“I know I love in vain, strive against hope,
Yet in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love.”
--Alls Well That Ends Well.
Gabriel Harford was not a man who made many friends, his great reserve,
and a certain fastidious taste gave him an undeserved reputation for
pride and exclusiveness. Moreover, all that he had gone through since
Hilary’s angry dismissal had tended to bring out the sterner and sadder
side of his nature. He was respected as an indefatigable worker, but few
really appreciated him.
Fortunately, he had found his complement in Joscelyn Hey-worth, a
cheerful, buoyant and extremely sociable young officer, whose friendship
had done much to save him from falling a prey to the bitterness too apt
to overtake those who defend an unpopular truth.
He had also one other firm friend in the regiment--Major Locke, a
grey-haired, middle-aged man, who had served in the German wars.
The Major was a character, and anyone looking at him as he sat one cold
April evening in the chimney corner of a snug room at Gloucester would
have fancied from his melancholy voice and long, grave face that he was
a most strait-laced Puritan. Voice and face alike belied him, however,
for he was, in truth, the wag of the regiment; and an occasional twinkle
in his light grey eyes led a few shrewd people to suspect that he
usually had a hand in the practical jokes which now and then relieved
the tedium of the campaign. His jokes were always of a good-natured
order, and had done much to keep up the men’s spirits through that hard
winter, with its arduous night marches, its privations and its desultory
warfare.
Town after town had yielded to Sir William Waller, but the net result of
the war was at present small.
On this evening the officers had dispersed soon after supper, weary
with thirty-six hours of difficult manoeuvring, and one or two sharp
skirmishes but they had been triumphantly successful in cutting through
Prince Maurice’s army, owing to Waller’s skilful tactics, and all were
now inclined to snatch a good night’s rest in the comfortable quarters
assigned them at Gloucester.
Gabriel, dead beat with sheer hard work, had fallen sound asleep in a
high-backed arm-chair by the fire long before the others had satisfied
their hunger; he woke, however, with a start as they rose from the
table, responding sleepily to the general “good night,” but loth to stir
from his nook.
“Come, my boy,” said the Major, “why sleep dog-fashion when, for once,
you may have a bed like a good Christian?”
“I will wait till Captain Heyworth comes back,” said Gabriel stretching
himself and yawning in truly canine fashion.
“And that will not be over soon, for he will linger at Mr. Bennett’s
house, chatting to pretty Mistress Coriton, his promised bride.”
“’Tis like enough,” said Gabriel, with a sigh, recalling a glimpse he
had had of Clemency Coriton’s love-lit eyes as her betrothed had marched
past the gabled house in the Close that evening. How they contrasted
with those dark grey eyes which had flashed with such haughty defiance
as Hilary had spoken her last hard words to him--“I will look on your
face no more!”
“H’m,” said the Major, “here he comes an I mistake not just as I had hit
on a first rate trick to play him. No, ’tis one that knocks--see who
it is, my boy, we want no visitors at this hour.”
Gabriel crossed the room and threw open the door. A tall, handsome man,
apparently about thirty, stood without, his long, tawny red hair, his
fawn-coloured cloak, lined with scarlet, his rakish-looking hat with
its sweeping feathers, together with the scarlet ribbons which were the
badge of the Royalists, made him rather a startling apparition in the
Puritan city of Gloucester, and especially at Sir William Waller’s
headquarters.
“Is Major Locke within? they told me I should find him here,” he said in
a voice which had something peculiarly genial in its mellow tones..
“The Major is here, sir,” said Gabriel, ushering him in and wondering
much who he could be.
“What, you, Squire Norton!” exclaimed Major Locke in astonishment, as he
greeted him civilly, but with marked coldness--“Colonel Norton, at your
service,” said the visitor, with a short laugh that entirely lacked the
pleasantness of his voice in speaking. “You are surprised to see me in
the godly city of Gloucester.”
“Well, sir, you are certainly the last person I should have desired as a
visitor,” said the Major, bluntly.
