THE MARCH TO PRESTON.
It was more from the exhaustion of hunger than any other cause that I
fainted, and being come to myself, I was given food and thereafter
accommodated with a horse; so that without any great delay the
calvacade proceeded to its rendezvous. We fell in with Mr. Forster at
the top of a hill, which they call the Waterfalls, and swelled his
numbers to a considerable degree, there being altogether gathered at
this spot, now that we were come, near upon sixty horse, gentlemen and
their attendants, and all armed. After a short council it was decided
that we should march northwards and meet Brigadier Macintosh at Kelso.
Besides, argued Mr. Forster, there was great reason to believe, that
if we did but appear before the walls, Newcastle would open its gates
to us; in the which case we should not only add largely to our forces
but secure that of which we stood most in need--I mean ordnance and
ammunition. "For," said he, "Sir William Blackett, whose interest is
very considerable in the town, has armed and enlisted in troops all
the colliers and keelmen and miners in his pay, and does but wait for
us to set them in motion."
Accordingly, in the height of confidence and good spirits, the little
band set out towards Plainfield on the river Coquett, though for my
part I could but ponder in the greatest distress upon the deserted
aspect of Applegarth. Nor was Lord Derwentwater in any way able to
relieve my fears, seeing that he had himself been seeking refuge from
one place to another. I was driven therefore to persuade myself, as
the best hope which offered, that Mr. Curwen and his daughter had
embarked in the _Swallow_ and were now come safely to France. Yet,
somehow, the while I persuaded myself, my heart sank with the thought
of the distance that was between us.
We came that night to Rothbury, and sleeping there, marched the next
morning to Warkworth, where, the day being Saturday, the 7th of
October, Mr. Forster resolved to lie until the Monday. It was in the
parish church of Warkworth that Mr. Buxton, our chaplain, first prayed
publicly for King James III., substituting that name for King George,
and it was in Warkworth too that King James was first of all in
England proclaimed King of Great Britain. I remember standing in the
market-place listening to the huzzaing of our forces and watching the
hats go up in the air, with how heavy a heart! So that many chided me
for the dull face I wore. But I was picturing to myself the delight
with which Dorothy would have viewed the scene. I could see her eye
sparkle, her little hand clench upon her whip; I could hear her voice
making a harmony of these discordant shouts.
On Monday we rode out of Warkworth, and being joined by many gentlemen
at Alnwick and other places, and in particular by seventy Scots Horse
at Felton Bridge, marched into Morpeth, three hundred strong, all
mounted. For we would entertain no foot, since we had not sufficient
arms even for those we had mounted, and moreover were in a great haste
to surprise Newcastle. To this end we hurried to Hexham, where we were
joined by some more Scots Horse, and drew out from there on to a moor
about three miles distant It was there that we sustained our first
disappointment. For intelligence was brought to us from Newcastle that
the magistrates having got wind of our designs, had gathered the
train-bands and militia within the walls, and that the gates were so
far from opening to receive us that they had been walled up and
fortified with stone and lime to such a degree of strength that
without cannon it was useless to attempt them.
Accordingly we marched chapfallen back to Hexham and lay there until
the 18th, with no very definite idea of what we should do next
However, on the 18th a man came running into the town crying that
General Carpenter with Churchill's Dragoons and Hotham's foot, and I
know not what other regiments, had on this very day arrived at
Newcastle from London, and without an instant's delay had set about
preparing to attack us. The news, you may be sure, threw us into a
pretty commotion, and the colour of our hopes quite faded. Messengers
sped backwards and forwards between General Forster and Lord
Derwentwater and Captain Shaftoe; councils were held, broken up,
reformed again; the whole camp hummed and sputtered like a boiling
kettle. I passed that day in the greatest despair, for if this rising
failed, every way was I undone. It was not merely that I should lose
my life, but I should lose it without securing that for which I had
designed it--I mean Mr. Herbert's liberation. In the midst of this
flurry and confusion, however, Mr. Burnett of Carlips rode into
Hexham, with a message that Viscount Kenmure, and the Earls of
Nithsdale, Carnwath, and Wintoun had entered England from the western
parts of Scotland and were even now at Rothbury. Mr. Forster returned
an express that we would advance to them the next morning; the which
we did, greatly enheartened by the pat chance of their arrival, and
being joined together with them marched in a body to Wooler on the
following day and rested the Friday in that village.
