upstairs,
and without ceremony entered a large room. As far as I could judge it
had been but lately fitted up, for the things I saw were new, and shone
with much splendour. Nevertheless, it did not look like a residence, but
rather appeared to be a place where a man of authority might gather his
friends around him. No one was in the room, and although it stood so
near to Whitehall the utmost silence reigned, except that I thought that
I heard whispering voices in an adjoining compartment.

"Do not dare to oppose him," said the man who accompanied me; "assent to
all his commands, agree with all he saith, although your judgement will
lead you otherwise. Above all be silent as death afterwards. Remember,
he hath no mercy."

"You speak of the Duke of York?"

"I speak of the next king," he replied. "Therefore, do as I bid you, and
be wise. Be surprised at nothing you may hear, even if he saith things
that should not be heard by such a youth as you."

He had scarcely finished speaking when two men entered the room. The one
was the Duke of York; I had seen him ride away in the king's coach by
the side of the king when he left Dover. His appearance, as I thought,
was changed. I thought then that he was, although of somewhat austere
countenance, pleasant to look upon. That night he looked angry and
cruel. His face was heavy, and, if I mistook not, besotted, but whether
he had been partaking freely of wine I could not tell. His companion's
face was hidden, and although I thought I detected something familiar in
his gait, I knew not who he was.

"This is the youth?"

"It is, Your Grace."

The duke looked at me sternly and silently, as though he would read my
heart, and although I dared to lift my eyes to his but once, I thought
his eyes were bloodshot. Having seated himself, he bade me come near to
him.

"Master Roland Rashcliffe?" he said.

"Yes, Your Grace," I replied.

"Tell me, boy, is your father an honest man?"

The question was asked abruptly, as though he would take me unawares.

"He fought for your father," I replied.

"So did many a knave, until he thought he would gain by joining the
rebels."

At this I was silent.

"Why did he send thee to find out if there was any truth in the lying
story that his Majesty married the wench Lucy Walters?"

"To discover the truth," I replied, for it seemed to me at that moment
as though there were nought else to say.

At this he laughed, but the laugh was cruel, and never did I hear a
man's voice that had less mirth in it.

"Well, what have you found?" he said presently. "You left your home many
days ago. You went to Folkestone, from thence you made a midnight
journey to a lonely house. Tell me how you fared, and what trophies you
possess as a result of your valour."

At this I was silent, for in truth never did words appear more dangerous
than at this moment.

"How now, sirrah! You do not speak!"

King's brother though he was, he made me angry, and I resented the tones
he used towards me.

"What, you do not answer me? Know you that you do wrong in making me
angry? I tell you it would be an easy matter to put another in the
already flowing prisons of England, and so I bid you beware. What did
you discover at the lonely house, and what did you bring away?"

"You should already know, Your Grace," I replied boldly, for by this
time all my fear of him had gone. Perhaps my anger had driven it away.
If it had, it were no wonder, for had I been a lackey he could not have
spoken with less courtesy, while the thickness of his voice, and his
rheumy eyes, made me feel sure that he had been drinking heavily.

"What mean you, young malapert?" he asked.

"I mean that I was attacked by men who used your name when riding to
London," I answered; "that they dragged me from my horse, and searched
me to the skin. If I had possessed aught they would surely have brought
it to you."

At this I was in doubt as to what course he would take. I saw the blood
mount to his cheek, and anger gleam from his eyes, while he lifted his
hand as if he would strike me. But this was only for a moment. Instead
of yielding to anger he burst into a great laugh, as though he had heard
a good joke.

"Ha, ha!" he cried, "you discovered that you could do nought without
discovery, eh? You found out that the royal arm can strike far, eh? You
learnt that you cannot hunt in royal domains without being bitten by the
keeper's dogs? Is that not so, my young springald?"

"The king's brother is not the king," I cried, for now I saw that unless
I would place myself entirely in his power I must take a bold course.

"What mean you?" he cried.

"I mean that when I have discovered aught that affects the king, I will
bear my message to the king," I replied, "but, until then, I will hold
my peace as a man should."

"I have a good mind to send you to the dungeons."

"If you did I should soon be a free man again," I replied.

"And how is that?"

