A CHANGE OF VENUE
For an hour after Elinor had left him Neville sat staring into the
gathering dusk as if it had been the gate of Paradise. The swaying
of the tobacco leaves in the night wind was as the rustle of angel's
wings, and the light of heaven itself seemed to fall round him like a
halo. For him life had been lived out, and looking back he pronounced
it worth while. The years of suffering, of waiting, of toil and danger
threatening to end in ignominious death were weighed in the balance
against the minutes when he had held Elinor Calvert close to his
heart, and lo the years flew up light as thistledown, not worthy to be
compared with the weight of glory of those transcendent moments when
they stood together, he and she, cheek to cheek, heart to heart, no
word said, because all was understood, and they two alone in the round
world of a kiss.
Philpotts was quite disappointed when he came in with the lantern to
find his prisoner so cheerful.
"I ha' brought summat to comfort you; but ye are smiling as if ye'd
been bid to the King's ball."
"Eh! What?" asked Neville, dreamily still.
"I'm saying you might from your looks ha' been to court, or knighted
over again, or summat like that."
"There's more knighting than comes from the King's hand, my good
Philpotts."
"H'm?" said Philpotts, uncomprehending.
"Nothing," answered Neville.
"I'm glad to see you're not giving in beaten."
"A man, Philpotts, is never beaten till he has said in his heart, 'I am
beaten.'"
"That's right. Keep up your heart, and your heart'll keep you up in
spite of Fate."
"Pooh! Show me Fate and I will show you the will of a man; but what
have you there in your hand?"
"Oh, ye may well ask. 'Tis no slight honor, I can tell you, to get a
letter from Mistress Margaret Brent. I know 'tis from her, for the
boy that brought it bade me say so; twice he said it, and bade me not
forget, as if that were likely."
Neville reached out his hand for the letter, and bending near the
lantern broke the seal and read,--
"I am sure, sir, you will be glad to know that there are those who
believe in your innocence and will do all they can to establish it. My
position is a delicate one, for I can neither thwart those in power,
nor openly act against them; but what I can do I will, and meanwhile
should you by any chance reach Kent Island you may find a refuge and
a shelter."
The note had neither beginning nor end.
"I thank you!" said Neville aloud, as if the writer of the note were
near; and may not souls draw near as well as bodies?
Philpotts hearing his voice turned back.
"Was it good news?" he asked.
"The best."
"Will it help ye?"
"Ay, on the scaffold itself."
"Never be talking so much of what's far off. There's no luck in
prophesying ill things. Was ever any one in your family hung?"
"No; none rose so high," said Neville, with bitter humor.
"Still another sending for thee. 'Twas brought by Mistress Calvert's
son while his mother was within. I wonder does the child think we mean
to starve you." As he spoke he drew out a loaf of bread.
"He said you were not to wait till morning, but eat it _all_ to-night."
Neville smiled, a sweet, wholesome, human smile.
"Give it me," he said, and broke off a great chunk. To his surprise he
found the loaf hollow, and inside was Cecil's knife wrapped round with
a bit of paper on which was scrawled in a childish hand,--
"I crep out of bed to get this Loaf. I was afraid of bars tho you say
they cum not into houses. I dug out the Bred with my nife and thru the
crums out at the Windo so Mother sh'd not see them. I hope you will
stab your jalor, and jump out your Windo too. Sum day you shal cum to
Robin Hood's Barn. You may keep the Nife.
CALVERT."
"Here, Philpotts," said Neville, handing over the knife, "this is for
you; but with your leave I will keep the note," and he folded it and
laid it next his heart, as though it had been written by his own son.
"Why not keep it yoursel', Master?"
"I have no use for it."
"I can find one."
"Still harping on escape? Every one seems to know me for a coward."
"No son of Master John Neville was ever that; yet I do beg of you, sir,
see, on my knees, to quit this prison now, this hour, for who knows
what the next may bring forth!"
