"Nay, wife, why sit up for him? Since he has taken to these roving
habits at night there is no depending upon him. I must put an end
to them if they are to disturb you so. The boy is safe enough. Why
are you anxious about him tonight?"
It was Farmer Devenish who spoke these words to his wife, half an
hour after the rest of the household had retired to rest, and he
found her still sitting beside the fire, which she had piled up
high on the hearth, as if she meant to remain downstairs for some
time; which indeed she distinctly told him was her intention, as
she did not wish to go to bed until Jack had come in.
"He asked me to sit up for him tonight," she answered, "and he
never did so before. I was glad of it; for I have been uneasy for
the boy, wondering what could take him out so often at night."
"Oh, he's going courting, you may depend upon it," laughed the
farmer in his hearty way; "and courting some young lass not of our
village, but one who lives a pretty step from here, I'll be bound.
I've held my peace, and let the boy go his own way. He'll speak out
when the time comes, depend upon it."
"I believe he will speak out this very night," answered the mother.
"He told me he had a surprise in store for me, and begged that I
would sit up till his return, and stand his friend with you, if you
should be displeased at his choice. One might have thought he was
bringing his bride home with him, to hear him talk; but he would
never get wedded without speaking first. He is a good lad and a
dutiful, and his parents have the right to be told."
The farmer's curiosity was piqued by what he heard, and he resolved
to share his wife's vigil. Jack, their only son, was very dear to
them, and they were proud of him in their own hearts, and thought
such a son had never lived before. Both were anxiously looking
forward to the day when he should bring home a wife to brighten up
the old home, since it had lost the sweet presence of the daughter
Joan; and they neither of them believed that Jack's choice would
fall upon anyone unworthy of him.
The farmer dozed in his chair by the glowing hearth. The woman got
a large book from some secret receptacle upstairs, and read with
deep attention, though with cautious glance around her from time to
time, as if half afraid of what she was doing. It was long before
the silence outside was broken by any sound of approaching
footfalls; and when the ring of a horse hoof upon the frosty ground
became distinctly audible through the silence of the night, the
farmer would not unbar the door until his wife had glided away with
the volume she had been reading.
A minute later and the parents both stood in the doorway, peering
out into the cloudy night, that was not altogether dark.
"By holy St. Anthony, there are two horses and three riders," said
the farmer, shading his eyes from the glare of the lantern as he
peered out into the darkness beyond.
"Jack, is that you, my son? And who are these that you have brought
with you?"
"Friends--friends claiming the shelter and protection of your roof,
father," answered Jack's hearty voice as he rode up to the door;
and then it was seen that he was greatly encumbered by some burden
he supported before him on his horse. But from the other lighter
palfrey there leaped down a small and graceful creature of
fairy-like proportions, and Mistress Devenish found herself
suddenly confronted by the sweetest, fairest face she had ever seen
in her life, whilst a pair of soft arms stole caressingly about her
neck.
"You are Jack's mother," said a sweet, soft voice in accents of
confident yet timid appeal that went at once to her heart. "He has
told me so much of you--he has said that you would be a mother to
me. And I have so longed for a mother all my life. I never had one.
Mine own mother died almost ere I saw the light. He said you would
love me; and I have loved you long. Yet it is not of myself I must
talk now, but of yon poor lad whom you know well. We have brought
Paul Stukely back to you. Oh, he has been sorely handled by those
cruel robbers--the band of Black Notley! He has been like a dead
man these last miles of the road. But Jack says he is not dead, and
that your kindly skill will make him live again."
And before Mistress Devenish was well aware whether she were not in
a dream herself, her husband had lifted into the house the
apparently inanimate form of Paul Stukely, and had laid him down
upon the oak settle near to the hospitable hearth.
Jack had gone to the stable with the horses; but one of the serving
men having been aroused and having come to his assistance, he was
able quickly to join the party beside the fire, and coming forward
with a glad and confident step, he took the hand of the fairy-like
girl in his own, and placed it within that of his mother.