"The king would soon hear that his brother threw a youth into prison
because that youth knew something that affected the king's honour," I
replied. "And the king, on hearing of this, would demand to see him, and
he would tell his Majesty many things."

"Tut, tut, youth," he said, still gazing at me curiously. "Do not think
because you have answered me pertly that you have answered me wisely,
and do not imagine that although a man doth not wear a crown he hath no
power. Oh, I see how it is. You were carried away by what you saw when
the king came to London. You saw the London Corporation do his Majesty
homage at St. George in the Fields, you saw the streets all flaunting
with bunting, you beheld the twelve hundred velvet-coated lackeys, the
footmen in purple, and buff, and silver, and green, and blue; you heard
the trumpets sounding, the people shouting, and the clergy waiting to do
homage to their most gracious and Protestant king. I say, you saw all
this, while they took no notice of the heir-apparent. But it is not
always the man who wears the crown who reigns. Take our brother Louis
across the water. He wore the crown while a priest reigned. It was so
before him. Louis XIII, the man who was always tired, wore the crown,
but Richelieu ruled the land. But wait a little, Mazarin will die, and
then a change will come. Let me tell you something, young malapert. It
is the man with will and brains who reigns, whether he be the king or
the king's brother. Moreover, it is he who is not too much given over to
pleasure, and who holds the true faith."

"Have a care, Your Grace, have a care," said the man who had accompanied
me hither, for he saw what by this time I was assured of, that the
king's brother had partaken of much wine.

"Have a care for whom?" said the duke angrily. "Am I to be bearded by a
boy? Look you here, and remember," and his voice was thick as he spoke,
"the king's brother can bestow benefits as well as the king, remember
that, and the king's brother can reward those who are faithful. Besides,
the man who is only the king's brother to-day may be king next year.
Never forget. And think of something else. A man need not be anointed by
a bishop to alter a country's laws. Hath any law been passed against the
Presbyterians or Puritans or Dissenters? What saith the king? 'Justice
to all.' Yet even at this time hundreds of Presbyterians and Puritans
have been ousted from their pulpits, while Independents and Baptists
crowd our gaols. Who hath done this? 'Oh, no man hath done it,' is the
reply. It is all because the Episcopalians believe that now Charles
Stuart is come back they can e'en send the others apacking. But who
shall say they have heard no word from James Stuart?"

"Your Grace! Your Grace!"

"Ay, cannot a man speak his own mind? This boy is not a fool, and will
know how to be discreet. And now I have a word more to say. Have you,
Master Roland Rashcliffe, discovered aught concerning this supposed
marriage contract between the king and Lucy Walters?"

"Yes," I replied, before I was well aware, and for which word I was
ready to bite my tongue out.

"You have seen it?" and I noticed that he spoke more clearly, as though
my news had sharpened his wits.

"I have seen that which purports to be what you inquire after," I
replied.

Never did I see a man change more suddenly. He seemed to throw off the
effects of wine in an instant.

"You have seen it? Where?"

At this I was silent, for I felt not like giving away my secret.

"Speak, Roland, I command you."

I started, for it was my father's voice which I had heard, and then I
knew that it was he who had entered the room with the duke, and who had
hidden his face from me.

"Father!" I cried.

"Ay, it is I, Roland, and it is I who command you to tell his Grace what
he desires to know. I have told him nothing because I have seen nothing,
but it is my will that you tell him what you have seen."

My father's presence set me wondering greatly. As I have said, I had not
seen him since my return to London, and now to discover that he had been
in communication with the king's brother staggered me. Rightly or
wrongly, I concluded that he could gain no hearing with his Majesty, and
so had sought an audience with the duke.

"Remember," said the duke, "this story is lies from end to end. Yet I do
not say that some one hath not forged such a contract. Moreover, if such
a contract, although it is as valueless as the paper on which it is
written, were to pass from hand to hand, it would set gossips' tongues
wagging, and perchance unhinge affairs of state. You say you have seen
this. Where have you seen it?"

In spite of myself I could not help pausing, and whether the king's
brother had fears concerning what I should do with my knowledge, or
whether he desired to enlist my friendship, I know not, but before I
could speak, he went on--

"Did you read it?"

"Ay, I read it."

