Inquiries were made on every side, but in vain. No one had seen poor
Arrah Neil since she had been placed in the coach by Lord Walton; and,
indeed, in the haste and confusion of the strife that had ensued after
the troop had forded the river and attacked the enemy in front, no one
had had an opportunity of witnessing what had taken place amongst the
carriages, except two wounded men who had been left behind upon the
road, one of whom had died before the struggle was over, while the
other had crept for security under one of the waggons, which hid
everything that was passing from his sight.
The agitation and alarm of Miss Walton and her brother seemed somewhat
beyond measure in the eyes of good Major Randal, who was anxious to
hasten forward with all speed. He waited somewhat impatiently while
parties were sent over the plain, to seek for the poor girl who had
disappeared; but at length he broke forth in a sharp tone, exclaiming,
"We cannot remain here till night, my lord, waiting for this lost
sheep; we have got all the wounded men into the coaches and on the
waggons, and on my life we must be marching; we have prisoners enough
to embarrass us sadly if we be attacked, and who can tell that we may
not meet with another party of these worthies?"
"I think not," said the Earl of Beverly, who had shown a good deal of
interest in the event which seemed to move his friend so much. "I have
heard of no other Roundheads than these in this neighbourhood; but if
you will march on, Walton, and take one half of my troop with you, I
will remain behind with the rest, for they are fresher than your men,
and we can overtake you after we have done all that is possible to
discover this poor girl."
"No," answered Lord Walton, "I will not leave her behind, Francis, as
long as there is a chance. You had better march on, major; I will stay
with my own people, and follow you to Henley. Annie, you had better go
on; your staying, dear sister, would but embarrass me. Lord Beverley
will give you the advantage of his escort, and I will overtake you
before night."
It was accordingly arranged as he proposed; and, to say the truth,
Lord Beverly was by no means displeased with the task of protecting
his friend's sister on the way. In the course of a quarter of an hour
the whole troop was put in motion; and Annie Walton, though somewhat
unwilling to leave her brother behind, followed on horseback, with the
earl by her side, and some fourteen or fifteen horse bringing up the
rear, at a short distance behind. She had been rendered sad and
desponding by all the events that had taken place; for the first joy
of success and deliverance had by this time passed away, and the
impression that remained was of that dark and gloomy character which
her first entrance upon scenes of strife, bloodshed, and danger, might
naturally produce upon a gentle and kindly heart, however firm might
be the mind, however strong the resolution.
Her companion well understood the feelings of a girl nurtured with
tenderness and luxury, accustomed to deal only with the peaceful and
the graceful things of life, when suddenly forced to witness and take
part in the fierce and turbulent acts of civil war, to follow marching
men, and be a spectator of battle and slaughter. He knew right well
that no gay and lively subject would be pleasant to her ear at such a
moment, though the soldier himself might cast off all memory of the
strife the instant it was over, and give way to joy and triumph in the
hour of success. The cavalier shaped his conversation accordingly,
and, in a grave, though not sad tone, spoke of deeper and more solemn
things than had formed the matter of their discourse when last they
met. Nevertheless, seeking to win her from her gloom, there came from
time, across the course of all he said, flashes of bright and
brilliant eloquence, rich and imaginative illustrations, sparkling and
almost gay allusions to other things and times and scenes, which,
without producing the discord that anything like merriment would have
occasioned to her ear, stole her thoughts away from gloomier subjects
of contemplation, and, calling the blessed power of fancy to her aid,
enabled her to bear up against the first weight of the dark present.
To Annie Walton there was an extraordinary charm in the conversation
of the cavalier; it was like the current of a stream flowing on
between deep and shady banks, profound, yet rapid and various, while
ever and anon the sunshine breaks upon it through the trees, and
lights it up for a space in all the sparkling lustre of the day. At
first her replies were brief and few, but gradually she took a greater
part in the discourse, answered at large, gave him her own thoughts in
return for his, inquired as well as listened, and was often won to a
smile. Thus they rode on for about two hours, the cavalier gaining
more and more upon her and, to speak the truth, the high qualities of
her heart and mind, winning from him as much admiration as her beauty
and her grace commanded at the first sight.
Their progress, as before, was very slow, and once they had to pause
for a quarter of an hour, while the baggage of Lord Beverley's troop
was brought forth from the village where he had left it and added to
that of the other party. At length, however, they came in sight of a
small town, lying on the slope of a hill, with higher up towards the
right a detached house and some tall trees about it, standing in the
midst of a park or very large meadow, surrounded by ancient brick
walls.
At this point of their march Major Randal rode back and spoke a few
words to the earl, who replied, "Exactly as you like, major; I am
under your command."
"Nay, my lord," replied the old officer, "I am under yours, you hold a
higher commission."
