"I leave you in a perilous post," he said; "but I am well aware of

your bravery. I hope we shall soon meet again. Adieu!"

He then mounted his steed, and waving his hand to the two colonels,

rode off.

CHAPTER II.

ATHERTON TAKEN PRISONER.

Surrounded by walls built in the time of Henry the Eighth, Carlisle,

at the period of our history, boasted a fortress that had successfully

resisted many an attack made upon it by the Scots.

Situated on an eminence, and partly surrounded by a broad, deep moat,

fed by the river Eden, the citadel, strongly garrisoned and well

provided with guns and ammunition, would seem to be almost impregnable.

At the foot of the western walls flowed the river Caldew, while the

castle overlooked the beautiful river Eden.

On the summit of the keep floated the prince's standard, and from this

lofty station remarkably fine views could be obtained. On one side

could be noted the junction of the Caldew and the Eden that takes

place below the castle, and adds to the strength of its position. The

course of the Eden could likewise be traced as it flowed through

fertile meadows, to pour its waters, augmented by those of the Caldew,

into the Solway Firth.

From the same point of observation could likewise be descried the

borders of Dumfries, with the Cheviot Hills on the right, while on the

other side the view extended to the stern grey hills of

Northumberland. Looking south, the eye ranged over a sweeping tract in

the direction of Penrith. Of course the keep looked down upon the

ancient cathedral which closely adjoined the castle, and upon the town

with its old gates and bulwarks.

Though the walls had become dilapidated, and were of no great

strength, yet, from its position and from its castle, it would seem

that Carlisle was able to stand a lengthened siege; and such was the

opinion of Colonel Townley, who considered it tenable against any

force that could be brought against it by the Duke of Cumberland.

One important matter, however, could not be overlooked. The

inhabitants were hostile, and were only controlled by the garrison. In

Carlisle, as in all Border towns, there was an hereditary dislike of

the Scots, and this feeling had been heightened by the recent events.

Immediately after the prince's departure, Colonel Townley examined the

walls, and caused certain repairs to be made. Guns were mounted by his

direction, and chevaux de frise fixed at all the gates and entrances.

A house from which the prince's army had been fired upon was likewise

burnt, to intimidate the inhabitants; and notice was given that any

violation of the commandant's orders would be severely punished. A

sallying party was sent out under the command of Captain Legh to

procure forage and provisions, and returned well supplied.

Amongst the most active and efficient of the officers was Tom Syddall,

who had now been raised to the post of adjutant, and rendered the

colonel great service. As the number of men ran short, Parson Coppock,

whose military ardour equalled his religious zeal, abandoned his gown

and cassock, and putting on military accoutrements, acted as

quarter-master to the regiment.

The greatest zeal and activity were displayed both by the officers and

men of the corps, and Colonel Townley seemed almost ubiquitous.

Colonel Hamilton lacked the spirit and energy displayed by the

commandant of the town, and was content to remain quietly shut up

within the walls of the castle, leaving the more arduous duties to

Colonel Townley, who discharged them, as we have shown, most

efficiently. Moreover, though he kept the opinion to himself, Colonel

Hamilton felt that the garrison would be compelled to capitulate,

unless it should be reinforced.

By the end of the third day all possible preparations for the siege

had been made by Colonel Townley, and he now deemed himself secure.

On the following day Captain Legh was sent with a message to the

governor, and found the castle in a good state of defence. The

court-yard was full of Highland soldiers; a few cannon were planted on

the battlements, and sentinels were pacing to and fro on the walls.

Colonel Hamilton was on the esplanade at the time, conversing with

Captain Abernethy and some other Scottish officers, and Atherton

waited till he was disengaged to deliver his message to him; but

before the governor could send a reply, a small party of horse, with

an officer at their head, could be seen approaching the city from the

Penrith Road.

Evidently they were English dragoons. After reconnoitring for a few

moments, Colonel Hamilton gave his glass to Atherton, who thought they

must be coming to summon the city to surrender.

"No doubt of it," replied the governor. "I wonder what Colonel

Townley's answer will be?"

"A scornful refusal," rejoined Captain Legh, surprised.

"That is all very well now," remarked the governor, shrugging his

shoulders; "but we shall have to capitulate in the end."

"Does your excellency really think so?"

"I do," replied Hamilton.

The answer returned by Colonel Townley was such as Atherton had

anticipated. He positively refused to surrender the city, and declared

he would hold it to the last extremity.

On the following day the Duke of Cumberland appeared before the town

with his whole army, and immediately began to invest it on all sides.

He continued his siege operations for nearly a week, during which a

constant fire was kept up from the walls and from the larger guns of

the castle, and frequent sallies were made by the garrison. One of

these, headed by Captain Legh, was attended with some little success.

He drove the enemy from their trenches, and nearly captured the Duke

of Richmond.

Hitherto, the besieged party had sustained very little damage, and had

only lost a few men. The duke had not indeed opened fire upon them,

because he had not received some artillery which he expected from

Whitehaven.

Colonel Townley, therefore, continued in high spirits, and even

Colonel Hamilton acquired greater confidence. One morning, however,

they were startled by perceiving a six-gun battery, which had been

erected during the night. Colonel Townley did not lose courage even at

this sight; but the governor was seriously alarmed.

"We shall be compelled to submit," he said; "and must make the best

terms we can."

"Submit! never!" cried Colonel Townley. "We had better die by the

sword than fall into the hands of those cursed Hanoverians. The duke

will show us no mercy. Oh that we could but get possession of those

guns!"

"Give me twenty well-mounted men and a dozen led horses, and I will

bring off a couple of the guns," cried Atherton.

"The attempt were madness," cried Colonel Townley.

"Madness or not, I am ready to make it," rejoined Captain Legh.

Half-an-hour afterwards the north gate, which was nearest the battery,

was suddenly thrown open, and Captain Legh, mounted on a strong horse,

and followed by twenty well-mounted men, half of whom had spare horses

furnished with stout pieces of rope, dashed at a headlong pace towards

the battery. The attack was so sudden and unexpected that the enemy

was quite taken by surprise. Only an officer of artillery and

half-a-dozen artillerymen were near the battery at the time, and

before they could fly to their guns, Captain Legh and his party were

upon them, and drove them off. A desperate effort was made to carry

off two of the guns, but it was found impossible to move the heavy

carriages.

The Duke of Cumberland, who was at a short distance with his

aide-de-camp, Colonel Conway, planning and directing the operations,

witnessed the attack, and instantly ordered Conway with a troop of

horse to seize the daring assailants.

But the latter dashed off as hard as they could to the gate, and

gained it just in time. All got in safely with the exception of their

leader, who was captured by Colonel Conway and led back to the duke.

CHAPTER III.

THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND.

William, Duke of Cumberland, second surviving son of the reigning

sovereign, was at this time a handsome young man of twenty-four.

Strongly built, but well proportioned, he had bluff and rather coarse

but striking features. Young as he was, the duke had gained

considerable military experience. He had fought with his father,

George the Second, at the battle of Dettingen, in 1743, and in May,

1745, he engaged Marshal Saxe at Fontenoy, and sustained a most

crushing defeat--highly prejudicial to English renown.

Though thus defeated by the superior military skill of Marshal Saxe,

the duke displayed so much gallantry and personal courage during the

action, that he did not lose his popularity in England, but was very

well received on his return; and on the outbreak of the rebellion in

the same year, followed by the defeat of General Cope at Preston Pans,

the attack on Edinburgh, and the march of the young Chevalier at the

head of the Highland army into England, he assumed the command of the

royal forces, and prepared to drive the rebels out of the kingdom. But

instead of doing this, to the general surprise, he allowed the Scots

to continue their advance as far as Derby, and it will always remain

doubtful whether, if the prince had marched on to London, his daring

attempt would not have been crowned by success. A contemporary

historian unquestionably thought so, and emphatically declares: "Had

the adventurer proceeded in his career with the expedition which he

had hitherto used, he might have made himself master of the

metropolis, where he would have been certainly joined by a

considerable number of his well-wishers, who waited impatiently for

his approach."[2] But when the prince commenced his retreat the duke

immediately started in pursuit, though he made no real efforts to

overtake him; and, as we have seen, he was repulsed by Lord George

Gordon at Clifton, near Penrith. Again, instead of pursuing the rebels

into Scotland, he sat down to besiege Carlisle. The duke was

surrounded by his staff when Captain Legh was brought before him by

Colonel Conway.

[2] Smollett's History of England. Reign of George the

Second.

"Who is this rash fellow, who seems anxious to throw away his life?"

demanded the duke.

"I thought I knew him, for his features seem strangely familiar to

me," replied Colonel Conway. "But I must be mistaken. He gives his

name as Atherton Legh, captain of the Manchester Regiment."

"Atherton Legh! ha!" cried the duke. Then fixing a stern look upon the

young man, he said:

"You had better have remained faithful to the Government, sir. Now you

will die as a traitor and a rebel."

