HOW I LEFT MY OLD HOME.
Excited as I was, I found my way back to the inn and slept like a child.
No ill dreams disturbed my rest, nor did a shadow of fear enter my
heart. When I awoke next day the clouds had rolled away, the sun shone
in a clear sky, and there was indeed a smell of spring in the air. I
would have given much to have paid a visit to the gaol to see John
Bunyan, but this I dared not do, for I knew that suspicion would fasten
upon me if I made the attempt. So, although I remembered his former
speech with much kindness, my love's safety forbade my going to him, and
hear him tell me the wondrous story of how he had, as he said, "found
the King in His beauty." In truth, throughout the whole day I kept
indoors, not shewing myself to any man, and simply telling mine host
that I must leave him that night at eight o'clock, in order to do
business elsewhere. I had no need to seek a steed for Constance, for the
old farmer who lived at Goodlands was able to obtain one, so I e'en sat
in the inn dreaming of the glad time to come when my Jove and I would
ride side by side towards my father's house.
When night came on, however, that happened which caused me to go into
the town, and it was well I did so, else had all things happened
different to me. Not that I meant to leave the place until I mounted
Black Ben to ride to Goodlands, but as I looked out of the window, I saw
Peter Blewitt hurrying by with an eager look in his eyes as though he
were bent on a matter of importance.
"Ah, whither go you, Peter?" I heard mine host say.
"That is my business, Jonathan Coad," was the reply.
"Thy business," laughed the other.
"Ay, mine, and such as I will not tell the landlord of the _General
Fairfax_."
"Ah, ah!" laughed the landlord, "as though thou ever had business in thy
life. Thou could'st never catch a thief even if he took thine own
horse."
"Ah, could I not?" said Peter.
"Why, no," said the landlord. "If thou could'st have caught aught, thou
wouldst have caught Mistress Constance Leslie. That would have meant a
hundred pounds, and yet thou did'st e'en let her slip through thy
fingers."
"Wait a bit!" said Peter.
"Ay, wait till doomsday, and thou will never catch her."
"Wait till to-morrow noon," said Peter, and he hurried away.
Now it was this which caused me to go out into the town, and to follow
Peter as closely as I could without him seeing me.
The night had now come on, perchance it was turned six o'clock, but it
was not so dark but I saw Master Sturgeon coming towards the constable.
"Ah, Peter, whither goest thou?"
"To the chief constable, Master Sturgeon."
"Ah, why?"
I did not catch his answer to this; nevertheless, I knew it to be of
import by the look on the gaoler's face.
"Good, Peter," I heard him say presently, "then I shall have her under
lock and key again this very night, and I'll warrant young Master
Rashcliffe shall not get her out a second time."
"Ay, we know where she is hidden, and we must go to her without a
minute's delay. I must make haste, for if news were to reach her at
Goodlands, then should I lose my hundred pounds."
With this Peter hurried on, while I fled back to the inn with the speed
of the wind. In less time than it takes me to tell, I had paid my count,
and had saddled Black Ben, and without saying a word to mine host, I
rode to Goodlands as fast as my horse could carry me.
When I reached there all was dark. Not one sound could I hear, no one
could I see. I hammered again and again at the door, but no man
answered, until, as I remembered how rapidly the time was flying, I was
wellnigh in a frenzy.
"Come, farmer, come!" I cried; "it's a matter of life and death!" But
still I got no answer, save that I thought I heard a low, mocking laugh.
I knew not what to do, for it was full two hours before I had arranged
to meet Constance. Neither did I mean to go into the house at all. She
had told me that her horse should be waiting at the door saddled, and
that we could ride away together. But no horse was there, neither was
there, as I have said, any sign of life; and when I remembered that the
constables might be there at any moment, I was in danger of losing my
senses.
Thus I did what under any other circumstances might have placed my life
in great danger, for I called to her aloud by name, and if watchers had
been near they would have known that she was there.
"Constance, my love!" I cried, "it is Roland!" and then, quick as a
flash of light, I felt that she was coming towards me.
"Roland, is it you?"
"Ay, it is. Quick! Quick!"
