[Illustration: Farewell To The Cavaliers]
"If no more our banners shew
Battles won and banners taken,
Still in death, defeat, and woe,
Ours be loyalty unshaken."
SCOTT
The next day the whole family turned out to gather in the corn. Rusha
was making attempts at reaping, while Emlyn played with little Ben, who
toddled about, shouting and chasing her in and out among the shocks. Now
and again they paused at the low, thunderous growl of the great guns
in the distance, in strange contrast to their peaceful work, and once a
foraging party of troopers rode up to the gate of the little field, but
Steadfast met them there, and showed the officer Captain Venn's paper.
"So you belong to Kenton of Venn's Valiants? It is well. A blessing on
your work!" said the stern dark-faced officer, and on he went, happily
not seeing Emlyn make an ugly face and clench her little fist behind
him.
"How can you, Stead?" she cried. "I'd rather be cursed than blessed by
such as he!"
Stead shook his head slowly. "A blessing is better than a curse any
way," said he, but his mind was a good deal confused between the piety
and good conduct of these Roundheads, in contrast with their utter
contempt of the Church, and rude dealing with all he had been taught to
hold sacred.
His harvest was, however, the matter in hand, and the little patch of
corn was cut and bound between him and his sisters, without further
interruption. The sounds of guns had ceased early in the day, and a
neighbour who had ventured down to the camp to offer some apples for
sale leant over the gate to wonder at the safety of the crop, "though to
be sure the soldiers were very civil, if they would let alone preaching
at you;" adding that there was like to be no more fighting, for one of
the gentlemen inside had ridden out with a white flag, and it was said
the Prince was talking of giving in.
"Give in!" cried Emlyn setting her teeth. "Never. The Prince will soon
make an end of the rebels, and then I shall ride-a-cock horse with our
regiment again! I shall laugh to see the canting rogues run!"
But the first thing Steadfast heard the next day was that the royal
standard had come down from the Cathedral tower. He had gone up to
Elmwood to get some provisions, and Tom Oates, who spent most of his
time in gazing from the steeple, assured him that if he would come up,
he would see for himself that the flags were changed. Indeed some of the
foot soldiers who had been quartered in the village to guard the roads
had brought the certain tidings that the city had surrendered and that
the malignants, as they called the Royalists, were to march out that
afternoon, by the same road as that by which the parliamentary army had
gone out two years before.
This would be the only chance for Emlyn to rejoin her father or to
learn his fate. The little thing was wild with excitement at the news.
Disdainfully she tore off what she called Rusha's Puritan rags, though
as that offended maiden answered "her own were _real_ rags in spite
of all the pains Patience had taken with them. Nothing would make them
tidy," and Rusha pointed to a hopeless stain and to the frayed edges
past mending.
"I hate tidiness. Only Puritan rebels are tidy!"
"We are not Puritans!" cried Rusha.
Emlyn laughed. "Hark at your names," she said. "And what's that great
rebel rogue of a brother of yours?"
"Oh! he is Jeph! He ran away to the wars! But Stead isn't a Puritan,"
cried Rusha, growing more earnest. "He always goes to church--real
church down in Bristol. And poor father was churchmartin, and knew all
the parson's secrets."
"Hush, Rusha," said Patience, not much liking this disclosure, however
Jerusha might have come by the knowledge, "you and Emlyn don't want to
quarrel when she is just going to say good-bye!"
This touched the little girls. Rusha had been much enlivened by the
little fairy who had seen so much of the world, and had much more
playfulness than the hard-worked little woodland maid; and Emlyn, who
in spite of her airs, knew that she had been kindly treated, was drawn
towards a companion of her own age, was very fond of little Ben, and
still more so of Steadfast.
Ben cried, "Em not go;" and Rusha held her hand and begged her not to
forget.
"O no, I won't forget you," said Emlyn, "and when we come back with the
King and Prince, and drive the Roundhead ragamuffins out of Bristol,
then I'll bring Stead a protection for Croppie and Daisy and all, a
silver bodkin for you, and a Flanders lace collar for Patience, and a
gold chain for Stead, and--But oh! wasn't that a trumpet? Stead! Stead!
We must go, or we shall miss them." Then as she hugged and kissed them,
"I'll tell Sir Harry and my lady how good you have been to me, and get
my lady to make you a tirewoman, Rusha. And dear, dear little Ben shall
be a king's guard all in gold."
Ben had her last smothering kiss, and Rusha began to cry and sob as the
gay little figure, capering by Stead's side, disappeared between
the stems of the trees making an attempt, which Steadfast instantly
quenched, at singing,
"The king shall enjoy his own again."