"I am prepared to meet my fate, whatever it may be," replied Atherton,

firmly.

"I might order you for instant execution," pursued the duke. "But you

shall have a fair trial with the rest of the garrison. It must

surrender to-morrow."

"Your royal highness is mistaken--the garrison can hold out for a

week."

"'Tis you who are mistaken, Captain Legh," rejoined the duke,

haughtily. "I have just received a letter from Colonel Hamilton,

offering me terms of submission."

"I am indeed surprised to hear it," said Atherton. "Your royal

highness may credit me when I affirm that the citadel is in a very

good state of defence, has plenty of arms and ammunition, and ought to

hold out for a month."

"That may be," rejoined the duke. "But I tell you I have received a

letter from the governor, asking for terms. However, I will only

accept an unconditional surrender."

"Colonel Townley, the commander of the city garrison, will hold out to

the last," said Atherton.

"Colonel Townley is a brave man, and may die sword in hand; but hold

the town he cannot. His regiment does not number a hundred men. You

see I am well informed, Captain Legh. To-morrow you will see your

colonel again."

"I shall be glad to see him again--but not here," replied Atherton.

"Take the prisoner hence," said the duke to Colonel Conway. "Let him

be well treated--but carefully watched."

Colonel Conway bowed, and Atherton was removed by the guard.

CHAPTER IV.

SURRENDER OF CARLISLE TO THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND.

Shortly after the incident just related, fire was opened from the

battery, but not much damage was done; it being the duke's intention

to alarm the garrison, rather than injure the town. A few shots were

directed against the castle, and struck the massive walls of the keep.

The fire was answered by the besieged--but without any effect.

At this juncture it was with great difficulty that the inhabitants

could be kept in check, and, with the small force at his command, it

became evident to Colonel Townley that he must surrender.

Calling his officers together, he thus addressed them:

"Our position is most critical. Outside the walls we are completely

blockaded, and inside the inhabitants are against us. One means of

escape has occurred to me; but it is so hazardous, that it ought

scarcely to be adopted. A sortie might be made by a small party of

horse, and these might succeed in cutting their way through the enemy.

If a couple of barges could be found, the rest might manage to float

down the Eden."

"That plan has occurred to me, colonel," said Captain Dawson. "But it

is impracticable, since all the barges and boats have been destroyed.

Possibly a few men might escape by swimming down the river--but in no

other way."

"No," said Colonel Townley; "we are so completely environed that

escape is impossible, unless we could cut our way through the enemy,

and this cannot be done, since there are no horses for the men. I will

never abandon my gallant regiment. Since Colonel Hamilton has resolved

to surrender, it is impossible for me to hold out longer--though I

would a thousand times rather die with arms in my hand than submit to

the mercy of the Duke of Cumberland."

Several plans were then proposed, but were rejected, as none seemed

feasible; and at last a muster was made of the regiment, and Colonel

Townley's resolution being communicated to the men, was received by

them with the greatest sorrow.

Later on in the day, Colonel Townley repaired to the citadel, where he

had a conference with the governor, and endeavoured to induce him to

change his purpose, but in vain.

On the following morning the besieged town of Carlisle presented a

singular spectacle. The inhabitants, who had hitherto been kept in awe

by the garrison, assembled in the streets, and did not attempt to hide

their exultation; while the Highlanders in the castle, and the

officers and men of the Manchester Regiment, looked deeply dejected,

and stood listlessly at their posts. The cause of all these mingled

feelings of ill-concealed satisfaction on one side, and deep dejection

on the other, was, that the garrison had declared its intention to

surrender by hanging out the white flag. The men still stood to their

arms--the engineers and artillerymen remained upon the walls--the

gates of the city were still guarded--but not a gun had been fired.

All was terrible expectation.

Colonel Hamilton, Captain Abernethy, Colonel Townley, and some of the

officers of the Manchester Regiment, were assembled on the esplanade

of the castle, when Captain Vere, an officer of the English army,

attended by an orderly, rode towards them. As the bearer of a despatch

for the governor, he had been allowed to enter the city.

Dismounting, Captain Vere marched up to the governor, and, with a

formal salute, delivered a missive to him, saying, "This from his

royal highness."

The governor took the letter, and, walking aside with Colonel Townley,

read as follows:

"'All the terms his royal highness will or can grant to the rebel

garrison of Carlisle are, that they shall not be put to the sword, but

be reserved for the king's pleasure.'"

"The king's pleasure!" exclaimed Colonel Townley. "We have nothing but

death to expect from the usurper. But go on."

"'If they consent to these conditions, the governor and the principal

officers are to deliver themselves up immediately; and the castle,

citadel, and all the gates of the town are to be taken possession of

forthwith by the king's troops."

"I cannot make up my mind to this," cried Colonel Townley.

"Unfortunately there is no help for it," observed Colonel Hamilton.

"But hear what follows: 'All the small arms are to be lodged in the

town guard-room, and the rest of the garrison are to retire to the

cathedral, where a guard is to be placed over them. No damage is to be

done to the artillery, arms, or ammunition.' That is all."

"And enough too," rejoined Colonel Townley. "The conditions are

sufficiently hard and humiliating."

"Gentlemen," said the governor, addressing the officers, "'tis proper

you should hear the terms offered by the duke."

And he proceeded to read the letter to them.

Murmurs arose when he had done, and a voice--it was that of Adjutant

Syddall--called out:

"Reject them!"

"Impossible," exclaimed Hamilton.

Thinking he had been kept waiting long enough, Captain Vere then

stepped forward and enquired, "What answer shall I take to his royal

highness?"

Colonel Townley and his officers were all eagerness to send a refusal;

but the governor cried out, "Tell the duke that his terms are

accepted."

"In that case, gentlemen," said Captain Vere, "you will all prepare to

deliver yourselves up. His royal highness will at once take possession

of the town."

With this, he mounted his horse, and rode off, attended by his

orderly.

About an hour afterwards, the gates being thrown open, Brigadier Bligh

entered the town with a troop of horse, and rode to the market-place,

where, in front of the guard-room, he found Colonel Hamilton, Captain

Abernethy, Colonel Townley, and the officers of the Manchester

Regiment, a French officer, and half a dozen Irish officers.

They all yielded themselves up as prisoners, and the brigadier desired

them to enter the guard-room, and when they had complied with the

order, placed a guard at the door.

The Highlanders, the non-commissioned officers and privates of the

Manchester Regiment, with a few French and Irish soldiers, who were

drawn up in the market-place, then piled their arms, and retired to

the cathedral, where a strong guard was set over them.

Crowded with these prisoners, the interior of the sacred building

presented a very singular picture. Most of the men looked sullen and

angry, and their rage was increased when the sound of martial music

proclaimed the entrance of the Duke of Cumberland with his whole army

into the town.

Attended by General Hawley, Colonel Conway, Colonel York, and a large

staff of officers, the duke was received with acclamations by the

townspeople who had come forth to meet him. Riding on to the citadel,

he dismounted with his staff, and, entering a large room recently

occupied by the governor, ordered the prisoners to be brought before

him. After charging them with rebellion and treason, he told them they

would be sent under a strong guard to London, there to take their

trial.

When he had finished, Colonel Townley stepped forward, and said:

"I claim to be treated as a prisoner of war. For sixteen years I have

been in the service of the King of France, and I now hold a commission

from his majesty, which I can lay before your royal highness if you

will deign to look at it."

"But you have received another commission from the son of the

Pretender, and have acted as colonel of the rebel regiment raised by

yourself in Manchester," interposed General Hawley. "Your plea is

therefore inadmissible."

"I have as much right to the cartel as any French officer taken by his

royal highness at the battle of Fontenoy," rejoined Townley.

"As a liege subject of his majesty, you are not justified in serving a

prince at war with him," said the Duke of Cumberland, sternly. "I

cannot entertain your plea. You will be tried for rebellion and

treason with the rest of the prisoners."

Seeing it would be useless to urge anything further, Colonel Townley

stepped back.

The only person allowed the cartel was the French officer.

The prisoners were then removed, and ordered to be kept in strict

confinement in the castle until they could be conveyed to London.

Some deserters from the king's army were then brought before the duke,

who ordered them to be hanged, and the sentence was forthwith carried

out on a piece of ground at the back of the castle.

The prisoners passed the night in strict confinement in the castle,

their gloom being heightened by the sound of the rejoicings that took

place in the town at the Duke of Cumberland's success.

On the following morning, at an early hour, three large waggons, each

having a team of strong horses, were drawn up near the gates of the

castle. These were destined to convey the prisoners to London. The

foremost waggon was assigned to Colonel Townley, Captain Dawson,

Captain Deacon, and Captain Legh. The rest of the officers of the

Manchester Regiment were similarly bestowed. A strong mounted guard

accompanied the conveyances, having orders to shoot any prisoner who

might attempt to escape.

