|After the business of the day was concluded General Forster and the
officers sat down to dinner, but Lord Derwentwater excused himself from
joining the party as he wished to ride over to Dilston. He did not take
a servant with him, and said he should return by midnight.
It was growing dusk as he rode through the woods that skirted his
domains, but it was quite light enough to enable him to distinguish the
castle. His heart was sad as he gazed at it for he felt he could not
remain there. The place seemed his own no longer.
However, he strove to stifle these painful feelings, and they soon gave
way to other emotions.
Still, he could not banish the notion that the place was changed, though
in what respect he could scarcely tell, for a groom came to take
his horse, and Newbiggin welcomed him at the entrance, and with a
manifestation of delight that could not fail to touch his master.
“I hope your lordship is coming to remain with us--at least, for a few
days?” said the butler.
“Alas! no,” replied the earl. “I must return to Hexham to-night, and
to-morrow morning we march to Rothbury.”
The butler looked quite cast down.
“I fear Dilston will never again be what it was, my lord,” he said. “How
I wish your lordship could give up this perilous expedition and return
to us.”
“That is impossible, Newbiggin,” said the earl, scarcely able to repress
a sigh. “I must go on now. But where is the countess?”
“She is here,” cried a well-known voice.
And next moment she flew towards him, and was clasped in his arms.
It is very questionable whether Lord Denventwater's brief visit to his
mansion was not productive of more pain to him than pleasure.
So many fresh anxieties were aroused that they marred his happiness, and
the moments flew by so quickly that they seemed gone ere they could be
numbered. How much had he to say to the countess! And yet how little
was said. Half the time they sat together they were silent, but it was
a silence more eloquent than words. And when the countess spoke it was
ever to incite him to brave deeds.
After awhile they were joined by Dorothy Forster and Father Norham, and
then the conversation turned chiefly on the incidents of the march.
The countess and Dorothy still believed that the insurrection would be
successful, but the priest was less hopeful.
“But where and when will the battle be fought that is to give the crown
to King James?” inquired Dorothy.
“That I cannot tell you,” replied the earl. “But I do not think it will
be fought in Scotland, though we shall probably march there to meet
our allies. However, a few days may decide. General Carpenter is now at
Newcastle, with four regiments of dragoons, and we have yet to learn his
plans. Should he not find out we have flown, he may march to attack us
at Hexham, and then you will see him here.”
Never did the devout Earl of Derwentwater neglect his religious duties.
Mass was therefore performed at the little chapel before his departure,
and at the conclusion of the service he did not re-enter the mansion,
but tenderly embracing the countess, bade farewell to her and Dorothy,
and mounting his dapple-grey steed took his way alone through the wood
to Hexham.