It was the eighth hour of the morning before Bernard arrived at
Lantwell. Though his horse was jaded, he did not draw up before
his own house, but proceeded, at a pretty brisk canter, to the
upper end of the village. There, a short distance from the
church, he came to a small cottage, similar to his own, before
which he reined up, and alighted.
“So ho, there!” he cried, knocking at the door. “Gaffer Peters!
So ho!”
“Anon! anon!” cried a voice within.
Several minutes intervened, however, before the door was
opened. A short, stout man, about the middle age, then made his
appearance, and, discerning Bernard, hastily stepped out to the
road.
“Give thee good morrow, fair master!” he cried. “What hath gone
wrong?”
“Never thou heed what, Master Headborough!” replied Bernard; “but
don thy cap, and mount thee up behind me.”
“But the law, Master Gray--the law of the matter?” inquired the
constable. “Look you, an’ it be a simple matter of robbery, thou
must needs have a warrant, as I take it, ere thou mayst take the
thief.”
“Wilt thou come?” demanded Bernard.
“Prithee, be advised as to the law,” urged the constable. “We
have adjudged in the instance of robbery. Now, look you, if it be
a matter of battery by assault”--
“’Tis neither robbery nor assault,” cried Bernard. “’Tis
an offence against the state; and if thou don not thy cap
incontinently, I must even take thee without it.”
“Go to!” remonstrated the constable. “An’ it were but robbery and
battery, the law, as thou sayest, were easy enough; but”--
He was still speaking, when, overcome with impatience, Bernard
caught him up in his arms, and threw him, perforce, across the
shoulders of his horse.
“Go to, thou!” he cried. “Settle thee afore the saddle, or, while
thou pratest here, the offender will escape. Thou hadst better be
hanged than that should be!”
The tone of his voice, and the dread which, in common with all
his neighbours, he entertained of Bernard’s character, reduced
the loquacious constable to immediate obedience, and, without
further parley, he disposed himself in the manner directed.
Bernard sprang up behind him, and then, seizing the bridle,
clapped spurs to his horse, and set forward for Neville Grange.
By the carriage-road, which was circuitous, the distance was
considerable, and occupied him nearly an hour. Ultimately,
however, he got over it, and, spurring through the gateway, and
up the adjoining avenue, reined up before the hall-door.
The tramp of the horse’s feet, which the hard, dry road carried
some distance, quickly brought out several of the servants, and,
among them, old Adam Green. That person, to the surprise of the
others, recognised Bernard as an acquaintance, and hastened to
salute him.
“Are they wedded yet, Master Adam?” asked Bernard, on his
approach.
“’Tis now in course,” answered Adam.
Bernard alighted at a bound.
“Down with thee, thou loon!” he cried to the astonished
constable, seizing him by the arm:--“down, I say!”
There was no use in resisting, and the constable, maugre the
dignity and state of his office, was obliged to give way, and
descend to the ground.
“Now, Master Adam, lead us to them!” said Bernard.
“For her sake, I will!” answered Adam. “Follow!”
He turned towards the hall-door; and Bernard, and the constable,
grasped by Bernard’s hand, followed in his wake. Entering the
hall, he passed up the contiguous stairs, and led the way to the
chapel.
On arriving at the chapel-door, Bernard, who now came first,
tried to open it, but found that it was secured within. He
then inflicted on it that summons which, as was set forth in
a preceding chapter, called Sir Edgar to a parley, and so
opportunely interrupted the progressing marriage.
His demand to be admitted in the name of the Queen, couched in
the terms already recorded, raised in the breasts of the several
inmates the wildest and most conflicting feelings. Sir Edgar,
however, being unconscious of having transgressed the law, would
have opened the door without hesitation; but, as he placed his
hand on the bolt, the priest called to him to forbear.
“Let me first don my cloak and peruke,” the priest said, drawing
those articles of disguise from behind the altar. “My hour is not
yet come.”