As the waggons moved slowly through the streets towards the south

gate, groans and execrations arose from the spectators, and missiles

were hurled at the prisoners, who no doubt would have fared ill if

they had not been protected.

The Duke of Cumberland remained for two days longer at Carlisle, when

having received a despatch from the king enjoining his immediate

return, as an invasion from France was apprehended, he posted back to

London, taking Colonel Conway with him, and leaving the command of the

army to General Hawley, who started in pursuit of Prince Charles.

End of the Fourth Book.

BOOK V.

JEMMY DAWSON.

CHAPTER I.

THE ESCAPE AT WIGAN.

The prisoners were treated very considerately on their journey to

London. Whenever the waggons stopped at an inn, their occupants were

allowed to alight and order what they pleased, and as they had plenty

of money, they were served with the best the house could afford. At

night they sometimes slept in the waggons, sometimes at an inn, if

sufficient accommodation could be found. In the latter case, of

course, a guard was placed at the doors.

Passed in this way, the journey might not have been disagreeable, if

it had not been for the indignities to which they were occasionally

exposed. None of the officers felt any great uneasiness as to their

fate. Despite what the Duke of Cumberland had said to Colonel Townley,

they were led to expect that they would be treated as prisoners of

war, and regularly exchanged.

Entertaining this conviction, they managed to keep up their spirits,

and some of them led a very jovial life.

A great change, however, had taken place in Colonel Townley's

deportment. He had become extremely reserved, and associated only with

Captain Deacon, Captain Dawson, and Atherton. The two latter would

have been far more cheerful if they had obtained any tidings of those

to whom they were tenderly attached.

On the third day after leaving Carlisle, the prisoners arrived at

Lancaster, and on the following day they were taken to Preston. Here

the feeling of the inhabitants was so strong against them that they

had to be protected by the guard.

At Wigan, where the next halt was made for the night, Atherton

remarked that John Holgate, the host of the Bear's Paw, the inn at

which they stopped, looked very hard at him. He thought he knew the

man's face, and subsequently remembered him as a tradesman in

Manchester.

In the course of the evening Holgate found an opportunity of speaking

to him privately, and told him not to go to bed, but to leave his

window slightly open--as something might happen. Having given him

these directions, Holgate hastily left him.

On entering his room, which was at the back of the house, Atherton

found it looked into the inn-yard, where the waggons were drawn up,

and as some men were going in and out of the stables with lanterns, he

perceived that several of the troopers were preparing to take their

night's rest in the waggons.

Immediately beneath the window, which was at some height from the

ground, a sentinel was posted.

Having made the observations, Atherton withdrew, leaving the window

slightly open, as he had been enjoined, and put out the light.

In about an hour all became quiet in the yard--the troopers had got

into the waggons, and no doubt were fast asleep, but he could hear the

measured tread of the sentinel as he paced to and fro.

Another hour elapsed, and the sentinel being still at his post,

Atherton began to fear that Holgate might fail in his design. But his

hopes revived when the footsteps could no longer be heard, and softly

approaching the window he looked out.

The sentinel was gone. But in his place stood another person, whom

Atherton had no doubt was the friendly landlord.

Having intimated his presence by a slight signal, Holgate retreated,

and Atherton instantly prepared to join him. Emerging from the window

as noiselessly as he could, he let himself drop to the ground, and

achieved the feat so cleverly, that he was only heard by Holgate, who

immediately took him to the back of the yard, where they clambered

over a low wall, and gained a narrow lane, along which they hastened.

"I think you are now safe," said Holgate. "At any rate, you will be so

when we reach our destination. I have brought you this way because it

would have been impossible to elude the vigilance of the sentinel

placed in front of the house. I have given the man who was stationed

in the yard a pot of ale, and he has retired to the stable to drink

it."

"You have proved yourself a good friend to me, Holgate," said

Atherton; "but I fear you are running great risk on my account."

"I don't mind that," replied the other. "The moment I saw you, I

determined to liberate you. I dare say you've forgotten the

circumstance, but I haven't. You saved me from being drowned in the

Irwell--now we're quits. I'm going to take you to the old Manor House

in Bishopsgate Street. It belongs to Captain Hulton, who is in the

king's army, but he is away, and my aunt, Mrs. Scholes, who is his

housekeeper, has charge of the house. She is a staunch Jacobite. I

have seen her and told her all about you. You may trust her

perfectly."

Proceeding with the utmost caution, they soon came to Bishopsgate

Street, in which the old Manor House was situated.

Taking his companion to the back of the premises, Holgate tapped at a

door, which was immediately opened by a very respectable-looking

middle-aged woman, who curtsied to Atherton as she admitted him.

Holgate did not enter the house, but with a hasty "good-night,"

departed, and the door was closed and bolted.

Mrs. Scholes then took Atherton to the kitchen, and explained that she

meant to put him in the "secret room" in case the house should be

searched.

"You will be indifferently lodged, sir," she said; "but you will be

safe, and that's the chief thing."

Atherton entirely concurred with her, and without wasting any further

time in talk, she led him up a back staircase to a bedroom, from which

there was a secret entrance through a closet, to a small inner

chamber. The latter was destined for Atherton, and scantily furnished

as it was, he was very well content with it, and slept soundly in the

little couch prepared for him.

Next morning, when the prisoners were mustered, the greatest

consternation was caused by the discovery that Captain Legh was

missing. It was quite clear that he had got out of the window, and it

was equally clear that the sentinel must have neglected his duty, or

the prisoner could not have escaped; but no suspicion attached to the

landlord.

Of course the departure of the waggons was delayed, and strict search

was made for the fugitive throughout the town. A proclamation was

likewise issued, announcing that any one harbouring him would be

liable to severe penalties. But the notice had no effect.

In consequence of some information received by the officer in command

of the escort that two persons had been seen to enter the Manor House

in Bishopsgate Street late at night, the house was strictly searched,

but the secret chamber was not discovered, nor was anything found to

indicate that the fugitive was concealed there.

CHAPTER II.

THE MEETING AT WARRINGTON.

At Warrington, where the visitors were conveyed next day, a meeting

took place between Jemmy and Monica, who had come over from Rawcliffe

Hall to see her unfortunate lover. She was accompanied by Father

Jerome.

Jemmy was alone in a little parlour of the inn at which the waggons

had stopped, when Monica was admitted by the guard, who immediately

withdrew, and left them together.

Springing forward, Jemmy clasped her to his heart.

So overpowered were they both, that for some minutes they could not

give utterance to their feelings, but gazed at each other through eyes

streaming with tears.

"Alas! alas!" cried Monica, at length. "Is it come to this? Do I find

my dearest Jemmy a prisoner?"

"A prisoner of war," he replied, in as cheerful a tone as he could

assume. "I am sure to be exchanged. We shall be separated for a time,

but shall meet again in another country. You imagine we shall all be

put to death, but believe me the Elector of Hanover has no such

intention. He dare not execute us."

"Hush! Jemmy--not so loud. I have been wretched ever since the retreat

from Derby took place, for I foresaw what it would come to. I have

never ceased to reproach myself with being the cause of your

destruction."

"You have nothing to reproach yourself with, dearest girl," he

rejoined, tenderly. "'Tis a pity the prince did not march to London.

'Tis a still greater pity the regiment was left at Carlisle."

"Yes, you have been sacrificed, Jemmy--cruelly sacrificed. I shall

never think otherwise."

"Such imputations, I am aware, are laid to the prince's charge, but he

doesn't deserve them--indeed he doesn't. He is the soul of honour. No

one believed the Duke of Cumberland would stop to besiege the town;

and those best informed thought it could hold out for a month.

However, fortune has declared against us. But I won't allow myself to

be cast down." Then lowering his tone, he added, "You know that

Atherton has escaped?"

"Yes, I know it," she rejoined. "And so does Constance. Oh, that you

had been with him, Jemmy!"

"I shall find means to follow--never doubt it," he rejoined. "But it

won't do to make the attempt just yet, for we shall be much more

strictly watched than before. But I have a plan, which I mean to put

in practice when an opportunity offers, and I hope it will succeed."

"Can I aid you, Jemmy?" she asked, anxiously.

"No," he replied. "But don't be surprised if you see me some night at

Rawcliffe Hall."

"Now, indeed, you give me fresh spirits," she cried. "Heaven grant I

may see you soon! But there may be danger in your coming to Rawcliffe,

and you mustn't run any needless risk on my account."

"The first use I shall make of my liberty will be to fly to you,

dearest girl. Of that you may be quite sure. But we are talking only

of ourselves. You have scarcely mentioned Constance or your mother.

How are they both?"

"They have been full of anxiety, as you may easily imagine. But

Constance has somewhat revived since she heard of Atherton's escape,

and the tidings I shall be able to give her of you will make her feel

more easy. As to my mother, whatever she may suffer--and I am sure she

suffers much--she is perfectly resigned. Father Jerome is without.

