sure as I'm livin'."
"Nay, nay, there's some plot here--some mischief hatching. I'll see,
or"----
He was just going to make the attempt; but Tim withstood him, and in a
peremptory manner barred the way.
"How! am I barred by thee, and to my face?"
"It's no business o' thine, Master Gervase. What's hatching there
concerns not thee. Keep back, I say, or"----
"Ha! Thou jingle-pated rascal, stand off, or I'll wring thy neck round
as I would a Jackdaw."
"Do not, do not, Gervase!" said Grace Ashton, fearful of some unlucky
strife. "Let us begone. We are too late already, and 'tis no business
of ours."
"What! and be o'erfoughten by this scurvy lack-wit. Once more, who is
there above?"
"An' what if I shouldn't tell thee?"
"I'll baste thy carcase to a mummy; I'll make thee tender for the
hounds."
"Another word to that, master, an' it's a bargain."
"Let me pass."
"Not without my company."
He whistled, and in a moment Gervase felt himself pinioned from
behind. Looking round, he saw two stout fellows with their faces
covered; and any other possibility of recognition was impracticable in
the heavy twilight.
"Who's i' t' stocks now?" cried the malicious rogue, laughing.
"Unhand me, or ye'll rue that ever ye wrought this outrage."
"Nay, nay, that were a pretty stave, when we've gotten the bird, to
open the trap," said Tim.
Gervase immediately saw that another party had seized Grace Ashton. He
raved and stamped until his maledictions were put an end to by an
effectual gag, and he did not doubt but she had suffered the same
treatment, for a short sharp scream only was heard. Being immediately
blindfolded, he could only surmise that her usage was of a similar
nature.
He was so stupefied with surprise that for a short period he was
hardly sensible to their further proceedings. When able to reflect, he
found himself pinioned, and in a sitting posture. A damp chill was on
his forehead. He had been dragged downwards, and, from the motion,
steps were the medium of descent. A door or two had been raised or
opened, a narrow passage previously traversed, and a short time only
elapsed from the cool freshness of the evening air to the damp and
stifling atmosphere that he now breathed. What could be the cause of
his seizure he was quite incompetent to guess. He could not recollect
that he had either pique or grudge on his hands; and what should be
the result he only bewildered and wearied himself by striving to
anticipate.
It was surely a dream. He heard a voice of ravishing sweetness; such
pure and silvery tones, that aught earthly could have produced it was
out of the question; it was like the swell of some AEolian lyre--words,
too, modifying and enhancing that liquid harmony. It was a hymn, but
in a foreign tongue. He soon recognised the evening hymn to the
Virgin--
"Mater amata, intemerata,
Ora, ora, pro nobis."
So sweetly did the music melt into his soul, that he quite forgot his
thrall, and every sense was attuned to the melody. When the sound
ceased he made an effort to get free. He loosened his hands, and
immediately tore off the bandage from his eyes. A few seconds elapsed,
when he saw a light streaming through a crevice. Looking through, he
saw a taper burning before a little shrine, where two females in white
raiment, closely veiled, were kneeling.
The celebration of such rites, at that time strictly prohibited,
sufficiently accounted for their concealment, and plainly intimated
that the parties were not of the Reformed faith.
By the light which penetrated his cell from this source he saw it was
furnished with a stone bench, and a narrow flight of steps in one
corner communicated with a trap-door above.
The old mansion at Belfield, contiguous to these ruins, once belonging
to the Knights of St John, had been for some years untenanted, and, as
often happens to the lot of deserted houses, strange noises, sights,
and other manifestations of ghostly occupants were heard and seen by
passers-by, rendering it a neighbourhood not overliked by those who
had business that way after nightfall.
Gervase Buckley was pretty well assured that he had been conveyed into
some concealed subterranean chamber, but for what purpose he could not
comprehend. He was not easily intimidated; and though in a somewhat
sorry plight, he now felt little apprehension on the score of
supernatural visitations: but his seizure did not hold out an
immunity as regards corporeal disturbers. He had not long to indulge
these premonitory reflections ere a door was opened. A figure,
completely enveloped in a black cloak, on which a red cross was
conspicuously emblazoned, stood before him. He carried a torch, and
Gervase saw a short naked sword glittering in his belt.