"Why, what is the matter?"
"The constables have discovered your hiding-place--they are even on the
way now. Where is your horse?"
"In the stable. It will take me ten minutes to saddle him." It was the
farmer who spoke.
"Then saddle him," I cried. "As for you, Constance, will you make
yourself ready for the journey?"
"Ay, I have been ready for a full hour," she said, and I noticed that
she wore close-fitting garments, but in the dimness of the light I could
not see her as plainly as I desired.
At that moment I heard the sound of horses' hoofs. Evidently they had
wasted not a moment in coming hither.
"It is they!" I cried. "Hark! they be coming towards us!"
My love spoke not a word; but she came close to me as if to gain
strength from my strength.
"We dare not wait for your horse to be brought," I said.
"Tell me what to do, and I will do it," she whispered. "Do not be afraid
for me, Roland."
With one leap I was on Black Ben's back, and a second later she sat
before me.
"Who goes there?"
I did not speak, but touched Black Ben's side with my spur. The brave
horse leaped forward, and then stopped as if held by a strong hand.
"'Tis she, 'tis she! Help! help!"
"Forward, Ben!" I said, and the horse gave a great leap, leaving himself
at liberty. But this was only for a moment. Another man had leaped
forward, and brought the horse to his haunches.
"We've got them!" he cried. "Help! help!"
My sword hand was by this time free, and I brought my weapon down upon
the man's head. The blade turned in my hand, or I must have cleaved his
skull with the blow. But I think he must have worn a steel cap, for
although he fell, I knew I had not killed him.
"Let me guide your horse, then will your right arm be free, I know the
road," cried Constance; and she took the reins, heedless of the cries we
heard, and a few seconds later we were in a lonely lane.
"Towards London!" I said, as she hesitated which way to turn, and then a
bullet passed so close to me that it e'en shaved my ear, and to this day
my right ear is not perfect as my left ear is.
It was no longer a fight. It had now become a race. We had much against
us, seeing we both sat on one horse; but we had much for us also, seeing
that Black Ben had the strength of two horses, and bore us as though we
were feathers. Nevertheless, I knew we could not ride to my father's
house in this fashion, and even then I remember wondering how I was to
get a steed for my love.
I quickly discovered that there were two horses following us, but
whether they gained on us I could not tell; sometimes I thought they
did, and again I fancied otherwise; but, in any case, we had happened
upon a dangerous time, for more than once I heard a pistol shot, even
although neither of us was harmed.
"They are gaining on us," I said presently.
"But only one, Roland."
"That is true," I said with a laugh, for now that I had my love by my
side I cared not one whit for danger; neither did I feel my weakness, as
I had feared I should. In truth, my strength had come back to me
wondrously.
Black Ben dashed on at a fine speed as soon as we gained the highway,
but I knew that if our pursuers were well mounted we must in time be
overtaken, for I was never a light man, and must have weighed nine score
pounds even then; while Constance, as I have before stated, was no
slender slip of a maid, but well grown and finely proportioned. However
good a horse may be, he cannot carry two as easily as one, and thus, as
one of our pursuers gained upon us, I had to think of what we were to
do.
"I have a plan," I said presently.
"What, Roland?"
"We will presently let the man close behind us come up to us. I will
unhorse him, and then you shall take his place. There is only one thing
against that."
"What is that?" she asked eagerly.
"Only that a man's saddle will be on the nag's back, and it will look
strange for a maid to be riding on a man's saddle."
I felt her laughing as I spoke, at the which I wondered.
"Why do you laugh?" I asked.
"Because I am afraid I should look more strange on a woman's saddle than
a man's," she replied.
At this I laughed too, for now I realized that she was dressed in the
attire of a gallant, the which I had not noticed at first, seeing that
she wore a long cloak.
She did not seem to have a vestige of fear, and I knew by the tone of
her voice that her heart was light, even in spite of all she had passed
through.
Presently we came to a lonely spot, and then I allowed the man who had
been shouting at us to stop to overtake us.
It was but the work of a moment. The man was no swordsman, neither was
he prepared for my attack. In truth, I believe he expected to find only
Constance, so heedlessly did he ride up. As it was, he fell to the
ground stunned and helpless.