Will you see him?"

"No. I will devote each moment to you. Ah! we are interrupted!" he

exclaimed, as the guard came in to say that the time allowed them had

expired.

Again they were locked in each other's arms, and when they were forced

to separate, it seemed as if their hearts were torn asunder. Even the

guard was moved by their distress.

Nevertheless, Monica returned to Rawcliffe Hall in far better spirits

than she had quitted it in the morning. She had now some hopes that

her lover would escape.

Shortly after her departure Jemmy was obliged to take his place in the

waggon, and for some time felt very wretched; but at length he

consoled himself by thinking that his separation from the object of

his affections would not be long.

The waggons proceeded so slowly on their journey to London, that

before they reached Dunstable news was received of the defeat of

General Hawley, at Falkirk, by the prince. These tidings caused great

alarm throughout the country, as the opinion generally prevailed that

after the siege of Carlisle the rebellion had been completely

suppressed.

Though the prisoners rejoiced at the prince's success, they felt that

their own peril was considerably increased by the event, and that in

all probability the severest measures would now be adopted against

them.

Hitherto, such strict watch had been kept that Jemmy Dawson had found

no means of executing his plan of escape.

CHAPTER III.

ATHERTON TAKES REFUGE AT RAWCLIFFE HALL.

On the third day after Atherton's escape at Wigan, as Constance and

Monica, who had been tempted forth by the fineness of the weather,

were walking in the park, a young man, in a plain country dress that

gave him the appearance of a farmer, made his way towards them.

From the first moment when they beheld this personage their suspicions

were excited, but as he drew nearer they perceived it was Atherton.

Constance would have hurried forward to meet him, but feeling the

necessity of caution she restrained herself. Presently, he came up,

and thinking he might be noticed by some observer, he adopted a very

respectful and distant manner, consistent with the character he had

assumed, and took off his hat while addressing them.

"Of course you have heard of my escape," he said. "I did not attempt

to communicate with you, for I had no one whom I could trust to convey

a message, and I did not dare to write lest my letter should fall into

wrong hands. For two days I was concealed in the old Manor House at

Wigan, and most carefully attended to by the housekeeper, who provided

for all my wants. I had some difficulty in getting away, for the house

was watched, but on the second night I ventured out, and soon got

clear of the town. Before I left, Mrs. Scholes procured me this

disguise, without which I should infallibly have been captured, for my

uniform must have betrayed me. Even thus attired, I have had more than

one narrow escape. If I can only get into the house unobserved I shall

be perfectly safe."

"You must wait till night and all shall be ready for you," rejoined

Constance. "As soon as it grows dark Markland shall come out into the

park."

"He will find me near this spot," replied Atherton.

"But what will you do in the interim?" asked Constance, anxiously.

"Give yourself no concern about me," he rejoined. "You may be sure I

will not expose myself to any needless risk. Adieu!"

With a rustic bow he then moved off, and the two damsels returned to

the hall.

Constance's first business was to summon Markland and tell him what

had occurred.

The old butler did not manifest much surprise at the intelligence, for

when he had first heard of Atherton's escape he felt certain the young

gentleman would seek refuge at the hall, and he had already made some

quiet preparations for his concealment. He therefore expressed the

utmost readiness to carry out his young mistress's instructions, and

declared that he could easily manage matters so that none of the

servants should be aware that Captain Legh was hidden in the house.

"Even if he should remain here for a month," he said, "with common

caution I will engage he shall not be discovered."

"I am very glad to hear you speak so confidently, Markland," she

rejoined; "for I feared it would be impossible to conceal him for more

than a day or two."

Having made all needful arrangements, Markland stole out quietly as

soon as it became dark, and found Atherton at the spot indicated.

"You are so well disguised, sir," he said, "that if I hadn't been

prepared I should certainly not have known you. But don't let us waste

time in talking here. I must get you into the house."

The night being very dark their approach to the hall could not be

perceived. On reaching the drawbridge Markland told his companion to

slip past while he went into the gate-house to speak to the porter,

and by observing these instructions, Atherton gained the court-yard

unperceived.

The butler then gave orders that the drawbridge should be raised, and

while the porter was thus employed, he opened the postern and admitted

Captain Legh into the house. Having first satisfied himself that no

one was in the way, Markland then led the young man along a passage to

his own room on the ground floor.

All danger was now over. The small room into which Atherton had been

ushered looked exceedingly snug and comfortable. Thick curtains drawn

over the narrow window facing the moat prevented any inquisitive eye

from peering into the chamber. A bright fire burnt on the hearth, and

near it stood a table on which a cold pasty was placed, with a bottle

of claret.

"I have prepared a little supper for you, sir," said Markland. "Pray

sit down to it. I'll take care you shan't be disturbed. You will

please to excuse me. I have some other matters to attend to."

He then went out, taking the precaution to lock the door, and Atherton

partook of the first quiet meal he had enjoyed for some time.

Old Markland did not return for nearly three hours, and when he

unlocked the door, he found Atherton fast asleep in the chair. Great

havoc had been made with the pasty, and the flask of claret was nearly

emptied.

"I have got a bed ready for you, sir," he said. "It isn't quite so

comfortable as I could wish, but you will make allowances."

"No need of apologies, Markland. I could sleep very well in this

chair."

"That's just what I mean to do myself, sir," replied the butler,

laughing.

With this, he took Captain Legh up a back staircase to a disused suite

of apartments, in one of which a bed had been prepared, while a wood

fire blazing on the hearth gave a cheerful air to the otherwise

gloomy-looking room.

"I have had this room got ready as if for myself, sir," observed

Markland; "but as I have just told you, I mean to sleep in a chair

below stairs. I wish you a good-night, sir. I'll come to you in the

morning."

So saying, he quitted the room, and Atherton shortly afterwards sought

his couch, and slept very soundly.

Next morning, the old butler visited him before he had begun to dress,

and opening the drawers of a wardrobe that stood in the room, took out

two or three handsome suits of clothes--somewhat old-fashioned,

inasmuch as they belonged to the period of George the First, but still

attire that could be worn.

"These habiliments belonged to your father, Sir Oswald," said

Markland; "and as you are about his size, I am sure they will fit

you."

"But are they not out of fashion, Markland?" cried Atherton. "People

will stare at me if I appear in a costume of five-and-twenty years

ago."

"Well, perhaps they might," rejoined the butler; "but there can be no

objection to this dark riding-dress."

"No, that will do very well," said Atherton, in an approving tone,

after he had examined it.

"You will find plenty of linen in this drawer--laced shirts,

solitaires, cravats, silk stockings," continued the butler; "and in

that cupboard there are three or four pairs of jack-boots, with as

many cocked-hats."

"Bravo!" exclaimed Atherton. "You have quite set me up, Markland. But

now leave me for a short time, that I may try the effect of this

riding-dress."

The butler then withdrew, but returned in about half an hour with a

pot of chocolate and some slices of toast on a tray.

By this time Atherton was fully attired, and everything fitted

him--even to the boots, which he had got out of the cupboard.

"Why, I declare, you are the very image of your father!" exclaimed

Markland, as he gazed at him in astonishment. "If I had not known who

you are, I should have thought Sir Oswald had come to life again. If

any of the old servants should see you, you will certainly be taken

for a ghost."

"That's exactly what I should desire," replied Atherton; "and should

it be necessary, I shall endeavour to keep up the character. However,

I don't mean to qualify myself for the part by eating nothing, so pour

me out a cup of chocolate."

The butler obeyed, and Atherton sat down and made a very good

breakfast.

Before he had quite finished his repast, the butler left him, and did

not reappear.

CHAPTER IV.

AN ENEMY IN THE HOUSE.

Not having anything better to do, Atherton began to wander about the

deserted suite of apartments, with which his own chamber communicated

by a side door.

As the windows were closed, the rooms looked very dark, and he could

see but little, and what he did see, impressed him with a melancholy

feeling; but the furthest room in the suite looked lighter and more

cheerful than the others, simply because the shutters had been opened.

It was a parlour, but most of the furniture had been removed, and only

a few chairs and a table were left.

Atherton sat down, and was ruminating upon his position, when a door

behind was softly opened--so very softly that he heard no sound.

But he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and, looking up, beheld

Constance standing beside him.

When he met her in the park with Monica, he had not noticed any

material alteration in her appearance; but now that he gazed into her

face, he was very much struck by the change which a week or two had

wrought in her looks.

Dressed in deep mourning, she looked much thinner than heretofore, and

the roses had entirely flown from her cheeks; but the extreme paleness

of her complexion heightened the lustre of her magnificent black eyes,

and contrasted forcibly with her dark locks, while the traces of

sadness lent fresh interest to her features.

Not without anxiety did Atherton gaze at her, and at last he said:

"You have been ill, Constance?"