We crossed the Tweed and entered Kelso on the 22nd of October, and
about an hour after our entry the Highlanders, with their outlandish
bagpipes playing the strangest skirling melodies, were led in by old
Mackintosh from the Scots side. The joy we all had at the sight of
them may be easily imagined, and indeed the expression of it by some
of the baser followers was so extravagant that a man can hardly
describe it with any dignity. But I think we all halloo'd them as our
saviours, and so even persuaded our ears to find pleasure in the
rasping of their pipes.
The next day being Sunday, Lord Kenmure ordered that Divine Service
should be held in the great Kirk of Kelso, at which Papists and
Protestants, Highlanders and Englishmen attended very reverently
together; and I believe this was the first time that the rubric of the
Church of England was ever read on this side of the Forth in Scotland.
Mr. Patten, I remember, who after turned his coat to save his life,
preached from a text of Deuteronomy, "The right of the first-born is
his." And very eloquent, I am told, his sermon was, though I heard
little of it, being occupied rather with the gathering of men about
me, and wondering whether at the long last we had the tips of our
fingers upon this much-contested crown. For the Highlanders, though
poorly armed and clad, had the hardiest look of any men that ever I
saw. My great question, indeed, was whether amongst their nobles they
had one who could lead. For on our side, except for Captains Nicholas
Wogan, and Shaftoe, we had few who were versed in military arts, and
Mr. Forster betrayed to my thinking more of the incompetency of the
born Parliament-man than the resourceful instinct of the born
strategist; in which opinion, I may say, I was fully warranted
afterwards by that fatal omission in regard to Ribble Bridge.
On the Monday morning the Highlanders were drawn up in the churchyard
and marched thence to the market-place, in all the bravery of flags
flying, and drums beating, and pipes playing. There they were formed
into a circle, and within that circle another circle of the Gentlemen
Volunteers, whereof through the bounty of Lord Derwentwater, in
supplying me with money and arms, I was now become one; and within
that circle stood the noblemen. Thereupon a trumpet sounded, and
silence being obtained, the Earl of Dumferling proclaimed King James,
and read thereafter the famous manifesto which the Earl of Mar sent
from his camp at Perth by the hand of Mr. Robert Douglas.
We continued, then, in Kelso until the following Thursday, the 27th of
October, our force being now augmented, what with footmen and horse,
to the number of fourteen hundred. The delay, however, gave General
Carpenter time to approach us from Newcastle, and he on this same
Thursday came to Wooler and lay there the night, intending to draw out
to Kelso and give us battle on the following day. No sooner was the
intelligence received than Lord Kenmure calls a council of war, and
here at once it was seen that our present union was very much upon the
surface. For whereas Earl Wintoun was all for marching into the west
of Scotland, others were for passing the Tweed and attacking General
Carpenter. For, said they, "in the first place, his troops must needs
be fatigued, and in the second they do not count more than five
hundred men all told, whereof the regiments of Dragoons are newly
raised and have seen no service."
Now, either of these proposals would in all probability have tended to
our advantage, but when a multitude of counsels conflict, it is ever
upon some weak compromise that men fall at last; and so it came about
that we marched away to Jedburgh, intending thence to cross the
mountains into England. Here it was that our troubles with the
Highlanders began. For they would not be persuaded to cross the
borders, saying that once they were in England they would be taken and
sold as slaves, a piece of ignorance wherein it was supposed Lord
Wintoun had tutored them. Consequently our plans were changed again,
and instead of crossing into North Tynedale, we turned aside to
Hawick, the Highlanders protesting that they would not keep with us
for the distance of an inch upon English soil.
