"Whither are you going, sir?" she asked abruptly.
"I' faith, I cannot say," he answered doubtfully. "But for you, madame,
it were certainly wiser to follow this gentleman, if he can bestow you
safely."
"I will not," she answered resolutely.
"We'll all swing for it, an we bide here parleying much longer," began
Rob desperately.
He broke off abruptly, for even as he spoke, a window in the wall
opposite was flung open, and a man's face peered out into the alley.
Instinctively the three drew back into the shadow. But it was too late.
The disturbed burgess had seen the three figures, and in an instant he
suspected the truth of the situation.
With an exclamation his head disappeared from view, and a moment later
they heard the bolts of a door round the corner of the building shot
back and the man rushed into the street shouting:
"The prisoners are escaping! Look to your prisoners."
Captain Protheroe seized Barbara's hand, and they began to run rapidly
down the alley. They heard the sentinels running up the street and
shouting. They darted round the corner as their pursuers turned into
the alley.
Rob had disappeared.
The alley led into a wider street, parallel to that in which the
sentries had been posted, at the main entrance to the shed. Down this
the fugitives turned, but were met by a knot of men running towards the
shouts. Captain Protheroe tightened his grip on Barbara's hand,
desperately, and ran straight towards them, waving his free arm in the
direction of the prison.
"The prisoners!" he shouted. "They are escaping, look to them."
The ruse succeeded. The men hesitated a moment, staring doubtfully at
his uniform, and then proceeded at a run towards the prison, shouting
confusedly. On they ran right into the arms of the sentries, who at
that moment turned out of the alley.
A few moments of confusion ensued ere the identity of each party was
made clear to the other--moments precious to the fugitives, who ran on
blindly from street to street, little heeding which way they went.
Barbara stumbled as she ran, and her breath came in sobs. Captain
Protheroe's grip upon her wrist was like a vice. Again they turned a
corner, and for an instant they stopped dead; for halfway down the
street, full in their path, the bright light from an open doorway flared
across the road, and in the light stood a group of soldiers eager and
alert. They had run into a trap.
Their pursuers behind shouted a warning, the troopers in front wheeled
round quickly to face them.
To go back was impossible, to stand still, madness, to run forward into
the arms of these expectant troopers, a desperate chance. This time no
ruse could avail them.
And then, a few yards on the near side of the lighted doorway, Captain
Protheroe espied a dark opening in the line of buildings. He darted
towards it and slipped between the black shadows of the houses.
Barbara was spent, but even as they ran into the narrow alley, and as he
felt further effort was hopeless, Captain Protheroe noted an open
doorway, dimly lighted. It was a desperate chance, his only one. With
an effort he dragged Barbara into the house, and shut the door behind
him, listening intently, while the girl sank exhausted at his feet. He
heard their pursuers turn the corner, pass the door unheeded, and
running eagerly on, turn again into the street beyond. Their shouts and
footsteps died away in the distance, and all was still.
Captain Protheroe turned and surveyed his surroundings. They were in a
narrow, dimly-lighted passage, flanked by a doorway on either side, and
leading to a third door at the end. The door on the left was open, and
the room to which it gave access, a small parlour, was deserted.
He glanced at Barbara. She raised her head and smiled at him bravely,
though her breath still came in shuddering gasps, and her face was white
and drawn.
He stooped down, and helped her to her feet, then leading her into the
little parlour, laid her, unresisting, on the settle, and closed the
door.
"Where are we?" she whispered, looking wonderingly around her.
He shook his head.
Just then a door was heard to open in some distant part of the house.
There was a babble of sounds, a shrill voice singing through the verse
of a song, followed by a loud burst of boisterous laughter.
Captain Protheroe, with a quick exclamation, crossed to the window of
the room, drew aside the heavy curtain, and peered out.
Then he turned with a strange expression in his eyes.
"We have walked into the lion's den, Mistress Barbara," he said. "This
is the White Hart Inn."
Barbara started to her feet.
"Oh! let us go, let us go instantly," she cried.
Captain Protheroe stood irresolute.
"I don't know," he said slowly; "it may be we are in the safest place.
At least 'tis the last place where they would dream of searching for
us."
As he spoke, the door at the end of the passage opened, and they heard a
dragging footstep slowly approaching.