"My kind jailor, my good friend, get up from those honorable knees of
yours which bend before adversity as most men's to prosperity."
"Your promise first!"
"Never to that you do propose; but here's my hand, and it's proud I am
to offer it; and now, good-night, for it is well with me in body and
soul, and I would fain try to fall asleep to see if I can conjure up
again in my dreams certain visions which have made me happier than ever
I was in my life before."
Philpotts thought Neville's troubles had driven him mad, and withdrew
to his own corner, muttering curses on those that had unhinged this
noble mind; but Neville lay still in such bliss as only angels and
lovers know, till sleep came softly and kissed his eyelids.
The long slumber somewhat tarnished the glory of Neville's mood, and
when he awoke at the turn of morning he was conscious of a reactionary
depression of soul.
Say what we will of the gloom of gathering night, it is as nothing to
the grimness of the gray dawn. Night swallows up detail. The facts of
one's life seen in midnight hours may look tragic; but they are large
and vague, with somewhat of the vastness of eternity. In the morning
they stand out in all their bare, shabby pettiness, and we shrink back
appalled from the tasks of the coming day.
As Neville woke he felt a hand upon his breast, and looking up saw
Philpotts standing over him with a grave face.
"They've come for you, Master Neville."
"'They?' Who?"
"They are come by the Governor's orders to fetch you away, belike to
St. Mary's for trial. Oh, sir, but you'd best have heeded my offer last
night and got away while there was time!"
"My good Philpotts, when milk is spilled it is spilled, and there's
no good in thinking what fine puddings it would have made. You've
done your best for me, like a man. Now go away and forget the whole
business. Plant your cabbages in the spring, and water them not with
any tears for me!"
"Me go away! Not me, sir! And by good luck it's orders that I'm to be
one of the escort to St. Mary's. That is, if 'tis to St. Mary's we're
bound; but the orders are sealed, or some flummery like that they
talked about, as the paper's not to be opened till we're out in the
river."
"Ah! You make me feel like a State character. My importance is rising.
Where are the gentlemen? We must not keep them waiting."
A rattle at the door showed that the visitors were growing impatient,
and as Neville stepped toward it two men flung it open and entered
hastily. One was tall, the other short. Both wore long cloaks and hats
pulled rather low over their faces, as though they felt little pride
in this charge of their prisoner. In truth, Neville even in his short
stay in the colony had made the reputation of a gentleman and a brave
man, and there were many that grieved for him, and wondered whether the
knife alone were evidence enough to hang a man upon. Moreover, despite
the wise and liberal rule of the Lord Proprietor, the Papist-Protestant
feeling ran high throughout the length and breadth of Maryland, and the
Protestants were ready to a man to swear to Neville's innocence for no
other reason than his religion.
This alone might have been enough to make Giles Brent wish the trial to
take place at Kent Island, where enough force could be brought to bear
to keep the peace while the trial proceeded.
"There is one favor I am fain to ask at your hands, gentlemen," said
Neville, as he took up his hat.
"Any favor consistent with the Governor's wish and the good of the
Commonwealth we will be pleased to grant."
"I have a sister at the Manor, a sister who would cry her pretty eyes
out if her brother had the ill manners to take his departure without a
word of farewell. May not our course take me past her window, that I
may at least wave a good-bye?"
The smaller man, he of the purple cloak and broad, drooping purple hat,
moved as if he were in favor of granting the petition; but the other
spoke with some sternness,--
"We have no time for such courtesies as farewells spoken or wafted from
finger-tips. Our orders are to set forward with all speed and to be
aboard the ketch before sunrise."
"As you will. Poor little Peggy!" he murmured to himself. "So end
all her plans of escape. On the whole I am glad. Now she will cease
pestering me to save myself."
"I fear," said the larger man, "that we must ask you to submit to
having your arms bound. 'Tis an indignity we would gladly spare you,
but the Governor's orders--"
"Spare me at least your apologies. On with the ropes!"