"What did it say?"

"It was a marriage contract between his Majesty and the Welsh girl, Lucy
Walters."

"You can take your oath to this?"

"I can take my oath that I read such words on a piece of parchment."

"Signed by Charles Stuart?"

"Ay, and by others."

"Their names?"

"Pierre Rousseau and François Abelard."

"You swear this?"

"I swear that I saw such a parchment."

"But where? Tell me where?"

"It was in such a strange place that I cannot describe it. Yet methinks
I could find it again."

He seemed so carried away by what I had told him that he started to his
feet.

"Find it, Master Roland Rashcliffe, and bring it to me. If you will do
this, you may depend on my smile all your life through."

"Obey his Grace, Roland," said my father.

"Stay," said the duke, directly my father had spoken, and I thought
suspicion gleamed in his eyes. "Your father informs me that your
discovery was made before we landed on English shores. You were at Dover
at our coming. What have you been doing with yourself since?"

"If you will ask Caleb Bullen, he will tell you I have been staying at
the _Virgin Queen_, at St. Paul's Cross," I said; then, fearing further
questions, I went on, "but the thing you require of me is not easy of
accomplishment. Already I have nearly lost my life in the search
thereof, and----"

"I have nought to do with that," he interrupted. "Set out without delay
and bring this thing to me, and this I will promise. I will see to it
that all your father's estates are restored, and I will take it upon
myself to assure your future. There is many an Independent fattening
upon fair estates who will soon be in gaol; there is many a highborn
dame who will gladly accept the hand of the youth upon whom the Duke of
York smiles. Now, then, I seek to hear no more, and know no more. But
stay, all such business requires money. Garnett, see to it that a purse
with a hundred pounds be given to him. And more, what is done must be
done secretly, and no man must know thy doings."

With this he left the room, and without another word passed out of my
sight. I make confession here that the interview wellnigh stunned me.
The duke had not been one, but three men during the time we had been
together. At one time he had been cruel, hard, stern; at another he
seemed to have his wits muddled with wine, when he had spoken in a way
unworthy his high estate; and yet when he left me he made me feel that
he was a man to be obeyed, strong, masterful, and clear-minded. In
addition to this, my father had evidently been in secret conclave with
him, and it was he who had bidden me obey the duke's commands.
Therefore, although I was sorely bewildered, because he had commanded I
must perforce obey.

One thing gave me peace of mind, and that was the fact that no mention
had been made of the woman I had released at Bedford. I felt sure that
did the duke dream of my action towards the woman who was accused of
attempting the murder of General Monk, he would have used it as a threat
in order to make me do his will. As it was, he took both my obedience
and my silence for granted, and seemingly had no doubts, in spite of my
behaviour during the first part of the interview, that I should dare to
refuse his bidding.

"You have heard?" said the man who had accompanied me. "You have your
work--do it."

I did not answer, for at this moment my father returned.

"Roland," he said, "here are the hundred pounds. You will note that they
come from me. Obey his Grace's command. It is not only his will, but
mine. Now haste, for I fear you have wasted time. Good-bye, and fear
nothing."

At this he left me again, while I stood gazing at the door through which
he had passed, almost too surprised for words.

"You have heard," said Master Garnett, "now go and be thankful. I need
not tell you to be silent. You are not one who is foolish enough to talk
with every passerby, but remember this--if you fail to do the duke's
bidding the four seas that wash our shores would not save you from his
anger."

Five minutes later I was in the street again, and that which I had seen
and heard was only as a dream. Still, I had a hundred pounds in my
pouch, and I knew that in accordance with the command of the king's
brother, I must e'en make a second attempt to obtain what I at that time
believed might be the king's marriage contract.

Within two hours of that time I was on horseback again, for by this time
the fever of adventure was upon me, and I determined to again find my
way within the walls of Pycroft Hall, and to take the parchment I had
seen from its strange hiding place.

