"Your master sits there, dead!"
No cry or movement followed, but the glances cast upon me and my naked
sword spoke plainly of the awful thought which filled each
horror-stricken mind. Yes, for one throbbing instant it was clear to me
that I was counted my father's slayer.
"Dead!" gasped Tom at last. "How, sir? Not--not killed?"
The hand which held the candle shook.
"No, not killed;" I answered slowly, for even in that blank, bewildering
moment it flashed upon me that the truth could not be told to anyone
without great danger. "No, not killed; he died as he had always wished
to die--swiftly. Come now," I added, in a voice that sounded strange
and far-off to my ears, "help me to bear him to his chamber."
No more was spoken.
The dawn of that the blackest day in all my life broke with a mocking
splendour. The sun rose gloriously upon a green glad earth; the joyous
song of birds, the scent of many flowers, the gentle whisper of the soft
June breeze, the murmur of the sea--all these, the joyous signs of one
more resurrection from the things of darkness, were there in plenty; but
as I stood and looked down on my father's white, set face, I took no
heed of them; they were less than nothing. The present was as a thing I
had no part in; the past alone seemed real. A thousand memories of
bygone years came flooding over me. It was as though I lived through
all my life again, within that silent room of death.
Yet, notwithstanding this, my heart was still like stone; nor grief nor
tears were mine. Instead, I vowed fresh vengeance. There should be no
rest for me till both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon had been made to answer
for their wickedness; until, that is, they had been hunted down and
killed. The sword which had been girded on me by the hands now cold and
stiff should also know no rest until it had avenged its giver's death.
Henceforward that should be its work and mine.
So much I swore, and felt the better for it, yet not without some vision
of the perils and the pitfalls which must certainly beset me ere my vow
could be fulfilled.
And first among these stumbling-blocks there came the thought that none
could help me. The truth about my father's death was one with which I
could not trust a living soul; the threatening danger which had hovered
over him, and killed him, now just as surely hovered over me; the secret
which he had confided to my keeping scarce a day before was still a
secret, though now known to three instead of four. Henceforth, in fact,
'twould be a deadly, silent warfare betwixt one and two, and well I knew
that God's earth did not hold a blacker pair of villains than the
chaplain and his creature Tubal Ammon. But that did not dismay me; nay,
rather was I heartened by the thought that now, at least, I had a real
work (however desperate) in life. For the rest of it, come rack, come
rope, I would not flinch or turn aside. My course was clearly marked,
and I was minded to run it with a will. My father's blood flowed in my
veins, and though a cruel fate had snatched him from my side, he still
was mine, and this that I was bent upon seemed but a poor plain duty due
to one who had done everything for me. At any rate, 'twas all I could
do now for him, and I would gladly give my life for its accomplishment.
It was such feelings and such fierce resolves as these which kept me up
and made me adamant (I know it now--for afterwards, long afterwards, the
crash came), and, looking back through many years, I see no reason to
regret it; for it was this alone which made it possible for me to go
about my many pressing duties firm-jawed, silent, and clear-headed. And
this, I knew, was as my father would have had it, for he had ever little
tolerance or sympathy for those who wailed and whimpered in the face of
sorrow.
I will not dwell upon the many happenings of that dolorous day, for,
indeed, they have no business in these pages, and so may be told swiftly
in fewest words.
First, then, summoned hastily, came the family physician, an old
grey-headed, owl-eyed man, who, as I always felt, knew far more about me
than he ought to. He asked divers questions, got, I fear, short
answers; then shook his head, and murmured:
"Ah! 'tis as I feared; 'tis as I always said; the heart hath failed."
He said this with a solemn sadness, but yet, as it seemed to me, with
some small pride in that his prophecy had been fulfilled.
Next, eagerly (for ill news flies apace, and many messengers had been
dispatched) came kith and kin, flocking like crows into the old
ancestral tree, and, for the most part, trying hard (but vainly) to hide
an eager curiosity by means of sighs and tears. In truth, their
plaintive caws were little to my liking; and verily they must have
thought me something of a hardened monster as I moved about among them,
dry-eyed, immovable, and, as it seemed, bent only on cold business.
Thus the day passed swiftly, crowded as it was with thronging duties
(for, in spite of everyone and everything, I had decided that my father
should be buried on the morrow), and evening came before I found a
chance of going out. But when the sun had set, I left the dismal cawing
of the family crows, and, slipping forth, went down by unfrequented ways
into the town. Moreover, I went fully armed, for who could tell what
ugly violence or treachery might be abroad?
*CHAPTER XI*
*I Live and Learn*
The little town was all agog with men both young and old (farm hands for
the most part), who had come in to join a cause which ignorance
persuaded them would turn the kingdom upside down and make them so much
richer by the doing of it. Most of them were armed; some wore green
boughs stuck in their hats, while others waved them wildly; and everyone
was shouting out these words, which already I was sick of hearing:
"A Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"
Faith, 'twas as if the countryside had gone clean mad. "If this be how
they go about the changing of a king," thought I, "then Heaven have
mercy on them!"
There were many in this bawling throng who knew me, and not a few showed
signs of speaking to me of my loss; but I would have none of it, and so
passed by with nods or scanty greetings.
The Duke, I learned, had taken up his quarters at the "George", and
thither, though scarce knowing why, I went; and what a sight and babel
greeted me on drawing near the inn-yard! That of the previous night had
been as nothing to it.
The yard, and half the narrow street besides, were packed with men whose
one desire in life appeared to be to get inside the inn itself as
speedily as possible; and, to that end, they elbowed, pushed, and
wellnigh fought each other. They shouted, waved green boughs, sang
hymns and psalms; while ever and anon an oath or curse rang strangely
out as some poor wretch was crushed beyond endurance.
I watched them from a distance for a while in wondering silence, then
going up I touched a burly, pushing yokel on the arm, and asked what was
the meaning of so great a pother.
"Whoy, dost not know?" says he, regarding me with pity. "They be
a-takin' down the na-ams i'soide thur, and we be all a-goin' to sign
on."
"For Monmouth, eh?" said I.
"Aye, sure," says he. "Who else?"
"Have many joined?"
"Aye, hun'reds--thoosands! And you'm be just the sort o' man they be
a-wantin', zurr," he added, looking me up and down admiringly. "Coom
on! Coom! We be a-moovin' now. Kape tha' close behoind me, zurr."
And spreading out his arms he booed and barked as though the crowd
before him were a flock of sheep intended for the slaughter--as, alas!
full many of them were.
But although his words had made me quite as keen as he to get inside the
"George", methought I knew an easier, swifter way of doing it than his,
which, as it seemed to me, must surely take some hours.
So I forsook the crowd, which was far too busy to take heed of me, and
slipping round into that quiet street from which I had escaped the night
before, went up a narrow passage to the private side door of the inn.
'Twas fast, as had I imagined it would be, but when I knocked the bolts
were hastily withdrawn, the door was opened cautiously, and there before
me stood one of the thieving rascals who had tried to rob me of my
horse.
He started back and stared. I frowned upon him boldly.
"What now?" said he when we had taken our fill of one another. "What is
thy business, friend?"
His speech was thick, his face deep red, while as he stood there with a
hand upon the door, he swayed a little.
"The same as yesternight," I answered.
"Ah--our--our--godly--chaplain, eh?" jerked he.