"Not very ill," she replied, with a faint smile. "I am better--and

shall soon be quite well. My illness has been rather mental than

bodily. I have never quite recovered from the terrible shock which I

had to undergo--and, besides, I have been very uneasy about you. Now

that you are safe I shall soon recover my health and spirits. At one

time I feared I should never behold you again, and then I began to

droop."

"I thought you possessed great firmness, Constance," he remarked.

"So I fancied, but I found myself unequal to the trial," she rejoined.

"I had no one to cheer me. Monica's distress was even greater than my

own, and her mother did not offer us much consolation, for she seemed

convinced that both you and Jemmy were doomed to die as traitors."

"Well, your apprehensions are now at an end, so far as I am

concerned," said Atherton; "and I see no cause for uneasiness in

regard to Jemmy, for he is certain to escape in one way or other. I

hope to meet him a month hence in Paris. But I shall not leave England

till I learn he is free, as if he fails to escape, I must try to

accomplish his deliverance."

"Do not run any further risk," she cried.

"I have promised to help him, and I must keep my word," he rejoined.

"I ought not to attempt to dissuade you, for I love Jemmy dearly, but

I love you still better, and I therefore implore you for my sake--if

not for your own--not to expose yourself to further danger. I will now

tell you frankly that I could not go through such another week as I

have just passed."

"But you must now feel that your apprehensions were groundless; and if

I should be placed in any fresh danger you must take courage from the

past."

"Perhaps you will say that I am grown very timorous, and I can

scarcely account for my misgivings--but I will not conceal them. I

don't think you are quite safe in this house."

"Why not? Old Markland is devoted to me, I am quite sure, and no one

else among the household is aware of my arrival."

"But I am sadly afraid they may discover you."

"You are indeed timorous. Even if I should be discovered, I don't

think any of them would be base enough to betray me."

"I have another ground for uneasiness, more serious than this, but I

scarcely like to allude to it, because I may be doing an injustice to

the person who causes my alarm. I fear you have an enemy in the

house."

Atherton looked at her inquiringly, and then said:

"I can only have one enemy--Father Jerome."

She made no answer, but he perceived from her looks that he had

guessed aright.

"'Tis unlucky he is established in the house. Why did you bring him

here?"

"I could not help it. And he has been most useful to me. But I know he

does not like you; and I also know that his nature is malicious and

vindictive. I hope he may not find out that you are concealed in the

house. I have cautioned Markland, and Monica does not require to be

cautioned. Ah! what was that?" she added, listening anxiously. "I

thought I heard a noise in the adjoining chamber."

"It may be Markland," said Atherton. "But I will go and see."

With this, he stepped quickly into the next room, the door of which

stood ajar.

As we have mentioned, the shutters were closed, and the room was dark,

but still, if any listener had been there, he must have been detected.

The room, however, seemed quite empty.

Not satisfied with this inspection, Atherton went on through the whole

suite of apartments, and with a like result.

"You must have been mistaken," he said on his return to Constance. "I

could find no eaves-dropper."

"I am glad to hear it, for I feared that a certain person might be

there. But I must now leave you. I hope you will not find your

confinement intolerably wearisome. You will be able to get out at

night--but during the daytime you must not quit these rooms."

"Come frequently to see me, and the time will pass pleasantly enough,"

he rejoined.

"I must not come too often or my visits will excite suspicion," she

replied. "But I will send you some books by Markland."

"There is a private communication between this part of the house and

the library. May I not venture to make use of it?"

"Not without great caution," she rejoined. "Father Jerome is

constantly in the library. But I will try to get him away in the

evening, and Markland shall bring you word when you can descend with

safety."

"Surely some plan might be devised by which Father Jerome could be got

rid of for a time?" said Atherton.

"I have thought the matter over, but no such plan occurs to me,"

replied Constance. "He rarely quits the house, and were I to propose

to him to take a journey, or pay a visit, he would immediately suspect

I had an object in doing so. But even if he were willing to go, my

Aunt Butler I am sure would object."

"Is she not aware that I am in the house?"

"No, Monica and I thought it better not to trust her. She could not

keep the secret from Father Jerome."

"Then since the evil cannot be remedied it must be endured," said

Atherton.

"That is the right way to view it," rejoined Constance. "Not till the

moment of your departure must Father Jerome learn that you have taken

refuge here. And now, adieu!"

CHAPTER V.

A POINT OF FAITH.

Left alone, Atherton endeavoured to reconcile himself to his

imprisonment, but with very indifferent success.

How he longed to join the party downstairs--to go forth into the

garden or the park--to do anything, in short, rather than remain shut

up in those gloomy rooms! But stay there he must!--so he amused

himself as well as he could by looking into the cupboards with which

the rooms abounded.

In the course of his examination he found some books, and with these

he contrived to beguile the time till old Markland made his

appearance.

The old butler brought with him a well-filled basket, from which he

produced the materials of a very good cold dinner, including a flask

of wine; and a cloth being spread upon a small table in the room we

have described as less gloomy than the other apartments, the young man

sat down to the repast.

"I have had some difficulty in bringing you these provisions, sir,"

observed Markland. "Father Jerome has been playing the spy upon me all

the morning--hovering about my room, so that I couldn't stir without

running against him. Whether he heard anything last night I can't say,

but I'm sure he suspects you are hidden in the house."

"What if he does suspect, Markland?" observed Atherton. "Do you think

he would betray me? If you believe so, you must have a very bad

opinion of him."

"I can tell you one thing, sir; he was far from pleased when he heard

of your escape, and wished it had been Captain Dawson instead. I told

him I thought you might seek refuge here, and he said he hoped not;

adding, 'If you were foolish enough to do so you would certainly be

discovered.' I repeated these observations to Miss Rawcliffe, and she

agreed with me that they argued an ill-feeling towards you."

"What can I have done to offend him?" exclaimed Atherton.

"I don't know, sir, except that you are heir to the property. But give

yourself no uneasiness. I will take care he shan't harm you. Don't on

any account leave these rooms till you see me again."

"Has Father Jerome access to this part of the house, Markland?"

"No; I keep the door of the gallery constantly locked; and he is not

aware of the secret entrance to the library."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Quite sure, sir. I never heard him allude to it."

"He is frequently in the library, I understand?"

"Yes, he sits there for hours; but he generally keeps in his own room

in the evening, and you might then come down with safety. Have you

everything you require at present?"

"Everything. You have taken excellent care of me, Markland."

"I am sorry I can't do better. I'll return by-and-by to take away the

things."

With this he departed, and Atherton soon made an end of his meal.

Time seemed to pass very slowly, but at length evening arrived, and

the butler reappeared.

"You will find Miss Rawcliffe in the library," he said, "and need fear

no interruption, for Father Jerome is with Mrs. Butler. I shall be on

the watch, and will give timely notice should any danger arise."

Instantly shaking off the gloom that had oppressed him, Atherton set

off. The butler accompanied him to the head of the private staircase,

but went no further. Though all was buried in darkness, the young man

easily found his way to the secret door, and cautiously stepped into

the library.

Lights placed upon the table showed him that Constance was in the

room, and so noiselessly had he entered, that she was not aware of his

presence till he moved towards her. She then rose from the sofa to

meet him, and was clasped to his breast. Need we detail their

converse? It was like all lovers' talk--deeply interesting to the

parties concerned, but of little interest to any one else. However, we

must refer to one part of it. They had been speaking of their

prospects of future happiness, when he might be able to procure a

pardon from the Government and return to Rawcliffe--or she might join

him in France.

"But why should our union be delayed?" he cried. "Why should we not be

united before my departure?"

"'Tis too soon after my unhappy father's death," she replied. "I could

not show such disrespect to his memory."

"But the marriage would be strictly private, and consequently there

could be no indecorum. You can remain here for awhile, and then rejoin

me. I shall be better able to endure the separation when I feel

certain you are mine."

"I am yours already--linked to you as indissolubly as if our hands had

been joined at the altar. But the ceremony cannot be performed at

present. Our faiths are different. Without a dispensation from a

bishop of the Church of Rome, which could not be obtained here, no

Romish priest would unite us. But were Father Jerome willing to

disobey the canons of the Church, I should have scruples."

"You never alluded to such scruples before."

"I knew not of the prohibition. I dare not break the rules of the

Church I belong to."

"But you say that a license can be procured," he cried eagerly.

"Not here," she rejoined; "and this would be a sufficient reason for

the delay, if none other existed. Let us look upon this as a trial to

which we must submit, and patiently wait for happier days, when all

difficulties may be removed."

"You do not love me as much as I thought you did, Constance," he said,

in a reproachful tone. "'Tis plain you are under the influence of this

malicious and designing priest."

"Do not disquiet yourself," she rejoined, calmly. "Father Jerome has

no undue influence over me, and could never change my sentiments

towards you. I admit that he is not favourably disposed towards our

union, and would prevent it if he could, but he is powerless."

"I shall be miserable if I leave him with you, Constance. He ought to

be driven from the house."