As I rode along I wondered that I had been content to wait in London so
long, and had not, without the duke's command, sought to outwit the old
man I had seen in the lonely house. For although I believed the old man
had never imagined that I should escape alive, and therefore would not
remove the contract from its hiding place until he was able to make
terms with the king, I remembered that several days had elapsed wherein
he might have carried it I know not whither. It was then I remembered
that the great thought in my mind had not been to obtain the parchment
which might alter the destiny of the nation, but to give help to the
woman with whom I had so strangely been brought into contact. In truth
it came to me that so eager had I been to hear news of her after I had
returned to London town that I had scarcely ever thought of the mission
which had brought us together. At this I grew angry with myself, for
although she was very fair to look upon she was a Dissenter at heart,
the wife of a man who had taken part in the death of the king's father,
and was even then hiding from those who would bring her to punishment.
As I said, I grew angry with myself because of this, yet in spite of my
anger I wondered much concerning her, and prayed most earnestly for her
safety and her welfare.

By the time daylight dawned I was far away from London, and was riding
through one of the fairest tracts of country of which perchance our
country can boast. I have, during my life, had occasion to ride through
many parts of our land, but never do I remember thinking aught so fair
as that through which I passed that day. The sun rose in a cloudless
sky, the birds were singing all around me as they perched upon the leafy
trees, while on my right hand, and on my left, the countryside rose and
fell in gentle hills and dales.

"How quiet and restful everything is," I thought, and then I reflected
that the day was the Sabbath, so I let Black Ben drop into a walk, in
order that I might be able to enjoy with more comfort the beauty of the
scene.

The sun was high in the heavens when I saw that I was drawing near a
small town, so I determined that I would stay there for breakfast, never
dreaming that I should pass through such a strange experience, and yet
one the like of which was being witnessed all over the country.

CHAPTER XIX

THE SCENE AT THE PARISH CHURCH

"What place is this?" I asked of a peasant as I drew near the town I
have mentioned.

"Maidstone," was the reply. "Be you going to the church?"

"Maybe," I replied, "but it is early yet."

"Ay, early, but not too early if you will see the sights."

"What sights?"

"Haven't you heard? Why God a' mercy, the old rector hath come back, and
hath got together twenty men to help the constables. Besides, I hear
that Master Burnbridge is shaking in his shoes."

"And who is Master Burnbridge?"

"Why you must be a furriner not to know. From whence come you, master?"

"I come from London."

"Ay? From London? Then you have seen the new king?"

"Ay, I have seen him; but who is Master Burnbridge?"

"He is the Independent minister who hath ministered in the parish church
for many a year. He is much beloved of the people, too, and hath many
followers. But the new king hates the Presbyterians and the
Independents, so we are to see gay doings to-day. It is but ten o'clock
yet, but I mean to get near the pulpit so that I can see all that goes
on. The old vicar, Master Noel, was one of Bishop Laud's men, and it
will be rare sport to see him tackle Master Burnbridge."

"But he hath no right to do this."

"That's no matter. I do hear that the king is going to make a law, so
Master Noel is taking time by the forelock, and we are to have gay
doings."

The man turned in at a side road, while I rode on towards the inn I had
seen in the main street. I called to mind what the Duke of York had said
to me only the night before, and to me his words bore on the peasant's
gossip. When he had said that although no laws had been passed against
Independents and Presbyterians they had already been ejected from their
pulpits, and many had been thrown into gaol, I could only regard it as
the talk of a man who had drunk too freely; but now I saw that he spoke
not without his book, and I determined that I would also find my way to
the parish church that morning.

Desirous as I was of seeing what should take place, however, I saw to it
that Black Ben was well foddered, and the morning air being pure and
appetizing, I could not resist the breakfast which was placed before me.
In truth so hearty was I that the church bell stopped ringing before I
found myself in the churchyard. When I reached the porch of the church I
found that if I entered it would be with difficulty. Nor do I think I
should have found admission at all had not the people believed, when
they saw my gay attire, and a sword hanging by my side, that I was sent
by the king to see justice done. As it was many made way for me, and so
I soon found myself within the church, which was filled from end to end
with an eager crowd. I noticed that there was no noise nor confusion.
Some, indeed, whispered to each other, while others smiled as if
triumphantly, but on the faces of most was a look of pain and sorrow. On
more than one countenance, however, I saw angry defiance, and I felt
sure that although they were in the House of God, the affair was full of
foreboding.