In less time than it takes me to tell, Constance had leaped on to the
man's horse, and we were soon galloping side by side towards London.
"They cannot catch us now," she laughed.
"Why do you think so?"
"Because I have the better horse. The man who rode this left the other
far behind."
After this we spoke not for some time, but rode steadily on.
"You are not afraid, Constance?"
"Not with you," she replied, and my heart burned with joy at the sound
of her voice.
Now and then as we passed into an open space I saw that the feather of
her hat waved in the wind, and that the cloak slipped from her
shoulders, revealing the gay attire she wore.
"I'faith, you make a pretty man," I said.
"Do I ride like one, Roland?"
"Ay, and you ride like one, too. In truth, so well do you ride that I
would e'en like a kiss to assure myself that thou art not some gay
gallant who hath come riding with me."
Again we dashed on, until when morning came we had wellnigh reached
Barnet, and here I deemed it well to turn aside and make my way through
the village of Enfield instead of keeping nearer London. Here we stopped
and breakfasted while the horses were fed and groomed. No one cast
suspicious eyes upon us, for in truth Constance might have passed as my
younger brother, so bravely did she carry herself. Not even the maid of
whom Will Shakespeare wrote in the play _As You Like It_, looked half as
sweet and charming as she.
"I would call you Rosalind, only Will's heroine was not half so fair as
thee, neither was she half so brave," I laughed as we breakfasted
together in the inn.
I saw her lip quiver at this, and the tears well up into her eyes; and
then I felt that, although she was as brave as any man--nay, braver than
any man I ever knew--she was still a woman. I saw that, while she was
fearless and bold in the face of danger, she became trembling and
fearful now that the danger was over. Perchance, too, she remembered
her father's fate, and thought of her own lonely condition. But that was
only for a minute, for her eyes had neither tears nor sorrow in them as
they looked up into mine and told me of her love.
By noon we had reached my father's house. I did not come in at the lodge
gate, but entered by an unfrequented way. It was by a wicket gate which
led through a shrubbery and up to a postern door, a door which was
seldom opened in the old days when I lived at home.
My heart seemed ready to burst as I came in sight of the house, for it
was now nearly two years since I had seen it; and after all, there is no
spot on earth which affects a man as much as the place where he was born
and reared.
"I trust my father is at home," I said to Constance.
"Ay, he is, and here to greet thee, Roland!"
I turned and saw my father standing by my side.
"I have been expecting thee, Roland."
I looked at him in astonishment.
"Ay, I knew what thou would'st do. Art thou not my own son? That is why
I have been waiting and watching these last twenty-four hours. But come
in," and he opened the postern door. "Fasten the horses here," he said.
"I will give orders concerning them."
He led the way into the room, where I had had the interview with
Katharine Harcomb two years before, while I watched his face closely,
wondering what he would think of Constance.
"Remove your hats and cloaks, will you?" he said.
This we did, and I saw him looking at my love all the time.
Presently, after gazing at her steadily for some moments, his lips
moved.
"I do not wonder," he said. "He could not help it. How could he help it?
Had I been the lad, I should have done just the same."
Neither of us spoke, for I do not think either of us knew what was in
his mind.
"Dost thou love this boy--my boy Roland?" he asked of Constance
presently.
Her face became rosy red, and her eyes gleamed brightly.
"Ay, I do," she said.
"Then wilt thou kiss me, my child?"
Had it been any other man on earth I should have been jealous, but my
heart rejoiced as I saw him kiss my love, for I knew what he thought of
her.
After that he asked us many questions, and when we had answered them he
said sadly, "I have made all provisions."
"What provisions?" I asked.
"Even for thy wedding, and for thy departure," he said sadly. "To-morrow
morn thou shalt go to the old church and be wedded, and then thou must
e'en ride to Gravesend and take passage in the vessel there. Perchance,
when another king cometh, thou canst return again, but not until then."
Neither of us asked him what he meant, for we knew. It grieved us that
we should have to leave my old home, but it had to be, and yet were our
hearts filled with a joy that passeth understanding.
