ON A FALSE SCENT.
I can counterfeit the deep tragedian!
Speak, and look back, and pry on every side,
Tremble, and start at wagging of a straw.
Pretending deep suspicion; ghastly looks
Are at my service like enforced smiles,
And both are ready in their offices,
At any time to grace my stratagems.
SHAKESPEARE.
Dorothy Vernon had impatiently awaited the conclusion of the
contest, and the prodigious amount of faith she had in her lover's
capabilities, coupled with what she had already witnessed of the
fight, led her to hope that he would yet return victorious to deliver
her.
She had ceased to struggle ere the victors returned, partly because
of the hope with which she had deluded herself, and partly because
her attempts had only wearied her without bringing her any nearer to
success; but at the first glimpse of the slowly approaching company
she broke away from her too trustful captors and fled precipitately
towards the advancing party.
"Let me go to him; is he hurt?" she cried, as one of her guardians
overtook her and pulled her to a standstill, and starting forward
again she left a fragment of her dress between the man's fingers, and
hastened on again until she reached her lover's side.
"Speak, John," she exclaimed in piteous tones, as she gazed upon his
pallid face and livid form. "Speak just one word to me."
But Manners did not speak. Thoroughly stunned by the blows he had
received, he lay quite unconscious in the position in which he had
been placed, and he was so weakened by the loss of blood from his
wounds that his immediate return to consciousness was exceedingly
problematical. He lay deaf, and apparently dead, whilst Dorothy
pleaded in vain for a word from his lips.
"Just one word," she repeated, pathetically.
"Poor Lady," exclaimed Sir Henry's page, who was in charge of the
party. "Don't take it to heart so much; he will come round soon, and
be himself again. Nay, touch her not," he commanded, as one of the men
was about to take her away, "she will do no harm."
"He is dead," she sobbed, and ere she could be assured that her
conjecture was wrong she fainted away, and was gently laid beside
her lover, while they were borne swiftly and silently, by sequestered
roads, from the scene of the adventure.
Sir Henry watched them departing till a turn in the road hid them from
view, and then, bethinking himself of his position, he mounted his
steed and rode rapidly away, feeling immensely relieved that, after
all, he had proved successful.
A few minutes in the saddle sufficed him, and then dismounting, he
took of his hat and belaboured it well with the stock end of his whip.
He satisfied himself at length, and ceasing from his efforts in that
direction he laid it on the ground and surveyed the effect.
It looked battered indeed, and evidently well pleased with the result,
the knight set busily to work upon his clothes. He carefully tore them
here and there with a sharp-pointed piece of wood, while to complete
the deception, he spoiled the appearance of his attire by daubing it
freely with dirt.
"I trow that will be enough," he murmured, as ceasing his labours he
complacently gazed upon the transformation he had effected; "but no!"
he added, "I had best be on the safe side," and he gently scratched
his hands to give himself the appearance of having passed through a
long and stern struggle.
"A bruise or two would improve my appearance considerably," he added,
"but then bruises hurt and are apt to turn awkward; I think I might
safely spare myself the pain; but I might, at all events, break my
whip-stock and carry the end of it back;" and having settled these
points to his own satisfaction, he mounted his saddle afresh, and
setting spurs to his horse he never drew rein until long after he had
passed out of the lane, and was well on the high road to Haddon.
As he neared the vicinity of the Hall he proceeded to put into
practice what yet remained unfinished of his disguise. He had treated
his own person, and now he turned his attention to the faithful steed
which had carried him often and well.
There was no time to waste. He had lost much precious time already. He
would have found little time in which to be sentimental had he been
so inclined, but such an idea never entered into his head, and pulling
his jack-knife out of his pocket, he opened the blade and stabbed the
horse in the shoulder.
As previously related, De la Zouch had thought of ornamenting himself
with a few slight bruises, but he had decided to forego whatever
advantages might accrue to him from such a course of conduct, but
now the matter was decided for him in a manner which he had never
considered.
It had never flashed upon the heated brain of the malignant knight
that wounding a horse was a very delicate operation to perform, and in
his reckless hurry he had never taken into account that such conduct
would be attended with any danger, or he would have proceeded to
accomplish his design in a more cautious fashion; and it was not until
the horse kicked out after the first blow that Sir Henry de la Zouch
became suddenly aware of the danger of his position. He had not the
power to stay the second thrust, and before he could retreat out of
danger he was sent sprawling into the hedge bottom.
Fortunately, the effects of the blow were considerably diminished,
inasmuch as its greatest force was already spent ere De la Zouch was
struck. Had it not been for this circumstance he would have come
off ill indeed, but even as it was he was sorely injured, and lay
insensible in the place where he had fallen until he opened his eyes
at dusk and found himself being lifted up.
"Where am I?" he gasped, as he mechanically rubbed his eyes and gazed
around. "I am hurt."
"Lie still awhile," returned Crowleigh, for he it was who stood over
him. "You will be yourself again directly," and raising his horn to
his lips he blew a loud, clear note upon the still evening air.