"Father, mother," he said, "I have brought you home my bride that
is to be. Listen, and I will tell you a strange story, and I know
you will not then withhold your love from one who has known little
of it, and who has led a strange, hard life amid all that is bad
and cruel, and is yet all that you can wish to find in woman--all
that is true and pure and lovely."
And then Jack, with the sort of rude eloquence sometimes found in
his class, told of his wooing of the robber's daughter; told of her
hatred and loathing of the scenes she was forced to witness, of the
life she was forced to lead; told of her fierce father's fierce
love gradually waning and turning to anger as he discovered that
she was not pliable material in his hands, to be bent to his stern
will; told how he had of late wished to wed her to the terrible
Simon Dowsett, and how she had felt at last that flight alone with
her own lover could save her from that fate.
Then he told of Paul's capture upon the very night for which the
flight had been planned; told how gallantly he had defied the
cruelty of the robber band, and how his Eva had effected his
liberation and had brought him with her to the trysting place. They
had planned before the details of the flight, and it would be death
to her to be sent back; but after her liberation of the captive,
the thought of facing that lawless band again was not to be thought
of.
And the farmer, who had listened to the tale with kindling eyes and
many a smothered ejaculation of anger and pity, suddenly put his
strong arms about the slight figure of the girl, and gave her a
hearty kiss on both cheeks.
"Thou art a good wench and a brave one," he said, "and I am proud
that my roof is the one to shelter thee from those lawless men, who
are the curse of our poor country.
"Jack, I told the mother that you must be going courting, and that
I should be right glad when you brought a bride to the old home.
And a bride this brave girl shall be as soon as Holy Church can
make you man and wife; and we will love her none the less for what
her father was. I always heard that the Fire Eater, as they call
him, had carried off and married a fair maiden, too good by a
thousand times for the like of him; and if this is that poor lady's
daughter, I can well believe the tale. But she is her mother's
child, not her fierce father's, and we will love her as our own.
"Take her to your heart, good mother. A brave lass deserves a warm
welcome to her husband's home."
The gentle but high-spirited Eva had gone through the dangers of
the night with courage and resolution, but tears sprang to her eyes
at hearing these kindly words; and whilst Jack wrung his father's
hand and thanked him warmly for his goodwill. The girl buried her
face upon the shoulder of Mistress Devenish, and was once more
wrapped in a maternal embrace.
And then, having got the question of Eva's adoption as Jack's
betrothed bride so quickly and happily settled, they all turned
their attention to poor Paul, who for a few minutes had been almost
forgotten.
There was a warm little chamber scarce larger than a closet opening
from the room where the farmer and his wife slept, and as there was
a bed therein always in readiness against the arrival of some
unlooked-for guest, Paul was quickly transported thither, and
tenderly laid between the clean but coarse coverings. He only
moaned a little, and never opened his eyes or recognized where he
was or by whom he was tended; whilst the sight of his lacerated
back and shoulders drew from the woman many an exclamation of pity,
and from the farmer those of anger and reprobation.
It was some time before they understood what had happened, or
realized that the young kinsman (as they had called him) of Paul's
was really the Prince of Wales, the son of the now reigning Henry,
and that the two lads had been actually living and travelling
together with this secret between them. But Eva had heard much
about both, and told how the presence of the prince in the country
had become known to her father and his band first through the
suspicions of the peddler, who had seen the one pearl clasp still
owned and kept by the robber chief, and had at once recognized its
fellow; and secondly, from the identification of Paul's companion
with the Prince of Wales by one of the band who had been over to
France not long ago, and had seen the prince there.
