which she was suddenly placed. Entering the larder, she possessed
herself hastily of a large loaf and a jug of milk,--making some
excuse--she scarcely knew what--to Patient, whom she found there; and
discovered Harry and a lamp waiting for her at the closet-door. He
had some carpenter's tools in the other hand. A hurried greeting was
exchanged between Edward and Celia, who conversed in whispers until
Harry returned, announcing that the passage was now open to the
garden, and that, to avoid suspicion, both had better go down again
to the parlor.
"You must talk in the night," he said.
Harry and Celia went back to the parlor. The latter sat down to her
work, hardly seeing a stitch she set. They had not been down-stairs
many minutes, when Lucy sprang up, triumphantly exclaiming that she
had won the game; at the same moment the sound of horses' feet was
audible outside, and a loud attack was made on the great bell which
hung in front of the house.
"Open to His Majesty's troops!"
The cry could be distinctly heard in the parlor.
"Goodness me!" gasped Madam Passmore, dropping her work in terror.
The Squire had recourse to stronger language than this. Harry, whose
composure seemed quite restored, went to the door and opened it with
every appearance of haste.
"Oh!" said he, in a cordial tone, "how do you do, Wallace? Pray come
in, my father will have infinite pleasure in making your
acquaintance. Father, here is an old comrade of mine."
"Your servant, Mr. Passmore," said Captain Wallace, bowing, with his
hat in his hand; "yours, ladies. I am very sorry for the ill errand
I come on. There is a Jacobite hiding in this neighborhood, a
Colonel in the rebel army, and a man of rank and influence--one Sir
Edward Ingram. I am in charge to search all the houses hereabouts,
and I am sure you will not take it ill of me if I ask leave not to
omit yours, though the loyalty of Mr. Passmore of Ashcliffe must ever
be above suspicion."
"Jacobites be hanged!" burst from the Squire. "Sir, you do me great
honor. No Jacobites in my house--at least not if I know it. Pray
search every corner, and cut all the cushions open if you like!"
"Thank you, Mr. Passmore. Only what I expected from a gentleman of
your high character. I may begin at once?"
"By all means!"
Captain Wallace called in one of his men--leaving the others to guard
the house outside--and after an examination of the parlor, they
proceeded up-stairs, Harry loyally volunteering to light them. In
about an hour they returned to the parlor.
"Mr. Passmore," said Captain Wallace, "'tis my duty to question every
person in the house, to make sure that this rebel has not been seen
nor heard of. You do not object? A form, you know--in such a case
as this, a mere form."
"Question away," said the Squire; "_I_ have neither seen nor heard of
him, and don't want to do either. Now for the ladies."
Madam Passmore answered the question with a quiet negative.
"It can scarcely be necessary to trouble the young ladies," gallantly
remarked the Captain. "But if they please to say just a word"--
"We have seen and heard nothing at all, Sir," said Lucy, innocently
replying for both; and the Captain did not repeat his question,
neither he nor the Squire apparently noticing the suspicious silence
of the elder sister.
"I must, if you please, ask leave to examine the servants."
Madam Passmore rang the bell, and ordered all the household up. They
assembled in wonder, and each in turn responded to the Captain's
queries by a simple denial of any knowledge on the subject. Patient
stood last, and when Captain Wallace came to her, he accidentally put
his first question in a different form from before.
"Do you know Sir Edward Ingram?"
"Ay do I," said she.
Celia listened with a beating heart. The innocent ignorance of
Patient might work them terrible harm, which she would be the last
person in the world to do wittingly.
"You know him?" repeated the Captain, in surprise.
"Do you think I shouldna ken the bairn I nursed?"
"Oh! you are his nurse, are you?"
"I was so, twenty-five years back."
"When did you see him last?"
"Four years past."
"Where?"
"At Havre, in France."
Celia breathed more freely
"Have you heard anything of his movements of late?"
"What do you mean?" inquired Patient, cautiously.
"Well, did you hear that he was likely to come into this
neighborhood, or anything of that sort?"
"I cannot say I havena heard that," was the quiet answer.
"When did you hear that?"
"He was expecting to come four years past, but he didna come; and I
heard a short space back that he might be looked for afore long."
Patient spoke slowly and thoughtfully.
"Who told you that?"
"My kinsman, Willie M'Intyre."
"Are you a Scots woman?"
"Ay," said Patient, with a flash of light in her eyes.
"Humph!" muttered the Captain. "Difficult folks those mostly to get
round. When did you see Willie M'Intyre?"