The next night, as we sailed down the river past the Kentish coast, we
stood side by side and hand in hand. We were man and wife.
"Are you sad, Constance?"
"Nay, Roland. The morning will come. Nay, morning is in my heart now,
but morning will also come for our country. For myself I desire
nought--nought, I have everything."
In truth so had I, and yet I longed to bring my wife back to the home of
my boyhood.
Of how we fared in the new land I will say nothing here. Neither will I
tell by what means we at length returned to England again, or describe
the joy of our children as they played amongst the gardens of my old
home, while my father, a white-haired man, watched them tenderly. That
is a part of another story which, please God, I may tell some day.
THE END
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.
* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ALL MEN ARE LIARS
FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN
ISHMAEL PENGELLY
THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX
JABEZ EASTERBROOK
THE MONK OF MAR-SARA
ZILLAH. A ROMANCE
WEAPONS OF MYSTERY
MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH
THE BIRTHRIGHT: A ROMANCE
AND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE?
THE SCARLET WOMAN
THE MADNESS OF DAVID DARING
LEST WE FORGET
O'ER MOOR AND FEN
GREATER LOVE
ESAU
FOLLOW THE GLEAM
A FLAME OF FIRE.
* * * * *
SOME PRESS OPINIONS
of
Joseph Hocking's Novels
(UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME).
THE COMING OF THE KING.
Illustrated by GRENVILLE MANTON.
The first stages of Nonconformity supply the theme of Mr. HOCKING'S
latest book, "The Coming of the King" is an impressive story which
possesses a real value as a faithful study of one of the most important
epochs in religious history.
ESAU.
Illustrated by BERTHA NEWCOMBE.
"Remarkable for the dramatic power with which the scenes are drawn and
the intense human interest which Mr. Hocking has woven about his
characters. 'Esau' is sure to be one of the novels of the season."--The
Outlook.
"A brilliant, exciting narrative by a writer who has never penned a dull
page."--The British Weekly.
"The story is excellent, with no lack of dramatic situations; and the
characters, whether of Cornish folk or Spaniards, are drawn with
considerable skill."--The Birmingham Post.
GREATER LOVE.
Illustrated by GORDON BROWNE.
"An excellent story, in which the reader will soon find himself
enthralled, the author skilfully compelling his close attention. This
must take rank as one of the best and most interesting of the author's
books."--The Birmingham Post.
"Though of a totally different character from 'Lest We Forget,' Mr.
Hocking's latest story is entitled to take rank along with that fine
romance. The story arrests the attention from the first chapters, and
soon becomes highly dramatic."--The Newcastle Chronicle.
LEST WE FORGET.
Illustrated by J. BARNARD DAVIS.
"His story is quite as good as any we have read of the Stanley Weyman's
school, and presents an excellent picture of the exciting times of
Gardiner and Bonner."--Public Opinion.
"A striking, highly dramatic story. Mr. Hocking has written a very fine
historical novel, full of the fire and dash of youth and love."--Sunday
Special.
THE PURPLE ROBE.
Illustrated by J. BARNARD DAVIS.
"Mr. Hocking's most interesting romance. It is exceedingly clever, and
excites the reader's interest and brings out the powerful nature of the
clever young minister. This most engrossing book challenges comparison
with the brilliance of Lothair. Mr. Hocking has one main fact always
before him in writing his books--to interest his readers; and he
certainly succeeds admirably in doing so."--The Queen.
THE SCARLET WOMAN.
With Eight Full-page Illustrations by SYDNEY COWELL.
"We know of no novel by Mr Hocking that we have liked so much, and we
have liked many. Powerful and human from beginning to end, and throbbing
with the moral healthiness of a work by a writer who, while he interests
more than many who merely interest, has the higher purpose of
inculcating truths that lead to healthiness of life and human
endeavour."--Weekly Dispatch.
"The story goes with a swing. The struggle between nature and religious
training is skilfully described, and the plot is carried from one vivid
incident to another."--Christian World.