The old likeness between the two youths was remembered well by the
band, who had been fooled by it before; and they had been for weeks
upon the track of the fugitives, who had, however, left Figeon's
before their enemies had convinced themselves of their identity;
and in London they were less easily found. Eva did not know the
whole story--it was Paul who supplied the missing links later; but
she told how a great part of the band had gone forth to seek them
in the city--how word had presently been brought by a mounted
messenger that the fugitives had escaped, just when they were
certain they had them fast--that all roads were being watched for
them, but that those who still remained in the forest were to keep
a close lookout, lest by some chance they should return by the way
they had come.
The band had been scouring the woods all that day in different
detachments, and they had brought in Paul just before dark. The
prince had escaped their vigilance, and Paul had maintained silence
under their cruel questioning. Eva knew no more of him than the
farmer, but all were full of hope that he had escaped. Well indeed
for both--if Paul knew his hiding place--that he was out of the
power of the robbers. They would scarce in any case have let him
escape with his life, after the ill will many of them bore him; but
had he continued to set them at defiance by his silence, there is
no knowing to what lengths their baffled rage might not have gone.
Eva had heard of things in bygone days which she could not recall
without a shudder, and the farmer and Jack, with clenched hands and
stern faces, vowed that they would leave no stone unturned until
the country was rid of these lawless and terrible marauders.
"We have stood enough; this is the last!" cried the burly owner of
Figeon's. "We will raise the whole countryside; we will send a
deputation to the bold Earl of Warwick; we will tell him Paul's
history, and beg him to come himself, or to send a band of five
hundred of his good soldiers, and destroy these bandits root and
branch. If these outrages are committed in the name of the House of
York, then I and mine will henceforth wear the badge of Lancaster.
What we simple country folks want is a king who can keep order in
this distracted land; and if that brave boy who dwelt beneath our
roof, and was kindly and gracious to all, is our future king, well,
God bless and keep him, say I, and let the sceptre long be held in
his kindly hands!"
In the village of Much Waltham next day the wildest excitement
prevailed. Jack was down at his sister's house with the dawn to
tell how Paul had been rescued from the hands of the robbers the
previous night, and what cruel treatment he had received at their
hands. He was going off on a secret errand to the Priory that very
day on Paul's behalf, to ask for news of the prince; and when it
was known that the bright-haired lad (Paul's kinsman, as he had
been called) who had won all hearts was none other than their
future Prince of Wales, a great revulsion of feeling swept over the
hearts of the simple and loving rustics, and they became as warm in
their sympathies for Lancaster as they had been loyal hitherto to
York.
But the burning feeling of the hour was the desire to put down by a
strong hand the depredations of these lawless robber hordes. Not a
house in the place but had suffered from them, not a farmer but had
complaints to make of hen roost robbed or beasts driven off in the
night. Others had darker tales to tell; and Will Ives clenched his
fists and vowed that he would be glad indeed to see the day when he
and Simon Dowsett might meet face to face in equal combat. But it
would be impossible to attack the robbers in their forest
fastnesses unless they had military help; and a deputation was to
start forthwith to London, to lay before the mighty earl the story
of the ravages committed, and the deadly peril which had just
threatened the heir of England, from which he might not yet have
escaped.
Jack was in hopes that he might still be at the Priory, and that he
might bring him back and set him at the head of a party of loyal
rustics, who should escort him in triumph to his royal father in
London. But that hope was of short duration; for the news he
received at the Priory told that the prince was already far away,
and safe at sea on his way to France.
He had arrived just at dusk the previous evening, and when he had
told his adventures and proved his identity to the satisfaction of
the Prior, strenuous efforts were made to convey him safely away
before further peril could menace him. It chanced that one of the
brothers was about to start for the coast on a mission for the
Prior; and disguised in a friar's gown, Edward could travel with
him in the most perfect safety. Stout nags were in readiness for
the pair; and after the lad had been well fed, and had enjoyed a
couple of hours' sleep beside the fire, he was sufficiently
refreshed to proceed on his way, only charging the Prior either to
send Paul after him if he should arrive in time, or to keep him in
safe hiding if that should not be possible.