I had scarcely found a position from which I could both see and hear,
when a man wearing a black gown entered the pulpit, and commenced to
open the Bible, but scarcely had he done this than another, wearing a
white surplice, rose from a pew close by, and said in a loud voice--

"In the name of God, and of the King's Majesty, I command you to
desist."

"Who are you?" asked the man in the pulpit.

"John Noel, vicar of this parish," was the reply.

"Prove your right to that name," was the answer.

"It is my intention so to do," was the answer, "but, before I do so, do
thou, a schismatic and a usurper, retire from this sacred building. For
years hath this sacrilege continued, because the king hath been kept
from his own; but now the king hath returned, and law and order must be
restored."

"I have heard of thee," said the Independent; "thou art he who brought
popish devices into the House of God, and because of it the people of
this parish did drive thee out. Go thy way. This is the House of God,
and it must not be made a den of thieves. The king promised before he
came back that each minister should keep his benefice, and the king's
promise is above thy prating."

"Come down, I tell thee, and desecrate not this holy place," cried the
man wearing the surplice.

"I will not come down," cried the other. "I have been called of God to
minister to this people, and this will I do in spite of the hosts of the
Philistines."

Upon this he opened the Bible and began to read, but before six words
had passed his lips a great number of strong men, armed, went to the
pulpit and pulled him headlong from thence.

"Put him out of the House of God!" and I heard the voice of Master Noel
above the mutterings of the people.

When Master Burnbridge had been dragged from the pulpit he was allowed
to stand in the aisle, while Master Noel, his Prayer-book in his hand,
mounted, and in a loud voice commanded the people to be silent for
prayer. But this they would not be, for a great number of them arose and
cried, "Master Burnbridge is our pastor, and he alone shall minister
unto us."

Then I saw a great number of them rise, and were making their way
towards him with anger in their eyes, and their hands clenched ready to
strike, whereupon the many who had evidently been brought thither by
Master Noel drew their weapons, and prepared to do battle.

I think the Independent minister saw that it would be useless for his
followers to fight for him, or else he dreaded a scene of riot in the
House of God, for he spoke aloud--

"Be quiet, good people," he said, "and fight not in the House of God
with carnal weapons. This papist priest hath planned to do this, and we
will not resist. It is true that Charles hath not commanded this,
neither hath Parliament assented unto it, but this man believeth that
both will support him. Moreover since the king's coming many of the
people have turned riotous and drunken, and will no longer have the pure
milk of the Word. But although we may be driven from the House of God,
we are still the Lord's people, so let us go quietly to a field close
by, so that we may worship God even as our fathers have done. Unhand
me," he continued, turning to those who had dragged him from the pulpit,
and still held him fast, "and I and my flock will e'en go where we can
worship God unmolested, and where we can pray that the Lord's people may
be protected."

At this the armed men let Master Burnbridge go, whereupon he walked down
the aisle, as well as he was able for the crowd, while a goodly number,
it might be a hundred, followed him from the church.

I was in two minds which to do. To leave the church with the
Independents, or to stay and listen to Master Noel; but as I was anxious
to hear what the follower of Archbishop Laud might have to say I took a
seat close by, and prepared to listen. But few, I fancy, listened to the
prayers which were read from the Prayer-book that morning. Each man had
been too much moved by what had taken place to enter into the spirit of
prayer, and I think every one heaved a sigh of relief when at length
Master Noel began to preach. He gave out as his text these words--"The
ploughers ploughed my back; they made long furrows. The Lord is
righteous; he hath cut asunder the cords of the wicked." This text, he
said, was indeed a true description of the followers of the Lord, since
that son of Belial, Oliver Cromwell, had murdered his most sacred
majesty, Charles I, and especially was it true of him, John Noel, who
had been ejected from his church and vicarage by a committee of
traitors, because of his loyalty to the late king. These incestuous
heretics had discarded the Prayer-book, blasphemed against the one true
Church, and committed sacrilege in the House of God. Moreover in the
guise of those who prate about liberty they had allowed all sorts of
heresy in the church, even while they were themselves the most rampant
bigots. Yet had they sought to catch the itching ears of the ignorant by
talks about toleration. But their reign was at an end, and soon the
people of God would be freed from their accursed intolerable toleration.
After this he enlarged upon what he called the heresies of Master
Burnbridge, who for so long had poisoned the minds of the people, and
who had that day been driven forth from God's house.

