THE PLOT IN PROGRESS.
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire
Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire;
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek,
Did deep design and counsel speak.
SCOTT.
It was with mingled feelings of sorrow, suspicion, and gladness that
John Manners received news from Sir Henry de la Zouch, who had gone
over to his castle some days before, that he was coming back upon the
morrow to escort his guests to Ashby.
Sir Thomas Stanley had returned to Haddon, and though he was well
satisfied, upon the whole, with the result of his mission, yet he
clearly perceived the real state of affairs, and was far too astute
not to make strenuous efforts to alter their course.
He had interposed himself as much as possible between Dorothy and
her forbidden lover, and had succeeded in some degree in keeping
them apart. He might, however, have spared himself the trouble, for,
although he prevented their meeting on some occasions, yet love was
conqueror in the end, and with Lettice as a trusty helpmeet, the two
lovers found ways and means by which to see each other of which he
never dreamed.
Sir Thomas was too much of a gentleman to affront Manners, as he had
been secretly urged to do, but he made no secret of his opinion that
it would be a relief to him when the time came for the visitors to
depart.
True to his word, Sir Henry arrived at Haddon on the following day,
bringing with him an invitation for Sir Thomas Stanley and Crowleigh
to accompany him on his return.
Sir Thomas refused it, as indeed he was expected to do, but Sir
Everard Crowleigh, glad to be able to bear his friend company,
promptly accepted the offer, and Manners began to look upon the
prospect of his stay at Ashby with a little more hopefulness.
Sir George Vernon was too hospitable a host to let even De la Zouch
depart again upon the self-same day upon which he had arrived. He
would not tolerate the idea for a single moment; there must be a
carousal and a dance at night in honour of the departing guests, and
then they would be at liberty to depart upon the first grey streaks of
dawn if they were so minded.
De la Zouch, well aware that the King of the Peak was the soul
of hospitality itself, had calculated upon the offer, and at once
accepted it; while the baron, not content with what he had already
done, when the morrow came, drew the designing Stanley with himself
into his private room, and, under the pretext of taking counsel with
him, kept him by his side, leaving the way open for Manners to have a
farewell afternoon with Dorothy.
De la Zouch proposed a ride, and as there appeared to be little
prospect of enjoying undisturbed peace at Haddon, the two lovers fell
in with the suggestion, and very soon after the mid-day meal they met,
booted and spurred, at the gate of the hall.
"Aye, aye, there," hailed a voice, as Manners was helping Dorothy off
the riding-stone into the saddle, "whither away so gaily?"
"Aye, Everard," replied his friend, as he turned round and saw who it
was that called. "Hurry up, we are off for a ride."
"Shall I come, too?" he inquired, as he hastened up and stood beside
them.
"Do," returned Dorothy. "Make haste, though, for time is precious with
us now."
"I will not keep you waiting, fair Mistress Dorothy," he gallantly
responded; "I will follow thee anon. Which way am I to come, Bakewell,
Cromford, or which?"
"Oh, Cromford," replied Sir Henry quickly. "See how restive my horse
is, he will bolt off if I try to hold him in much longer. Are we
ready? Let us go then; time is short, remember," and giving the rein
to his steed he started off at a good pace, whilst the others followed
quickly in his wake.
It was a beautiful day, and the scenery around was so majestically
grand that even its familiarity did not detract from its beauty in the
eyes of the little party as it rode laughingly by. The early leaves
were just beginning to drop from off the parent stems; the ferns and
bracken, which grew in abundance on either side of the road, were just
assuming their peculiar fading, golden hue, whilst the hardier leaves
were just beginning to bedeck themselves in the full glory of their
rich autumnal tints.
"This is beautiful," exclaimed Dorothy, enthusiastically, as she gazed
enraptured at the rich variety of form and colour which met them at
every turn. "Look at those cliffs. It is lovely, it is grand."
They had just passed the little hamlet of Matlock Bath, and were
approaching Cromford. There were no stone walls then to hide from view
even the smallest portion of the gorgeous picture. From the road
to the Derwent there sloped a narrow strip of marshy meadow, which
covered itself with a superabundance of luxurious tall grasses and
tough bracken. Beyond the stream there rose, standing straight up by
the water's edge, a wall of jagged and scarred rock, overgrown with
trees and climbing foliage, which was faithfully mirrored in the
placid water below. The scene could hardly fail to appeal to their
sense of beauty.
Manners avowed that he thought it the fairest spot on earth, and De la
Zouch, not to be outdone in gallantry, added that the presence of so
fair a maiden as Dorothy Vernon in the midst of so much natural beauty
made a picture a better than which he never desired to see.