Before Jack left the place, the brother who had been the prince's
companion returned with the news that Edward had been safely
embarked in a small trading vessel bound for France, the captain of
which, an ardent Lancastrian, would defend his passenger from every
peril at risk of his own life if need be. The wind was favourable
and light, and there was every hope of a rapid and safe passage.
Before nightfall this very day Edward would probably be landed upon
French soil, out of all chance of danger from foeman's steel.
As to the purposed overthrow of the robber band, the brothers most
heartily approved of it. They too, though in some sort protected by
the awe inspired by Holy Church, suffered from the bold dealings of
these lawless men, and gladly would they see the band scattered or
exterminated.
The Prior shook his head somewhat as Jack explained how he wished
to wed the daughter of the chief of the crew; but when the lover
pleaded his cause with all the eloquence at his command, and
painted in piteous words the misery the gentle girl had endured in
the midst of her unhallowed surroundings, the kind-hearted
ecclesiastic relented, and forthwith despatched Brother Lawrence to
examine and counsel the maid, hear her confession, and absolve her
from her offences, and then, if all seemed well, to perform the
rite of betrothal, which was almost as binding as the marriage
service itself, and generally preceded it by a few weeks or months,
as the case might be. So Jack rode off in high feather, and talked
so unceasingly of his Eva the whole way to the farm, that the good
brother was almost convinced beforehand of the virtue and devotion
of the maid, and was willing enough a few hours later to join their
hands in troth plight. After that, unless the father were prepared
to draw upon himself the fulminations of the Church, he could not
lay claim to his daughter, or try to give her in wedlock to
another. Her place was now with her betrothed's kindred, where she
would remain until the marriage ceremony itself took place, and
made her indeed the daughter of the farm.
Meantime Paul lay for a while sorely sick, and was tended with
motherly devotion by good Mistress Devenish, who learned to love
him almost as a son. Hardy and tough as he was, the fatigue and
suffering he had undergone had broken him down, and a fever set in
which for a time made them fear for his very life. But his hardy
constitution triumphed over the foe, and in a week's time from the
night he first set foot across the threshold of Figeon's Farm he
was held to be out of danger, though excessively weak and ill.
During the long nights when his hostess had watched beside him,
thinking that he was either unconscious or delirious, Paul had seen
and heard more than she knew. He had heard her read, as if to
herself, strange and beautiful words from a book upon her
knee--words that had seemed full of peace and light and comfort,
and which had sunk into his weary brain with strangely soothing
power. Some of these same words were not quite unfamiliar to
him--at least he knew their equivalents in the Latin tongue; but
somehow when spoken thus in the language of everyday life, they
came home to him with tenfold greater force, whilst some of the
sweetest and deepest and most comforting words were altogether new
to him.
And as his strength revived, Paul's anxiety to hear more of such
words grew with it; and one forenoon, as his nurse sat beside him
with her busy needle flying, he looked up at her and said, "You do
not read out of the book any more, and I would fain hear those
wonderful words again."
"I knew not that you had ever heard."
"Yes, I heard much, and it seemed to ease my pain and give me happy
thoughts. It is a beautiful and a goodly book. May I not hear
more?"
"I would that all the world might hear the life giving words of
that book, Paul," said the good woman with a sigh. "But they come
from Wycliffe's Bible, and the holy brothers tell us that it is a
wicked book, which none of us should read."
"It cannot be a wicked book which holds such goodly words--words
that in the Latin tongue the Holy Church herself makes use of,"
said Paul stoutly. "It may be bad for unlettered and ignorant men
to try to teach and expound the words they read, but the words
themselves are good words. May I not see the book myself?"
"You know the risk you run in so doing, Paul?"
"Ay; but I am a good son of the Church, and I fear not to see what
manner of book this be. If it is bad, I will no more of it."
The woman smiled slightly as she rose from her seat and touched a
spring in the wall hard by the chimney. A sliding panel sprang back
and disclosed a small shelf, upon which stood a large book, which
the woman placed in Paul's hands, closing the panel immediately.