After speaking thus he dealt with his right to hire men to drive out the
usurper. It is true, he said, that no law had yet been passed whereby
such usurpers as Master Burnbridge had been driven forth, nevertheless
this was within the rights of the aforetime rectors and vicar of the
parishes. His Majesty King Charles II. was a Protestant, a man of God,
and a loyal member of the Episcopal Church. He had not yielded to the
Presbyterians who had appealed to him, and had not made any concessions
to them. This proved that his Majesty had no sympathy with them.
Therefore seeing that without bishops, priests, and deacons, there could
be no king, it was right and fitting that they, as the king's loyal
subjects, should return to their churches. This had been done in many
places all over England, even before the king landed at Dover, and so
far had justice been vindicated that in Wales especially scores of these
naughty Independents had been driven from the churches, and hundreds of
them had been thrown into gaol, until those same gaols were full even to
overflowing. Thus they were right in ejecting this fellow Burnbridge. He
was a usurper, and therefore was cast out of the temple, even as those
who bought and sold in the temple at Jerusalem were cast out of olden
time.

"Thus, my brethren," he continued, "we have done a part of our work.
Having cleansed the church, our next duty is to drive the fellow out of
the vicarage. This we will do after the close of this service."

"But," you will say, "this man will erect some meeting house in this
town, where he will still poison the ears of the people. Let us trust
in God. Ere long I believe a law will be passed, whereby not only will
the church be purified from its taint of sin, but whereby none but those
who belong to the episcopacy will be allowed to break the bread of life
to the people, and a law compelling those same people to attend the
church on the Sabbath days; ay, and not only that, but that they shall
be forbidden to listen to any man who hath not been truly ordained a
preacher of the Word. For this, let us pray, so that godliness and true
religion shall be established in our land."

After this the service soon broke up, and I heard no sign of
dissatisfaction anywhere. Mostly they seemed pleased by what had taken
place, and nearly the whole congregation followed Master Noel across a
field towards the rectory. On my way, I heard the sound of voices
singing, and turning I saw a number of people in a meadow close by. A
wagon had been placed under a tree, and on this wagon stood Master
Burnbridge, his black gown being gently swayed to and fro in the summer
breeze. All around him stood the people, but how many there were I know
not. All of them, as far as I could judge, were singing, and these were
the words that reached us--

_When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them
that dream._

_Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with singing:
then said they among the heathen the Lord hath done great things for
them._

_The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad._

_Turn again our captivity, O Lord, as the streams in the south._

_They that sow in tears shall reap in joy._

_He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless
come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him._

At this there was much scornful derision among those who followed Master
Noel; nevertheless, I thought the singing was very sweet.

A few minutes later the vicarage was the scene of great dust and
confusion, for every stick that Master Burnbridge possessed was carried
out into the lane which ran close by the house. Ay, so quickly was this
done, that I do not think that the little band who worshipped in the
field close by knew the meaning thereof. Nevertheless, even while Master
Burnbridge was preaching to his flock, the road was being filled with
the household treasures of the man who had been minister of the parish
for ten years.

I took no part in the matter, neither was I at that moment strong in my
sympathy with either the one side or the other. Nevertheless, I have set
down exactly what I saw and heard as near as I can remember it, so that
all who care may read.

Scarcely had the last armful of books been thrown into the road (and
there was a great quantity of them), than Master Burnbridge came up.

"By whose authority hath this been done?" he cried, and I noticed that
his voice was loud and angry.

"By mine," cried a portly man whom I had seen talking with Master Noel,
"by mine--Henry Wellwood, of Wellwood Hall, a justice of the peace."

"Who is he?" I asked of one who stood by.

"Hush! Squire Wellwood, who for years hath hated the Independents,
although he hath had to put up with them," was the reply.

"Then," said Master Burnbridge, "I declare this to be a most unlawful,
as well as most unchristian and unholy act."

"You are paid back in your own coin, Master Prater," laughed the squire.