Five minutes later the door was flung open and the four men took the
road. Neville in the lead with the tall stranger, Philpotts and the
other following close behind. In his zeal to keep up with the great
strides of Philpotts, the smaller man tripped over his sword and
well-nigh fell down the steep pine-needle carpeted path slippery with
hoar frost. The larger man looked back annoyed. Neville smiled at his
discomfiture.
"Faith, Brent despatched a boy to do a man's work. Were't not for
Philpotts I could, an it pleased me, make short work of you and yonder
stripling."
"Ay, but it _is_ for Philpotts; moreover, yonder stripling is
marvellous handy aboard the boat, as you will see when we shake out the
sails."
Neville spoke no more, but tramped along, looking well to his
footsteps, for he too found the ground wet and slippery with its thin
glazing of ice. The treacherous Southern winter was in one of its
relenting moods, and the morning air, even now before the sun was fully
risen, held a hint of spring. The green pines sent forth their sweet
odor, and a bird fluttered up and flapped his bright wings full in
Neville's face.
It was a morning to give a man courage for meeting life or for leaving
it. Neville had faced danger and death too often to be wholly absorbed
in his own fate, and now interwoven with his dull web of despair was a
bright thread of enjoyment of the scene around him.
Never will any romancer truly tell the story of a man's inner life till
he takes cognizance of the many trains of thought, gay and sombre, that
can slide on side by side, neither wholly filling nor dominating the
mind.
The tingling air, the slant sunshine, and the sense of unknown
adventure awaiting him raised Neville's spirits, so that as a turn
of the path brought the ketch in sight he found himself humming the
refrain of a song,--a song he had first heard rippling from the lips
of Elinor Calvert, oh, how many years ago, among the green fields of
Somerset,--
"Greensleeves was all my joy,
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
Who but Lady Greensleeves?"
The words called up a vision of Elinor as he had seen her at eighteen
tripping along the forest paths of the Somerset woods, her robe as
green as Maid Marian's and her floating sleeves catching ever and anon
on bush or briar,--a blessed chance which gave her lover opportunity
to bend over it and touch it with his lips whilst disentangling it
slowly--oh, so slowly! And again he saw her in a dress of a similar
fashion there in the hall of St. Gabriel's, and again she smiled upon
him, and those warm slender fingers rested in his, and those perfect
eyes unveiled their tender depths before his gaze. To have come so near
and then to have lost--oh, it was unbearable!--and he kicked viciously
at the innocent root of a tree in his path.
As the last words left his lips, his mood sank to despair again.
"Look alive there, sir! Jump aboard, Philpotts, and loosen that
forward sheet! Sir Christopher, step on that board and you'll reach the
stern easy! That's your seat by the helm."
"You are shivering," said the younger man, who had scarcely spoken till
now. "Take my cloak."
"No, no," reproved his elder, "not too much softness to the Governor's
prisoner! He'll do very well for a while yet with his jerkin and
doublet. Come on! we need your help there forward."
"Let me thank you for the intention at least before you go," said
Neville, ignoring the churlish speech of the older man and addressing
himself to the one in purple. "A kind word may carry more warmth than a
purple cloak." Then he sank back, gazing out over the water, while the
sails were raised and the ropes cast off from the wharf, which slowly
receded as the bright sunrise-tinted water slipped along the keel, and
the brisk little waves slapped the side of the ketch as if daring her
to a game of tag.
They were out in the river now. The Potomac spread far to the southward
as far as eye could reach, with vague hints of low hills so near the
hue of the water that one could scarce tell where water ended and land
began, or where the land again slipped into the misty blueness of the
western sky.
Neville strained his eyes to catch sight of a particular point as they
passed it,--a point rising a little from the water and crowned with a
thick growth of primeval forest. There lay Robin Hood's Barn, and the
wide acres of Cecil's Manor stretched peacefully along the river just
where it widened into the bay.