"This is Mr. Hocking's strongest and best book. We advise every one to
read it. The plot is simple, compact and strenuous; the writing
powerful. It brings out sharply the real character of the typical
Jesuit, his training, motives, limitations, aims."--Methodist Recorder.
ALL MEN ARE LIARS.
With Frontispiece and Vignette by GORDON BROWNE.
It is no exaggeration to say that the publication of this unique book
created a sensation. It was so strenuously in earnest, so pitiless in
its exposure of the effects of pessimism, and so realistic in its
picture of the dark side of London life, that thousands who had not read
any previous work of Mr. HOCKING'S read it and discussed it in the
press, in the class-room and in private. The striking title, the sombre
strength of the writing, but above all the correctness and purity of the
purpose, combined to render "All Men are Liars" one of the most
remarkable works of the day.
"This is a notable book. Thoughtful people will be fascinated by its
actuality, its fearlessness, and the insight it gives into the influence
of modern thought and literature upon the minds and morals of our most
promising manhood."--Christian World.
"A striking book.... It is strong and earnest and vigorous; it shows
knowledge of the lower class, and impatience and contempt of shams of
all sorts."--Standard.
"We are in the midst of real life, with a record at all times eloquent
and not infrequently brilliant."--Literary World.
ISHMAEL PENGELLY: an Outcast.
With Frontispiece and Vignette by W. S. STACEY.
From the point of view of lurid power and breathless interest one of the
very strongest of all Mr. HOCKING'S books. The wild Cornish background,
the strength of the character-drawing, the atmosphere of tragedy,
combine to make it a work of singular originality.
"As a story this book is a splendid piece of writing, every detail is
interesting, and the situations it creates are novel and
striking."--Record.
"A remarkable novel.... The plot of the story is ingenious, the manner
of its telling essentially dramatic, the character-drawing excellent and
consistent."--Christian World.
"The characters are admirably drawn. An extremely vigorous, healthful
and interesting tale."--Academy.
"The book is to be recommended for the dramatic effectiveness of some of
the scenes. The wild, half-mad woman is always picturesque wherever she
appears, and the rare self-repression of her son is admirably
done."--Athenaeum.
THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX.
With Frontispiece and Vignette by GEORGE HUTCHINSON.
"Andrew Fairfax" is undoubtedly the story by which Mr. HOCKING came into
his own. It placed him at once in the front rank of popular novelists,
and by many competent critics it is considered to be by far his best
book. It has been compared favourably with the best novels of Mr THOMAS
HARDY, but the class of realism to which many readers take objection,
and that is connected with the name of Mr. Hardy, is never to be found
in Mr Hocking's works. A purer, more wholesome, and more manly book than
"Andrew Fairfax" it would be hard to write.
"Rustic scenes and characters are drawn with free, broad touches,
without Mr. Buchanan's artificiality, and, if we may venture to say it,
with more realism than Mr. Hardy's country pictures."--Manchester
Examiner.
"Beautifully told. There are few books better adapted to widen the mind
and discipline the judgment than this noble story."--Liverpool Mercury.
"Few stories by later-day novelists have interested us so keenly. A
brilliant story, rich in sparkling incident and clever character
sketches."--Christian Age.
THE BIRTHRIGHT.
With Three Full-page Illustrations by HAROLD PIFFARD.
"This volume proves beyond all doubt that Mr. Hocking has mastered the
art of the historical romancist. 'The Birthright' is, in its way, quite
as well constructed, as well written, and as full of incident as any
story that has come from the pen of Mr. Conan Doyle or Mr Stanley
Weyman."--Spectator.
"For an historical romance to hold a weary reviewer, to hold him at this
time of day, and to interest him to the end, is in itself a complete
testimony to the power and excellence of that story. We confess that we
read Mr Hocking's book at a sitting; not because we had any leisure for
the task, but simply because the book compelled us.... We hold our
breath as each chapter draws to an end, yet cannot stop there, for the
race is unflagging. We congratulate Mr Hocking upon the book, for it is
a very great advance upon anything he has done."--Daily Chronicle.
MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH.
With Six Full-page Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND.