"I came to this living lawfully," replied Master Burnbridge. "Master
Noel had behaved in a traitorous manner, and so by law he was ejected as
a papist and a dealer in treasonous things. But there is no law against
me, and I declare that you have behaved unlawfully."

"I?" cried the squire.

"Yes, you, Henry Wellwood--you whom I have so often rebuked for your
riotous living and your drunken habits."

"A brawler! a brawler!" cried the squire, "Take him into custody
constables, and clap him into gaol, as well as all the others who take
his part."

At this I could no longer hold my peace.

"Master Wellwood, methinks this will sound bad when it reaches the
king's ears," I cried.

"King's ears! And who will take it to him," he cried, turning angrily on
me.

"I will," I cried.

"You will, and who are you?"

"It doth not matter who I am," I cried, "but I can tell you that I have
the king's ear, and it will go hard with you."

"Take this malapert boy with the others," cried the squire to the
constable, and I could see that he was much angered against me.

Two of the constables moved towards me, while the rest of the yokels
stared at me openmouthed.

"I am a loyal subject of the king," I cried, drawing my sword, "and am
neither Independent nor Presbyterian, but the first man that touches me
shall die."

The men started back as I caused my sword to whistle around my head, and
as they only had heavy bludgeons they did not come nearer. But it came
to me even then that I could do no good by interfering further. I had
acted on the impulse of the moment, for I deemed it unfair that Master
Burnbridge, Independent though he was, should be clapped into gaol for
protesting against the spoiling of his goods; yet I knew I could do
nothing. All the popular feeling was against the Independent minister,
who I was told afterwards had been very severe with loose and careless
lives. Besides, I reflected that I could not help matters by allowing
myself to be clapped into gaol. I would, therefore, have escaped if I
could, but in turning to do so two men had come up behind my back, and
before I could even struggle for liberty I was closely pinioned.

Before an hour had passed I was in the town lock-up with eight others,
amongst whom was Master Burnbridge. As may be imagined I was little
pleased with myself. First, because I was no Independent at heart, and
second because my interference had done more harm than good. Moreover I
was angry that I should be in prison, as though I were a drunken
tapster, and in company with people whom my father had often called
hypocritical psalm-Psingers. For we were all huddled together in an open
space, neither had we anything to sit upon, although straw was placed
upon the floor, upon which most of my companions lay down.

"The Lord hath touched your heart, young man," said Master Burnbridge.

"As to that I doubt much," I replied; "yet could I not help being angry
at the way the man Wellwood treated you."

"Ay, but the spirit of the Lord was in your heart, else had you not
resented such injustice. But in truth I am not surprised at all this. I
have heard that Master Noel hath been in secret conclave with Master
Wellwood, and I heard rumours that what hath been going on ever since
King Charles hath been recalled would also happen to me. For myself I
care not, but I grieve for my wife and children, for what will they do
without house and home?"

At this I was silent, for in truth what could I say?

"And yet I must not fear," he went on, "for the Lord is still upon His
Throne. He delivered the Hebrew youths out of the fiery furnace, and He
will deliver me. But oh, I fear that dark days are coming upon England."

"But the king hath made fair promises," I urged.

"Fair promises!" cried Master Burnbridge, "and you see what they are
worth. Even before His Majesty hath been a week on his throne, and
before the matter of religion hath been dealt with, such as I are
ejected from our livings and thrown into the gaols. Moreover, although
the law is supposed to be on our side, no one stood up for it save you,
a stranger. If this be done at this time, what will be done when the
hosts of Belial have passed their laws? 'If they do these things in a
green tree, what shall be done in the dry?' I tell thee, young man, this
land will be full of wailing and gnashing of teeth."

"That remains to be seen," I replied. "When the king hath time to make
the power of his arm felt, perchance these things will cease."

"Cease! Charles Stuart make them to cease! Can the Ethiopian change his
skin, or the leopard his spots? I tell you he hath been brought back to
England by lies and corruption, and by lies and corruption he will
maintain his throne until the Lord shall speak."

"Brought back by lies and corruption!" I cried.

"Ay, I speak boldly. Who schemed to bring him back? Monk. Who is Monk? A
man who plays for his own hand. First a Presbyterian, then an
Independent, then nothing. Monk played a game, young master, and so we
see what we see."