Though he appeared to be palsied with fear, he lost no time,
after he had caught the cloak and wig up, in donning his
disguise, and quickly set it in order.
“Now,” he said to Sir Edgar, as he quitted the suspicious
vicinity of the altar, and sprang into the middle of the chapel,
“thou mayst admit them.”
Sir Edgar withdrew the bolt, and, stepping back a pace, the door
was pushed open. The next moment, Bernard, and Master Peters, the
constable, with Adam Green, passed into the chapel.
Bernard’s eye swept round the chapel at a glance. But on the face
of Evaline, who was standing right before him, a pace or two
removed from the door, it came to a pause, and seemed to dive to
her very heart. It needed little penetration, when thus viewing
her features, to see how her heart was moved, and how completely
it had given itself over to despair. Even shame could not shake
that despair; and though, it is true, she could not endure to
meet and answer his glance, and had turned her eyes on the floor,
her complexion displayed no shade of confusion, but continued
locked in impenetrable pallor.
Bernard’s bosom swelled as he gazed upon her, and his manly
features, which had just before been flushed with rage, assumed a
softer expression, and beamed with tenderness and sympathy.
“Which of ye hath done this?” he cried, pointing at Evaline.
Don Felix, who had hitherto been perfectly passive, here stepped
forward a pace, and interposed.
“By what right, Sir, dost thou ask?” he demanded. “Nay, by what
right art thou here at all?”
“Hold thee quiet, Sir Spaniard!” answered Bernard. “I could
approve my right, an’ it so contented me, out of hand, and on no
other person than thine own.”
Don Felix started.
“Whoever thou mayst be,” cried Sir Edgar, stepping in to his
kinsman’s rescue, “it is but meet”--
“Give me leave a while,” interrupted Bernard. “’Tis with thee I
would speak, Mistress de Neville. I ask thee here, afore God and
man, is this marriage to proceed?”
He paused for a reply; but Evaline, whether she was sensible of
what he said, or not, was silent as marble.
“Is the marriage to proceed, mistress?” repeated Bernard.
Evaline, without lifting her eyes from the floor, sank on her
knees before him, and raised her clasped hands in the air.
“I am a poor, lost maid!” she said, in a hollow voice.
“Enough!” exclaimed Bernard.
Without a word more, he pushed past her, and turned towards the
priest. On coming up with him, he first glanced earnestly in his
face; and then, as if assured that he was not mistaken, extended
his hand, and slapped him lustily on his shoulder.
“John Paul,” he said, “I attach thee, as a seminary priest, of
high treason! Master Headborough do thine office!”
A dead silence followed the utterance of these words, and the
awful fate with which they threatened the priest, and which was
no less than an ignominious death, seemed to strike each of the
auditors with dejection and terror. But the silence was of brief
duration. The priest then, as if all resolution had failed him,
fell on his knees, and raised his hands in supplication.
“Oh, spare me!” he cried, with chattering teeth. “I did it from
no harm, but for the love of God. The spirit which moved me
thereto is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
“Thou shouldst have thought of that afore,” said Bernard. “Thou
hast come hither, at thine own peril, to war against our anointed
Queen, and thou must abide by the issue.”
As he thus delivered himself, a cry of agony, which made his
heart thrill again, broke on his ear. Turning round, he perceived
(what his fears had led him to anticipate) that it had proceeded
from Evaline, who was now stretched senseless on the floor.
Sir Edgar and Don Felix, who were only a pace or two distant,
quickly sprang to the assistance of the forlorn girl, as did
Martha also. Lifting her up, they discovered that she had
swooned.
“Let us bear her to her chamber,” said Sir Edgar. “If she recover
here, the scene may shock her again.”
Accordingly, they caught her in their arms, and, without further
speech, raised her up between them, and bore her from the chapel.
Adam Green, who had assisted them to raise her, was about to
follow them, when Bernard called him back.
“Master Adam,” said Bernard, with a significant look, “hast
thou never a cup of liquor, in this noble mansion, for Master
Headborough here. Prithee, an’ thou lovest me, take him to thy
larder, and let him refresh awhile.”
