"ON, CAVALIER, ON!"
To Maud's great joy, the stately towers and ancient buildings of Oxford
at length rose before her. As she rode into the principal street of the
city she was met by a crowd of people who were talking loudly and
eagerly, so that Maud had but little difficulty in making out the words.
"Down with all parliament men! Shoot the traitors, and all the rebel
army!" and many other speeches, convinced Maud something unusual had
taken place, or was about to take place.
Her cheeks grew pale with anxious fear as the bridle of her horse was at
length seized, and she was forced back against a wall; and then for the
first time she noticed that a body of soldiers were drawing near, and
beyond them marched a number of downcast-looking men, evidently
prisoners. Could it be that they were already on their way to
execution?--that the delivery of her papers would be too late to save
them? This thought almost maddened her, and turning her horse's head,
she said, "On, Cavalier, on!" and at the same moment drew out her
packet, and held it high above her head.
[Illustration: "ON CAVALIER, ON!"]
The effect of her words seemed magical--not upon her horse, but upon the
soldiers by whom she was now surrounded. The officer in command bowed as
she uttered the ringing words, "On, Cavalier, on!" and instead of
turning her back to the wall, called upon his men to halt, while Maud
passed through their midst, holding high the official-looking document
which she thought had gained her this privilege, but which in reality
the officer had hardly noticed.
Quite unconsciously, Maud had used their password in addressing her
horse, and to this she owed it that she was allowed to pass through the
ranks, the officer believing she came with orders from the King to those
in charge of the prisoners. She heeded not the looks of the soldiers;
indeed, she scarcely saw them, but rode straight on to where an officer
stood waiting to demand her business, and why the cavalcade had been
stopped.
Maud handed him her packet. "It concerneth the prisoners," she said,
panting with excitement.
The officer took it from her hand, and rode back to another officer
after glancing at the address, and Maud, then face to face with the
pale, weary-looking prisoners, glanced at them for the first time. One
was looking at her and her horse most earnestly, but she did not
recognise him; and when the officer came back she rode on, wondering
whether she had been in time to save them after all. The papers had been
sent to the residence of the general in command, and they were still
halting, to know the result of his reading them; and Maud was detained,
lest she should be wanted too. They had not to wait long. In a few
minutes a soldier rode up with a note from the general. The prisoners
were to be taken back to their prison and the messenger released; and
Maud was allowed to go on her way, while the whole cavalcade turned
back, to the great disappointment of the Oxford crowd, who would fain
have testified their loyalty to the King by making a holiday over the
execution of these rebels.
Maud had no other care than to get out of the way of the crowd and the
detachments of soldiers; but as soon as a by-street was gained, and she
was left in comparative quiet, weariness and exhaustion almost overcame
her, and for the first time she noticed that Cavalier had fallen lame
with his exertions. To get back to Hayslope Grange, as she had at first
intended, was therefore impossible, and she resolved to ask the
hospitality of Mistress Stanhope for a few days. She hoped Master Drury
was there, but of this she could not feel sure; but whether or no he was
there, she must go, and she made instant inquiry of a bystander for
Captain Stanhope's house. After some little difficulty she found it, and
to her joy heard that Master Drury was there. He seemed much astonished
to see Maud, and Mistress Stanhope was in no little alarm at her
travel-stained appearance.
"Has the rebel army appeared before Hayslope?" he asked, anxiously.
"No," answered Maud, faintly smiling. "Nothing had happened to Hayslope
when I left."
"Then wherefore hast thou come here?" asked Master Drury. "Has anything
happened to Mistress Mabel or the children?"
"Nay, they are all well," said Maud. "I came as a messenger, to bring
certain letters from London to the King."
"Marry, now be truthful, Mistress Maud," said Mary, "and tell us thou
art come to see the gay city of Oxford."
"Nay, nay; I came not for that," said Maud. "I have ridden hard to reach
here in time, so hard that Cavalier hath fallen lame with his journey,
and needs rest more than I do."
"Then I will order Cavalier's rest and refreshment while Mary looketh to
your wants," said Master Drury; and he went out at once, leaving the two
ladies alone. Mistress Stanhope was proud to play the hostess to her old
companion, and as soon as she had changed her dress, and had some
refreshment, she insisted upon showing her new and fashionable house, in
spite of Maud's evident weariness. At length she was allowed to take up
a book and sit down in peace, for some other visitors had called, and
Mary was obliged to go to them.
The book Maud had taken up was quite a new one, just published, and
written by Master John Milton, a schoolmaster of London. It was a volume
of poems, and Maud was soon absorbed in reading "Penseroso." Mary
suddenly entering the room some time afterwards quite startled her, and
the book slipped from her hand on to the floor. But Mary did not stay,
she had only come for something to show her visitor; and as Maud picked
up the book, she went out again, and did not see how pale Maud had
suddenly grown, as she sat and stared at the inner cover of the book.
There was nothing very remarkable there,--only, "Mistress Stanhope, from
an old friend. Oxford, 1645." But Maud knew that Harry's hand had traced
those letters, and she wondered how it was he was at Oxford, and whether
he was there now. When Mary came back Maud was still staring at her name
in the book.
"Marry, what are you looking at?" asked the young matron, glancing over
her shoulder.