“Major Locke was my most frank and outspoken neighbour,” said Norton,
turning with one of his flashing smiles to Gabriel. “Next to a good
friend commend me to a whole-hearted enemy who hates with a righteous
and altogether thorough hatred. But, my worthy Major, you, as one of the
godly party, should really obey all Scriptural injunctions. Is it not
written, ‘If thine enemy thirst, give him drink’?”
“Lieutenant Harford,” said the Major, in his most lugubrious voice,
“see that this gentleman has all that he requires. And in the meantime,
Colonel Norton, I must ask you to explain your presence here.”
“I accompanied a friend of mine who was allowed to pass the gates
to-night with a letter from Prince Maurice to Sir William Waller. Your
General is now writing the answer, and I had leave to seek you out on a
private matter.”
“I desire no private dealing with you, sir,” said the Major, stiffly.
Norton laughed as he replied, “If Lieutenant Harford, who has so
courteously heaped coals of fire on my head by filling me this excellent
cup of sack, will withdraw, I will explain to you what I mean, Major. I
assure you my intentions are wholly honourable.”
The Major made an expressive gesture of the shoulders, evidently
doubting whether he and his visitor put the same construction on that
last word. Gabriel bowed and was about to leave the room when his friend
checked him.
“Do not go, Lieutenant,” he said, decidedly. “I wish to have you present
as long as Colonel Norton remains.”
“As you will,” said Norton, easily. “I am here entirely in your
interest, sir.”
The Major drummed impatiently on the table.
“You seem to doubt that I have an eye to your interests,” said Norton,
laughing.
“Well, sir, I have known you all your life, and I dare swear ’tis
the first time you have considered anyone except yourself,” said Major
Locke, sententiously.
“You have a cursed long memory,” said Norton, cheerfully. “But look you,
Major, I know for a certainty that, early to-morrow, Prince Maurice will
send troops to besiege your house. The Manor is in a position which
will serve his purpose, and he intends to have a garrison there. Your
property will be ruined, your household turned out, or should they
resist, made prisoners, or mayhap, slaughtered. With one word you can
save such a disaster.”
“And pray what word may that be?” said the Major, frowning.
“Your word of honour that you will give me your daughter Helena in
marriage.”
The Major flushed angrily.
“Sir,” he said, indignantly, “to that request you have already had your
answer.”
“But the times have changed, Major, and I warn you that your answer had
best change with them. Do you not see that I have your whole property in
my power? Speak only this word and I will contrive that the Manor shall
not be attacked, the Prince will easily be diverted from his plan, and I
will get a special letter of protection for your whole household.”
“Rather than see my daughter wedded to you,” said the Major, sternly, “I
would kill her with my own hand.”
“I believe you would, my sturdy Virginius,” said Norton, with a laugh.
“However, I trust you will not come across her. To-morrow, when the
Manor yields to Prince Maurice, my first thought shall be to take pretty
Mistress Helena under my protection--no need in time of war for parsons
or bridal ceremonies.”
At that the Major sprang forward white with anger, and struck Norton on
the mouth.
“Curse you!” cried the Colonel, drawing his sword. “If you will force a
quarrel upon me, let us fight it out at once; but I call the Lieutenant
to witness that the provocation----”
“Hold your lying tongue, sir,” said the Major, pushing back the table
and whipping out his sword, and the next moment the sharp clash of the
blades rang through the room.
Gabriel was entirely absorbed in watching the combatants; he did not
notice that a stalwart gentleman, with long, light brown hair and a
short, pointed beard, had quietly opened the door behind him, and
he started violently when Sir William Waller strode across the room,
Joscelyn Heyworth closing the door as he followed his chief.
“Gentlemen!” exclaimed the General, striking up their swords. “What is
the meaning of this?”
“Sir,” said the Major, “I was bound to avenge a gross insult to my
daughter.”