There is a peculiar irony in watching in our unhappiness the scenes
associated with hours of hope and joy. Neville smiled bitterly as he
contrasted what might have been with what was. Then he reproached
himself for a coward and a faint heart that was ready to yield to the
first buffet of Fate. He resolved to turn his mind from gloomy thoughts
and find comfort in the cheerfulness around him.
The ketch was running free with all sails spread and looked like a big
white bird skimming the surface. It was a sight to cheer the heart of
the most downcast, but more cheering still was the smell of breakfast
a-cooking in the cabin, and right willingly did Neville respond to the
call and seat himself at the rude board in the tiny cabin, which, rude
as it was, proved a welcome shelter from the fresh wind blowing outside.
"I reckon," he said, looking with a smile at his captors, "that I am to
be allowed the freedom of my arms while eating unless ye do intend to
feed me with a pap spoon like an infant."
"All in good time, Sir Christopher." It seemed to be always the tall
man who spoke.
"Curse his ready tongue! Why will he never give the other fellow a
chance?" thought Neville, but held his peace while the spokesman
continued,--
"Before we remove the rope we want your oath to two things. First, that
you will make no effort to escape. Second, that you will cheerfully
obey our orders and those, whatever they may be, in this sealed paper."
"A largish contract; but for the first I can well afford to promise,
since having put aside the chance of escape when 'twas easy, I am not
like to undertake it now 'tis become well-nigh impossible. I'm neither
whale nor Jonah that I should set out to swim a matter of a dozen miles
to land; and as for running away, I am bound to see this trial to a
finish and try what Maryland law for Protestants is."
Here Philpotts was guilty of the indiscretion of sighing. Neville,
fearing he would show himself too much the prisoner's friend for his
own good, turned upon him with simulated fierceness.
"Sirrah, I will have none of your officious sighing as if I were
already as good as a dead man. Keep your breath to cool your porridge.
When I want it I'll ask for it.
"Now," turning again to his interlocutor, "as for the second clause,
you ask a trifle too much. As much of your will as I must obey I shall,
and with three against one to enforce it that share seems likely to be
well-nigh the whole; but as to the cheerfulness with which I meet it,
that must needs depend on God and my own mind. But make haste ere those
cakes be cold to unbind me and let me have at them!"
"Are you satisfied with the prisoner's promise?"
The other two men nodded, and Philpotts went on deck again. The
stripling began in a trice to undo the ropes which bound Neville,
whereupon he fell to and made as hearty a breakfast as ever he laid in
on firm land with high hopes and bright prospects.
When they were come out of the cabin again, he noticed that the boat
had changed her course and was running with a beam wind.
"Why, how's this?" he asked of Philpotts as he took his seat once more
by the stern. "Surely this ketch is not laying her course for St.
Mary's."
"Do not ask me, sir! I'm not the captain of this infernal ketch. In
truth, I'm no sailor at all, and would be right glad if I could be set
ashore this minute."
Neville could have laughed as he saw the green and yellow melancholy
that too surely tells the story of coming sea-sickness, but pity ruled
and he said sympathetically, "Go you below, and I'll keep the helm till
you have braced your insides with some hot meat and drink."
"How's this?" cried the tall man, coming on deck just as Neville
reached for the tiller. "Mutiny already! Troth, I have a pair of irons
below, and you shall be clapped in them if I see you move toward the
tiller again. Philpotts, give me the helm and go below!"
Neville shrugged his shoulders, but refrained from speech. He withdrew
his outstretched hand, pulled his hat over his eyes, and sat gazing
over the sail at the blue distance which seemed of a sudden peopled
with all the friends of a lifetime. He could see his father and mother
seated by the great stone fireplace at Frome Hall, the Irish setter
with his head on his master's knee. Yes, and there in her own little
chair, the tiny Peggy, with rebellious curls shaken back every now and
again from the bright eyes beneath them, and then the quick lighting up
of the face, the leaning forward of the little figure as Christopher
himself entered the room with his game-bag over his shoulder, the eager
peep into the bag, and the jumping up and down with delight as she
counted the tale of the day's success.