He lay still, turning the leaves with his thin hands, and
marvelling what the Church found to condemn in so holy a book as
this seemed, breathing peace and goodwill and truest piety; but a
slight stir without the house, and the trampling of horse hoofs in
the court below, caused the woman to raise her head with an
instinct of caution, and Paul to thrust the volume hastily but
cautiously deep beneath the pillows on which he lay.
There were strange voices in the house, and the door was opened by
Brother Lawrence, who came in with a troubled look upon his face.
He was followed by three tall monks in a different habit, and with
none of the rubicund joviality upon their faces that was seen in
those of the brothers of Leighs Priory; whilst last of all, with a
cunning and malicious leer upon his face, followed the little
peddler, who, when he met the steady glance of Paul's eyes, shrank
back somewhat and looked discomfited.
But the foremost of the tall monks, scarce heeding the respectful
salutation made him by Paul and the mistress, turned upon the
peddler and said:
"Fellow, come forward and bear your testimony. It was, you who laid
the information that heretical books were hidden in this house, and
that you knew the hiding place. Make good your words, now that you
have brought us to the spot; for our worthy brother here speaks
well of those that live beneath this roof."
"May it please your reverence, I know the place well, and that
there are heretical books concealed there always. If you will press
that spring in the wall here, you will see for yourself. If you
find not the forbidden Bible there, call me a prating and a lying
knave.",
Brother Lawrence was looking both troubled and curious, but the
face of Mistress Devenish was perfectly calm, and Paul commanded
his countenance to a look of simple wonderment and surprise.
The monk obeyed the direction of the peddler; the secret spring,
gave a sharp click, and the door flew open. But the little shelf
was bare, and told no tales, and the face of the peddler fell.
"It has been removed--they have had notice of this visitation,"
stammered the discomfited man; but Brother Lawrence cut him short.
"Your reverence knows that that is impossible," he said, addressing
the tall monk: "no word of this visitation had reached even our
ears till your arrival this very morning. This house has ever been
well thought of by our fraternity, and pays its dues to Holy Church
as I would all other houses did. I trust your mind is satisfied."
The monk bent his head; but before he could speak, Paul had raised
himself on his pillows, and was speaking in quick, earnest tones.
"Holy father, listen, I pray you, to me," he said, "and trust not
the testimony of yon traitorous fellow, who, if he had had his
will, would have done to death the son of our sainted monarch King
Henry.
"Nay, let him not escape," he cried, as he saw the man make an
attempt to reach the door, which was promptly frustrated by the
sudden appearance of Jack Devenish, who had heard of this sudden
incursion of monks, and had rushed to the house in some fear of
what might be happening there.
"Hold him fast, Jack," cried Paul, with increasing energy, "till I
have told my tale;" and forthwith he described in graphic words how
this man had identified the prince, and had striven to sell him to
the enemy, that the House of York might triumph in his death, or in
possession of the heir whose life alone could redeem the cause of
Lancaster from destruction. The story was listened to with deep
attention and no little sympathy, for the visit, the peril, and the
flight of the prince were becoming known in this part of the
country, and the clergy of all degrees were thankful indeed that
the heir of England was safe, as they were all deeply attached to
the cause of the Red Rose.
So Paul's story roused a great wave of anger against the mean
fellow, who would thus earn his own living by betraying those whose
bread he had eaten, or one whose life it should be his care to
protect; and scarce had Paul done speaking before Brother Lawrence
took up the gauntlet, and addressing himself to the tall monk,
pointed to Paul, as he lay still white and weak upon his pillows.