Patience did not feel disposed to cry. She liked the child, and was
grieved to think what an uncertain lot was before the merry little
being, but her presence had made Rusha and Ben more troublesome than
they had ever been in their lives before, and there was also the anxiety
lest her unguarded tongue should offend Jeph and his friends.
Emlyn skipped along by Steadfast's side, making him magnificent
promises. They paused by the ruins of the farm where Stead still kept up
as much of the orchard and garden as he could with so little time and
so far from home, and Emlyn filled her skirt with rosy-cheeked apples,
saying in a pretty gentle manner, "they were such a treat to our poor
rogues on a dusty march," and Stead aided her by carrying as many as he
could.
However, an occasional bugle note, clouds of dust on the road far below
in the valley, and a low, dull tramp warned them to come forward, and
station themselves in the hedge above the deep lane where Steadfast had
once watched for his brother. Only a few of the more adventurous village
lads were before them now, and when Stead explained that the little
wench wanted to watch for her father, they were kind in helping him to
perch her in the hollow of a broken old pollard, where she could see,
and not be seen. For the poor camp maiden knew the need of caution. She
drew Steadfast close to her, and bade him not show himself till she
told him, for some of the wilder sort would blaze away their pistols
at anything, especially when they had had any good ale, or were out of
sorts.
Poor fellows, there was no doubt of their being out of sorts, as they
tramped along, half hidden in dust, even the officers, who rode before
them, with ragged plumes and slouched hats. The silken banners, which
they had been allowed to carry out, because of their prompt surrender,
hung limp and soiled, almost like tokens of a defeat, and if any one
of those spectators behind the hawthorns had been conversant with Roman
history, it would have seemed to them like the passing under the yoke,
so dejected, nay, ashamed was the demeanour of the gentlemen. Emlyn
whispered name after name as they went by, but even she was hushed and
overawed by the spectacle, as four abreast these sad remnants of the
royal army marched along the lane, one or two trying to whistle, a few
more talking in under tones, but all soon dying away, as if they were
too much out of heart to keep anything up.
She scarcely stirred while the infantry, who were by far the most
numerous, were going by, only naming corps or officer to Stead, then
there came an interval, and the tread of horses and clank of their
trappings could be heard. Then she almost forgot her precautions in her
eagerness to crane forward. "They are coming!" she said. "All there are
of them will be a guard for the Prince."
Stead felt a strange thrill of pain as he remembered the terrible scene
when he had last beheld that tall, slight young figure, and dark face,
now far sterner and sadder than in those early days, as Rupert went to
meet the bitterest hour of his life.
Several gentlemen rode with him, whom Emlyn named as his staff, and
then came more troopers, not alike in dress, being, in fact, remnants of
shattered regiments. She was trembling all over with eagerness, standing
up, and so leaning forward, that she might have tumbled into the lane,
had not Steadfast held her.
At last came a scream. "There's Sir Harry! There's Dick! There's
Staines! Oh! Dick, Dick, where's father?"
There was a halt, and bronzed faces looked up.
"Ha! Who's there?"
"I! I! Emlyn. Oh! Dick, is father coming?"
"Hollo, little one! Art thou safe after all?"
"I am, I am. Father! father! Come! Where is he?"
"It is poor Gaythorn's little wench," explained one of the soldiers, as
Sir Harry, a grey-haired man, looking worn and weary, turned back, while
Steadfast helped the child out on the bank with some difficulty, for
her extreme haste had nearly brought her down, and she stood curtseying,
holding out her arms, and quivering with hope that began to be fear.
"Poor child!" were the old gentleman's first words. "And where were
you?"
"Please your honour, father left me in the thorn brake," said Emlyn,
"and said he would come for me, but he did not; it got dark, and this
country lad found me, and took me home. Is father coming, your honour?"
"Ah! my poor little maid, your father will never come again," said Sir
Harry, sadly. "He went down by the mill stream. I saw him fall. What is
to be done for her?" he added, turning to a younger gentleman, who rode
by him, as the child stood as it were stunned for a moment. "This is the
worst of it all. Heaven knows we freely sacrifice ourselves in the cause
of Church and King, but it is hard to sacrifice others. Here are these
faithful servants, their home broken up with ours, their children dying,
and themselves killed--she, by the brutes after Naseby, he, in this last
skirmish. 'Tis enough to break a man's heart. And what is to become of
this poor little maid?"
"Oh! I'll go with your honour," cried Emlyn, stretching out her arms.
"I can ride behind Dick, and I'll give no one any trouble. Oh! take me,
sir."
"It cannot be done, my poor child," said Sir Harry. "We have no women
with us now, and we have to make our way to Newark by forced marches to
His Majesty. I have no choice but to bestow you somewhere till better
times come. Hark you, my good lad, she says you found her, and have been
good to her. Would your mother take charge of her? I'll leave what I can
with you, and when matters are quiet, my wife, or the child's kindred,
will send after her. Will your father and mother keep her for the
present?"