"'Mistress Nancy Molesworth' is as charming a story of the kind as could
be wished, and it excels in literary workmanship as well as in
imaginative vigour and daring invention.... It would hardly be possible
to tell a story of its kind better, or to leave the reader better
pleased at the end."--Scotsman.
FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN.
With Frontispiece and Vignette by J. BARNARD DAVIS.
This striking story has all the fine qualities which have made Mr
HOCKING'S novels so popular with his huge circle of readers. In none of
his books has he drawn finer pictures of Cornish life, or told a sweeter
love-tale. But this particular story has a peculiar interest of its own,
telling, as it does, of the literary beginnings of an author who
afterwards became one of the most popular novelists of the day. Every
one interested in literature--every one who wishes to know something of
the wire-pulling which is too often at work m the literary world--should
read this remarkable story.
"Mr. Joseph Hocking's 'Fields of Fair Renown' is a novel with a purpose,
and the theme is worked out with a good deal of force and effective
power ... it is both interesting and powerful."--Scotsman.
"Mr Hocking has produced a work which his readers of all classes will
appreciate.... There are exhibited some of the most beautiful aspects of
disposition."--Dundee Advertiser.
AND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE?
With Three Full-page Illustrations by LANCELOT SPEED.
"We can strongly recommend both stories as healthy and hearty tales,
sensational but not incredible."--British Weekly.
"An engaging and fascinating romance. The reader puts the story down
with a sigh, and wishes there were more of these breezy Cornish uplands,
for Mr. Joseph Hocking's easy style of narrative does not soon
tire."--Weekly Sun.
JABEZ EASTERBROOK.
With Frontispiece and Vignette by W. S. STACEY.
"Jabez Easterbrook" is one of the very few "religious novels" which are
also strikingly interesting as stories, quite apart from their religious
purpose. The life of the Wesleyan Minister has seldom been so
painstakingly or so sympathetically pictured.
"Real strength is shown in the sketches, of which that of Brother Bowman
is most prominent. In its way it is delightful."--Rock.
"A book that can be read with interest and with profit. A clever tale,
cleverly told."--Record.
THE WEAPONS OF MYSTERY.
With Frontispiece
"Weapons of Mystery" is a singularly powerful story of occult influences
and of their execution for evil purposes. Like all Mr HOCKING'S novels,
"Weapons of Mystery" has an underlying religious and moral purpose, but
merely as a story, and quite apart from the purpose which was in the
mind of the author, the tale has a curious fascination for the reader.
The cleverly conceived plot, and the strange experience of the hero and
heroine make "Weapons of Mystery" a story which it is not easy to put
down when once commenced.
ZILLAH: A Romance.
With Frontispiece.
"Zillah" is also a novel with a purpose--in fact--with two purposes. Its
first purpose is to tell a thoroughly interesting story in a thoroughly
interesting way, and in that it certainly succeeds. Its second purpose
is to deal fairly but fearlessly with certain theories about the After
Life and the Spirit World which are just now very much agitating the
minds of religious thinkers. Every one interested in Clairvoyance,
Hypnotism and Spiritualism, should read this strikingly just but
fearlessly outspoken novel.
"The drawing of some of the characters indicates the possession by Mr
Hocking of a considerable gift of humour. The contents of his book
indicate that he takes a genuine interest in the deeper problems of the
day."--Spectator.
THE MONK OF MAR-SABA.
With Frontispiece and Vignette by WALTER S. STACEY.
A very beautiful and human story, the scene of which is laid in the Holy
Land, which Mr. HOCKING visited personally before writing the tale.
"Great power and thrilling interest.... The scenery of the Holy Land has
rarely been so vividly described as in this charming book of Mr
Hocking's."--Star.
"The author has turned his visit to Palestine to good account.... His
descriptions of the wild scenery of different parts of the Holy Land are
both vigorous and graphic, and the stories themselves are
interesting."--Manchester Guardian.
"Powerfully written."--Daily Telegraph.
"Mr. Hocking has undoubtedly the power of telling a stirring incident
well, and he gives one the impression of being pervaded by moral
earnestness."--Spectator.
LONDON: WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED.