Getting within sight of the city's gate, the cadgers could see it was
shut, drawbridge up, and portcullis down. Bristol was then a walled
town, with an _enceinte_ of ancient fortifications that had lately been
repaired and strengthened. Night had now come on, and it was pitch
dark. But a lamp set high on one of the gate towers threw its light
across the moat, revealing to the eyes of the sentry who held post
overhead the party seeking admittance. At sight of their humble mien,
he thought of the bitterly cold night, and hearing of their reasonable
request, called to the guard-sergeant below; then, to the inquiry of the
latter, gave description of them in brief soldierly phrase--"Woman, man,
and donkey."
Whether his reversing the usual rule, by putting the woman before the
man, was due to her superior stature, or because of her being better
under the lamplight, his words seemed to produce a singular effect on
the sergeant. Starting suddenly up from his seat by the guard-house
fire, he rushed out and on to the wicket. There, placing his eye to the
peep-hole, he saw what influenced him to give instant orders for the
lowering of the bridge.
By this he was taking a great responsibility on his shoulders, though
they seemed strong and broad enough to bear it; for the guard-sergeant
was no other than Rob Wilde. As it chanced, the captain of the guard
was just then out of the way; and Rob had reason to think he would be
pardoned for the little stretch of vicarial authority.
"Ha' patience, Win!" he shouted across. "We won't be more than a
minnit."
Then with a will he set on to assist the others in letting the bridge
down.
Win was patient; could well be, after hearing that voice, at once
recognised by her. She thought nothing of the cold now; no more feared
the raiding "Cavalieres."
Never was drawbridge more promptly made passable. The creaking of a
windlass; with a rattling of chains, and it was down in its place. The
wicket was at the same time drawn open, and the cadger party passed over
and in.
"Lor, Win!" said Rob, drawing the great woman aside under the shadow of
the guard-house wall, and saluting her with a kiss, "where be yees
from?"
"Glo'ster east," she responded, soon as her lips were released from the
osculation.
"An' what ha' brought ye to Bristol?"
"Business o' diff'rent kinds."
"But ye don't appear to ha' any ladin' on the donkey?"
"Us may goin' back--hope to."
The cadgeress was prevaricating. No commercial speculation was the
cause of their being there; and if in passing through Gloucester they
had picked up a commission, it was quite a windfall, having nought to do
with the original object of their extended excursion. Neither on
leaving Ruardean, nor up to that moment, was Jerky himself aware of its
purpose, Winny having been its projector. But he could trust her, and
she, in her usual way, insisting upon the tramp, he had no alternative
but to undertake it. He knew now, why his sister had brought him to
Bristol, and that Rob Wilde was the lure which had attracted her
thither.
Rob had some thought of this himself, or at least hoped it so; the
unburdened donkey helping him in his hope.
"But ye bean't goin' back, surely?" he said.
"Why not?"
"The danger o' the roads now. If I'd a known you war on them, Win,
dear, I should ha' been feelin' a bit uneasy."
Her game of false pretence was now nearly up. It had all been due to a
fear which had suddenly come over her on seeing him again. Months had
elapsed since they last met, and the rough Forester, erst in coarse
common attire, his locks shaggy and unkempt, was now a man of military
bearing, hair and whiskers neatly trimmed, in a well-fitting uniform
resplendent with the glitter of gold. He was only a sergeant; but in
her eyes no commanding officer of troop or regiment, not even the
generalissimo of the army, could have looked either so grand or so
handsome. But it was just that, with the thought of the long interval
since they had last stood side by side, that now held her reticent. How
knew she but that with such change outwardly, there might also have come
change within his heart, and towards herself? A soldier too, now; one
of a calling proverbial for gallantry as fickleness, living in a great
city where, as she supposed, the eyes of many a syren would be turned
luringly upon her grand Rob.
Had he yielded to their lures or resisted them? So she mentally and
apprehensively interrogated. But only for a short while; the "Win,
dear," in his old voice, with its old affectionate tone, and his
solicitude for her safety, told he was still true.
Doubting it no longer, she threw aside the reserve that was beginning to
perplex him, at the same time flinging her arms round his neck, and in
turn kissing _him_.
That was her grateful rejoinder, sufficiently gratifying to him who
received it, and leading him to further expressions of endearment. Glad
was he they had arrived safe; and as to their errand at Bristol, which
she cared no longer to keep from him, he forbore further questioning.
"Ye can tell me about it when we ha' more time to talk," he said. "But
where do you an' Jack 'tend passin' the night?"
"The old place us always stop at,--Bird-in-the-Bush Inn."
"That be over Avon's bridge?"
"Yes; just a street or two the other side." Bristol was no strange
place to her. She, Jerky and Jinkum had made many a cadge thither
before.
"I'd go 'long wi' ye to the Bird-in-the-Bush," said the guard-sergeant,
"but, as ye see, I'm on duty at this gate, and musn't leave it for a
minnit. If the captain was here--unlucky he isn't just now--he'd let me
off, I know--seein' who it be."
"Why for seein' that, Rob?"
"Because o' his knowin' ye. He ha' seen you and Jack at Hollymead
House."
"It be Sir Richard?"
"No, no," hastily responded the ex-deer-stealer, in turn, perhaps,
experiencing a twinge of jealousy as when by the quarry on Cat's Hill.
"Sir Richard be in Bristol, too; but he's a colonel, not captain."
"Who be the captain, then?"
"That young Cavalier gentleman as comed to Hollymead 'long wi' Sir
Richard, after fightin' him. He changed sides there, an's now on ours.
Ye heerd that, han't you?"
"Deed, yes. An' more; heerd why. 'Twas all through a sweet face him
seed there--so be the word 'bout Ruardean."
"Well; I hope her won't disappoint he, after his doin' that for her.
Better nor braver than he an't in this big town o' Bristol. But, Win,
dear," he added, changing tone, and slinging an arm round her neck,
"'tan't any consarn o' ours. Oh! I be so glad to see ye again."
She knew he was now.
"Hang it!" he went on, "I only weesh my turn o' guard was over, so's I
could go 'long wi' ye. Maybe when the captain come back he'll let me
off for a hour or so. Sit up late, if ye ain't too tired. Ye will,
won't ye?"
"I will; for you all night, Rob. Ay, till the sun o' morning shines
clear in the sky."
Her passionate and poetic words were succeeded, if not cut short, by a
thumping on the pavement. Jerky's wooden leg it was; its owner
approaching in the darkness, the rapid repetition of the thumps telling
him to be in great haste.
"Winny!" he called to her in urgent tone, "us maunt linger here any
longer. Ye know somethin' as needs our bein' quick about it."
"Yes, yes," she answered, excitedly, as if recalled to a duty she felt
guilty of having trifled with or neglected. "I be ready to go on,
Jack."
The guard-sergeant looked a little puzzled. There was a secret, after
all, which had not been confided to him. What could it be?
Rough Forester though he had been, bold soldier as he now was, he lacked
the courage, or rather the rudeness, to ask. It might be a question
unwelcome.