"Follow me," said the intruder; and, without further parley, pointed
to where another door was concealed in the pavement. This being
opened, Gervase beheld, not without serious apprehension, a flight of
steps evidently communicating with a lower dungeon. His conductor
pointed to the descent, and it would have been useless folly to
disobey. A damp and almost suffocating odour prevailed, as though from
some long-pent-up atmosphere, which did not give the prisoner any
increasing relish or affection for the enterprise. He looked at his
conductor, whose face and person were yet covered. Had he been a
familiar of the Holy Inquisition, he could not have been more careful
of concealment. Gervase looked now and then with a wistful glance
towards his companion's weapon. Being himself unarmed, it would have
been madness to attempt escape. He merely inquired in his descent--
"Whence this outrage? I am unarmed, defenceless." But there was no
reply. The guide, with an inclination of the head, pointed with his
torch to the gulf his victim was about to enter. There was little use
in disputation where the opposite party had so decided an advantage,
and he thought it best to abide the issue without further impediment.
He accordingly descended a few steps. His conductor fastened the door
overhead, and they soon arrived at the bottom, at a low arched
passage, where his guide dashed his flambeau against the wall, and it
was immediately extinguished.
Gervase was left once more in doubt and darkness. There was little
space for explanation. He felt himself seized by an invisible hand,
hurried unresistingly on, till, without any preparation, a blaze of
light burst upon him.
It was for a moment too overpowering to enable him to distinguish
objects with any certainty. Soon, however, he saw a tolerably spacious
vault or crypt, supported by massy pillars. He had often heard there
existed many unexplored subterranean passages reaching to an
incredible distance, made originally by the Knights Templars for their
private use. One of these, it was said, extended even to the chantry
just then dissolved at Milnrow, more than a mile distant. Many
strange stories he had been told of these warrior monks. But centuries
had elapsed since their suppression. For a moment he almost believed
they were permitted to reappear, doomed at stated periods to re-enact
their unhallowed orgies, their cruelties, and their crimes. The
chamber was lighted by three or four torches, their lurid unsteady
life giving an ever-varying character to the surrounding objects.
Opposite the entrance was a stone bench, occupied by several figures
attired in a similar manner to his conductor. An individual in the
centre wore in addition a belt covered by some cabalistic devices. The
scene was sufficiently inexplicable, and not at all elucidated by the
following interrogation:--
"Thou hast been cited to our tribunal," said the chief inquisitor.
"I know ye not," said Gervase, with great firmness, though hardly
aware of the position he occupied.
"Why hast thou not obeyed our summons?"
"I have not heard of any such; nor in good sooth should I have been
careful to obey had your mandate been delivered."
"Croix Rouge," said the interrogator, "has this delinquent been
cited?"
The person he addressed arose, bowed, and presented a written answer.
"I have here," continued the chief, "sufficient proof that our summons
hath been conveyed to thee, and that hitherto thine answer hath been
contumaciously withheld. What sayest thou?"
"I have yet to learn, firstly," said Gervase, with more indignation
than prudence, "by what authority you would compel me to appear; and
secondly, how and in what form such mandate had been sent?"
"Bethink thee, is our answer to the last: the first will be manifested
in due time. We might indeed leave thee ignorant as to what we
require, but pity for thy youth and inexperience forbids. Clegg Hall
is, thou knowest, along with the estate, now unlawfully holden by the
Ashtons."
"I know that sundry Popish recusants, plotting the overthrow of our
most gracious Queen, do say that other and more legitimate rights are
in abeyance only; but the present owners are too well fortified to be
dispossessed by hearsay."
"In the porch at Clegg thou wast accosted not long ago by a mendicant
who solicited an alms."
"Probably so."
"Did he not hold out to thee the sign of the Rosy Cross, the token of
our all-powerful fraternity of Rosicrucians?"
"I do remember such a signal; and furthermore, I drove him forth as an
impostor and a pretender to forbidden arts."