Barbara clasped her hands in desperation.
"Lie down!" he whispered sharply. "Lie down, and turn away your face."
The footsteps drew nearer, the door was pushed open, and a girl carrying
a dim rushlight entered the room. Her dress was untidy, her hair
tousled, her eyes heavy with sleep.
She gave a quick cry at sight of the occupants of the room, and almost
dropped her candlestick in her surprise.
"Why, Sue, what ails you?" Captain Protheroe asked cheerily.
The girl stared at him in bewilderment.
"La, Captain Protheroe, sir, eh! but ye frighted me. I took thee for a
ghost. What ever be thee here for? Why," she continued with dawning
recollection, "I heard tell as how thee wert took prisoner, and in gaol
along wi' rebels."
"Arrested, I! What nonsense," he answered coolly; "'twas but a jest of
Colonel Kirke's. They don't arrest the king's officers, Sue, my girl.
But look you, this lady hath but just recovered from a swoon. There was
a disturbance in the streets, and she was thrown down and frightened. I
brought her in here to recover, before I take her home."
"Eh, poor thing!" exclaimed Sue, eyeing Barbara pitifully. "The street
is no place for the like o' her this time o' night. But you're kindly
welcome, sir, and the lady too. We could not give her a bed, sir, I'm
afraid; but an she wish to rest on mine----"
"Oh, there's no need to put yourself about, she will be well enow
shortly."
"Would you be wishing for supper, sir?" asked in girl sleepily.
"Supper! Good heavens, no. Why it must be near midnight. I'm for my
bed presently, and methinks 'tis the place for you now. You look tired
to death, my girl."
"Aye. I've been about since five o'clock this morning," she answered,
yawning. "Their lordships make a deal of work. But I'm going to my bed
now, if you want no more, sir."
"Nothing, thank you, Sue."
"I'm sleeping in yonder," nodding her head across the passage. "Perhaps
you'd call, sir, if you want anything." Then she added, hesitating, "We
be so full o' guests now, father sleeps on the settle here. But he'll
hardly be down yet, he must see their lordships safe to bed first.
Good-night to you, sir."
She crossed the passage and disappeared through the doorway opposite.
Captain Protheroe broke the silence which followed:
"If you are rested," he said briskly, "I think we had best be gone."
"Must we go?" she asked lazily.
"The sooner we are free from the houses, the better. The landlord may
come here any moment. They are quieter above stairs already."
Then he glanced across the room.
Through the half-closed doors of a cupboard in the corner he espied some
dishes of meat--cold bacon, a half eaten pasty, several loaves of bread.
"Fugitives cannot be over and above honest," he muttered with a laugh,
as he swept the contents of the cupboard into a cloth, and tucked the
bundle under his arm. "We can make the loss good to mine host, some day,
perchance, and food we must have. Now, Mistress Barbara, if you are
ready."
He stopped with a look of consternation, for even as he spoke, the
passage door again opened, and they heard a man's voice calling aloud:
"This way, Master Peters, we can transact our business somewhat more
privately here."
The only possible hiding place the room afforded was the space between
the high-backed settle and the wall. In an instant the two had stepped
back into its shadow, and crouched there, scarce daring to breathe,
hoping only that the dim uncertain light might conceal their presence
from the two men who a moment later entered the room.
The first was a big, burly farmer, with round, red, solemn face and
somewhat wooden cast of countenance. He took up his stand by the table,
facing the settle, but with the light between him and the fugitives.
His companion afforded a marked contrast; a small, thin, wiry,
sharp-featured man. His pale face was alight with intellect, but his
narrow-set blue eyes were hard as steel, and while seeming to pierce a
man's inner-most thoughts, yet gave in return no vestige of answering
confidence. He was soberly suited in black, and carried in his hand an
open letter, and a small bag of gold.
This was no other than Master Stephen Jewars, my Lord Jeffrey's clerk
and secretary, one in whom it was commonly averred his lordship trusted
more nearly and confided more honestly than in any other living man.
The secretary, laying the letter open upon the table, turned and faced
the farmer.
"You are after your time, Master Peters," he began, "I had expected you
yestere'en."
"Aye, aye," answered the farmer slowly. "I were in Taunton then, sure
enow, but the mare were took bad and I could not leave her."