"I cannot do that," she rejoined. "But depend upon it he shall never

prejudice me against you."

Little more passed between them, for Constance did not dare to prolong

the interview.

CHAPTER VI.

A LETTER FROM BEPPY BYROM.

Another day of imprisonment--for such Atherton deemed it. Markland

brought him his meals as before, and strove to cheer him, for the

young man looked very dull and dispirited.

"I can't remain here much longer, Markland," he said. "Something in

the atmosphere of these deserted rooms strangely oppresses me. I seem

to be surrounded by beings of another world, who, though invisible to

mortal eye, make their presence felt. I know this is mere imagination,

and I am ashamed of myself for indulging such idle fancies, but I

cannot help it. Tell me, Markland," he added, "are these rooms

supposed to be haunted?"

"Since you ask me the question, sir, I must answer it truthfully. They

are. It was reported long ago that apparitions had been seen in them;

and since nobody liked to occupy the rooms, they were shut up. But you

needn't be frightened, sir. The ghosts will do you no harm."

"I am not frightened, Markland. But I confess I prefer the society of

the living to that of the dead. Last night--whether I was sleeping or

waking at the time I can't exactly tell--but I thought Sir Richard

appeared to me; and this is the second time I have seen him, for he

warned me before I went to Carlisle. And now he has warned me again of

some approaching danger. The spirit--if spirit it was--had a grieved

and angry look, and seemed to reproach me with neglect."

The latter was deeply interested in what was told him, and, after a

moment's reflection, said:

"This is very strange. Have you disregarded Sir Richard's dying

injunctions? Bethink you, sir!"

"I would not abandon the expedition as he counselled me, and I went on

to Carlisle--but since my return I cannot charge myself with any

neglect. Ah! one thing occurs to me. I ought to see that certain

documents which he left me are safe."

"Where did you place them, sir, may I ask?" said the butler.

"In the ebony cabinet in the library. I have the key."

"Then, no doubt, they are perfectly safe, sir. But it may be well to

satisfy yourself on the point when you go down to the library."

"I will do so. Shall I find Miss Rawcliffe there this evening?"

"You will, sir, at the same hour as last night. She bade me tell you

so."

Shortly afterwards, the butler took his departure, and Atherton was

again left to himself for several hours.

When evening came, Markland had not reappeared; but doubtless

something had detained him, and concluding all was right, Atherton

descended the private staircase, and passed through the secret door

into the library.

Constance was there and alone. Lights were placed upon the table

beside which she was seated. She was reading a letter at the moment,

and seemed deeply interested in its contents; but on hearing his

footsteps, she rose to welcome him.

"This letter relates entirely to you," she said.

"And judging from your looks it does not bring good news," he

remarked.

"It does not," she rejoined. "It is from Beppy Byrom, and was brought

by a special messenger from Manchester. She informs me that a warrant

for your arrest has just been received by the authorities of the town,

who are enjoined to offer a reward for your capture. Strict search

will, consequently, be made for you, she says; and as Rawcliffe Hall

may be visited, she sends this notice. She also states that it will be

impossible to escape to France from any English port, as an embargo is

now laid on all vessels. The letter thus concludes: 'If you have any

communication with Captain Legh, pray tell him, if he should be driven

to extremity, he will find an asylum in my father's house.'"

"Have you returned any answer to this kind letter?" inquired Atherton.

"No--it would not have been prudent to detain the messenger. During

his brief stay, Markland took care he should not have any conversation

with the servants. Father Jerome was curious to ascertain the nature

of his errand, and learnt that he came from Manchester--but nothing

more. I know not what you may resolve upon; but if you decide on

flight, you will need funds. In this pocket-book are bank-notes to a

considerable amount. Nay, do not hesitate to take it," she added, "you

are under no obligation to me. The money is your own."

Thus urged, Atherton took the pocket-book, and said:

"Before I decide upon the steps I ought to take in this dangerous

emergency, let me mention a matter to you that has weighed upon my

mind. In yonder cabinet are certain papers which I desire to confide

to your care. They contain proofs that I am the rightful heir to this

property--the most important of the documents being a statement drawn

up by your father, and signed by him, immediately before his death.

Now listen to me, Constance. Should I fall into the hands of the

enemy--should I die the death of a traitor--it is my wish that those

documents should never be produced."

Constance could not repress an exclamation.

"All will be over then," he proceeded, calmly. "And why should a dark

story, which can only bring dishonour on our family, be revealed? Let

the secret be buried in my grave. If I am remembered at all, let it be

as Atherton Legh, and not as Oswald Rawcliffe."

"Your wishes shall be fulfilled," she replied, deeply moved. "But I

trust the dire necessity may never arise."

"We must prepare for the worst," he said. "Here is the key. See that

the papers are safe."

She unlocked the cabinet, and opened all the drawers. They were empty.

"The papers are gone," she cried.

"Impossible!" exclaimed Atherton, springing towards her.

'Twas perfectly true, nevertheless. Further investigation showed that

the documents must have been abstracted.

"There is but one person who can have taken them," said Atherton. "To

that person the importance of the papers would be known--nor would he

hesitate to deprive me of the proofs of my birth."

"I think you wrong him by these suspicions," said Constance--though

her looks showed that she herself shared them. "What motive could he

have for such an infamous act?"

"I cannot penetrate his motive, unless it is that he seeks to prevent

my claim to the title and property. But malignant as he is, I could

scarcely have imagined he would proceed to such a length as this."

"Granting you are right in your surmise, how can Father Jerome have

discovered the existence of the papers? You placed them in the cabinet

yourself I presume, and the key has been in your own possession ever

since."

"True. But from him a lock would be no safeguard. If he knew the

papers were there, their removal would be easy. But he will not

destroy them, because their possession will give him the power he

covets, and no doubt he persuades himself he will be able to obtain

his own price for them. But I will force him to give them up."

At this juncture the door was opened, and Monica, entering hastily,

called out to Atherton:

"Away at once, or you will be discovered. Father Jerome is coming

hither. He has just left my mother's room."

But the young man did not move.

"I have something to say to him."

"Do not say it now!" implored Constance.

"No better opportunity could offer," rejoined Atherton. "I will tax

him with his villainy."

"What does all this mean?" cried Monica, astonished and alarmed.

But before any explanation could be given, the door again opened, and

Father Jerome stood before them.

CHAPTER VII.

ATHERTON QUESTIONS THE PRIEST.

The priest did not manifest any surprise on beholding Atherton, but

saluting him formally, said:

"I did not expect to find you here, sir, or I should not have

intruded. But I will retire."

"Stay!" cried Atherton. "I have a few questions to put to you. First

let me ask if you knew I was in the house?"

"I fancied so," replied the priest--"though no one has told me yon

were here. I suppose it was thought best not to trust me," he added,

glancing at Constance.

"It was my wish that you should be kept in ignorance of the matter,"

observed Atherton.

"I am to understand, then, that you doubt me, sir," observed the

priest. "I am sorry for it. You do me a great injustice. I am most

anxious to serve you. Had I been consulted I should have deemed it my

duty to represent to you the great risk you would run in taking refuge

here--but I would have aided in your concealment, as I will do now;

and my services may be called in question sooner, perhaps, than you

imagine, for the house is likely to be searched."

"How know you that?" demanded Atherton.

"There has been a messenger here from Manchester----"

"I thought you did not see him, father?" interrupted Constance.

"I saw him and conversed with him," rejoined the priest; "and I learnt

that a warrant is out for the arrest of Captain Atherton Legh, and a

large reward offered for his apprehension. At the same time I learnt

that this house would be strictly searched. Whether you will remain

here, or fly, is for your own consideration."

"I shall remain here at all hazards," replied Atherton, fixing a keen

look upon him.

"I think you have decided rightly, sir," observed the priest. "Should

they come, I will do my best to baffle the officers."

"I will take good care you shall not betray me," said Atherton.

"Betray you, sir!" exclaimed the priest, indignantly. "I have no such

intention."

"You shall not have the opportunity," was the rejoinder.

At a sign from Atherton, Constance and Monica withdrew to the further

end of the room.

"Now, sir, you will guess what is coming," said Atherton, addressing

the priest in a stern tone. "I desire you will instantly restore the

papers you have taken from yonder cabinet."

"What papers?" asked Father Jerome.

"Nay, never feign surprise. You know well what I mean. I want Sir

Richard Rawcliffe's confession, and the other documents accompanying

it."

"Has any person but yourself seen Sir Richard's written confession?"

"No one."

"Then if it is lost you cannot prove that such a document ever

existed."

"It is not lost," said Atherton, "You know where to find it, and find

it you shall."

"Calm yourself, or you will alarm the ladies. I have not got the

papers you require, but you ought to have taken better care of them,

since without them you will be unable to establish your claim to the

Rawcliffe estates and title."

"No more of this trifling," said Atherton. "I am not in the humour for

it. I must have the papers without further delay."