From Hawick we marched to Langholme, a little market-town belonging to
the Duchess of Buccleugh; and there we made another very great
mistake. For here the Earl of Wintoun strongly advised that we should
make ourselves masters of Dumfries, and to that end, indeed, a
detachment of cavalry was sent forward in the night to Ecclefechan.
And no doubt the advice was just and the plan easy of accomplishment.
Dumfries, he urged, was unfortified either by walls or trainbands; it
stood upon a navigable river whereby we might have succours from
France; it opened a passage to Glasgow; and the possession of so
wealthy a town would give us great credit with the country gentlemen
thereabouts, and so be the means of enlarging the command. All these
arguments he advanced, as Lord Derwentwater, who was present at the
council, informed me, with singular moderation of tone, but finding
that they made no sort of headway with the English party:
"It is sheer folly and madness," he burst out. "You are so eager to
reap your doubtful crops in Lancashire, that you will not stoop to the
corn that lies cut at your feet. I tell you, there are many stands of
arms stored in the Tolbooth and a great quantity of gunpowder in the
Tron Steeple, which you can have for the mere taking. But you will
not, no, you will not. Good God, sirs, your King's at stake, and if
you understand not that, your lives;" and so he bounced out of the
room.
The truth is we of the English party were so buoyed up by the
expresses we received from Lancashire that nothing would content us
but we must march hot-foot into England. And though, of course, I had
no part or share in the decision of our course, I was none the less
glad that our side prevailed, nay, more glad than the rest, since I
had an added motive. For so long as we remained in Scotland there
would be no disturbance of administration in England. Examinations
would be conducted, assizes would be held, and for all I knew, Mr.
Herbert might be condemned and hanged while we were yet marching and
countermarching upon the borders. The thought of that possibility was
like a sword above my head; I raged against my ignorance of the place
of Mr. Herbert's detention. Had I but known it, I think that in this
hesitation of our leaders I would have foregone those chances of
escape which the rebellion promised, and ridden off at night to
deliver myself to the authorities. For it was no longer of my
dishonour, if I failed to bring the matter to a happy event, at least
for Anthony Herbert and his wife, that I thought. But the prospect of
failure struck at something deeper within me. It seemed in truth to
reach out sullying hands towards Dorothy. I held it in some queer way
as a debt to her, due in payment for my knowledge of her, that I
should fulfil this duty to its last letter. So whenever these councils
were in the holding, I would pace up and down before the General's
quarters, as a man will before the house in which his mistress lies
sick; and when the counsellors came forth, you may be sure I was at
Lord Derwentwater's elbow on the instant, and the first to hear the
decision agreed upon.
From Langholme, then, we crossed into England. It is no part of my
story to describe our march to Preston, and I need only make mention
of one incident during its continuance which had an intimate effect
upon my own particular fortunes.
This incident occurred when we were some ten miles out of Penrith. The
whole army was drawn up upon a hill and lying upon its arms to rest
the men. I was standing by the side of young Mr. Chorley, with my eyes
towards Appleby, when Mr. Richard Stokoe, who acted as quartermaster
to Lord Derwentwater's troop, suddenly cried out behind me--
"Lord save us! Who is this old put of a fellow?"
"He mounts the white cockade," said young Mr. Chorley, turning and
shading his eyes with his hand.
"And moves a living arsenal," said the other with a laugh.
"Yet hardly so dangerous as his companion, I should think."
"Very like. We'll set her in front of the troops, and so march to
London with never a shot fired. But, Clavering!" he cried of a sudden.
"What ails the man?"
But Clavering was galloping down the hillside by this time, and did
not draw rein to answer him. For the old put of a fellow and his
companion were no other than Mr. Curwen and his daughter. A living
arsenal was in truth no bad description of the old gentleman; for he
carried a couple of old muskets slung across his shoulders, a pair of
big pistols were stuck in his belt, another pair protruded from the
holsters, a long straight sword slapped and rattled against his leg,
while a woodman's axe was slung across his body.
When I was a hundred yards from the pair I slackened my horse's speed:
when the hundred yards had narrowed to fifty, I stopped altogether.