"He showed thee the sign, and bade thee follow?"
"He did."
"And why was our summons disobeyed?"
"Because I have yet to learn what authority you possess either for my
summons or detention."
"The brotherhood of the Red Cross are not disobeyed with impunity."
"I have heard of such a fraternity--as well too that they be idle
cheats and lying impostors."
"We challenge not belief without sufficient testimony to the truth of
our mission. In pity to man's infirmity this indulgence is permitted.
We unfold the hidden operations, the very arcana of Nature, whom we
unclothe as it were to her very nakedness. Our doctrines thereby carry
credence even to the most impious and unbelieving. Ere we command thy
submission, it is permitted to behold some manifestation of our power.
By means derived from the hidden essences of Nature, the first
principles which renovate and govern all things, the very elements of
which they consist, we arrive at the incorporeal essence called
spirit, holding converse with it undebased, uninfluenced by the
intervention of matter. Thus we converse in spirit with those that be
absent, even though they were a thousand leagues apart."
"And what has this jargon to do with my being despatched hither?"
"Listen, and reply not; the purport will be vouchsafed to thee anon.
We can compel the spirits even of the absent to come at our bidding by
subtle spells that none have power to disobey. We too can renew and
invigorate life, and by the universal solvent bring about the
renovation of all things--renovation and decay being the two
antagonist principles, as light and darkness. As we can make darkness
light, and light darkness at our pleasure, so can we from decay bring
forth life, and the contrary. Seest thou this dead body?"
A black curtain he had not hitherto observed was thrown aside, and he
beheld the features of Grace Ashton, or he was strangely deceived. She
was lying on a little couch, death visibly imprinted on her collapsed
and sunken features.
"Murderers! I will have ye dealt with for this outrage." Maddened
almost to frenzy, he would have rushed towards her, but he was firmly
holden by a power superior to his own.
"She is now in the first region of departed spirits," said the chief.
"We have power to compel answer to our interrogatories. Listen,
perverse mortal. We are well assured that a vast treasure is concealed
hereabouts, hidden by the Knights of St John. 'Tis beyond our
unassisted power to discover. We have asked counsel of one whom we
dare not disobey, and she it is hath commanded that we cite thee and
Grace Ashton to the tribunal of the Rosy Cross. This corporeal
substance now before us, by reason of its intimate union with the
spirit, purged from the dross of mortality, will answer any question
that may be propounded, and will utter many strange and infallible
prophecies. It will solve doubtful questions, and discourse of things
past, present, and to come, seeing that she is now in spirit where all
knowledge is perfect, and hath her eyes and understanding cleared from
the gross film of our corruption. But as spirit only hath power over
those of its own nature by the law of universal sympathy, so she
answers but to those by whom she is bidden that are of the same
temperament and affinity, which is shown by your affiance and love
towards each other."
The prisoner heard this mystic harangue with a vacant and fixed
expression, as though his mind were wandering, and he hardly
understood the profundity of the discourse. Every feeling was absorbed
in the conviction that some horrid incantation had for ever deprived
him of his beloved. Then he fancied some imposition had been practised
upon him. Being prevented from a closer examination, at length he felt
some relief in the idea that the form he beheld might possibly be a
counterfeit. He knew not what to say, and the speaker apparently
waited his reply. Finding he was still silent, the former continued
after a brief space:--
"Our questions to this purport must necessarily be propounded by thee.
Art thou prepared?"
"Say on," said Gervase, determined to try the issue, however repugnant
to his thoughts.
Two of them now arose and stood at each end of the couch. The superior
first made the sign of the cross. He then drew a book from his girdle,
and read therein a Latin exorcism against the intrusion of evil
spirits into the body, commanding those only of a heavenly and benign
influence to attend. He lighted a taper compounded of many strange
ingredients emitting a fragrant odour, and as the smoke curled heavily
about him, flickering and indistinct, he looked like some necromancer
about to perform his diabolical rites.
The occupant of that miserable couch lay still as death.
"The first question," cried out the chief; and he looked towards the
prisoner, who was now suffered to approach within a few paces of the
bed.
"Is there treasure in this place?"