"But with less experience, my good friend," answered the cavalier; "at
all events, Major Randal, I will act by your advice; if you think we
can reach Henley, well, if not we will halt here."
"We might, if it were not for this lumbering baggage," answered the
old soldier. "I cannot think what has made Lord Walton, who knows well
what service is, cumber us with such stuff as this. A trooper should
never have any baggage but his arms, a dozen crowns, and a clean
shirt."
"You must not grumble, my good friend," replied the earl, dropping his
voice. "If I understand Charles Walton rightly, there is that in those
waggons which will be more serviceable to the king than all our
broadswords."
"Ah, Ah! I understand," said Major Randal. "If that be so, we must
take care of it, otherwise I think I should be inclined to pitch the
whole into the first river. Well, then, my lord, we will stop here,
and, as that is your house, I believe, you may sleep in your own
sheets for one night. We will quarter the men in the village, and I
will send out to see that the road is clear for our march to-morrow."
"I shall expect you to supper, however, major," said the earl,
"although I cannot tell whether there is any meat in the house, yet I
know there is good old wine in the cellar, unless the Roundheads may
have got into it since I was there."
"If they have, you will not find a bottle." replied Randal; "for,
notwithstanding all their hypocrisy, they drink as deep as Cavaliers;
the only difference is, that they cant where the others swagger. But
as for your wine, my lord, you must drink it yourself for me. I am an
old campaigner, and my saloon is the parlour of the ale-house; I am
more at home there, than amongst gilt chairs and sideboards of plate."
"Good faith you will find little of those in my house," replied the
earl; "so come if you will; but in the meantime I will guide this fair
lady up, and take some of the men with me to guard the house; for
there is but a young girl and an old butler of seventy, who recollects
Queen Elizabeth, left to take care of it. All the rest of my people
are in the saddle."
"That's where they should be, my lord," replied Randal, "I will make
your cornet quarter the men, as the place is yours, and will see you
before I sleep to plan our arrangements for to-morrow."
Thus saying, he rode on again; and the Earl of Beverley after having
given a few orders to his officers for the disposal of the force in
the village, the guarding of the house, and the sending back of a
small detachment to meet Lord Walton, rode up with his fair companion
and her women by a narrow, wood-covered lane, to the house upon the
hill.
The building was not very large, being one of the old fortified houses
which were common in England at that time, and many of which during
the civil wars stood regular siege by the parliamentary forces. Strong
towers and buttresses, heavy walls, narrow windows, and one or two
irregular outworks, gave it a peculiar character, which is only to be
met with now in some of the old mansions which have come down from
those times to the present, falling rapidly into decay, and generally
applied to viler uses. As was then customary, and as was the case at
Bishop's Merton, a wide terrace spread before the house, upon which
the earl and his companions drew in their horses; and before she
dismounted, Miss Walton turned to gaze over the view, while the
cavalier sprang to the ground, and, casting his rein to one of the
troopers who had followed him, approached to aid her.
"The prospect is not so wide as at Bishop's Merton, fair lady," said
he; "but there is one object in it which will be as pleasant to your
eye as any you could see at home. There comes your brother."
"I see a party of horse," said Annie Walton, "by the wood under the
hill, but I cannot distinguish any of the figures."
"Oh, it is he, it is he!" cried her companion; "but I see no woman
amongst them."
"Alas!" said Annie Walton, "what can have become of that poor girl?"
"It is strange indeed," said the cavalier; "but yet, Miss Walton, she
may have been alarmed, and fled while the fight was going on. If any
injury had happened to her, had she been wounded or killed by a chance
shot, she must have been found by this time."
"Oh, no; fear had nothing to do with it," replied Miss Walton; "she
went through the midst of the fire to tell my brother of the path."
"Why, he said it was yourself," rejoined Lord Beverley.
"We both went," replied Annie Walton; "but she seemed to have no fear,
and I confess my heart beat like a very coward's."
"It is indeed strange," said the earl; "but yet, perhaps your brother
may have tidings. Let me assist you to alight;" and lifting her gently
from the horse, he led her into the wide, ancient hall, at the door of
which stood the old butler, his head shaking with age, but a glad look
upon his countenance to see his lord once more returned.
From the hall, which felt chilly and damp, as if the door of the house
had seldom been opened to the sunshine and free air, the earl
conducted his companion up a flight of stone steps, and through some
wide, unfurnished corridors, to a part of the house which presented a
more cheerful and habitable appearance, giving a glance from time to
time at the countenance of Miss Walton, as if to see what effect the
desolate aspect of the place would have upon her. Absorbed in other
contemplations, however, she took no notice, and at length the
cavalier called her attention to it himself, saying with a faint and
somewhat sad smile--
"You see, Miss Walton, what effect neglect can have. During my long
absence from England everything has fallen into decay--more indeed in
this house than in my dwelling in the north; but yet I reproach myself
for having given way to the very mingled feelings that kept me from
residing on my own land and amongst my own people. It is not indeed
the ruin and desolation that falls upon one's property which a man
ought to mind under such circumstances; but when a wealthy family
dwell in the midst of their own tenantry, they build up a better
mansion than any that is raised with hands, a nobler home than the
lordly castle or the splendid palace--I mean that which is founded in
the love and affection of friends and dependants, ornamented with
kindly feelings and mutual benefits, obligations, gratitude, and
esteem. And this is the house which falls into more horrible decay
during a long absence than any of these things of brick or stone."
