Thrice was the guard relieved during that long night, and as often was
the prisoner visited. On the first occasion, he was found to be still
engaged with his Bible, and he so continued during the whole time the
man remained in the vault.
The next who came discovered him on his knees, praying loudly and
fervently, and, unwilling to disturb him, left him at his devotions.
But the third who entered was struck with terror at the prisoner's
appearance. He had risen from the ground, and was standing as erect as
the fetters would permit, with his hands outstretched, and his eyes
fixed on vacancy. He was muttering something, but his words were
unintelligible. He looked like one who beheld a vision; and this
impression was produced upon the man, who half expected some awful shape
to reveal itself to him. But whatever it might be, spirit of good or
ill, it was visible to the Puritan alone.
After gazing at him for some minutes, in mixed wonderment and fright,
the halberdier ventured to draw near him. As he touched him, the Puritan
uttered a fearful cry, and attempted to spring forward, as if to grasp
some vanishing object, but being checked in the effort by the chain, he
fell heavily to the ground, and seemed to sustain severe injury; for
when the man raised him, and set him against the pillar, though he made
no complaint, it was evident he suffered excruciating pain. The
halberdier poured out a cup of wine, and offered it to him; but, though
well-nigh fainting, he peremptorily refused it.
From this moment a marked change was perceptible in his looks. The hue
of his skin became cadaverous; his eyes grew dim and glassy; and his
respiration was difficult. Everything betokened that his sufferings
would be speedily over, and that, however he might deserve it, Hugh
Calveley would be spared the disgrace of death by the hands of the
executioner. The halberdier was not unaware of his condition, and his
first impulse was to summon assistance; but he was deterred from doing
so by the earnest entreaty of the Puritan to be left alone; and thinking
this the most merciful course he could pursue under the circumstances,
he yielded to the request, scarcely expecting to behold him alive again.
It was by this same man that the door of the vault was opened to Sir
Jocelyn and Aveline.
The shock experienced by the maiden at the sight of her father had
well-nigh overcome her. She thought him dead, and such was Sir Jocelyn's
first impression. The unfortunate Puritan was still propped against the
pillar, as the halberdier had left him, but his head had fallen to one
side, and his arms hung listlessly down. With a piercing shriek his
daughter flew towards him, and kneeling beside him, raised his head
gently, and gazing eagerly into his face, perceived that he still lived,
though the spirit seemed ready to wing its flight from its fleshly
tabernacle.
The situation was one to call forth every latent energy in Aveline's
character. Controlling her emotion, she uttered no further cry, but set
herself, with calmness, to apply such restoratives as were at hand to
her father. After bathing his temples and chafing his hands, she had the
satisfaction, ere long, of seeing him open his eyes. At first, he seemed
to have a difficulty in fixing his gaze upon her, but her voice reached
his ears, and the feeble pressure of his hand told that he knew her.
The power of speech returned to him at length, and he faintly murmured,
"My child, I am glad to see you once more. I thought all was over; but
it has pleased Heaven to spare me for a few moments to give you my
blessing. Bow down your head, O my daughter, and take it; and though
given by a sinner like myself, it shall profit you! May the merciful
God, who pardoneth all that repent, even at the last hour, and watcheth
over the orphan, bless you, and protect you!"
"Amen!" exclaimed Jocelyn, fervently.
"Who was it spoke?" demanded the Puritan. And as no answer was returned,
he repeated the inquiry.
"It was I--Jocelyn Mounchensey, the son of your old friend," replied the
young man.
"Come nigh to me, Jocelyn," said the dying man. "I have done you wrong,
and entreat your pardon."
"O, talk not thus!" cried Jocelyn, springing towards him. "I have
nothing to forgive, but much to be forgiven."
"You have a noble heart, Jocelyn," rejoined Hugh Calveley; "and in that
respect resemble your father. In his name, I conjure you to listen to
me. You will not refuse my dying request. I have a sacred trust to
commit to you."
"Name it!" cried the young man; "and rest assured it shall be
fulfilled."
"Give me some wine," gasped the Puritan, faintly. "My strength is
failing fast, and it may revive me."
And with, great effort he swallowed a few drops from the cup filled for
him by Jocelyn. Still, his appearance was so alarming, that the young
man could not help urging him not to delay.
"I understand," replied Hugh Calveley, slightly pressing his hand. "You
think I have no time to lose; and you are right. My child, then, is the
trust I would confide to you. Son, behold thy sister! Daughter, behold
thy brother!"