"And, after all, fair Dorothy," he concluded, "I wot that it is but
the reflection of thine own sweet form and peerless grace."
Dorothy frowned. She did not care for compliments from Sir Henry de
la Zouch; she always feared them, for they generally had a sting
somewhere, and she had noticed that, as a rule, they were followed by
something more or less unpleasant.
"Sir Everard has not come yet," she exclaimed, turning round in her
saddle, "perhaps he is not coming after all?"
"He is sure to follow us," replied Manners. "Maybe he has been
delayed, and yet we have come slowly. Hark! I hear the ring of hoofs
upon the road even now."
They halted to await their companion, but they soon discovered, as the
sound of the galloping grew rapidly more and more distinct, that the
horseman was advancing towards them from the opposite direction.
"He is hindered, surely," exclaimed De la Zouch, who heartily wished
he was stating the truth, "and it will soon be time for us to turn our
faces again towards the Hall."
"Not just yet, Sir Henry," Dorothy quickly replied; "but you may; and
you will."
"Not yet, eh! Then let us have a race along this lane," suggested
De la Zouch, evading the hint and pointing to a long lane almost
completely overarched with the massive branches of the overhanging
trees which grew on either side.
Dorothy looked at Manners appealingly.
"What say you, Doll?" he inquired. "You shall determine."
"Nay, you decide."
"To that clump of trees," interposed De la Zouch.
"Well, if Dorothy does not object--"
"Not I, in truth," she interrupted.
"Away we go, then," replied Manners. "There and back at once?" he
asked.
"No, only there," replied Sir Henry, ill-concealing a malicious grin.
"It will be a long, long time before you come back this way, I trow,"
he added under his breath.
"But we are not yet placed," said Dorothy's lover, as De la Zouch was
about to start away. "We two must fall in the rear, Sir Henry."
"Nay, I am equally as well mounted as you," returned the maiden. "We
will run upon our merits, or I shall withdraw."
In a few minutes they were careening along the course in gallant
style, as nearly as possible all three abreast, but as they neared the
trees which formed the winning mark, Sir Henry fell behind and left
the other two to finish the exciting race alone.
"Curse them, a murrain on them!" he muttered, as he pulled his horse
to a standstill; "where can the fellows be?"
His objurgation might have been heard, for no sooner were the words
out of his mouth than he saw, rising up from the brushwood, the men of
whom he had just spoken in such uncomplimentary terms.
Burdened as he was with anxiety for the successful issue of his plot,
and fearful lest at the last stage it should miscarry and snatch away
the prize for which he had struggled so long, and which already seemed
to be within his grasp, De la Zouch was in a terrible ferment of hope
and fear.
"The villains," he muttered, as he sat still in his saddle impatiently
watching; "why don't they move? It will be too late in a minute. I'll
thrash every mother's son of them when we get back to Ashby, that I
will. Dear me! what a fool I am to forget the signal;" and putting his
hand to his mouth he blew a loud shrill whistle through his fingers.
Manners and Dorothy had just raced up together to the trees, and
hearing the unusual sound that their companion made, they turned
round at the same instant to see how much they were before him, and to
ascertain the meaning of the noise. Just at this juncture, in answer
to the signal of their lord, De la Zouch's hirelings rushed through
the already prepared gaps in the tall hedges and fell upon the lovers,
taking them completely by surprise.
Dorothy was quickly unhorsed with no more roughness than her own
resistance necessitated, but it was not so with her lover. Though
Manners had nothing to defend himself with, except the stock of his
riding-whip, yet he gave so good an account of himself, and wielded
his paltry weapon to so much purpose that he quickly freed himself,
and rushed to aid poor Doll. This purpose, however, he failed to
accomplish. The odds were ten to one, but even then it was for some
time an open question whether the one would not prevail over the ten.
All his skill was brought into play. He laid about him right and left
until his weapon broke, and then, undismayed, he lunged out with the
remnant, and succeeded in wresting a bludgeon from one of his injured
opponents, and plunged into the fray with renewed vigour.
In spite of his efforts, however, he was unable to rescue Dorothy.
Having once got her into their possession the men were determined
to keep her, and she was borne away from the contest ineffectually
struggling with her captors, who, having retired to a safe distance,
awaited with their quarry until Manners himself was captured too.
De la Zouch sat aghast at this exhibition of his rival's prowess.