"I fear indeed it is so," said Miss Walton, walking on beside him into
a large and handsome room, not only well furnished, but presenting
some most beautiful pictures of the Italian school hanging upon the
walls, while objects of _vertù_ and instruments of music lay scattered
over numerous tables, many of which were in themselves excessively
costly.
"But it seems to me, my lord," she continued, "that in some respects
your house and yourself are very much alike, though perhaps it is bold
of me to say so; but now that I know whom you really are, I feel as
much inclined to look upon you as an old friend as you did in regard
to me when first we met."
"Thanks, thanks, sweet lady," answered the earl. "Oh, regard me ever
so! But if you mean that in my house and in myself there are desolate
and ruined corners, you are mistaken. I am not one of those who have
either some real and deep grief overshadowing the heart for ever, or
one of those who nourish a sentimental sorrow for nothing at all.
There may be things in my own life that I regret; I may have lost dear
friends and relations whom I mourn; but as the common course of events
runs in this world, my life has been a very happy one, chequered
indeed only by one terrible catastrophe, and by a great injury
inflicted on my family by the king whom now I serve, which made me
resolve, like a foolish boy as I then was, never to set foot in my
native land while he remained in power. When I found that he was
fallen, dispossessed, and in need, I came back in haste to serve him,
with that loyalty which I trust will long be the distinction of a
British gentleman."
"I did not exactly mean what you think," replied Miss Walton; "I
merely wished to remark that you seem sometimes as gay and cheerful as
this room in which we now are, sometimes as sad and gloomy as the hall
through which we lately passed." She coloured a little as she spoke,
from an indefinite consciousness that the woman who remarks so closely
the demeanour of a young and handsome man, may well be suspected of
taking a deeper interest in him than she wished to believe she did in
her companion.
The cavalier replied at once, however, without remarking the blush,
"It must ever be so, Miss Walton, with those who feel and think. Is it
not so with yourself? The spirit that God gives us is made for
happiness, full of high aspirations and bright capabilities of
enjoyment; but it is placed in a world of trial and of difficulty,
prisoned in a corporeal frame that checks and limits its exertions,
chained down by cares and circumstances that burden its free energies.
Whenever the load is not felt, whenever the walls of the dungeon are
not seen, the captive gladly casts off the remembrance that such
things exist, and rejoices in their absence. But ever and anon they
present themselves to his eyes, or press upon his limbs, and he mourns
under the weight that he cannot wholly cast off. But here comes your
brother; and I will only add, that you shall see me sad no more, if
you will bargain with me that you will be cheerful."
In a few minutes Lord Walton himself entered the room; but his
countenance bespoke no good tidings of her he had been in search of.
He had been unable to gain any information whatever, though he left no
effort unmade; and he was evidently deeply mortified and grieved, so
that the next two hours passed in sadness upon all parts.
While the necessary arrangements were made for lodging the party in
the house for the night, some occupation of a less sad character than
the loss of poor Arrah Neil was given to the thoughts of Miss Walton,
by all the little inconveniences and difficulties attendant upon the
sudden arrival of a large party in a mansion unprepared for their
reception. Though accustomed through life to every sort of comfort,
Annie Walton was not one to make much of trifles; and she was amused
rather than otherwise at all the small annoyances, and at the dismay
and embarrassment of her maids. When she returned from the rooms which
had been assigned to her and her female companions, to that which was
called in the house the picture-room, she found her brother conversing
in the window with his friend, with a bright and cheerful countenance,
which surprised her. The change was explained in a moment, however, by
Charles Walton holding out a dirty strip of paper to her, and saying,
"Here is news of our poor Arrah, Annie. She is safe, although I cannot
tell where."
Annie took the scrap of paper, and read, merely observing as she did
so, "This is not Arrah's hand: she writes beautifully."
The note ran as follows:--
MY LORDE,--This is to tell you, as I heer that you have been
a-running after pretty Arrah Neil all the evening, that she is saif in
this place, and as well as may be. I can't come just at present, for
reasons; but I will be over with you by cock-crow to-morrow morning,
and either bring her, if I can, or take you to her.--I subscribe
myself; my lorde, your obedient servant to command,
JOHN HURST.