For I remembered my unceremonious departure from Applegarth, and was
troubled to think with what mien they would accost me. I need,
however, have harboured no fears upon that score. For Mr. Curwen cried
out:
"I wagered Dorothy the sun to a guinea-piece that we should find you
here."
"I did not take the wager," cries Dorothy, as she drew rein; she added
demurely, "But only because he could not have paid had he lost."
They were followed at a little distance by some half a dozen shepherds
and labourers mounted on ponies, which, to say the least, had long
since passed their climacteric, and armed with any makeshift of a
weapon which had happened to come handy. The troop drew up in a line,
and Mr. Curwen surveyed them with some pride.
"They lack a banner," said he, regretfully. "I would have had Dorothy
embroider one of silk for Roger Purdy, in the smock there, to
carry--straighten your shoulders, Roger!--a white rose opening, on a
ground of sky-blue, but----"
"But Dorothy had some slight sense of humour," says she, "and so would
not."
"Then," said I, with a glance of perplexity towards the girl, "you
are, indeed, come to join us?" For I could not but wonder that she who
had so resolutely removed her father from the excitement of the
preceding intrigues, should now second his participation in the
greater excitement of the actual conflict.
"Indeed," he cries, "I am; and Dorothy has come so far to wish us a
God-speed, but will return again with Dawson there. What did I tell
you, Mr. Clavering? There is a work for the weakest arm. But you are
surprised!"
"I am surprised," I answered, "that Mary Tyson is not here as well."
"Ah," said he, "do you know, Mr. Clavering, I fear me I have done some
injustice to Mary Tyson. I thought her a poor witless body." Dorothy
made a movement, and he hurriedly interposed, "The best of servants,
but," and he glanced again defiantly at his daughter, "a poor witless
body outside the household service. But since the messenger came with
the constables to Applegarth, she has shown great good sense, except
in the matter of simples. For, indeed, my pockets are packed with
them."
"The constables came to Applegarth!" I exclaimed, bethinking me of
Jervas Rookley's threat. "And when was that?"
Miss Curwen, I noticed, was looking at me with a singular intentness
as I uttered the exclamation, and gave a little nod of comprehension
as I asked the question. It was as though my asking it assured her of
something which she had suspected.
"When?" echoed Mr. Curwen, with a smile. "Why, the morning you left
us. You were right in your surmise, and I take it very kindly that you
delayed so long as to scribble your gratitude, though that delay was
an added danger."
"Oh, I was right?" said I, though still not very clear as to what it
was that I had surmised correctly; and again Miss Curwen nodded.
"Yes!" said he, "but, indeed, it was early for travellers. But we were
waiting for you at the breakfast-table when we first heard the
sheriff's horses. I was not sure that you would hear them at the back
of the house."
"But one of the windows looked down the road," said I, understanding
why he had seen no discourtesy in my precipitate departure. I could
not in any case give the real reason which had prompted me to that,
and since here was one offered to me, why, I thought it best to fall
in with it--"the window about which I hunted so long for the owl," I
added, turning to Miss Curwen, For her manner of a minute ago warned
me that she put no great faith in her father's explanation of my
conduct, and I was desirous to test the point.
"You hunted vainly," said she, "because the owl flitted one night,"
and so left me in doubt.
"That is true," continued Mr. Curwen to me. "I did not think of the
window, and indeed was somewhat puzzled by the quickness of your
escape. For I sent Mary Tyson to warn you the while I barricaded the
door and held a parley with the sheriff from the window. She came back
to tell me you were gone."
"Would she had come back quicker!" exclaimed Dorothy with a shudder.
"Why?" I cried at the sight of her distress. "Was there--was
there--any hurt done? Oh no, not to you. I could never forgive
myself."
"No, not to us," replied Mr. Curwen. "Dorothy takes the matter too
much to heart. Had she fired of a purpose she would have been right,
or very little to blame. For I am old-fashioned enough to consider a
guest sacred as an altar-vessel. But since she fired by mistake----"
"Miss Curwen fired!" I said.
"And shot the sheriff from behind my shoulder," continued Mr. Curwen.