"An eight days or two since."
"Cannot you tell me the day?"
"I dinna keep a diary book," responded Patient, dryly.
"Whence had he come?"
"Whence should he come but from Scotland?"
"Where was he going?"
"I didna ask him."
Patient's information appeared to have collapsed all at once, and her
Scotticisms to increase.
"What is Willie M'Intyre?"
"A harper."
"How long was it since he left Scotland?"
"You are a learned gentleman, Sir; ye ken better nor me how many days
it would take."
"What else did he tell you about Sir Edward Ingram?"
"He told me he was looking unco sick when he saw him."
"Anything more?"
"I have na mair to say, Sir, without you have."
"You are a clever woman," involuntarily admitted the Captain, passing
his hand across his forehead as if in thought. "Well, and when did
he tell you to expect Sir Edward?"
"He didna tell me to expect him."
"What did he say about him?"
"The twa things I've told you."
"When did he say he was coming?" asked the Captain, impatiently.
"Afore lang."
"But _when_?"
"He didna name ony day."
Captain Wallace was no match for Patient, as might be seen.
"Have you seen Sir Edward since you saw M'Intyre?"
"No, Sir."
"Have you heard of his being here since then?"
"Being where?"
"Anywhere in this neighborhood."
Patient's answer came slowly this time, as if she were considering
something before speaking. But it was, "No, Sir."
"Are you telling me the truth?" asked Captain Wallace, knitting his
brows.
"I couldna tell ye aught else," answered Patient. "'Tis no lawful to
do evil that good may come. But no good will come, Sir, of your
hunting a man to death to whom Christ hath given power to become one
of the sons of God."
"Oh dear! a Puritan!" murmured Wallace--"a Covenanter, for aught I
know. Mr. Passmore, these are the most impracticable people you ever
meet--these Puritans; particularly when they are Scots. There is not
much loyalty among them; and what little there is is sacrificed to
their religion at any moment."
"I'm loyal, Sir," said Patient, softly--"to any covenanted King: but
needs be to the King of Kings the first."
"I fear you are a dangerous character," said Captain Wallace,
severely. "I am surprised to meet with such an one in this house.
However, you won't lie to me, being a Puritan--that is one good
thing. They never tell lies. Now listen! Do you know where Sir
Edward Ingram is at this moment?"
The "No Sir," came readily enough this time.
"Well, I suppose you can go," said Captain Wallace, doubtfully. "But
I am not at all satisfied with you--mark that! Your witness is very
badly given, and very unwillingly. I may want you again. If it
should be needful to search the house a second time, I certainly
shall do so. You have only just escaped being put under arrest now."
"I've told you the truth, Sir," said Patient, pausing. "I will tell
you the truth any day. But if it were to come to this--that my dying
could save you from finding my bairn Sir Edward, I wouldna haud my
life as dear as yon bittie of thread upon the floor!"
She courtesied and departed.
"Ah! that shows what the woman is," said Captain Wallace, carelessly.
"An enthusiast--a complete fanatic. Well, Mr. Passmore"--
"Sir," said the Squire, energetically, "I am by no means satisfied
with this. The house shall be searched again, if you please, and I
will join the party myself. Harry, fetch a longer candle--fetch two!
That woman may have hidden the fellow anywhere! I'll have every
corner looked into. There shall be no question of any hiding of
Jacobites in my house. Charley, go and get a candle too. You girls
have a lot of gowns and fallals in that closet in your room. Go and
bundle them all out! Make haste!"
"Oh, I say, what fun!" remarked Charley, to whom any connection
between the hunted man and his favorite sister never occurred.
Lucy left the room laughing to execute her father's behest, and Celia
dared not but follow, lest her absence should be remarked. The two
girls went hastily up-stairs, and at the top they found Patient
standing.
"I'll help you, Mrs. Lucy," said she. And as Lucy passed on,--"You
ken something, Madam Celia. Don't let those bloodhounds read it in
your eyes, as I do. And be calm. The Lord reigneth, my bairn."
"Yes, dear Patient, I know," was Celia's faltering answer: and she
went quietly into her own room.
[1] Matt. xi. 29.
[2] 1 Pet. ii. 22.
[3] Luke viii. 13.
[4] In the sunken circle which marked one of the habitations of the
ancient Iberii, the aborigines of Britain. One of their villages
stood above Merrivale Bridge, with a long avenue of stones (still
visible), intersected here and there by circles, and at a little
distance is a monolith.
XIII.
