can never be known; for just at that moment there was a shout in the
direction of the burning building, and he, thinking that the rats had at
last been smoked out of their hiding-places, did not stop to ride round
by the road, but, hooking the horses' bridles on a branch, he flung
himself down the steep bank in the direction of the castle, shouting to
his men to "save them alive."
Charles Bertrand chuckled with glee at the turn things had taken. It
took but a moment to loosen the beasts, cut the pack from the one, and
lead them both down into the wood. He then gave a whistle, and in a
shorter time than it takes to relate it, Sir John was mounted on his own
horse, Cobham on the captain's discarded steed, with Bertrand behind
him, and all were spurring forward toward the blue mountains, whose
snow-capped peaks invited them to a safe and happy asylum.
The chances were much against Ivan's ever riding to market on the old
gray war-horse, decked in the scarlet cloak purchased by the price of
the three Lollard heads!
For a mile or so both horses went at full speed, Sir John's steed urged
on by his master's voice, and the trooper's abused charger showing
itself not much the worse for wear, by carrying double almost as fast as
the other bore single weight. They had need of all their exertions, for
they had not been off more than fifteen minutes before the whole band
was in pursuit of them. They gained a little time, however, by their
pursuers taking a wrong road, and it was not long before the November
twilight closed suddenly upon them, aiding still more their concealment
in the gloom of the forest.
It was nearly midnight before they dismounted, and then, though wearied
with their journey, and chilled by the sleet which had fallen during the
last few hours, the place at which they stopped did not seem at all
likely to afford them any one of the traveller's three
requirements--bed, food and fire. All seemed to be well acquainted with
the spot. It was an old ruin of what had probably been a fine house in
the days of Henry the First, but which had been destroyed, like many
another, and its owner's name blotted from existence during the wars of
Stephen. Bertrand dismounted, and led the horses carefully among the
stones, into what had been the courtyard of the castle. There he
sheltered them under some broken arches, while their riders entered a
low room, still left almost entire, but so situated that a careless
person passing by, would fail to distinguish it from the masses of
rubbish by which it was surrounded.
The air within was damp and chilly; but De Forest pulled aside a loose
stone in the wall, and from the recess behind it drew out some fagots of
dry wood, a pitcher of common wine, a loaf of bread, and some hard Welsh
cheese. A cheerful fire was soon blazing on the stone floor, after De
Forest had hung his cloak over the opening by which they entered, for
the double purpose of keeping the cold air from blowing on the backs of
those within, and the firelight from revealing itself to those who might
be without. Then, after warming their benumbed limbs, they were quite
ready to do justice to the simple fare.
This ruin was one of the meeting-places of the Lollards. Wales being
their great asylum, it was convenient to have some spot a little beyond
the foot of the mountains, where they might come, and find out whether
it was safe to proceed any farther. There was always a small stock of
provisions and firewood kept there, so that in case any preachers were
obliged to spend the night there, they might not have to endanger
themselves or others by venturing to any of the neighboring cottages.
There was also a set of signals here, conducted on the same system, and
connected with those at the foot of the oak near Forest Castle, and
Bertrand carefully deciphered them and arranged them anew. He learned
that the road was clear as far as the mountains for those going thither,
but that no one from the mountains had better venture down. He then
placed such marks as would indicate to those who should read them the
number of the archbishop's soldiers, the burning of the Tower, and the
escape of De Forest and Cobham. So perfectly had this system of signals
been arranged, and so well was their secret kept, that he knew in a few
days the news of the escape of the two reformers would be known and
rejoiced over by all the Lollards for many miles around, while their
enemies would wonder how the intelligence was spread, and lay it all to
the account of that diabolical assistance and knowledge of sorcery which
they firmly believed was possessed by these outlaws.
Before they retired to their rest, Cobham stood up and recited the
ninety-first Psalm: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most
High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." How true and
precious did these promises appear to those homeless fugitives! Each
took to his own heart such passages as seemed most appropriate to his
own particular case; but each found in them the same great comfort--the
blessed fact of God's guardianship over those he loves, and their
absolute and eternal safety, however earthly cares may oppress, dangers
threaten, or sorrows impend. The soldier, Cobham, realized in the God
whom he had learned to worship untrammeled by priestcraft and juggling
tricks, a shield and buckler far stronger than he had ever borne in the
wars under king Harry. The gray-haired knight, who had that day seen the
home where his ancestors had lived and died, the birth-place of himself
and his two sons, the inheritance which he had thought to leave to a
long line of posterity, razed to the very ground by his enemies, and who
now felt that he had no home in the wide world in which to shelter his
gray hairs, crept up, as it were, to the promise, "I will say of the
Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, in him will I trust," and with
child-like faith, taking his Heavenly Father at his word, cast away his
sorrows and cares.
Bertrand, the peasant, who had abandoned the old faith and followed his
feudal lord into the new, but who had never imbibed the spirituality of
the reform; who had cast aside the bondage of Rome, but who had not yet
bowed his head to the yoke of the gentle Jesus; felt that night as he
had never done before, and his aroused feelings were never quieted until
he came, with no priestly mediator between, to the feet of his Saviour,
and found peace in believing.
Nor was the impression lessened when Sir John poured forth a simple,
earnest prayer to their great Protector. There was no word of complaint
in it, still less of anger toward their persecutors. He besought, with
earnest pleadings, that as they were now Sauls in persecuting, they
might become Pauls in defending the faith. And when the thought of his
ruined home and desolate possessions came across his mind, he prayed
that those mansions might be bestowed upon his enemies as well as
himself, which are not made with hands, and whose treasures no moth nor
rust can corrupt, no foe break through and steal.
Then they laid them down and slept, calmly and peacefully, for so did
they realize God's presence, that the rough stone walls seemed to them
like the fingers of his almighty hand, stretched around them to guard
them from their foes.