"I have none," said Steadfast. "My father was killed in his own yard by
some soldiers who wanted to drive our cows. Mother had died before, but
my sister and I made a shift to take care of the little ones in a poor
place of our own."
"And can you take the child in? You seem a good lad."
"We will do our best for her, sir."
"What's your name?" and "Where do you live?" followed. And as Steadfast
replied the old Cavalier took out his tablets and noted them, adding,
"Then you and your sister will be good to her till we can send after
her."
"We will treat her like our little sister, sir."
"And here's something for her keep for the present, little enough I am
afraid, but we poor Cavaliers have not much left. The King's men
were well to do when I heard last of them, and they will make it up
by-and-by. Or if not, my boy, can you do this for the love of God?"
"Yes, sir," said Steadfast, looking up with his honest eyes, and
touching his forelock at the holy Name.
"Here, then," and Sir Harry held out two gold pieces, to which his
companion added one, and two or three of the troopers, saying something
about poor Gaythorn's little maid, added some small silver coins. There
was something in Steadfast's mind that would have preferred declining
all payment, but he was a little afraid of Patience's dismay at having
another mouth to provide for all the winter, and he thought too that
Jeph's anger at the adoption of the Canaanitish child might be averted
if it were a matter of business and payment, so he accepted the sum,
thanked Sir Harry and the rest, and renewed his promise to do the best
in his power for the little maiden. He rather wondered that no questions
were asked as to which side he held; but Sir Harry had no time to
inquire, and could only hope that the honest, open face, respectful
manner, clean dress, and the kindness which had rescued the child on
the battlefield were tokens that he might be trusted to take care of
the poor little orphan. Besides, many of the country people were too
ignorant to understand the difference between the sides, but only took
part with their squire, or if they loved their clergyman, clung to him.
So the knight would not ask any questions, and only further called out
"Fare thee well, then, poor little maid, we will send after thee when
we can," and then giving a sharp, quick order, all the little party
galloped off to overtake the rest.
Emlyn had been bred up in too much awe of Sir Harry to make objections,
but as her friends rode off she gave a sharp shriek, screamed out one
name after another, and finally threw herself down on the road bank in a
wild passion of grief, anger, and despair, and when Steadfast would
have lifted her up and comforted her, she kicked and fought him away.
Presently he tried her again, begging her to come home.
"I won't! I won't go to your vile, tumble-down, roundhead, crop-eared
hole!" she sobbed out.
"But, Sir Harry--"
"I won't! I say."
He was at his wits' end, but after all, the sound of other steps coming
up startled her into composing herself and sitting up.
"Hollo, Stead Kenton! Got this little puppet on your hands?" said young
Gates. "Hollo, mistress, you squeal like a whole litter of pigs."
"I am to take charge of her till her friends can send for her," said
Stead, with protecting dignity.
"And that will be a long day! Ho, little wench, where didst get that
sweet voice?"
"Hush, Tom! the child has only just heard that her father is dead."
This silenced the other lads, and Emlyn's desire to get away from them
accomplished what Steadfast wished, she put her hand into his and let
him lead her away, and as there were sounds of another troop of cavalry
coming up the lane, the boys did not attempt to follow her. She made no
more resistance, though she broke into fresh fits of moaning and crying
all the way home, such as went to Steadfast's heart, though he could not
find a word to comfort her.
Patience was scarcely delighted when Rusha darted in, crying out that
Emlyn had come back again, but perhaps she was not surprised. She took
the poor worn-out little thing in her arms, and rocked her, saying kind,
tender little words, while Steadfast looked on, wondering at what girls
could do, but not speaking till, finding that Emlyn was fast asleep,
Patience laid her down on the bed without waking her, and then had time
to listen to Stead's account of the interview with Sir Harry Blythedale.
"I could not help it, Patience," he said, "we couldn't leave the poor
fatherless child out on the hedge-side."
"No," said Patience, "we can't but have her, as the gentleman said, for
the love of God. He has taken care of us, so we ought to take care of
the fatherless--like ourselves."
"That's right, Patience," said Steadfast, much relieved in his mind,
"and see here!"
"I wonder you took that, Stead, and the poor gentlemen so ill off
themselves."
"Well, Patience, I thought if you would not have her, Goody Grace might
for the pay, but then who knows when any more may come?"
"Aye," said Patience, "we must keep her, though she will be a handful.
Anyway, all this must be laid out for her, and the first chance I have,
some shall be in decent clothes. I can't a-bear to see her in those
dirty gewgaws."