“A right excellent instance,” remarked the constable. “The law
stands, sirs”--
“Come thou with me,” interposed Adam.
The constable, seeing in the “instance” the promise of a cup of
liquor, to which even law might be considered a secondary matter,
readily agreed, and suffered Adam to lead him forth. When they
had passed out, Bernard appeared to muse a moment, and then,
arousing himself, glanced anxiously round the chapel.
His eye, after it had once swept round, rested on a large window,
immediately behind the altar. As he regarded it closely, he
discerned that, in the centre, on the main bar of the frame,
there was a small asp, or brace, by withdrawing which the window
could be opened. When he perceived this, he stepped up to the
window, and surveyed it more accurately. The result, to his great
satisfaction, confirmed his expectations; and on raising his hand
to the asp, he was able to throw the window open, and look out.
His _reconnoissance_, though it was brief, evidently afforded him
considerable pleasure, and he turned away from the window with a
bright smile.
Meantime, the priest, thinking that his fate was decided, lay
trembling on the floor, quite speechless with despair. Bernard’s
eye fell upon him as he turned round; but he had no opportunity,
if he had been even inclined, to contemplate him long; for just
as his glance dropped upon him, a slight knock called him to the
chapel-door.
Hastily drawing the door open, he found, as he had expected, that
the person without was Adam Green.
“I have bestowed away the constable,” whispered Adam. “What
wouldst thou further?”
“Hast thou ever a horse for the priest here?” answered Bernard.
“His own is i’ the stable,” replied Adam.
“Saddle it quick, then,” said Bernard; “and leave it under the
chapel-window.”
“Our Lady reward thee!” returned Adam. “I will do ’t.”
He entered on the task thereupon. In about a quarter of an hour,
he returned, and informed Bernard, who had waited for him in the
passage, that the horse was bestowed according to his directions.
“Then go thou now, and bring me word how it fares with thy
mistress,” said Bernard. “Meantime, I will start the priest.”
Without a word more, he broke away, and passed into the chapel.
The priest, though still prostrate, looked up as he entered, and
Bernard beckoned him to rise.
“Come to the window a space,” he said, “and I will show thee
somewhat.”
The priest, trembling with fear, raised himself up, and followed
him to the window. It was still open, and, through the aperture,
he descried, at a little distance, on a contiguous lawn, his own
horse, saddled for service.
“Is that thy horse?” asked Bernard.
“It is,” faltered the priest.
“I’faith, thou couldst almost mount him from here,” said
Bernard. “In a matter of life and death, a man could leap twenty
feet, methinks, any day.”
“Would I might do it!” cried the priest.
He raised his eyes as he spoke, and glanced imploringly in
Bernard’s face.
“Thou shouldst understand the Word,” said Bernard; “and ’tis now
afore thee:--‘And Michal told David, saying, “If thou save not
thy life to-night, to-morrow thou shalt be slain.” So Michal let
David down through a window; and he went and fled and escaped.’”
A light flashed across the mind of the priest, and, as Bernard
turned towards the door, his despair subsided.
Whatever might be Bernard’s meaning, he passed straight out, and
closed the chapel-door behind him. He found Adam Green in the
passage.
“How is it with Mistress Evaline?” he asked.
“She hath recovered,” answered Adam.
“Then, prithee, go tell her suitor, Don Felix, I would speak
with him awhile,” said Bernard. “But, hold! here comes Master
Headborough.”
The constable, having regaled himself to his heart’s content, was
indeed in view, and shortly came up with them.
“Soh, Master Headborough!” Bernard then cried, “thou hast been
refreshing with a witness! Is ’t thus thou requitest my care of
thee? But no more words! Let us now look to our charge!”
Here he pushed back the door, and, followed by the constable and
Adam, passed into the chapel.
“Soh! what’s here?” he cried.
The window was open, and the priest, whom they were about to
remove to prison, had escaped.