"Father!" she entreated, covering her face with her hands.
"Nay, child," said he, reassuringly. "There was no great harm done. A
few weeks with his arm in a sling."
"But I saw the blood redden through his sleeve!" cried she, drawing
her hands down from her face and clasping them together. And as though
to rid herself of the topic she jogged her bridle and rode forward.
I turned my horse and followed with Mr. Curwen, the while he gave me
more precise account of what had happened.
"The sheriff took an absurd and threatening tone when he found the
door barred, which suited me very ill. So I bade Dorothy load my
pistols while I parleyed with the man. He threatened me in I know not
how many Latin words and in a tone of great injury, whereupon,
perceiving that, since he spoke a learned tongue and wore the look of
a gentleman, it would be no derogation, I threw down my glove as a
gage and challenged him to take it up."
I shot a glance at Mr. Curwen, but he spoke in a simple, ordinary
voice.
"Instead of doing that," he continued, "he disappointed me greatly by
a violent flow of abuse, which was cut short on the instant by
Dorothy's pistol. She was standing behind me, who stood on a chair,
and fired beneath my arm. 'Oh, the poor dear!' she cried, 'I have hurt
him,' and plumped down in a faint. It was indeed the luckiest accident
in the world, for the constables, seeing their chief wounded, were
sufficiently scared to stay no longer than gave them time to pick him
up."
"But all this occurred a month ago!" I exclaimed, "Surely the
sheriff's men returned."
"In the evening; but they found no one at Applegarth. Dorothy and I
with Mary Tyson were on our way to Carlisle. The other servants I sent
to their homes. We have good friends at Carlisle, Mr. Clavering," he
said, with one of his prodigiously cunning winks, "very good, safe
friends. We said good-bye to them when your army had passed Carlisle,
and so returned home."
"And Miss Curwen?" I asked. "What of her, since you come with us?"
"She will be safe at home now," said he, "and Mary Tyson is there to
bear her company."
"She will be safe, no doubt," said I, "so long as we keep the upper
hand."
We were by this time come to the top of the hill, and Dorothy was
already talking to Lord Derwentwater.
"So," says he, coming forward and taking Mr. Curwen by the hand, "here
are the four of us proscribed."
"We will wear our warrants for an order at St. James's Palace," cries
Dorothy; and at that moment the trumpet sounded.
A brief leave-take between Dorothy and her father, and we were
marching down the hill, Mr. Curwen joined to the Gentlemen Volunteers,
his six henchmen enrolled in Lord Derwentwater's troop.
Dorothy remained behind upon the hilltop with the servant who was to
convey her home, and though we marched away with our backs towards
her, I none the less gathered, as we went, some very distinct
impressions of her appearance. Nor can it be said that they were the
outcome of my recollections. For when I first saw her riding towards
the hill, I was only conscious that it was she riding towards me, and
very wonderful it seemed. And afterwards, when I heard her voice, I
was only conscious that it was she who was talking, and very wonderful
that seemed too. But I did not remark the particulars of her
appearance. Now as we were marching away, I gained very distinct
impressions, as for instance of: item a little cocked hat like a
man's, only jauntier; item a green riding-coat; item a red waistcoat,
etc. The truth is, my head was turned backwards all the time, and we
had not advanced more than a couple of hundred yards before my horse
was turned in the same direction. For I let myself fall to the rear
until I was on the edge of the troops, and then faced about and fairly
galloped back to her.
She was looking with great intentness in the direction precisely
opposite to that from which I came; and as I halted by her side:
"Oh!" said she, turning in the most perfect surprise, "I did not think
that it would be you. I expected it would be my father."
"I gathered that," I replied, "from your indifference."
She answered nothing, but industriously stroked the mane of her horse.
"Now say 'owl,'" I added.
She began to laugh, then checked herself and looked at me with the
chilliest stare.
"And if I did say 'owl,'" she asked in a puzzled simplicity, "would it
rain?"
I began to wish that I had not spoken.
"Well?" she insisted, "what if I did say 'owl'?"