“You must not fight a duel here,” said Sir William, sternly. “Colonel
Norton has a free pass, and I am bound to see that he returns in safety
to Prince Maurice.”
“It is an entirely private matter, sir,” said Norton. “It will be a
satisfaction to us both to carry the matter through.”
“Very possibly,” said Waller, giving Norton a keen glance with his
blue-grey eyes, and quickly taking the measure of the man. “But private
affairs, sir, must ever yield to public duties. Your companion awaits
you, with my letter in reply to the Prince. I wish you good night, sir.”
Norton, with a shrug of the shoulders sheathed his sword, donned his
doublet and cloak, and, with a sweeping bow, waved his hat in farewell.
“Good-night, gentlemen,” he said, with easy courtesy. “Major, to our
next merry meeting!” and with an ironical smile and a mockingly profound
bow to his enemy he strode out of the room.
“I crave your pardon, sir,” said Major Locke, “but when that wolf in
sheep’s clothing shamelessly proclaimed his wicked designs on my child I
could not restrain myself.”
“Well, Major, we will say no more of the matter,” said Waller. “I
can well understand that your feelings as a father overpowered all
remembrance of your duty as an officer.”
“Sir, I implore you to let me ride home at once and place my daughter
out of this villain’s reach. He tells me that early to-morrow Prince
Maurice intends to attack my Manor House, with a view to having a
garrison there.”
“These outlying garrisons are the curse of the country,” said Waller,
stroking his moustache meditatively. “Is your house capable of standing
a siege if we sent a detachment to help them?”
“No, sir, not at such short notice, though it could be made a formidable
place had we time.”
“I cannot let you go off on a private errand to-night, Major. You are
indispensable to me, and I have given my word to Massey that I will join
him at Tewkesbury early tomorrow morning. We must march from here in
three hours’ time.”
The poor Major moved away with a look of such despair that Waller,
always a most kindly and considerate man, hastily turned over in his
mind two or three schemes for aiding him.
“You say you could place your daughter out of Norton’s reach. Where
could you place her?”
“Here, sir, in Gloucester, under the care of my trusty friend, Alderman
Pury. I know he would shelter her.”
“Well, let your servant ride home now and fetch the lady, rejoining you
to-morrow evening at Tewkesbury.”
“My servant, sir, is the veriest dolt; I could not trust him with
so risky a piece of work. Prince Maurice’s army is in the near
neighbourhood.”
“Sir,” said Gabriel, coming forward, eagerly, “I beg you to let me serve
Major Locke in this matter. I was at school at Gloucester and know the
neighbourhood well.”
“So ho, young knight-errant!” said Waller, with his genial laugh. “You
are in hot haste to rescue this fair lady, and I like you the better
for it. But you are somewhat young for so hazardous a venture. We cannot
tell what tricks this Colonel Norton may devise.”
“If there were two of us, sir,” said Joscelyn Heyworth, “we might the
better outwit him.”
“So you would have me spare my galloper also? Well, tomorrow’s march is
like to be a straightforward matter, not a difficult bit of manoeuvring
like to-day. Rejoin the regiment to-morrow evening at Tewkesbury, and in
the interval do what you can for Major Locke.”
“We must leave our horses in Gloucester until we return with Mistress
Helena,” said Gabriel. “They are hackneyed out with all the work they
have had.”
“True. Latimer was sore spent,” said Joscelyn Heyworth. “I will send
my man Moirison to hire fresh horses, and by-the-bye, Major, I think
we shall do well to take him with us, he is a shrewd fellow, and three
horsemen will make a better escort for your daughter.”
“Well, gentlemen, I can only accept your help very gratefully,” said
Major Locke. “To have my little Nell safely sheltered in Gloucester will
ease my mind greatly. While you see to the horses, I will write her a
letter telling her what I would have her do.”
“I would have spared you if I could rightly have done so, Major,” said
Waller, pausing with his hand on the door. “But a man who has been
through the German wars is worth his weight in gold, and I am bound to
think first of the public weal.”