After this I was left much alone, for these people saw that I was not
one of them. Moreover, they spent much time in prayer, and in singing of
hymns, and on the whole were of a cheerful countenance.

Presently as night fell most of them fell asleep, and thus but little
notice was taken when the door opened and a man whom I took to be a
gaoler took me by the arm and led me forth.

"Whither do you lead me?" I asked.

"Hush, and ask no questions," was his reply.

Ere long I found myself nearing the vicarage, and again I asked why I
was led thither.

"To see Master Wellwood," was the reply.

"Why should I see Master Wellwood?"

"You will soon know."

A few minutes later I stood in a room of the vicarage, which was empty
save for three chairs, on two of which sat Master Wellwood and Master
Noel.

CHAPTER XX

THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON

Both the squire and the vicar eyed me closely as I entered, as though
they seemed doubtful as to how they should treat me. I noticed that my
sword, which had been taken from me, was placed in a corner of the room,
and as presently both of them nodded to me with a smile, I concluded
that they intended to treat me with some courtesy.

"We have brought you hither," said Master Wellwood, "because being men
who love peace, as well as lovers of justice, we desired to give you an
opportunity of explaining your unruly behaviour to-day."

"In what way have I behaved in an unruly way?" I asked.

"You sought to interfere when the king's commands were being obeyed."

"What commands?"

"The commands that justice shall be done to loyal members of the
Church."

"When were such commands given?" I asked. "Because never yet have I
heard of them. But last night did I have audience with the king's
brother, the Duke of York, while my father, whom I also saw, and who
hath been near the king ever since his Majesty's return, never said
aught to me concerning them."

At this they looked at each other somewhat dolefully, as though they
knew not what next to say.

"Your name, young master?" said Master Wellwood.

"My name must not be known," I replied. "I am on the king's business,
and thus do not tell my name to every passerby; nevertheless, I think
his Majesty will be angry when he knows that his trusted envoy hath
been thrown into a lock-up."

"It may be, young master; we acted zealously, yet we acted in the king's
interests," replied Master Wellwood. "For what is the truth? It is only
by supporting the Church that we support the king. For this is how it
appeareth to us. Religion must be maintained, and schismatics cast out.
For who are the king's enemies? The schismatics. Through them His Sacred
Majesty King Charles the First was beheaded, therefore no man can be
loyal to the king without establishing the true religion. And what is
true religion? It is the Protestant religion--that is the Protestant
religion which is neither rabid nor rancorous, but such as King Charles
the First encouraged and sanctioned. But where is that true Protestant
religion to be found? Only in the Episcopacy. For the safety of the
State, and the permanence of the crown, we must have bishops, priests,
and deacons. All schismatics are enemies to the crown, and to religion.
Therefore, although no laws hath yet been passed against these naughty
heretics, we must for the sake of the king's crown stop the mouths of
all these Presbyterians and Independents."

Master Wellwood was wellnigh out of breath by the time he had finished
this long harangue, but having taken a drink from a glass of brandy he
went on.

"That was why, out of loyalty to his Majesty, and for the sake of
religion, we even drove out that blaspheming prater this morning.
Moreover, as he usurped Master Noel's house we naturally drove him out
from hither. But for his naughty tongue he need not now be in prison;
but he spoke foul untruths, therefore had he to be punished as a
brawler. Besides, not knowing who you were, and when you took sides with
the prating heretic, we naturally thought you were of his order.
Therefore it was our duty to punish you. But since we have decided that
you were in ignorance as to your duty and therefore, judging you to be a
man of quality, we give you back your sword and your liberty."

With that Master Wellwood rose, and gave me my sword back.

"Your horse will be also ready at the _White Hart_," he went on, "and if
you have the ear of the king you can tell him that we are his most
zealous subjects."

As may be imagined, I was much angered at the coolness of this
dismissal, but when I came to think about the matter I came to the
conclusion that I should do no good by causing a fuss. For although the
laws had not been altered, so greatly had the tide of feeling changed
that it was impossible to get justice for the Independents; moreover, if
the king were informed about the things which had taken place, he would
doubtless have laughed indifferently, and have taken no further notice.
In truth, as I was afterwards told, before any acts against Dissenters