Perhaps he had scarcely realized in those days how much that little
sister's adoring love had meant to him. But now it all came back with
a swift stab. Oh, to take her in his arms once more, to tell her how
he felt to the heart's core her loyalty and devotion! Why do these
impulses so often come too late to all of us?
As Neville withdrew his gaze from the water to the deck, the
hallucination of familiar figures followed him. There close at his
elbow was the dear round face with its roguish dimples and mischievous
eyes, not cast down and swollen with crying as he had seen them last,
but full of life and light, and her dear voice was murmuring in his
ear,--
"Kit, my darling brother, I am here. Are you glad?"
Neville brushed his arm across his eyes: the figure was too real. It
savored of madness, but it would not move. When he opened his eyes
again, there it stood, more solid than ever, but now the tears were
rising in the eyes, and the hands were stretched out softly toward him.
"Where am I? What does it mean?" Christopher murmured.
"It means," said the senior escort, removing his hat, and revealing the
dark curls of Romney Huntoon, "that we have decided upon a change of
venue for your case, and have arranged to remove the jurisdiction to
Romney Hall, York County, Virginia."
"Bless my soul!" cried Philpotts, from the companionway; "he's told
him, the mean devil, and me not there to see the fun--me, that's beaten
any play actor in the old country at deceiving tricks. Sir Christopher,
the Captain and crew of the ketch _Lady Betty_ are at your service,
and it's no more of prison bars we'll hear after we touch Protestant
Virginia."
"Peggy, Peggy, what have you done?" exclaimed her brother, bending over
her brown head as it lay on his breast, as she knelt close beside him.
"Done? We have saved you from prison, to be sure. He and I and good
Master Philpotts, that we thought to outwit and found full ready to
help us. And this is Master Huntoon's boat all ready loaded for Romney.
He brought it round yesterday from St. Mary's. He's rather clever, that
Master Huntoon, though he keeps his wits mostly for great occasions."
"Vastly clever of you all three, and vastly dull of me to be your dupe!
I thank you all heartily; and now will you please put your helm about,
and head the ketch for St. Mary's with what speed you may?"
"Christopher!" exclaimed Peggy, in such a heart-broken voice that her
brother clasped her closer than ever as he said,--
"Indeed, indeed, I appreciate what you have all done, and risked for
me, but I cannot run away."
"Then you care nothing for me compared with your flimsy honor."
"Nay, 'tis partly that I care so much for you that I must have a care
of this flimsy honor, which is yours as well as mine. Philpotts, will
you kindly put about that helm?"
Philpotts made a motion to obey; but Huntoon stopped him with a
movement of his hand.
"Listen, Sir Christopher, I pray you," he said. "Of course I am a
younger man, and you may resent my counselling you; but remember, I
love your sister, and her honor and yours are no less dear to me than
to you. I see the situation more clearly as a looker-on, and this is
how it looks to me. There is no hope here and now of a fair trial. The
Catholics are hot for the punishment of the murderer of a priest, and
Calvert and Brent have already angered them by the leniency they have
shown to Protestants. Give the matter but time to cool, and make sure
of a fair hearing. That is all I ask."
Neville sat silent with his head bowed on his hands for an instant,
then he spoke low but firmly,--
"Go! I must have time to think. Go you all below and give me the helm!
When I have made up my mind, I will summon you, and my decision must
stand. You, Huntoon, must give me back the oath I swore to obey you.
This matter touches none so close as me, and in my hands it must be
left. Go!"
Slowly and dejectedly the three conspirators crept into the cabin.
There Romney and Peggy sat silent and expectant for what seemed an
eternity. Ropes creaked, sails flapped on deck. Who could say what was
passing? At length they heard a cheerful call of "All hands on deck!"
They rushed up the companionway and saw Christopher standing at the
helm, his hair blown back and his hand grasping the helm, the tiller
pushed far to port, and the ketch standing for St. Mary's.