THE CLOSE OF THE DAY.
See how the wily rascal plays his part.
With many a groan and many a practised art.
Around his victims he the net entwines,
Nor rests till he is snared within its lines.
But sure such hurtsome craft and wicked toil,
Will eftsoon on the villain's head recoil.
In the meantime the chase had grown in excitement. The hawks were as
eager to distinguish themselves as the birds were to escape, and the
sport waxed fast and furious.
As the sun declined, the scattered hawkers struggled back to the
appointed rendezvous to partake of refreshment ere they began their
return journey. By ones and twos they came, bearing with them the
trophies of their sport, which they deposited in a heap before the
ladies.
No one missed De la Zouch at first, and it was not until nigh upon the
conclusion of the meal that his absence was remarked.
"Why, where is Sir Henry de la Zouch?" asked the old knight.
No one had seen him for some time.
"Ah, well," exclaimed Sir George, "'tis a bad plan to be betwixt towns
at mealtimes, eh, Doll? I suppose he'll come soon, though. Perhaps
he's having the best run of the day all alone;" and the knight sighed
at the bare thought of his being away from it.
But Sir George's anticipations were not fulfilled, for when the meal
was finished De la Zouch had not appeared.
"He may have met with an accident?" suggested Manners.
"I rather think Sir Henry is afraid of me," stammered old Sir John de
Lacey, as he buried his face in the last tankard of ale.
"Then he were wise indeed to stay away," added Sir Thomas Stanley,
with a sly wink. "I, for one, would not lightly risk a combat with so
doughty a knight as yourself, else Margaret might eftsoon weep for a
lover departed."
As there was still some time left, and there was no certain knowledge
that Sir Henry needed their assistance, it was determined to return
slowly homewards, and if sport offered itself upon the way to turn
aside and follow it. The party had not been long in motion before it
roused a "fall" of woodcocks, the very sight of which--so excessively
rare at such a time--infused into the sportsmen all the animation
of which they were capable. The hawks shot up after them, and their
bells, which could be heard tinkling even when the birds were beyond
the range of vision, served in some degree to inform the hunters which
direction they should take.
"Well, if De la Zouch is doing better than this, why then he is
welcome to it," said Sir George, as with his coat sleeve he wiped away
the perspiration which was streaming down his face. "'Tis fine sport,
this, Master Manners," he added, and the old baron chuckled with glee.
It was at this moment that the head falconer approached.
"We have found Sir Henry, my lord," he said. "He is sorely injured by
a fall."
"Ha! is that so? Then you were right, Master Manners," exclaimed Sir
George, as he turned round to the falconer. "Where is he?" he asked.
"Over the ditch, my lord, close by the wall where his page is standing
by his side," and he pointed to where Eustace stood.
Sir George blew his horn, and in answer to the signal the eager
hunters broke off their chase and returned, puzzled in no small degree
by the summons they had received. In a few brief words the situation
was explained to them, and the party rapidly pushed on to rejoin their
injured companion.
De Lacey, upon hearing that his quondam friend was hurt, was so
overcome by a most chivalric spirit of forgiveness that he determined
to be the first to reach his side, and to offer him what relief lay
within his power. Filled with this noble resolve, he hurried forward,
but, unfortunately for him, he was not destined to accomplish his
mission, for as he was crossing the ditch his pole snapped asunder,
and he suddenly found himself located in the very centre of the rank
mud dyke. There he was, and all his efforts to free himself caused him
only to sink deeper and deeper.
"O, Blessed Mary, save me; save me!" he yelled out in an agony
of anguish as he felt himself slowly but surely sinking; but not,
apparently, feeling very much assured about the answer to his prayer,
he turned from things spiritual to things visible and mortal.
"Help me; save me, George," he cried.
Sir George Vernon was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of
the affair to lend any assistance just then, for he well knew that two
feet, if not less than that, was the excess of its depth.
"Let him alone," he cried. "If he had not so befuddled his head with
ale he would remember as well as I do that twenty inches would reach
the bottom of the mud."
Had Lady Maude been there she would in all probability have sent
her lord and master to aid the poor unfortunate, but she was safe
at Haddon, and, rejoicing in his freedom from restraint, he laughed
louder and louder as he watched the frantic efforts of his friend.
"Don't let me die," pleaded poor De Lacey. "Don't let me die like a
dog. Oh, dear, I'm going, I'm going! Blessed Virgin, help me; save
me!" and the old man made a last great struggle to free himself.
Manners could bear it no longer. He clearly perceived that what
was fun to them was mortal terror to the pitiable object of their
merriment, and, advancing to the edge of the dyke, he held out his
pole at arm's length to render him what assistance he could.
"Here, take hold of it," he cried.
Sir John endeavoured to obey the injunction, but he could not even
touch it, and he sank back again in despair.