LADY GRISELDA'S RUBY RING
"He looketh upon us sweetly,
With His well-known greeting, 'Peace!'
And He fills our hearts completely,
And the sounds of the tempest cease;
But we know that the hour is come,
For one of us to go home."
--B.M.
Celia found Lucy already engaged in emptying the closet. Patient
came in and helped her until the bed was covered with cloaks and
dresses. They heard the searchers coming slowly toward them on the
other side of the passage, the Squire especially urging that not the
smallest corner should be left unsearched. At length they tapped at
the door for admittance. Charley came in first, holding his candle
high above his head, as if his mission were to explore the ceiling.
"You be off!" said the Squire roughly, as soon as he saw Patient.
"Why, Father!" interposed Lucy, "she has only been helping us to move
these things. You told us to make haste."
Lucy was unconsciously proving a useful ally.
"Wow!" came in a little smothered bark from somewhere, and Venus
waddled from under the valance and the dresses overhanging it.
"Go down, Veny!" said Celia, adding apologetically, "she will get in
the way."
She felt a terrible secret fear lest Venus should prove a more able
searcher than any other of the party.
"I'll carry her out of the way,"--and suiting the action to the word,
Lucy caught up the little dog and shut her outside.
A close examination was made of the room. Charley got into the
closet, and held his candle up.
"Nothing there, thanks to the young ladies," said Captain Wallace,
laughing, as he looked in.
"No--he'd be a clever fellow who could hide there," added the Squire,
in blissful ignorance.
"Why, here's a nail," said Charley, "close to the wall. You'll tear
your gowns on it. I'll pull it out."
Celia's very heart sank.
"Leave it just now, Charley," said Harry, coolly; "we shall want you
and your candle."
Charley sprang down and rejoined the searching party. Outside the
door they were also joined by Venus, who followed them into the next
room, which had been the bed-chamber of Isabella. She picked out
Captain Wallace, and followed close at his heels, paying no attention
to anybody else. The room was searched like the others, the last
thing which the Captain did being to look up the chimney. No sooner
did he approach the fireplace than Venus gave an angry growl and made
a futile attempt to bite him through his thick boots.
"What is the brute growling at?" demanded the Squire.
"I don't know, indeed," said Harry.
The growling continued so long as Captain Wallace was near the
chimney, but nobody except Venus knew why. As soon as the party
turned from Isabella's room to Henrietta's, which was the next, Venus
trotted back to Celia. At the close of the inspection, both Captain
Wallace and Squire Passmore were forced to acknowledge that no trace
of any hidden fugitive could be discovered. They went down-stairs.
Five minutes later Harry came lightly up again, and called to Celia,
who was helping Lucy to replace the dresses in the closet. She found
him in Isabella's chamber.
"Let us look at this chimney, Celia," he said. "It must be very near
the hiding-place. What made Veny growl?"
He had brought a small ladder from the housemaid's closet, with which
he mounted as far as he could go inside the wide old chimney. When
he came down, he looked pale and excited.
"Celia, we must get him out of the house. If either Wallace or my
father should think of returning to see the cause of Veny's growling,
he will infallibly be discovered. The chimneys join, and every sound
from one room can be heard in the other. Venus is wiser than we are.
The dog knew, though I did not, that there was a shorter passage to
the concealed chamber from Bell's chamber than from yours."
"What shall we do?" whispered Celia.
"Go down-stairs, and fetch from the buttery such provisions as you
can take to Sir Edward, of any portable kind. Converse with him if
you will, but let it be in the lowest tones; and if you hear any
noise in this chamber be as mute as mice. I will go down and set my
father and Wallace at some game, and get my mother to prepare
Henrietta's chamber for him, as it is too late for him to think of
leaving to-night now. Then I shall go and have a horse ready saddled
as near as is safe. When the clock strikes nine, lead Sir Edward
down to the well door. You cannot miss it, if only you keep going
down. I will meet you with a lantern at the well, at nine or as soon
after as possible."
"Is the well low enough, with all this rain?"
"Water up to the ankles, but he will not care for that."
Harry and Celia left the room softly, departing on their several
errands.
"Wallace," said the former, coming into the parlor, "do you think it
is necessary to keep your men on guard outside? 'Tis a bitter cold
night, and if they may come into the kitchen, the poor fellows would
be none the worse for a hot supper."
"I do not think it is necessary," said the Captain.
Captain Wallace having called the men in, Harry took them to the
kitchen, and desired Molly the cook-maid to give them as good a
supper as she could, with hot ale, for which Robert was despatched to
the cellar. This done, Harry went up-stairs to his own room.