Gervase tried to repeat the question, but his tongue clave to his
mouth. For the first time probably in his life he felt the sensation
of horrible, undefined, uncontrollable fear--that fear of the unknown
and supernatural, that shrinking from spiritual intercourse even with
those we have loved best. It seemed as though he were in communion
with the invisible world--that awful, incomprehensible state of
existence; and with beings whose power and essence are yet unknown,
armed, in imagination, with attributes of terror and of vengeance.
With a desperate effort, however, he repeated the question.
Breathless, and with intense agony, he awaited the response. It came!
A voice, not from the lips of the recumbent victim, but as though it
were some inward afflatus, hollow and sepulchral. The lips did not
move, but the following reply was given:--
"There is."
Even the guilty confederates started back in alarm at the success of
their own experiment. All was, however, still--silent as before.
Taking courage, the next question was put in like manner.
"In what direction?"
"Under the main pillar of the south-eastern corner of the vault."
After another pause, the following questions were asked:--
"How may we obtain the treasure sought?"
"By diligence and perseverance."
"At what time?"
"When the moon hath trine to Mercury in the house of Saturn."
"Is it guarded?"
"It is."
"By whom?"
"By a power that shall crush you unless propitiated."
"Show us in what manner."
"I may not; my lips are sealed. That power is superior to mine; the
rest is hidden from me."
The treasure-seekers were silent, as though disappointed at this
unexpected reply. Another attempt was, however, made.
"Shall we prosper in our undertaking?"
"My time is nigh spent. I beseech you that I may depart, for I am in
great torment."
"Thou shall not, until thou answer."
"Beware!"
But this admonition was from another source, and in a different
direction. The obscurity and smoke from the torches made it impossible
to judge with any certainty whence the interruption proceeded.
Gervase started and turned round. It might be fancy, but he was
confident the features of the Red Woman were present to his
apprehension. Horrors were accumulating. Even the united brotherhood
seemed to tremble as though in the presence of some being of whom they
stood in awe. They awaited her approach in silence.
"Fool! Did I not warn thee to do _my_ bidding only? And thou art
hankering again, pampering thy cruel lust for gold. How darest thou
question the maiden for this intent? Hence, and thank thy stars thou
art not even now sent howling to thy doom!"
This terrible and mysterious woman came forward in great anger, and
the Rosicrucian brotherhood were thereby in great alarm. "The maid is
mine--begone!" said she, pointing the way.
Like slaves under their master's frown, they crouched before this
fearful personification of their unhallowed and forbidden practices,
and departed.
"Gervase Buckley," she cried, "thou art betrothed to the heiress of
yon wide possessions."
"I am," said he, roused either to courage or desperation, even in the
presence of a being whose power he felt conscious was not derived from
one common source with his own.
"Dost thou confirm thy troth?"
"I do; in life and in death she is mine."
"Pledge thyself, body and soul, to her."
"I am hers whilst I live, body and soul. Nothing but death shall part
us."
"On thy soul's hope thou wilt fulfil this pledge!"
"I will." Gervase looked wistfully towards his beloved. The inanimate
form was yet pale and still; but a vague hope possessed him that the
witch would again quicken her.
"'Tis enough. But it must be sealed with blood!"
He felt her clammy hand on his arm, and a sharp pain as though from a
puncture. He quickly withdrew it, and a blood-drop fell on the floor.
"Thou art mine--for ever!"
A loud yell rang through the vaults, and Gervase felt as though the
doom of the lost spirits were his--that a whole troop of fiery demons
had assailed him, and that he was borne away to the pit of torment.
Happily his recollection forsook him, and he became unconscious of
future suffering.
PART THE SECOND.
Morning rose bright and ruddy above the hills. The elder Buckley was
up and stirring betimes. Agreeably to his usual practice, he had
retired early to bed, leaving the household cares and duties to his
helpmate. He was sitting in the porch when his dame, with a disturbed
and portentous aspect, accosted him:--
"I know not what hath come to the lad."
"Gervase--what of him?" said Nicholas, carelessly.