"I should say 'Robin Redbreast,'" I replied weakly.
"And a very delicate piece of wit, to be sure, Mr. Clavering," says
she with her chin in the air. "You have learnt the soldier's
forwardness of tongue. Let me pray you have learnt his----" And then,
thinking, I suppose, from my demeanour that I was sufficiently
abashed, she broke off of a sudden. "I would that I were a man," she
cried, "and could swing a sword!"
She looked towards the little army which defiled between the fields,
with the sun glinting upon musket and scabbard, and brought her
clenched fist down upon the pommel of her saddle.
"Nay," said I, "you have done better than swing a sword. You have shot
a sheriff, though it was by accident."
She looked at me with a certain timidity.
"You do not blame me for that?"
"Blame you. And why?"
"I do not know. But you might think it--bloodthirsty," she said, with
a quaver in her voice, betwixt a laugh and a cry.
"How could I, when you swooned the instant afterwards?"
"My father told you that!" she exclaimed gratefully; and then: "But he
did not tell you the truth of the matter. He said I fired by accident.
But I did not; I meant to fire;" and she spoke as though she was
assuring me of something incredible. "Now what will you say?" she
asked anxiously.
"Why," said I foolishly, "since it was done to save your guest----"
"Oh dear, no," she interrupted coolly, and the anxiety changed to
wonder in her eyes. "Indeed, Mr. Clavering, you must not blame
yourself that it was on your account I fired." She spoke with the
greatest sympathy. "You have no reason in the world to reproach
yourself. It was because of my father. He threw down his glove from
the window and challenged the sheriff to mortal combat, with whatever
weapons he chose, and the sheriff called him--mad. It was that angered
me. I think, in truth, that I was mad. And since the pistol was loaded
and pointed at the man, I--I pulled the trigger." Then she turned to
me impulsively, "You will have a care of my father--the greatest care.
Oh, promise me that!"
"Of a truth, I will," I replied fervently.
"Thank you," said she, and the old friendliness returned to her face.
"We could not keep him. From the day that he heard of the rising in
Northumberland, he has been in a fever. And he meant to go without our
knowing. You are familiar with his secrecies;" she gave a little
pathetical laugh. "He was ever scouring his pistols and guns in the
corner when he thought we should not see him. He meant to go. I feared
that he would slip from the house one night, like----" She caught
herself up sharply, with half a glance at me. "So it seemed best to
encourage him to go openly. Besides," she added slowly, bending her
head a little over her horse's back--she seemed to be carefully
examining the snaffle--"I thought it not unlikely that we should find
you here."
"Ah, you had that thought in your mind?" I cried, feeling my heart
pulse within me. "Indeed, it turns my promise to a sacred obligation.
What one man can do to keep your father safe, believe it, shall be
done by me." I was looking towards the receding army as I spoke, and a
new thought struck me. "You would have let me go," I exclaimed in
reproach, "without a hint of your request, had I not come back to
you?"
She coloured for an instant, but instead of answering the question--
"I knew you would come----" she began, and broke off suddenly. "Yes,
why did you come back?" she asked in a voice of indifferent curiosity.
"I had not said good-bye to you. You gave me no chance, and it hurt me
to part from you that way."
"But I thought that was your custom," she replied, with some touch of
resentment underneath the carelessness. "It would not have been the
first time. You were careful not to leave a light burning in the
stables the last night you quitted Applegarth."
"I saw that you knew."
"Yes," said she, hurriedly. "I heard your foot upon the gravel."
"But I said good-bye to the candle in your window all that night,
until the morning broke from a shoulder of High Stile. I had to go.
There were reasons."
She interrupted me again in a great hurry, and with so complete a
change of manner that I wondered for a moment whether Mary Tyson had
related to her the conversation at the gate of the garden.
"I have no wish to hear them," she said with a certain pride.
"Nor I to tell you of them," I returned, and doubtless I spoke in a
humble and despondent voice.
"I do not know the secret," she said gently; "but if I can help you at
all----" she relapsed into gentleness. "Why, you are helping me, and I
would gladly pay you in the same coin."