"Hum," answered the other somewhat sharply. "You should recollect,
Master Peters, time is precious."
"Aye, your honour," answered the farmer imperturbably. "But so is
hosses."
The secretary started angrily, and eyed the solemn face of his companion
doubtfully. Then satisfied by his scrutiny, his lip curled slightly,
and he proceeded:
"Well, well, now you are here, I need not detain you. I see by this
letter that you successfully carried out your undertaking."
"Aye, aye, sure enough. I took Master Ferguson to----"
"Master Peters," interrupted the other sharply, "you will do well to
remember this is a matter requiring much circumspection. We will,
therefore, have no names, if you please."
"Why, there be none here to hearken," answered the farmer, in aggrieved
surprise.
"There is a saying that walls have ears. You cannot be too careful."
"As your honour pleases," answered the man with a shrug. "I took the
man, you know who, safe to Lime right under the noses of the troopers,
he lying hid in my cart. He bided three nights in my house, and then I
shipped him to France wi' my wife's cousin."
"'Twas well done, Master Peters, and here is the price for your task."
The secretary handed the man the bag of money, and watched him secrete
it in his belt. Then he laid his hand on the farmer's arm, and eyeing
him steadily with those piercing blue eyes, addressed him in a slow
impressive tone.
"And now, Master Peters, there remains but one thing to say to you; a
warning. You will remember that this matter is an affair of state, and
he who has had aught to do with such affairs does well to keep his eyes
blinded, his ears deaf, and above all, his tongue dumb. If by word of
yours, spoken be it in anger, in boasting, or in drink--if ever, I say,
word of this matter escape you, you will----"
"I'm paid to be quiet; I'm not a man to babble i' other folk's affairs,"
interrupted the farmer in an aggrieved tone.
"I knew it, otherwise you had not been chosen for the work.
Nevertheless, bear my words in mind. The man I serve is all-powerful.
He can reward generously, but he never forgets an injury, and he never
forgives a foe. Good-night, Master Peters, and remember to bear yourself
discreetly."
The secretary let the man out through the door leading into the alley.
He returned to the room muttering to himself.
"I doubt the fellow must be disposed of, he knows too much," he said
slowly. Then he picked up the letter from the table, and stood for some
minutes gazing at it abstractedly, lost in thought.
"Fool! Fool!" he muttered at last. "Madman, to put himself in the
power of such a man. Of a surety it must work his ruin in the end. And
all to no purpose, since the papers are still lost. And yet, what is't
to me? For an he rise, I shall rise with him, and if he fall--his
carcase must serve as a stepping-stone, whereby I may rise alone."
Thoughtfully he folded the letter, and placed it in his pouch, then
turned again from the room. They heard him go slowly down the passage,
a door closed, and all was still once more.
The fugitives emerged cautiously from their hiding-place.
"Ferguson! Ferguson!" muttered Captain Protheroe to himself, as he
wrapped his cloak round his companion's shoulders. "Ferguson and
Jeffreys! for assuredly 'twas Jeffreys of whom he spoke. Now, what the
devil---- But come, Mistress Barbara, we'll away from here, and leave
them to brew what plots they will."
Barbara pulled the cloak closely round her, and followed him silently
out of the house. He walked quickly down the alley, and turned into the
silent street behind the inn. The moon was down, and save for the
occasional glimmer of a lamp, the streets were in darkness.
"Where are we going?" asked Barbara, wonderingly.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"We must get clear of the town, first. You will not go to your cousin?"
he asked doubtfully.
"No, indeed! I would not risk danger to Cicely. And besides I know not
where lies the house."
"Then we throw in our lots together?" he asked, smiling down on her.
"Indeed, sir, I see not what else remains for me," she answered simply,
committing herself to his protection with an implicit faith.
Under his breath he prayed Heaven he might be the means of saving her.
The streets were very silent, they passed on unheeded, avoiding the
watch by careful detours. Of their former pursuers they heard nothing;
and, indeed, these latter had given up the chase in despair.
As for Robert, with the quick wit of one well versed in such adventures,
experience culled from many encounters with the watch, when his two
companions set off down the alley he had scrambled without more ado
through the very window whence the alarm was first given, and biding
there quietly till the pursuit had passed, he escaped thence as silently
as he had entered, and made the best speed he could back home.