"He came home very late yesternight. But he did not speak, and he
looked so wan and woe-begone that I verily thought he had seen a ghost
or some uncanny thing yonder on his road home. I've just now been to
rouse him, but he will not answer. Prithee go and get speech of him,
good or bad. I think i' my heart the lad's bewitched."
Nicholas Buckley was a man of few words, especially in the presence of
his helpmate, so he merely groaned out an incredulous wonder, and went
off as he was bidden. He saw Gervase evidently under the influence of
some stupefying spell. His eyes were open, but he noticed neither the
question nor the person who accosted him. There was something so
horrible and mysterious in his whole appearance that the good man felt
alarmed, and went back to his dame with all possible expedition. What
_could_ have happened? They guessed, and made a thousand odd surmises,
improbable enough the greater part, but all merging in the prevailing
bugbear of the day--witchcraft, which was resorted to as a
satisfactory explanation under every possible difficulty. Had his
malady any connection with the unexpected appearance of the Red Woman
and the ring? It was safe buried, however, and that was a comfort. But
after all, her thoughts always involuntarily recurred to this
unpleasant subject. She could not shake off her suspicions, and there
was little use in attempting further measures unless she could fight
the Evil One with his own weapons. To this end, she began to cast
about for some cunning wizard who might countervail the plots of this
malicious witch.
Now at this period, Dr Dee, celebrated for his extraordinary
revelations respecting the world of spirits, had been promoted by
Queen Elizabeth (a firm believer in astrology and other recondite
pursuits) to the wardenship of the Collegiate Church at Manchester.
His fame had spread far and wide. He had not long been returned from
his mission to the Emperor Rodolph at Prague, and his intercourse with
invisible things was as firmly believed as the common occurrences of
the day, and as well authenticated.
The character of Dee has both been underrated and misunderstood. By
most, if not all, he has been looked upon merely as a visionary and an
enthusiast--credulous and ambitious, without the power, though he had
sufficient will, to compass the most mischievous designs. But under
these outward weaknesses and superstitions, tinctured and modified by
the prevailing belief in supernatural interferences, there was a bold
and vigorous mind, frustrated, it is true, by circumstances which he
could not control. Dee aimed at the entire change and subjugation of
affairs, ecclesiastical and political, to the dominion of an unseen
power--a theocracy or millennium--himself the sole medium of
communication, the high priest and lawgiver. To this end he sought the
alliance and support of foreign potentates; and his diary, published
by Casaubon, the original of which is in the British Museum, is a
remarkable and curious detail of the intrigues resorted to for this
purpose. His mission to the Emperor Rodolph, offering him the sceptre
of universal dominion, is told with great minuteness; and there is
little doubt that Elizabeth herself did not disdain to converse and
consult with him on this extraordinary project. Her visits to his
house at Mortlake are well known. He had been consulted as to a
favourable day for her coronation, and received many splendid
promises of preferment that were never realised. At length,
disappointed and hopeless as to the success of his once daring
expectations, he settled down to the only piece of preferment within
his reach--to wit, the wardenship of the Collegiate Church of
Manchester, where he arrived with his family in the beginning of
February 1596. His advice and assistance were much resorted to, and
particularly in cases of supposed witchcraft and demoniacal
possession--articles of unshaken belief at that period with all but
speculatists and optimists, the Sadducees of their day and generation.
His chief colleague throughout his former revelations had been one
Edward Kelly, born at Worcester, where he practised as an apothecary.
In his diary Dee says they were brought together by the ministration
of the angel Uriel. He was called Kelly the Seer. This faculty of
"_seeing_" by means of a magic crystal not being possessed by the
Doctor, he was obliged to have recourse to Kelly, who had, or
pretended to have, this rare faculty. Afterwards, however, he found
out that Kelly had deceived him; those spirits which ministered at his
bidding not being messengers from the Deity, as he once supposed, but
lying spirits sent to deceive and to betray.
Kelly was an undoubted impostor, though evidently himself a believer
in magic and the black art. Addicted to diabolical and mischievous
practices, he was a fearful ensample of those deluders given up to
their own inventions to believe the very lies wherewith they attempted
to deceive.