"I know nothing about them," said the priest, doggedly. "You tell me

there were such documents, and I am willing to believe you, but

sceptical persons may doubt whether they ever existed."

"Will you produce them?"

"How can I, since I have them not."

"Their destruction would be an execrable act."

"It would--but it is not likely they will be destroyed. On the

contrary, I should think they will be carefully preserved."

Very significantly uttered, these words left Atherton in no doubt as

to their import.

While he was meditating a reply, Markland hurriedly entered the

room--alarm depicted in his countenance.

Startled by his looks, Constance and Monica immediately came forward.

"You must instantly return to your hiding-place, sir," said the butler

to Atherton. "The officers are here, and mean to search the house.

Fortunately, the drawbridge is raised, and I would not allow it to be

lowered till I had warned you."

"Are you sure they are the officers?" exclaimed Constance.

"Quite sure. I have seen them and spoken with them. They have a

warrant."

"Then it will be impossible to refuse them admittance."

"Impossible," cried the butler.

While this conversation took place, Atherton had opened the secret

door in the bookcase, but he now came back, and said to the priest:

"You must bear me company, father. I shall feel safer if I have you

with me."

"But I may be of use in misleading the officers," said Father Jerome.

"Markland will take care of them. He can be trusted. Come along!"

And seizing the priest's arm, he dragged him through the secret door.

As soon as this was accomplished, Markland rushed out of the room, and

hurried to the porter's lodge.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SEARCH.

No sooner was the drawbridge lowered than several persons on horseback

rode into the court-yard.

By this time, some of the servants had come forth with lights, so that

the unwelcome visitors could be distinguished. The party consisted of

half a dozen mounted constables, at the head of whom was Mr. Fowden,

the Manchester magistrate. Ordering two of the officers to station

themselves near the drawbridge, and enjoining the others to keep

strict watch over the house, Mr. Fowden dismounted, and addressing

Markland, who was standing near, desired to be conducted to Miss

Rawcliffe.

"Inform her that I am Mr. Fowden, one of the Manchester magistrates,"

he said. "I will explain my errand myself."

"Pray step this way, sir," rejoined Markland, bowing respectfully.

Ushering the magistrate into the entrance hall, Markland helped to

disencumber him of his heavy cloak, which he laid with the

magistrate's cocked-hat and whip upon a side-table, and then led him

to the library--announcing him, as he had been desired, to Constance,

who with her cousin received him in a very stately manner, and

requested him to be seated.

"I am sorry to intrude upon you at this hour, Miss Rawcliffe," said

Mr. Fowden; "but I have no option, as you will understand, when I

explain my errand. I hold a warrant for the arrest of Captain Atherton

Legh, late of the Manchester Regiment, who has been guilty of levying

war against our sovereign lord the king; and having received

information that he is concealed here, I must require that he may be

immediately delivered up to me. In the event of your refusal to comply

with my order, I shall be compelled to search the house, while you

will render yourself liable to a heavy penalty, and perhaps

imprisonment, for harbouring him after this notice."

"You are at liberty to search the house, Mr. Fowden," replied

Constance, with as much firmness as she could command; "and if you

find Captain Legh I must bear the penalties with which you threaten

me."

"'Tis a disagreeable duty that I have to perform, I can assure you,

Miss Rawcliffe," said Mr. Fowden. "I knew Captain Legh before he

joined the rebellion, and I regret that by his folly--for I will call

it by no harsher name--he should have cut short his career. I also

knew Captain Dawson very well, and am equally sorry for him--poor

misguided youth! he is certain to suffer for his rash and criminal

act."

Here a sob burst from Monica, and drew the magistrate's attention to

her.

"I was not aware of your presence, Miss Butler," he said, "or I would

not have hurt your feelings by the remark. I know you are engaged to

poor Jemmy Dawson. I sincerely hope that clemency may be shown

him--and all those who have acted from a mistaken sense of loyalty. I

will frankly confess that I myself was much captivated by the manner

of the young Chevalier when I saw him as he passed through Manchester.

But you will think I am a Jacobite, if I talk thus--whereas, I am a

staunch Whig. I must again express my regret at the steps I am obliged

to take, Miss Rawcliffe," he continued, addressing Constance; "and if

I seem to discredit your assurance that Captain Legh is not concealed

here, it is because it is at variance with information I have

received, and which I have reason to believe must be correct. As a

Catholic, you have a priest resident in the house--Father Jerome. Pray

send for him!"

Scarcely able to hide her embarrassment, Constance rang the bell, and

when Markland answered the summons, she told him Mr. Fowden desired to

see Father Jerome.

"His reverence has gone to Newton, and won't return to-night," replied

the butler.

The magistrate looked very hard at him, but Markland bore the scrutiny

well.

"I think you could find him if you chose," remarked Mr. Fowden.

"I must go to Newton, then, to do it, sir. I'll take you to his room,

if you please."

"Nay, I don't doubt what you tell me, but 'tis strange he should have

gone out. However, I must make a perquisition of the house."

"Markland will attend you, Mr. Fowden, and show you into the rooms,"

said Constance, who had become far less uneasy since her conversation

with the good-natured magistrate. "Before you commence your

investigations, perhaps you will satisfy yourself that no one is

concealed in this room. There is a screen--pray look behind it!"

"I will take your word, Miss Rawcliffe, that no one is here," replied

the magistrate, bowing.

"I won't bid you good-night, Mr. Fowden," said Constance, "because I

hope when you have completed your search you will take supper with

us."

The magistrate again bowed and quitted the room.

Attended by Markland, bearing a light, Mr. Fowden then began his

survey, but it soon became evident to the butler that he did not mean

the search to be very strict. Ascending the great oak staircase, he

looked into the different rooms in the corridor, as they passed them.

On being told that one of these rooms belonged to Miss Rawcliffe, the

magistrate declined to enter it, and so in the case of another, which

he learnt was occupied by Monica. In the adjoining chamber they found

Mrs. Butler kneeling before a crucifix, and Mr. Fowden immediately

retired without disturbing her.

CHAPTER IX.

WHO WAS FOUND IN THE DISMANTLED ROOMS.

After opening the doors of several other rooms, and casting a hasty

glance inside, the magistrate said:

"I understand there is a portion of the house which for some time has

been shut up. Take me to it."

Markland obeyed rather reluctantly, and when he came to a door at the

end of the corridor, communicating, as he said, with the dismantled

apartments, it took him some time to unlock it.

"I ought to tell you, sir," he said, assuming a very mysterious

manner, calculated to impress his hearer, "that these rooms are said

to be haunted, and none of the servants like to enter them, even in

the daytime. I don't share their superstitious fears, but I certainly

have heard strange noises----"

"There! what was that?" exclaimed Mr. Fowden. "I thought I saw a dark

figure glide past, but I could not detect the sound of footsteps."

"Turn back, if you're at all afraid, sir," suggested Markland.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts," rejoined the magistrate; "and as to human

beings I don't fear them, because I have pistols in my pockets. Go

on."

Markland said nothing more, but opened the first door on the left, and

led his companion into a room which was almost destitute of furniture,

and had a most melancholy air; but it did not look so dreary as the

next room they entered. Here the atmosphere was so damp that the

butler was seized with a fit of coughing which lasted for more than a

minute, and Mr. Fowden declared there must be echoes in the rooms, for

he had certainly heard sounds at a distance.

"No doubt there are echoes, sir," said the butler.

"But these must be peculiar to the place," observed the magistrate;

"for they sounded uncommonly like footsteps. Give me the light."

And taking the candle from the butler, and drawing a pistol from his

pocket, he marched quickly into the next room. No one was there, but

as he hastened on he caught sight of a retreating figure, and called

out:

"Stand! or I fire."

Heedless of the injunction, the person made a rapid exit through the

side door, but was prevented from fastening it by the magistrate, who

followed him so quickly that he had no time to hide himself, and stood

revealed to his pursuer.

"What do I see?" exclaimed Mr. Fowden, in astonishment, "Father Jerome

here! Why I was told you were in Newton."

"His reverence ought to be there," said Markland, who had now come up.

"I must have an explanation of your strange conduct, sir," said the

magistrate.

"His reverence had better be careful what he says," observed Markland.

"Answer one question, and answer it truly, as you value your own

safety," pursued Mr. Fowden. "Are you alone in these rooms?"

The priest looked greatly embarrassed. Markland made a gesture to him

behind the magistrate's back.

"Are you alone here, I repeat?" demanded Mr. Fowden.

"I have no one with me now, sir, if that is what you would learn,"

replied the priest.

"Then you have had a companion. Where is he? He cannot have left the

house. The drawbridge is guarded."

"He is not in this part of the house," replied the priest. "I will

give you further explanation anon," he added, in a lower tone. "All I

need now say is, that I am here on compulsion."

Mr. Fowden forbore to interrogate him further, and after examining the

room, which was that wherein Atherton had passed the two previous

nights as related, and discovering nothing to reward his scrutiny, he

expressed his intention of going down-stairs.