"What does that portend?" asked the conscience-stricken and
mistrustful knight. He feared that he was about to be carried off to
answer for his misdeeds.
"There will be help soon," said Crowleigh. "Lie still, for you are
hurt. You will be better by-and-by. Drink this," and he filled his
horn with water and offered it to him.
De la Zouch took the water and drank it off. It appeared to do him
good, for he rapidly rallied, and the reassuring words of Crowleigh
had a magical effect in clearing his brow and helping on his recovery.
"Am I much hurt?" he inquired with a look of intense agony upon his
brow.
"Bruised and stunned, I think, that is all. Ha, here they come;" and,
as he suddenly stopped speaking, the sound of the replying horns
could be distinctly heard, and within a few minutes, from different
quarters, over walls and fences, the horsemen came riding in by ones
and twos until at last there numbered a full dozen.
"Oh!" groaned De la Zouch, loudly, "it is painful, cannot you relieve
me?"
"Where is Sir George Vernon?" inquired Sir Everard; "have none of you
seen him of late?"
No one had, but they had all blown their horns, so he was sure to be
in soon.
De la Zouch shuddered at the mention of the King of the Peak--he was
hardly himself again as yet, but he was fast rallying, and by the time
that the baron arrived he was quite ready to meet him.
"Heigho! found at last;" exclaimed the baron, as he made his way
through the group. "But whom have we here; tush, where is my Doll?"
De la Zouch, for answer, began to play his game, and he only replied
to the query with a deceitful and prolonged groan.
"Where's my Dorothy?" impatiently repeated the baron, disregarding the
agonised look which met his gaze.
"There--miles on," gasped Sir Henry, jerking his thumb over his
shoulder, and pointing along the road by which he had just travelled;
and then, as if the effort had been too much for him, he fell back
panting upon the turf.
Sir George Vernon waited for no more, but hastily bestriding his
saddle, he galloped away, bidding the others disperse again upon their
search. Only Sir Thomas Stanley and one solitary retainer remained,
and these from very different reasons; the former because he suspected
foul play, and wished for the immediate future to have De la Zouch
under his own eye; and the latter, much against his will, was
constrained to tarry behind to help the unfortunate nobleman back to
Haddon.
"Twenty nobles for the man who finds my Dorothy," shouted the baron as
he rode off, "and twice twenty if there has been any knavery and the
rogues are caught"; and as the knight of Ashby heard the sound of
the galloping grow fainter he was fain to own himself so far only
partially successful, and as he was lifted up to be carried away, he
shut his eyes and ruminated on the probable present condition of his
captives, and wondered where they were.
Dorothy soon awoke from the swoon into which she had fallen on seeing
the prostrate condition of her lover, and being graciously permitted
by the page to have a considerable amount of liberty, she soon busied
herself in trying to restore Manners to consciousness.
Eustace, the page in question, had judged her aright. There was
little fear now of her attempting to escape. Indeed, the thought never
entered into her head; her whole attention was concentrated upon the
one effort of restoring her lover to consciousness, and even the heart
of the hardest of the rough men around her was softened by the picture
of grief which she presented.
At last John Manners opened his eyes, and as he caught sight of
Dorothy's tear-stained face bending over him, he smiled. His smile
dispelled all Dorothy's fears, as the rising sun dispels the morning
mist, and through her grief she smiled responsively back upon her
lover.
Eustace witnessed his recovery with a profound sense of relief. It was
in ignorance of the plot that he had been inveigled to obey his lord's
behests, for though at Haddon De la Zouch had acquainted him with
a part of the conspiracy, yet he had grossly deceived him. He had
informed him that it was Dorothy Vernon's wish to flee to Ashby,
and it was not until he was undeceived by the conduct of the maiden
herself that the fullness of his master's treachery revealed itself to
him.
True, he had been engaged on sundry occasions with his master in
unworthy and unknightly deeds, but never until now had he perceived
the outrageous conduct of his lord. His whole nature recoiled from the
task which had been imposed upon him, and nothing but the extreme fear
with which De la Zouch had inspired him during a long acquaintanceship
held him back from releasing the two lovers on the way, and helping
them back to Haddon.
He was not yet courageous enough to pursue such a course, however. He
felt that his master's eye was upon him, and he could not shake the
evil influence off; but, although failing in this particular, he gave
them a practical token of his sympathy by offering them such food
as he possessed--a small flagon of wine, purloined from Sir Henry's
store, together with a rough rye cake, which were gratefully accepted
as a token of friendship, and before long were thankfully consumed.
He tendered them gracefully to the captives, and without waiting to be
thanked he made his way to the rear, where, forming the men in order,
he divided them into two companies, and sending the one on in front,
the other half walked a little distance behind, leaving Dorothy and
her lover free to converse as they chose. In this order, without
molestation or accident, they reached their destination as the grey
light of the succeeding morning melted into the clearer light of riper
day.