So none hindered the fugitives in their progress, and they hurried on,
with hope ever dawning more brightly before them.
Suddenly a man reeled out of a cross-street, and ran straight into
Barbara's arms. He started back with a drunken curse, stared stupidly
down at her, and then passed on.
But when he had gone a few paces he paused irresolutely, looked back
over his shoulder, and then turning, ran unsteadily after them and
seized the girl's arm.
"Mistress," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I saw thee in court to-day."
Barbara gave a cry of horror and shrank back, Captain Protheroe clenched
his fists, and glanced cautiously up and down the quiet street.
But the man laughed drunkenly.
"Bah!" he cried, "I'll not betray you, my beauty. 'Tis too pretty a face
to lie hid in prison, and kissing, not scourging, were meeter for thee.
Aye, and so I'd tell my Lord Jeffreys himself. I'll not betray thee.
But get you from the town. Taunton streets are not for you. That bonny
face is not soon forgotten, my angel."
Captain Protheroe scowled. His fingers itched to be at the man's
throat, for though the warning was kindly, the tone was insolent, and
the fellow leered at the girl with his bleared eyes. But a disturbance
was not to be risked. With a curt nod, and a gently murmured word of
thanks from Barbara, they hurried on, leaving the belated traveller
leaning up against a wall chuckling over their hasty retreat.
But their progress was doomed, nevertheless, to meet with yet another
check that night.
They had turned into a quiet street, on the outskirts of the town, when
they were aware of three men coming towards them, carrying amongst them
a ladder. Captain Protheroe drew Barbara into the shade of a doorway,
and they waited for the party to pass. They stopped, however, before a
small house, and laid their burden on the ground; then lighting a small
lantern they stooped over the bundle on the ladder, and busied
themselves over it for some minutes with muttered curses and
ejaculations. There was a silence and a mystery about their proceedings
that excited the captain's curiosity, and he craned forward eagerly to
watch them.
Presently they rose and rearing the ladder against the house, held it
there, while the leader of the three, an old man, small and hunchbacked,
clambered up and entered the half-opened casement of a chamber in the
upper story. He disappeared for a moment into the room, then returning
to the window, proceeded to haul up the bundle by a rope to which it had
been fastened.
With a sudden quick movement Captain Protheroe put his hand across
Barbara's eyes, that she might not watch them, for he recognised in a
moment the thing they were hauling up so eagerly, he understood too well
the meaning of that dangling shadow on the wall. A hanged man was a
common enough sight in those days, but what meant these silent men, with
that helpless body here?
The man in the chamber hauled up the corpse, until the helpless,
drooping head was on a level with the window ledge. He secured it
there, descended the ladder, and stepped into the middle of the road
chuckling and rubbing his hands, to see the effect of his handiwork.
His accomplices stared at him curiously.
"Well, master," growled one, "there he hangs for sure, and we're well
paid for the job. But what a murrain a man wants wi' a hanged corpse
dangling outside his chamber, is more than my wits can tell."
The hunchback turned slowly and faced the speaker, and his face was as
the face of a madman.
"Harkee, my man," he said grimly. "The wench sleeping in yonder chamber
is my niece, was my niece, for she's none o' mine now. She was a devil
with her whims and tantrums, but for all that, she should have wedded my
son, for she hath a pretty fortune of her own. But she would none of
him, calling him 'fool' and 'dotard' because, forsooth, he is not so
quick in his wits as some. And he my son. But I kept her close, and
she should have gone my way in time, when Monmouth's army came to town,
and with him this cursed fellow. They met, I scarce knew how, and she
drew him on with her devil's eyes. But I kept her close, so I deemed,
till at length I learned the fellow had been in secret night after night
to visit the girl, thus, by her chamber window. Then we waited for him,
I and my son, and fell on him in her room. But he worsted us, two to
one though we were, and my son a giant in strength; and he slew my son.
He slew my son, and she laughed when she saw him lying dead before her.
And he my son. Her lover fled by the window, and I saw him no more.
After the battle I sought him high and low until I found him. I brought
him to his trial, and saw him hanged for a rogue. But she has heard
nought of him as yet. Presently will we rouse her, and see how now she
greets this lover of hers."