"Harry wrote this?" gasped Maud.
"I suppose he did," coolly spoke Mary; "but he had the grace to conceal
the fact that I was his sister."
Maud had noticed that he wrote "friend" instead of "brother."
"Why should he do this?" she said.
"Prithee, Maud, will you never see how he has disgraced our name?" said
Mary, impatiently. "Nay, nay, you have not seen my father's misery since
he hath been here, and how closely he hath kept himself shut up, lest
any should hear his name."
"But why should he do this?" asked Maud.
"Why?" uttered Mary, "when all men are talking of the traitor rebel,
Harry Drury, who was this day to be executed."
Her voice faltered as she said the last words, although she tried to
appear unmoved as she added, "But the execution is postponed, I hear."
"Only postponed!" gasped Maud, who sat with widely staring eyes.
"The letters were to save their lives, I heard."
"What letters?" asked Mary.
"Those I brought from Hayslope, where the parliament messenger lies
sorely wounded," said Maud.
Mary did not wait to hear more, but went to meet her husband, who was
coming up the stairs. The gaily dressed officer bowed to Maud as he
entered a few minutes afterwards, but she could see he looked annoyed.
"Good-morrow, lady messenger," he said. "You did but reach Oxford in
time, and if you had been an hour later 'twere better for his Majesty, I
trow."
"Prithee, tell me why?" said Maud.
"There would have been six stout-hearted rebels the less to fight
against King Charles," said Captain Stanhope.
"Are the prisoners released?" asked Maud, with an exclamation of joy.
"Nay, nay, not yet; but we cannot afford to execute them, for the rebel
army hath five thousand of our loyal troopers, and they propose to
exchange some of these for the handful we have here in our prison, and
Harry Drury is specially named as one of them--Harry Drury and Gilbert
Clayton, whom Prince Rupert's men captured some time since."
To describe Maud's feelings when she heard how near Harry had been to an
ignominious death would be impossible. For a time she could only bow her
head in her hands, and weep out her thanksgiving to God for His great
mercy; but by degrees the hope that she should soon see him gradually
stole over her, until she recollected that Harry would scarcely venture
to call upon them, even though he had seen her in the town; for she
doubted not but that the prisoner who had looked at her so closely was
Harry, although she had failed to recognise him.
When Master Drury came in soon afterwards, it was evident he had heard
the news, although Harry's name was not mentioned.
"Maud," he said, drawing his chair close to hers as soon as they were
left alone, "you heard that the King's cabinet had been captured at the
battle of Naseby?"
Maud bowed. "Hath it been retaken?" she asked.
Master Drury shook his head. "Prithee, I would it had never existed," he
said, "or that I knew not aught of it."
"Have you seen the King's letters?" asked Maud.
"All the world will see them shortly," sighed the gentleman. "The rebels
have published some of his papers, calling it 'The King's Cabinet
Opened.'"
"Then all the world will know what a just and gentle monarch he is,"
said Maud.
"Alas! they will see that what these rebels say of him is true; that he
hath tried to sell his people to a foreign foe," groaned Master Drury.
"All his doings with the Irish rebels, and his negotiations with foreign
princes to bring troops over here, are given in these papers."
Maud started to her feet, flushed with indignation. "It is not true,"
she said. "It would be unkingly--beneath the majesty of our royal
Charles. It is a fabrication of the Parliament rebels."
"I would fain think so if I could," sighed Master Drury; "but, Maud, I
have heard from those who knew all the King's matters that these letters
are true copies of what were in the cabinet."
Maud dropped into her seat as though she had been shot. "The King is
false and untrue, then," she gasped, "and Harry is right after all."
"Hush, prithee, hush!" said Master Drury. "You know not what you say,
Maud;" but he did not speak as though he were angry that Harry's name
had been uttered.
"Marry, but I cannot hold my peace when true and noble men are risking
their lives to fight for this false king," said Maud.
"I will not fight," quietly spoke Master Drury. "I will go back with you
to Hayslope."
"Prithee, but you will see Harry before you leave Oxford?" said Maud, a
faint colour stealing into her cheek as she spoke.
Master Drury was deeply moved. It was evident he was longing to see his
son, but he said in a faint voice, "Nay, nay, I dare not see him. Mary
Stanhope has spread the report that I have cast him off as a traitor
rebel, and my loyalty to the King would be suspected if I were to see
him now;" and he heaved a deep sigh as he spoke.
"But it is true that you think the King false?" said Maud. "Harry did
the same, and avowed it."
Master Drury winced at the implied reproach. "Nay, nay, I cannot go so
far as that," he said; "if I were I should be a rebel."
"Then you must be false to yourself to _seem_ true to the King," said
Maud, boldly; "and that is why there are so many true and honest men
among the rebels, and why they are so strong. It is not their hatred of
oppression only, nor their wish to save England's liberties, as they
say; but they cannot do otherwise if they would be true to
themselves--true to God, who has said, 'Fear God,' first, and then
'Honour the king.'"
Maud was speaking for Harry, and that gave her courage, or she would
never dared to have said so much to her guardian. But it was all in
vain. Family honour demanded the sacrifice of principle--at least, so
thought Master Drury--and he would not allow Maud to seek an interview
with Harry, or claim acquaintance with the all but executed traitor.