"And hear farther, reverend father: this youth who now speaks to
you is he of whom I told you as we rode along, who bore torture
without yielding up the name of the hiding place to which he knew
the prince had escaped. But for him young Edward might yet have
fallen into the hands of these robbers; for they would have watched
our Priory and have set upon all who went or came, and ravaged the
whole country, so that even the habit of the monk would not have
protected or disguised him. And these good folks here at this farm
were they who rescued him from the hands of the robbers; for the
maiden alone, without the help of this stalwart youth, could not
have brought him, ill and fainting as he was, all these long weary
miles. And they took him in; and this woman, whom yon informer
would have you believe is a vile heretic, has nursed him like his
own mother, and brought him back from the very jaws of death. And
is she who has done a service that royal Henry will one day thank
her for publicly (for this pallid youth is as a brother in love to
young Edward, and his especial charge to us till he comes again to
claim him and bestow his well-earned knighthood upon him)--is she
to suffer from the unproven charges of a base spy and Yorkist tool
like yon fellow there, who would have betrayed his own king's son
to death? Away with such a fellow from the earth, I say; and let
those who have sheltered England's heir, and rescued this bold
youth from worse than death--let them, I say, live in peace and
honour for the service they have done their country! For I wot that
when young Edward comes in his own proper state again, his first
care will be for those who befriended him in his hour of need, his
first chastisement against those who have done aught to harm them,
if they be still cumbering the earth."
And with that the usually jovial brother, moved now by a great
access of wrath, which had given him unwonted eloquence, pointed a
finger significantly at the trembling peddler; and Jack, who held
him by the collar, gave him a shake and said:
"Give me leave to carry him to the village green and tell the good
folks there the tale, and I warrant that he will not cumber the
ground much longer."
"Do with him as you will," said the tall monk, "he is no charge of
mine; and if all be true that is said, he well deserves his fate."
The peddler was borne away, crying and entreating, and before an
hour had passed, his dead body was hanging on an oak tree nigh to
the blacksmith's forge--a warning to all informers; and when he had
gone the tall monk turned to Paul with a more benign air, and laid
his hand upon his head as he said:
"Thou art a stanch lad; and for their care to thee these honest
folks deserve the gratitude of the Church. I believe none of the
accusations of that lewd fellow. I trow this is a godly house,
where the Lord is rightly honoured in His holy ordinances."
"That indeed is so," answered Paul fervently.
The visitors departed well satisfied; whilst Paul heaved a great
sigh of relief, and wondered if he had in any way sinned by thought
or word or deed. But his conscience was clear; he could not see
that there was sin in reading holy words from God's own Book. Such
matters of dispute were too hard for him, and he closed his tired
eyes and was soon sound asleep. He saw the great Bible no more
whilst he remained beneath that roof; but many of its words were
engraved upon his heart, and were a guide to his steps and a light
to his path throughout his subsequent life.
"You have saved us from a great peril this day, Paul," said the
farmer that night, with a moisture in his eyes and a gravity upon
his jolly face. "If we have given shelter and protection to you,
your protection of us has been equally great. You must make this
your home, my boy, so long as you need one."
The next days were full of excitement for Much Waltham. The request
made by the people of Essex had been listened to by the great earl,
and though he could scarce credit the fact that the king's son had
been so near, he was convinced at last, and burned to avenge
himself on those who had tried to take him captive. A band of armed
men was sent down, and the forest swept clear of the marauders--at
least for a while. Will Ives had his wish, and met Simon Dowsett
face to face in a hand-to-hand struggle; and although the latter
did all to deserve his undesirable sobriquet, he was overpowered at
last and slain, and his head carried in triumph to his native
village, where, after the savage custom of the day, it was exposed
on a pike on the village green.
Paul heard of this fight by report alone, for he was able to get
only as far as the great kitchen fire, where he and Eva spent a
great part of their time in eagerly discussing the questions of the
day. Her father, the chief of the band, made his escape with some
few of his followers, and was heard of no more in those parts. His
daughter was glad he was not killed, though she could not desire to
see him more; and in a short time she and Jack were married, and
she almost forgot that she had been for so many years living
amongst the robbers of Black Notley.