"Nay," said I, shaking my head, "no one can help me. It is my own
fault, and I must redeem it by myself. It was a little thing in the
beginning, only I did not face it. It grew into a trouble, still I did
not face it Now the trouble has grown into a disaster, and I must face
it."
She sat her horse in silence for a moment.
"I have known for a long while that there was some trouble upon you.
But are you sure"--she turned her face frankly to me--"are you sure I
cannot help? Because I am a woman, after all?" she said with a
whimsical smile.
"Miss Curwen," said I, "if this was a case wherein any woman could
fitly help me, believe me, I would come to you first in all this
world. But----" I hesitated, feeling it in truth very difficult to say
what yet remained. But I had already said too much. I had said too
much when I told her I had watched the light in her window, and the
consciousness of that compelled me to go on. "But the business is too
sordid. I would have no woman meddle in it, least of all you. The
trouble is the outcome of my own wilful folly, and my one prayer is
that I draw the consequence of it solely upon my head." I gathered up
the reins and prepared to ride away.
"Well," said she, in a voice that trembled ever so little, "we may at
least shake hands;" and she held out her hand to me. "And observe, Mr.
Clavering," she continued with a smile, "I say _hands_," laying some
emphasis upon the word.
I could not take it.
"I have not even the right," I said, "to touch you by the finger-tips.
But," and I drew in a breath, "if ever I regain that right----"
"You will," she interrupted, her voice ringing, her face flushing, her
eyes bright and sparkling. "I am sure of that. You will."
The confidence, however misplaced, was none the less very sweet to me,
and I felt it lift my heart for a moment. But then--
"Even if that comes true," I replied, "there will still be a barrier
which will prevent you and me from shaking hands, and that barrier
will be a prison-door."
She started at the word, as though with some comprehension; and since
I had no heart to explain to her more concerning the pit into which I
had fallen, I raised my hat and rode down the hill. It seemed to me
that the prison-door was even then shutting between us in the open
air. For these last days I had lost my hopes that in this rising we
should succeed. The chessboard was spread open, and the chessmen
ranged upon the board. We had no pawns, and only novices to direct the
game. There was General Wills in front of us, and General Carpenter
behind us; and, moreover, one question dinning in our ears, at every
village where we halted, at every town where we encamped, "Where is
the King?" With the King in the midst of us, who knows but what the
country might have risen? But, alas! the King was not as yet even in
Scotland, and since he delayed, what wonder that our lukewarm friends
in England tarried too?
All this flashed through my mind as I rode down the hillside, and the
reflection brought with it another thought I turned in my saddle. I
could just see Miss Curwen disappearing on the further side of the
hill, and again I rode up to the top and descended with a shout
towards her.
"Should we fail," I cried hurriedly--"should the usurper hold his
own----"
"And you think he will, I know," she answered. "You told me so a
minute ago, when you spoke of the prison-door."
Her words fairly took my breath away. I stared at her, dumbfoundered.
Did she know my story, then?
"But if we fail, what then?" And her question brought me back to her
own necessities.
"Why, there will be a great danger for you at Applegarth."
She turned to me very solemnly.
"If we fail," she said, "keep that word you pledged to me. I shall
treasure the pledge, knowing you will not break it, Guard my father!"
"But it is of you that I am thinking."
"Of me?" she said; "why, if needs be, I suppose I--I can shoot another
sheriff;" and with a plaintive little laugh she set the spur to her
horse.
I rode across the hill, and, once upon the flat, galloped after our
regiments. The expression of her confidence was as a renewal of my
blood. It sang in my ears sweet, like a tune dimly remembered, and
heard again across a waste of years. "I would fulfil that double
trust," I cried with a leaping heart, and then in more humility fell
to a prayer that so I might be permitted.
For it was a double trust I felt. It was not merely that I was pledged
to the safeguarding of her father, but it seemed to me that I was no
less firmly pledged to bring about that other and more difficult
result. I must regain the right to hold her hand in mine, even though
I might win no advantage from the right.