Silently opening his window--which, fortunately for his project, was
at the north-east corner of the house, away from both parlor and
kitchen--he climbed down the lime-tree which stood close beside it,
and took his way noiselessly to the stable. Meanwhile Celia, who had
concealed in her pocket and by means of the dressing-gown over her
arm, two standing pies, came back to her own room, and descended to
the concealed chamber.
"See what I have brought you!" she said to the fugitive. "The troops
are here, and have searched the house twice, and Harry thinks that we
must get you away to-night. He will have a horse ready for you, and
will meet you at the well at nine o'clock. Do you mind going through
a foot of water?"
"I should be a Sybarite if I did," smiled Edward in reply. "Celia, I
am bringing you into danger, and I am very sorry for it. I begin to
think now that it was but a cowardly act to seek shelter here; yet
when a man is riding for life he scarce pauses to choose his course."
"You have brought me into no danger, dear, into which I did not
choose to be brought," she answered. "But if they found you, Edward,
what would they do to you?"
"What they did but a few days since on Tower Hill to my friend Lord
Derwentwater,"[1] he said, gravely.
Celia shuddered as the agony and ignominy of that horrible scaffold
came up before her eyes.
"They will not do it without the Lord's permission," added he,
quietly. "Celia, I am in grave doubt whether I have done right in
this matter. Not that I could ever see it right to fight against
King James, nor that I doubt which would have been the right side to
take at the time of the Revolution. I cannot quite see--what I know
would be Patient's view, and is the view of many good men--that we
had no right to fight for a Popish King. I do not judge those who
thought so--to our own Master we all stand or fall. But I see the
matter in another light. It was not that King James, being a Papist,
was made King out of his turn, but that, being heir to the throne, he
became a Papist. I see an immense difference between the two. God,
not we, made him our King; God made the present King James his son,
knowing that he would be brought up a Papist. What right had we to
cast him off? Now the case is altered; he is cast off; and,
considering the danger of Popery, have I, _now_, any right to bring
him in again? This is my difficulty; and if I can leave England in
safety, I do not think I shall draw my sword in the Jacobite cause
again, though I never could take the oath of allegiance to any other
King. I will never dare to attempt the prevention of the Lord's
will, if only I can be certain what the Lord's will is in this
matter."
"Well, I do not see the question quite as you do. It seems to me
that they were right to cast off a Popish King. But we have no time
to discuss politics to-night. You will leave England, then, at once?"
"There is no hope of life otherwise. The Elector of Hanover and his
Ministers can have no mercy for us who fought at Sheriffmuir."
"And when am I likely to see you again, Edward?"
"When the Heavenly Jerusalem descendeth out of Heaven from God," he
answered, softly.
"No sooner?" responded Celia, tearfully.
"God knoweth," he said. "How do I know? I have a fancy sometimes--a
foreboding, if you will--that my life will not be long. So much the
better. Yet I do not wish to be longing selfishly for rest ere the
Lord's work for me is done. Look here, Celia! Look well at this
ring, so that you will know it again in any place after any lapse of
time."
He drew the ring from his finger and passed it to her. It was an
old-fashioned gold ring, set with a single ruby. Inside it was
engraved in obsolete spelling, a "posy"--
"In thys my chance
I doe rejoyce."
"I shall know this again," said Celia, returning the ring after a
close inspection. "'Tis an old jewel."
"A family heirloom," said Edward. "Our mother was married with that
ring. It came into out family as the wedding-ring of Lady Grissel
Fleming, our grandmother. I will endeavor to contrive, dear Cicely,
that by some means this ring shall reach your hands after my death.
When you next see it in the possession of any but myself, it will
signify to you that I have entered into my rest."
"Edward, where is your wife?" asked Celia, suddenly.
A spasm of pain crossed Edward's face.
"I have no wife," he said. "The Lord had more need of my Flora than
I had, and two summers past He said unto her, 'Come up higher.' I am
almost glad now that she was spared this. I saw her but twice after
I parted from you at Havre. And I do not think it will be long now
ere I shall see her again."
"You seem to like the prospect, Edward," said Celia, remonstratingly.
"Have I so very much to live for, my sister? I can do no good to
you, especially now that we must be parted; and my sole object in
life is to do and suffer all the will of God. Do you wonder if I
wish at times that it would be the Lord's will to summon me home?"
There was a short pause, broken by Edward's sudden exclamation,
"Celia!"