"Francis here," said Lord Walton, when his sister had done reading,
"has been laughing at me for the reputation which I have acquired of
running after _pretty_ Arrah Neil during the whole evening; but I
think I may set laughs at defiance regarding her, Annie."
"I think so too," answered Miss Walton, with a smile; "but I wish we
knew where she is."
As often happens, however, when, in the midst of many cares and
anxieties, one subject of alarm and grief is removed, all the rest are
forgotten for the time, the news of poor Arrah's safety restored the
cheerfulness of all the party. We draw an augury of future happiness
from each blessing that befals us, from each relief that is afforded;
and it is not till new difficulties press upon us that apprehension
resumes its sway.
Cheerfulness then returned to the party assembled in Lord Beverley's
house; they sat down to the pleasant evening meal, which closed a day
of strife and danger, with hearts lightened and expectations raised;
the merry voices of the troopers who were supping in the hall below
gave them warning how best to treat the cares of the time; and if an
anxiety or thought of the future did break in for a moment upon them,
it was but to teach them to enjoy the present hour, inasmuch as no
forethought or grave contemplation could affect the coming events.
Lord Beverley exerted himself, without any apparent effort, to keep
the conversation in its cheerful tone; and when Miss Walton made some
inquiries as to any danger or difficulty which might lie upon the
march of the following day, he exclaimed gaily, "Away with such
thoughts, fair lady! we have taken every precaution; we have done all
that we can to guard against evil; we have true hearts and a good
cause; and in trust of God's protection let us enjoy these hours of
tranquillity. They are treasures, believe me, that are not often met
with; let us gather them whilst we can. The best of husbandry, depend
upon it, is to sift the corn from the chaff, to separate the gold from
the dross, in the portion of time that is allotted to us, and not to
mingle the sorrow of tomorrow with the enjoyment of to-day. Come, Miss
Walton," he added, "you must add to our present happiness by letting
us hear once more that sweet voice in song, such as delighted me at
Bishop's Merton."
"Nay, not to-night," said Annie Walton. "It is your turn now, my lord.
By all these instruments of music, I am sure you sing yourself. Is it
not so, Charles?"
"Beautifully!" replied Lord Walton; "and what is better than all,
Annie, he requires no pressing."
"I will, with all my heart," replied the cavalier, "but upon one
condition--that I am called no more 'my lord.' Charles Walton and
Francis Beverley have been too long brothers for the sister of either
to use so cold a term. What shall I sing? It must be of love in a
lady's presence, otherwise were I no true knight;" and taking a large
Venetian mandolin from the table behind him, he put it in tune, and
sang--
Light of my heart! my heart's intense desire!
Soul of my soul thou blossom and thou beam?
Thou kindlest day with more than summer's fire,
Thou bright'nest night like some celestial dream.
The sight of thee gives sunshine to my way,
Thy music breath brings rapture to my ear;
My thoughts thy thoughts, like willing slaves, obey,
Oh thou most beautiful! oh thou most dear!
One look of thine is worth a monarch's throne,
One smile from thee would raise the dying head;
One tear of thine would melt the heart of stone;
One kiss, one kiss, would vivify the dead.
Near thee the hours like moments fleet away;
Absent, they linger heavy on the view:
In life, in death, oh, let me with thee stay!
Oh thou most beautiful, most good, most true!
The voice was rich and mellow, with all the cultivation which the art
of Italy could at that time bestow. There was no effort, there was
nothing forced; every note seemed as much a part of the expression of
the thought as the words in which it was clothed. But there was a
fire, a warmth, an enthusiasm in the singer, which gave full depth and
power to the whole. It was impossible to see him and to hear him
without forgetting that he was singing a song composed probably long
before, and without believing that he was giving voice, in the only
way his feelings would permit, to the sensations of the moment.
Annie Walton knew not why, but her heart beat quickly as she sat and
listened; the long black eyelashes of her beautiful eyes remained sunk
towards the ground, and her fair cheek became pale as marble. She
would fain have looked up when the song was done--she would fain have
thanked the cavalier, and expressed her admiration of his music, but
she could do neither, and remained perfectly silent, while her brother
remarked the emotion which she felt, and turned his eyes with a smile
from her countenance to that of his friend.
But the earl, too, had fallen into thought, and with his hand leaning
upon the mandolin, which he had suffered to drop by his knee till it
reached the floor, seemed gazing upon the frets, as if the straight
lines of ivory contained some matter of serious contemplation. Miss
Walton coloured as she marked the silence, and looking suddenly up
said one or two commonplace words, which at once betrayed an effort.
They served, however, to renew the conversation again.
Another and another song succeeded, and, after about an hour spent in
this manner, the party separated and retired to rest, while Annie
Walton asked herself, with an agitated breast, "What is the meaning of
this?" The sensations were new to her, and for more than an hour they
banished sleep from her pillow.