"I will be more than a brother to her," cried Sir Jocelyn, earnestly.
"More thou canst not be," rejoined Hugh Calveley; "unless--"
"Unless what?" demanded Sir Jocelyn.
"I cannot explain," cried the Puritan, with an expression of agony;
"there is not time. Suffice it, she is already promised in marriage."
"Father!" exclaimed Aveline, in surprise, and with something of
reproach. "I never heard of such an engagement before. It has been made
without my consent."
"I charge you to fulfil it, nevertheless, my child, if it be required,"
said Hugh Calveley, solemnly. "Promise me this, or I shall not die
content. Speak! Let me hear you."
And she reluctantly gave the required promise.
Sir Jocelyn uttered an exclamation of anguish.
"What afflicts you, my son?" demanded the Puritan.
"To whom have you promised your daughter in marriage?" inquired the
young man. "You have constituted me her brother, and I am therefore
entitled to inquire."
"You will learn when the demand is made," said the Puritan. "You will
then know why I have given the promise, and the nature of the obligation
imposed upon my daughter to fulfil it."
"But is this obligation ever to remain binding?" demanded Sir Jocelyn.
"If the claim be not made within a year after my death, she is
discharged from it," replied Hugh Calveley.
"O, thanks, father, thanks!" exclaimed Aveline.
At this moment the door of the vault was thrown open, and two persons
entered, the foremost of whom Sir Jocelyn instantly recognised as the
King. The other was his Majesty's physician, Doctor Mayerne Turquet. A
glance sufficed to explain to the latter the state of the Puritan.
"Ah! parbleu! the man is dying, your Majesty," he exclaimed.
"Deeing! is he?" cried James. "The mair reason he suld tell his secret,
to us without procrastination. Harkye, prophet of ill!" he continued, as
he strode forward. "The judgment of Heaven ye predicated for us, seems
to have fallen on your ainsell, and to have laid you low, even afore our
arm could touch you. Ye have gude reason to be thankful you have escaped
the woodie; sae e'en make a clean breast of it, confess your enormities,
and reveal to us the secret matter whilk we are tauld ye hae to
communicate!"
"Let all else withdraw a few paces," said Hugh Calveley, "and do thou, O
King, approach me. What I have to say is for thine ear alone."
"There will be no danger in granting his request?" inquired James of
his physician.
"None whatever," replied Doctor Mayerne Turquet. "The only danger is in
delay. Your Majesty should lose no time. The man is passing rapidly
away. A few moments more, and he will have ceased to exist."
On a sign from the King, Sir Jocelyn then stepped aside, but Aveline
refused to quit her father, even for a moment.
As James drew near, Hugh Calveley raised himself a little in order to
address him. "I say unto thee, O King," he cried, "as Elijah said unto
Ahab, 'Because thou hast sold thyself to work evil in the sight of the
Lord--behold! I will bring evil upon thee, and will take away thy
posterity. And I will make thine house like the house of Jeroboam the
son of Nebat, and like the house of Baasha the son of Ahijah, for the
provocation wherewith thou hast provoked me to anger, and made Israel to
sin.'"
"Now the muckle Diel seize thee, villain!" exclaimed James furiously.
"Is it to listen to thy texts that thou hast brought me hither?" And as
Hugh Calveley, exhausted by the effort he had made, fell back with a
groan, he bent his head towards him, crying, "The secret, man, the
secret! or the tormenter shall wring it from thee?"
The Puritan essayed to speak, but his voice was so low that it did not
reach the ears of the King.
"What sayest thou?" he demanded. "Speak louder. Saul of our body!" he
exclaimed, after a moment's pause, during which the sudden alteration
that took place in the prisoner's features made him suspect that all was
over. "Our belief is he will never speak again. He hath escaped us, and
ta'en his secret wi' him."
A loud shriek burst from Aveline, as she fell upon her father's lifeless
body.
"Let us forth," cried the King, stopping his ears. "We carena to be
present at scenes like this. We hae had a gude riddance o' this traitor,
though we wad hae gladly heard what he had to tell. Sir Jocelyn
Mounchensey, ye will see that this young woman be cared for; and when ye
have caused her to be removed elsewhere, follow us to the tennis-court,
to which we shall incontinently adjourn."
So saying, he quitted the vault with his physician.