She looked up to see what was coming.
"How long have you known of this chamber?"
"Harry said he had known of it for five years; I never heard a word
about it before to-night."
"Did he suspect that it was occupied?"
"I think he said it was, or had been, shortly before he discovered
it."
"Would you like to know by whom?"
"Very much. Why, Edward, how do you know?"
"There is not time to explain that; but I can tell you that Father
Stevens, a Jesuit priest, was in hiding here for some time, and for
about two months, Gilbert Irvine."
"What were they doing here? and how did they get their provisions?"
"What Stevens was doing I cannot say; but Gilbert's object was you.
He was sent here by my mother to make himself acquainted with you by
sight, and to discover all he could about you and your friends here.
As to provisions, he catered for himself in the village and
elsewhere; but on two or three occasions, when he dared not venture
out, and was very hard bestead, he supplied himself from Mr.
Passmore's larder."
"How did he get there?"
"Through your room."
"Edward!"
"It was a bold move, and might have cost him dear if you had awoke."
"Do you mean to say that he did it while Lucy and I were sleeping in
the room?"
"Yes," said Edward, with his grave smile.
Celia sent her memory back to the time, and a dim vision gradually
revealed itself to her of one winter night when, awaking suddenly,
she had fancied she heard mice in the wainscot, and the next morning
the black cat had suffered at the hands of Molly for the absence of a
partridge and a cold chicken from the buttery.
"But how came my step-mother to know anything about this hidden
chamber?"
"Through Stevens, who at one time was among her confessors. Oh! the
priests know their old hiding-places, though the owners may have lost
the tradition of them."
"Have you seen my Lady Ingram of late?"
"Within the last six months."
"How does she at Chaillot?"
"The nuns say she is killing herself with austerities, and she looks
as though she might be. She has her salvation to make, you see."
"What a dreadful delusion!" sighed Celia.
"One of man's hundred usurpations of the prerogative of God. If man
may not save himself wholly, he will save himself in part; he will do
anything rather than let Christ do everything. 'Tis just the world,
the flesh, and the devil, in a peculiar shape, and of a very fair
color. 'Puffed up by his fleshly mind,'[2] saith St. Paul of this
manner of mortifying of the flesh. The subtlest serving of the devil
lies, I think, in this kind of renouncing of the world. And the
world, in whatever shape, 'passeth away, and the lust thereof; but he
that doeth the will of God abideth forever.'"[3]
As Edward spoke the last word, the old clock in the hall struck nine.
Both rose, and Edward, drawing Celia to him, kissed his last farewell.
"God be brother and sister to you, dear," he said, "and keep thee in
all thy ways;[4] set thee in the secret place of the Most High, that
thou mayest abide under the shadow of the Almighty.[5] Christ be
with thee! Amen!"
They went softly down to the door opening into the well, outside of
which was Harry with a ladder. There was another figure there beside
Harry's, but the moonlight was not sufficient to show who it might be.
"Say farewell to Patient for me," said Edward. "I wish I could have
seen her. Adieu!"
In another minute Edward was safely landed. As soon as he touched
the ground, the second figure came forward and threw its arms round
his neck.
"Eh, my bairn! my bairn!" sobbed a voice which both Edward and Celia
knew well. "I could never bear to let you go but a word. The Lord
bless thee and guide thee! My ain bit laddie, that I nursed!"
Edward returned the embrace very warmly. Patient had always been far
more of a mother to him than Lady Ingram. He seemed disposed to
hesitate for a moment, but Harry urged him away, and motioned to
Celia to return. She left the three on the outside of the well.
Harry and Edward hastening to the place where the horse waited, and
Patient, silent and motionless, watching her darling pass from her
sight.
Celia was early down-stairs the next morning. Harry met her in the
hall, and contrived to whisper along with his morning kiss, "All
right." Further communication was impossible, for the Squire was
just behind them, and the three entered the parlor together. They
found Captain Wallace looking out of the window.
"Good-morning, Captain," said the Squire. "I suppose you have heard
nothing of your man?"
"Nothing whatever, Mr. Passmore."
"Well, I'll have the house searched again by daylight. First thing
after breakfast"--
"Your energy is most laudable, Mr. Passmore; but really, after two
previous searches--is it necessary?"
"Necessary or unnecessary, it shall be done, Sir," said the Squire,
warmly. "No man on earth shall have the shadow of reason for
suspecting any concealment of rebels in Ashcliffe Hall. You will do
me the favor to accompany me, and Harry and Charley shall come too."