THE HUNT.
By the time he had reached home, Windybank was persuaded that treason
would bring no grist to his mill. Weak-kneed and inclined to evil, he
was yet an Englishman, and in his heart he felt that all the kings that
ever ruled in Spain were too feeble a power to hold valiant little
England in a conqueror's grip. The Jesuit's plot was feasible, and, as
expounded by Father Jerome, promised a measure of success. The master
of Dean Tower was prepared to acknowledge that the forest might be
fired. What then? Would Philip beat England on the sea? The balance
of numbers would be on his side; but what of the deeds of Drake and his
brother-captains? They were men who laughed when the odds were against
them. "No," said Andrew decisively, "the Spaniard is not yet born who
can trounce that bullet-headed man of Devon. Philip's men can hardly
land in England. If they do--!" The young man shrugged his shoulders
expressively; there were bonny fighters for the shore as well as for
the sea!
Such was the power of a pair of blue eyes, when the black ones were not
at hand to counteract their witchery, that Windybank determined
straightway to play the honest man that he had determined to become.
He whistled for his dogs, called to his groom, got him upon a sturdy
pony, and hurried away to the hunt. He was late, but he knew that the
quarry was to be roused in the Abbot's Wood, a close belt of forest
lying betwixt Littledean and Blakeney, so he made for the old,
grass-grown Roman road that ran straight through the heart of the
woodland, and, ere he had ridden two miles, he could discern horn and
"halloo!" away to the right towards the Speech.[1] His hounds heard
the welcome sounds, gave mouth in answer, and dashed off through the
green, waving sea of bracken. And master and groom, their forester
blood running like a stimulating wine through them, put spurs to their
steeds and raced off on the heels of the dogs.
After very little riding, the rapidly swelling volume of sound told the
two hunters that the chase was coming straight in their own direction,
and hardly had they come to this conclusion when a fresh and fiercer
baying from their dogs and a ripping and crashing in the undergrowth
brought them face to face with the quarry--a magnificent ten-point
stag. Confronted unexpectedly by these fresh foes, the noble creature
came to a terrified halt, and, flanks heaving, nostrils quivering,
stared at them with wide-open eyes. But a yelp from the nearest hound
and a view "halloo!" from Windybank sent it off again like a bolt from
a crossbow.
"Head him back to the main chase!" yelled Master Andrew, and he rode
off at a dangerous pace through the trees to carry out his own
instructions. Dogs and man obeyed his voice with a will, and the
unfortunate stag went bounding from one danger into the jaws of a
greater. Terrified by the shouts and bayings behind him, and sorely
hampered by the trees and undergrowth, he burst wildly into a glade,
hoping to make a quicker dash for safety, but found himself, instead,
confronted by a crowd of hunters on horse and afoot. Effectually
cornered, he turned to bay, and the first hound that approached was
tossed a good dozen yards, landing with a thud and a howl right under
the heels of Dorothy's pony. Snapping viciously out at the nearest
obstacle, the brute bit the pony just above the fetlock, causing it to
rear, spring forward, and throw its rider into the midst of the dogs
and within reach of the stag's horns. A cry of alarm went up, and
Windybank, who was easily the nearest man, had the opportunity of his
life. He hesitated, and his rival, who had quitted the boar hunt when
he found Dorothy riding after other game, sprang to the rescue in an
instant. With his bare hands he threw the dogs aside and snatched up
the unconscious girl just as the stag's antlers made the first savage
rip at her riding-dress. The whole deed was done in the twinkling of
an eye, and done single-handed. Morgan's quickness and cool daring had
proved easily equal to the crisis, and loud cries of "Well done,
Johnnie!" greeted the popular hero. For the nonce the quarry was left
to the dogs, and Windybank, glancing round, saw that he was the only
man still in the saddle; instinctively every other rider had sprung to
the ground. No one appeared to notice him; so, conscious that his
chance of regaining any share of popular esteem was gone, he swung his
horse round and disappeared amidst the trees. His dogs were yelping
with the rest of the pack, and not even his groom followed him. A
feeling of hopeless loneliness crept over the young man's heart, and
his head hung down, weighted with the bitterest thoughts of his life.
His conscience was busy with accusing whispers--"Traitor! Coward!
Fool!" The unspoken words burnt into his brain, and fired his dark
face with the hues of a lurid sunset. He halted; no man could see him,
and he listened to the clamour in the glade. He heard an exultant bay
from one of his own hounds. The brute dared more than his master, and
was taking a bold share in the events of the moment; and the vindictive
master vowed to have the brave dog's life for outdoing him.
The spirit of mad hate was driving out the feeling of shame. He vowed
with an awful oath that Morgan should share the hound's fate. All men
were his enemies; why, then, should he spare them?
A hand of ice was laid on his hand, and he almost screamed with the
sudden shock and surprise; he had heard no footstep. He raised his
head, to find the stern, set face of Basil confronting him.
"What art thou doing here?" he cried hoarsely.
"Looking after thee."
"Begone, then; I'll not be dogged," exclaimed Windybank wildly. "If
these men see us, our dooms are sealed."
"Thine was almost sealed," said Basil curtly. "'Twas in thine heart to
play us false. Hadst thou held out the hand of friendship to yonder
herd of heretics, thou wouldst have found me to-night both thy judge
and executioner. Come, the time is ripe for action. I spare thee
because I need thee; but beware!"
Basil took the pony by the bridle and turned its head towards Dean
Tower. "Father Jerome awaits thee," he said, "and thy life hangs in
the balance. Go!"
And Windybank went.
[1] The ancient courthouse of the foresters; it still exists.