"Why, man," laughed Sir George, "as I'm a Vernon, you know as well as
I do that thou canst never sink deep in two feet of mud."
The words roused De Lacey to struggle to his feet and attempt to
extricate himself. He staggered forward and advanced a foot or
two, but the slimy mud had such a determined hold of him that he
overbalanced himself, and fell forward at full length into the ditch.
This time, however, he was closer to the bank, and making another
effort, he grasped the pole which was still held out to help him.
Manners leaned forward, and pulled with all his might, but for some
time it was an open question whether he would go in or Sir John come
out.
At this critical juncture Dorothy arrived upon the scene of the
disaster. The sight of the old man's distress at once appealed to her
womanly nature, and she had but to murmur a word of pity, when, in a
moment, half-a-dozen knights leapt over to fulfil her unspoken wish.
With this accession of strength the captive was easily freed, and a
queer figure he was. It would have been difficult for a stranger to
have determined exactly what he was; for, covered as he was to the
depth of several inches with black mud, he looked more like an animal
of prehistoric times--such as we see represented by fossils--than any
human being.
De Lacey was promptly rolled upon the turf, and the pages set to work
and endeavoured to reach his person by scraping away the adhesive
slime with the aid of sticks and stones.
"Get up, man, get up," exclaimed Sir George. "Here is Doll waiting to
honour thee with a dance."
Dorothy shrank back, while Sir John, utterly exhausted, sank back
again helplessly upon the ground. Seeing that he was totally unable
to walk of his own accord, and in too dirty a condition to lean
upon anyone's arm, a rough extempore litter was made, upon which the
unfortunate knight was set and carried away, loudly lamenting the
unkindness of the fate which had brought him to such a sorry plight.
"And now let us see what we can do for De la Zouch," said Sir George
Vernon, and they proceeded to the spot where the injured knight was
lying.
"How now, Sir Henry? What's this, any bones broken, eh? How did you do
it, man; was it here?" and having delivered himself of this string of
questions, the King of the Peak leaned against the wall and awaited
the reply.
"More hurt than injured, I believe," replied the other, "but Eustace
here will tell thee all about it;" and Eustace, who had carefully got
the story by heart, recounted how, when they were after a fine bevy
of quail, his master's pole had snapped as he was springing up, and
instead of clearing the wall he had fallen heavily against it.
The pole, broken in twain, which lay upon the grass close by, attested
the truth of the statement.
"Sir Benedict," exclaimed the baron, "thou art somewhat learned in
leechcraft; see if thou canst do aught. Tell us what is amiss."
À Woode stooped down, and after a prolonged examination he gave it as
his opinion that some of his friend's ribs were broken.
Another litter was quickly made up and De la Zouch, who was now
feeling the full effects of the injuries he had received, and who in
reality stood in need of assistance, was placed upon it and carried
off in the wake of Sir John de Lacey.
Leaving them to pursue their way homewards, the hunting party set off
once more to make a fresh attempt at sport ere the day should close.
But now the fortune which had so favoured them during the day deserted
them. Not a bird was seen, and after vainly beating about for some
time the party at last reluctantly determined to wend its way once
more towards Haddon. Sir George sounded his horn again, and in answer
the wanderers returned from all quarters of the wood, all of them
light-hearted and most of them light-handed too.
The route now taken was precisely the same by which they had advanced
during the day, and they soon arrived at the spot where the struggle
had taken place. Dorothy discovered the first signs of the conflict.
"Why, what in the name of faith is this?" she cried, as she pointed
down to the ground. "'Tis a noble, I declare."
"And here is another," added Crowleigh, stooping down and picking up
the glittering coin.
"And here's a comb, what a nice--"
Sir Benedict never missed that sentence, for as he bent down to pick
it up he caught sight of the body of the packman, and he started back
affrighted at the sight. "Look!" he cried, "'Tis a--the blessed saints
protect us, 'tis a murder see!" and he pointed to the tree.
"A what?" asked Sir George, coming up. "What's a murder? Where?"
"Here, see!" and à Woode pulled away the twigs which had but half
hidden the body from view.
"Heaven forfend us!" ejaculated the baron as he gazed horror-stricken
at the body. "'Tis a foul villainy, and so near Haddon, too."
"'Tis the poor Derby pedlar," exclaimed Dorothy, "and it was but
yester e'en since he was at the Hall."
"Ha! 'tis lately done, I see. Trust me, I shall see to this. We'll
have no ghosts round Haddon, Doll. To-morrow we'll enquire into it. I
must get to the root of this."
"'Tis evident it was a robbery," suggested Manners. "Even now the
knaves may be lurking round."
Sir George took the hint and the vicinity was closely examined, but,
of course, not a trace of the perpetrators could be found; so, leaving
the followers to bring on the body in the rear, the party hurried
forward to gain the friendly shelter of the Hall and to partake of the
bountiful feast which the Lady Maude had provided for them.