"I don't think I shall make any capture here," he remarked.

"I am sure you won't," replied the priest.

Very much to Markland's relief, the magistrate then quitted the

disused rooms, and taking Father Jerome with him, descended to the

hall.

After a little private conversation with the priest, he made a fresh

investigation of the lower apartments, but with no better success than

heretofore, and he was by no means sorry when Miss Rawcliffe sent a

message to him begging his company at supper. The servant who brought

the message likewise informed him that the constables in the

court-yard had been well supplied with ale.

"I hope they haven't drunk too much," said the magistrate. "Don't let

them have any more, and tell them I shall come out presently."

CHAPTER X.

A SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM.

Accompanied by the priest, he then proceeded to the dining-room, where

he found Constance and Monica. A very nice supper had been prepared,

and he did ample justice to the good things set before him. Markland,

who had been absent for a short time, appeared with a bottle of old

madeira, and a look passed between him and the young ladies, which did

not escape the quick eyes of the priest.

The magistrate could not fail to be struck by the splendid wine

brought him, and the butler took care to replenish his glass whenever

it chanced to be empty.

Altogether the supper passed off more agreeably than could have been

expected under such circumstances, for the young ladies had recovered

their spirits, and the only person who seemed ill at ease was Father

Jerome.

Towards the close of the repast, Mr. Fowden said:

"I fear I shall be obliged to trespass a little further on your

hospitality, Miss Rawcliffe. I hope I shall not put you to

inconvenience if I take up my quarters here to-night. I care not how

you lodge me--put me in a haunted room if you think proper."

"You are quite welcome to remain here as long as you please, Mr.

Fowden," said Constance--"the rather that I feel certain you will make

no discovery. Markland will find you a chamber, where I hope you may

rest comfortably."

"I will order a room to be got ready at once for his honour," said

Markland.

"In the locked-up corridor?" observed the magistrate, with a laugh.

"No, not there, sir," said the butler.

"With your permission, Miss Rawcliffe, my men must also be quartered

in the house," said Mr. Fowden.

"You hear, Markland," observed Constance.

"I will give directions accordingly," replied the butler.

And he quitted the room.

"I shall be blamed for neglect of duty if I do not make a thorough

search," said the magistrate. "But I fancy the bird has flown," he

added, with a glance at the priest.

Father Jerome made no reply, but Constance remarked, with apparent

indifference:

"No one can have left the house without crossing the drawbridge, and

that has been guarded. You will be able to state that you took all

necessary precautions to prevent an escape."

"Yes, I shall be able to state that--and something besides," replied

the magistrate, again glancing at the priest.

Just then, a noise was heard like the trampling of horses. Mr. Fowden

uttered an exclamation of surprise, and a smile passed over the

countenances of the two young ladies.

"I should have thought the men were crossing the drawbridge if I had

not felt quite sure they would not depart without me," said Mr.

Fowden.

"They have crossed the drawbridge--that's quite certain," observed the

priest.

At this moment Markland entered the room.

"What have you been about?" cried the magistrate, angrily. "Have you

dared to send my men away?"

"No, sir," replied the butler, vainly endeavouring to maintain a grave

countenance; "but it seems that a trick has been played upon them."

"A trick!" exclaimed the magistrate.

"Yes, and it has proved highly successful. Some one has taken your

honour's hat and cloak from the hall, and thus disguised, has ridden

off with the men, who didn't find out their mistake in the darkness."

The two girls could not control their laughter.

"This may appear a good joke to you, sir," cried the magistrate, who

was highly incensed, addressing the butler; "but you'll pay dearly for

it, I can promise you. You have aided and abetted the escape of a

rebel and a traitor, and will be transported, if not hanged."

"I have aided no escape, sir," replied the butler. "All I know is,

that some one wrapped in a cloak, whom I took to be you, came out of

the house, sprang on a horse, and bidding the men follow him, rode

off."

"He has prevented pursuit by taking my horse," cried Mr. Fowden; "and

the worst of it is he is so much better mounted than the men that he

can ride away from them at any moment. No chance now of his capture.

Well, I shall be laughed at as an egregious dupe, but I must own I

have been very cleverly outwitted."

"You are too kind-hearted, I am sure, Mr. Fowden," said Constance,

"not to be better pleased that things have turned out thus, than if

you had carried back a prisoner. And pray don't trouble yourself about

the loss of your horse. You shall have the best in the stable. But you

won't think of returning to Manchester to-night."

"Well--no," he replied, after a few moments' deliberation. "I am very

comfortable here, and don't feel inclined to stir. I shouldn't be

surprised if we had some intelligence before morning."

"Very likely," replied Constance; "and I think you have decided wisely

to remain. It's a long ride at this time of night."

Mr. Fowden, as we have shown, was very good-tempered, and disposed to

take things easily.

He was secretly not sorry that Atherton had eluded him, though he

would rather the escape had been managed differently.

However it was quite clear it could not have been accomplished by his

connivance. That was something.

Consoled by this reflection, he finished his supper as quietly as if

nothing had occurred to interrupt it.

Immediately after supper Constance and her cousin retired, and left

him to enjoy a bottle of claret with the priest.

They were still discussing it when a great bustle in the court-yard

announced that the constables had come back.

"Here they are!" cried the magistrate, springing to his feet. "I must

go and see what has happened."

And he hurried out of the room, followed by Father Jerome.

By the time they reached the court-yard the constables had dismounted,

and were talking to Markland and the gate-porter. Two other

men-servants were standing by, bearing torches.

No sooner did Mr. Fowden make his appearance than one of the

constables came up.

"Here's a pretty business, sir," said the man in an apologetic tone.

"We've been nicely taken in. We thought we had you with us, and never

suspected anything wrong till we got out of the park, when the

gentleman at our head suddenly dashed off at full speed, and

disappeared in the darkness. We were so confounded at first that we

didn't know what to do, but the truth soon flashed upon us, and we

galloped after him as hard as we could. Though we could see nothing of

him, the clatter of his horse's hoofs guided us for a time, but

by-and-by this ceased, and we fancied he must have quitted the road

and taken to the open. We were quite certain he hadn't forded the

Mersey, or we must have heard him."

"No--no--he wouldn't do that, Glossop," remarked the magistrate.

"Well, we rode on till we got to a lane," pursued the constable, "and

two of our party went down it, while the rest kept to the high road.

About a mile further we encountered a waggon, and questioned the

driver, but no one had passed him; so we turned back, and were soon

afterwards joined by our mates, who had been equally unsuccessful.

Feeling now quite nonplussed, we deemed it best to return to the

hall--and here we are, ready to attend to your honour's orders."

"'Twould be useless to attempt further pursuit to-night, Glossop,"

rejoined the magistrate. "Captain Legh has got off by a very clever

stratagem, and will take good care you don't come near him. By this

time, he's far enough off, you may depend upon it."

"Exactly my opinion, sir," observed Glossop. "We've lost him for the

present, that's quite certain."

"Well, we'll consider what is best to be done in the morning," said

Mr. Fowden. "Meantime you can take up your quarters here for the

night. Stable your horses, and then go to bed."

"Not without supper, your honour," pleaded Glossop. "We're desperately

hungry."

"Why you're never satisfied," cried the magistrate. "But perhaps Mr.

Markland will find something for you."

Leaving the constables to shift for themselves, which he knew they

were very well able to do, Mr. Fowden then returned to the

dining-room, and finished the bottle of claret with the priest. Though

his plans had been frustrated, and he had lost both his horse and his

expected prisoner, he could not help laughing very heartily at the

occurrence of the evening.

Later on, he was conducted to a comfortable bed-chamber by the butler.

CHAPTER XI.

ATHERTON MEETS WITH DR. DEACON AT ROSTHERN.

Having distanced his pursuers as related, Atherton speeded across the

country till he reached Bucklow Hill, where a solitary roadside inn

was then to be found, and thinking he should be safe there, he

resolved to stop at the house for the night.

Accordingly, he roused up the host and soon procured accommodation for

himself and his steed.

The chamber in which he was lodged was small, with a low ceiling,

encumbered by a large rafter, but it was scrupulously clean and tidy,

and the bed-linen was white as snow, and smelt of lavender.

Next morning, he was up betimes, and his first business was to hire a

man to take back Mr. Fowden's horse. The ostler readily undertook the

job, and set out for Manchester, charged with a letter of explanation,

while Atherton, having breakfasted and paid his score, proceeded on

foot along the road to Knutsford.

Before leaving the inn he informed the landlord that he was going to

Northwich, and thence to Chester; but, in reality, he had no fixed

plan, and meant to be guided by circumstances. If the risk had not

been so great, he would gladly have availed himself of Dr. Byrom's

offer, conveyed by Beppy to Constance, of a temporary asylum in the

doctor's house at Manchester--but he did not dare to venture thither.