The man told his story in a cold, even tone, and at the end broke into a
sudden savage chuckle; the light from the lantern illumined his face,
and his companions shuddered at the sheer brutality of its expression.
But the two eavesdroppers who had heard the story, horror-struck, could
endure no more, indeed, Barbara was trembling from head to foot. With
one accord they crept from the doorway, fortunately unobserved by the
three men, who stood so intently contemplating the horrible spectacle
before them, and passed rapidly from the spot, horrified by the
experience, and ever pursued by a wild unreasoning terror lest the
sleeping girl should wake and come to the window, lest they should hear
the greeting she gave her lover's corpse.
And so at length they left the town behind them, and reached the quiet
country beyond.
The night lay dark and silent around them. The pure fresh wind blew on
their faces, bearing the sweet scent of the woods upon its wings; the
trees and hedges shadowed darkly above them, whispering soft answers to
the wooing breeze. The air was full of the sweet mysterious noises of
the night, when nature murmurs, in those voices which know neither sound
nor language, yet speak so clearly to the listening heart.
The wide arch of the clear heavens stretched above them, spreading
before their gaze the infinite glories of their star-lit space, teaching
alike the infinite littleness and the infinite greatness of man; since
though he comprehend so little of what lies around him, yet hath he in
his being the breath of that spirit who "or ever the earth and the world
was made, is God from everlasting, and shalt be, world without end."
The joy of freedom coursed through their veins, a great peace enfolded
their hearts, and the Spirit of God rested upon them as they walked on
in silence, side by side, into the darkness of the night.
At length, when they had walked three miles or more, Captain Protheroe
stopped and stooping down carefully scanned his companion's face.
"We will go no further now," was the result of his scrutiny. "I fear me
we must dispense with a roof for to-night at least. Can you endure a
night in the open, think you?" he queried doubtfully.
Barbara smiled, stretching her arms out towards the sky.
"Indeed I can. Three nights in prison have wrought such effect upon me,
I could wish never to behold a roof again."
"Good! then follow me. I know of a hiding-place that should shelter us
safely for many a day."
He turned abruptly from the road, and helping her through the bordering
hedge, struck across several rough fields, until a dark shadow of a wood
loomed before them, and in a few minutes more they were enveloped in the
blackness of its depths.
"Give me your hand," he said, drawing her nearer to him. "The paths are
difficult to follow."
Indeed she could distinguish nothing in the intense darkness, but he
walked on unerringly, leading her along a maze of narrow paths, bordered
by thick brushwood, and a tangle of undergrowth.
"I played here as a lad," he said in explanation of his ready pilotage.
"There is no better way to learn the lie of a country than to roam it as
a boy. I verily believe I could go every step of the way with my eyes
shut."
Presently he stopped, and turning, looked at her doubtfully.
"We should leave the path here, madame, but I fear 'tis a difficult
passage, and scarce fit for you to traverse. Think you----"
Barbara laughed.
"Fear nothing for me. Be sure, sir, a woman can go through most things
if she ardently desire to come out at the further end."
So they turned from the path, and plunged into the tangle of brushwood.
Despite her boast, Barbara found the difficulties of the way far greater
than she had expected, for the darkness was so deep she could
distinguish little of what lay around her, and the briars and thorns
caught her skirts at every step. Captain Protheroe went before to part
the branches for her, where it was possible, or to help her to scramble
over the tangle of bushes that barred their way. In spite of her
fatigue the girl's spirits had quite recovered their customary buoyancy,
and as they struggled forward, she climbing and scrambling, he pulling
her on, she shook with laughter.
At length, after ten minutes' tedious struggle, their way was barred by
a network of branches and creepers so tightly enlaced that the barricade
was clearly not due to nature alone. Captain Protheroe after a few
paces to the left, paused, and pushing aside a branch which yielded to
his efforts with but slight resistance, he stepped through the opening,
and their journey was at an end.
Barbara found herself in a small clearing, a sloping hollow in the
ground, enclosed by a ring of trees and a network of branches. The
ground was thickly carpeted with moss, she felt the spring of it beneath
her feet; the faint sound of running water announced the near
neighbourhood of a spring; far overhead, through the thick interlacing
leaves she could see the stars.