Whatever the cost might be it was imperative that Manners should not
escape to tell the tale at Haddon, and he alternately groaned and
cursed each time he witnessed his followers quail and fall beneath the
terrific blows of their antagonist. He had come, he thought, prepared
for any contingency, but it appeared as though his force was by no
means strong enough to achieve the desired end.
Manners himself, suspicious of De la Zouch, as he all along had been,
perceived at the outset the trap into which he had been led, and now,
finding it useless to attempt Dorothy's rescue any longer, and feeling
the first approach of weariness come warningly over him, set spurs
to his horse and galloped back again towards Sir Henry de la Zouch,
intent on wreaking a full vengeance upon him, and at the same time
determined to make an effort to escape in order to discover aid by
which to rescue his betrothed.
"Villain!" he hissed, "thou shalt pay dearly for this."
De la Zouch did not wait to meet the overpowering fury of his foe.
He no longer marvelled at the result of the tournament. He had seen
enough of Manners' prowess already to have much faith left in his own
powers of defense. To him distance lent enchantment to the view, so
turning his horse sharply round he galloped away, bidding Manners do
his worst.
It would have fared ill with the knight of Ashby had his foe but once
reached within arm's length of him; but Fortune, after wavering about
as if uncertain which way to make up its mind, declared itself at
last upon the side of villainy, and Manners was stretched low upon the
ground by a stone hurled at him by one of his assailants.
With his fall Dorothy's last chance of escape was taken from her.
De la Zouch heard the groan of his injured foe, and turning his face
round to ascertain its meaning, he was just in time to see his rival
drop from his saddle upon the road, where he was quickly surrounded
amid a considerable show of bravery by the minions of De la Zouch to
whom he had just given such a terrible exhibition of his skill.
"You cowardly knaves," cried that worthy, "secure him ere he escapes
again."
Not a man stirred, for Manners had inspired them with so wholesome a
dread of the power of his arm that, although he was sorely wounded, no
one was willing to venture within his reach.
"Secure him, I say," imperiously repeated Sir Henry, who, from his
safe position on horseback, could well afford to ridicule their fears
and give his commands with confidence.
Manners with difficulty managed to raise himself upon his elbow,
and he looked so fierce and desperate that the solitary man who had
advanced towards him retreated with dismay.
"By St. George, seize him, sirrah," exclaimed the knight, springing
off his saddle in high dudgeon. "You are all cowards together."
"Seize him, do you say," returned the man, insolently; "seize him,
do you say? Seize him yourself, then, for I vow I have had more than
enough of it already. He fights like a dragon; see here," and the
man bared his arm and showed a number of bruises upon it. "Now then,
master," he continued, "seize him yourself, say I, for I will have
no more to do with the affair;" and to this his companions sullenly
murmured assent.
"A woman would have less fear than thee," returned the knight
contemptuously, as he glanced at the arm held out before him. "Why, I
have fought for hours after being grievously wounded in the fray."
It had been more to Sir Henry's mind to have struck the man down to
the ground for his insolence, and this he felt strongly impelled
to do, but seeing the threatening aspect of the man's companions he
restrained his fury, promising himself that his punishment should lose
nothing by the fact of it being reserved to another and a safer time.
It was with difficulty that he had contented himself with returning
so mild an answer, but the man's retort drove him at once beyond the
bounds of prudence and patience, and made him utterly reckless.
"Mayhap you have," returned the man incredulously, "but I'll warrant
me it was no fault of thine. You showed us some of your skill just
now."
"I will prove it," shouted the knight, furiously, and, suiting the
action to the word, he seized hold of the nearest weapon, a stout ash
stick, and advancing towards the dazed and bleeding esquire, he dealt
him a blow on the head which stretched him insensible upon the turf.
"Coward!" cried the man, springing forward from among his companions.
"You are the coward. I will be no party to such a cold-blooded murder
as this," and his bosom swelled with indignation as he turned round to
his companions and pointed to where Manners lay.
"Who says I am a coward? Who dares to speak such insolence?" demanded
De la Zouch, trembling all over with rage.
"I do, and I repeat it," replied the other, bending over the prostrate
form of his late antagonist.
For a moment Sir Henry stood in speechless amazement at such
unlooked-for presumption, and then suddenly raising his weapon, he
brought it down upon his offending servant, and stretched him beside
the object of his sympathy.
"Who says I am a coward now?" he fiercely asked, turning upon the
abashed companions of the latest victim of his temper.
Whatever the others thought, they wisely held their peace, and,
terrified and cowed by the lesson their lord had taught them, they
silently raised the two inanimate bodies, and, according to their
instructions, proceeded to rejoin Dorothy and her guard ere they began
their journey back to the castle at Ashby.
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