*CHAPTER XI.*
_*The Lesson of Forgiveness.*_
When Charles Bertrand--for he it was who was their stranger guest--had
further narrated how, the next day, the two Lollards had easily passed
over the few miles that lay between their night's resting-place and
Cobham's mountain retreat in that wild country which gave asylum to
outlaws of every kind, he told them that Sir John still had his
habitation in Wales, but frequently ventured down into the valleys of
his own land, traversing several counties under various disguises, to
attend and encourage meetings of the Reformers. Patiently they were all
waiting for the time when, bursting over the land as the sunbeams after
a thunder-cloud has passed, Bible truth, liberty, and toleration should
make themselves to be known and acknowledged by the world. Patiently
and trustingly they waited, for they had no doubt of the fulfillment of
their Master's promises; but, alas! it pleased that Master, whose will
must be unquestioned by human intellect, long, very long to delay the
deliverance which was yet surely to come. The child that was then at
its mother's breast grew up to boyhood, manhood, descended to old age,
and then returned to his native dust, long ere that day came which those
fond, simple hearts believed to be even then at the dawn. The nation
was not yet sufficiently purged, men's faith not sufficiently tried;
that precious "seed of the church," the blood of holy martyrs, had not
yet finished dropping into the earth, nor had it yet been sufficiently
watered by widows' and orphans' tears for the precious harvest to spring
up, which now is yielding to every soul speaking the English tongue, the
priceless boon of perfect liberty of conscience toward man, and toward
God.
Bertrand was glad to stretch his limbs by the hut fire after his
journey; and after the simple worship, which always closed the day's
labor of these people, all betook themselves to rest.
All but one. Geoffrey could not sleep; so he arose softly, and,
wrapping himself in his cloak, bounded up the cliffs by a path so narrow
and rocky, and close to the brink of the precipice, that only so firm
and steady a foot as his own would care to tread it by night. As he
passed out of the shadow of the cottage, a man lifted up his head from
behind some bushes, and shook himself as though wearied of a confined
posture. Still, he did not stand boldly upright, but crouched again,
keeping in the shade, and then throwing a look of malignant hatred at
the little hut and its quiet sleepers, he muttered an oath of
satisfaction, and crept stealthily upon the boy's track.
Meanwhile, what were the thoughts of the young Lollard?
Geoffrey and Hubert were both Lollards, but in a very different spirit.
Geoffrey, the heir of a noble baronetcy, saw his patrimony destroyed,
his father outlawed and hunted, himself dependent on the charity of the
poor for a place of shelter, and his very soul went out in opposition to
the oppressors and to their religion. In Lollardism he found a freedom
which agreed with his notions of right, and a purity of morals suited to
his taste. The younger brother embraced the reformed religion, because
he found in the doctrines it taught, a way of relief for a sinning
soul--because they brought to him, free, and untrammeled by superstition
and the traditions of men, the Gospel of the Cross, "the sweet story of
old." Geoffrey was a Lollard, because with all his strength he hated
Rome, and desired to break its yoke from the necks of his countrymen;
Hubert, because he loved Jesus, and longed, with all the fervor of his
spirit, to convey the tidings of deliverance from a far greater power
than that wielded in the Vatican, to the priest-ridden, ignorant poor of
his native land.
It was natural, therefore, that the former should have many a bitter
thought rising in his mind as he thought of the smouldering ruins of
Forest Tower. The insult and wrong which had been heaped upon his noble
race seemed more than he could bear; his whole soul revolted against the
tyranny.
"It is mine!" he cried aloud, as he reached the top of the cliff, and
drew his fine though boyish figure up to its full height in an attitude
of defiance--"mine by every law. King Henry holds his throne by no
better right! I care not how strong they be, they shall give it back, or
may a curse rest on them every one--may they all, from king Henry down
to his hirelings, be as homeless as I am this night! Send down, O God
of Justice!--if there be such a God--fire and sword upon their houses,
as they have brought them on mine; curses on their meat and drink,
curses----" He paused, then sank down on the ground and groaned
bitterly. Had he not been so enrapt in his fiery thoughts, he might
have noticed a face peering at him with malignant satisfaction from the
shadow of a rock scarce ten feet from the spot where he stood in full
moonlight, with his clenched right hand raised toward heaven, calling
down vengeance for his wrongs. But now, as he sank to the earth, the
figure stooped and became invisible, for at that instant another
footstep was heard along the path, and a still more boyish form sprang
across the little open space.
"Geoffrey! dear Geoffrey!"
"What are you doing here, Hubert?" cried the elder lad, springing to his
feet, like all other lads displeased at being found giving way to his
emotions. "Get you back to the cottage; this is no place for you, on
the mountain-top at night!"
"Do not be angry, brother!" said the younger beseechingly. "I saw you
rise and go out, and I followed, it is so wild and desolate for you to
be here alone, and you so miserable."
"Miserable!"--the word was spoken in a contemptuous tone--"that is for a
woman to say. I am a man now, I must stand up for my lawful rights; I
must pursue to the death those blood-hounds, those hirelings of the foul
fiend himself, whom may Heaven----"
"Geoffrey! Geoffrey! stop; do not say such words. We may not curse, we
must pray--we must bless!" And the boy clung to his brother in
passionate entreaty. Geoffrey flung him off.
"You are a child, Hubert! you do not understand these things. Go back
to your bed. I choose to be alone." He strode off to the furthest
extremity of the little rocky platform, close, close to the lurker in
the shadow! When he had styled his enemies blood-hounds, he was not far
from the truth; for dearly they loved to track silently their victim's
footsteps, to spring upon him when he felt most secure.
"Geoffrey," said the little pleading voice, "it is very cold, I thought
you would wrap me in your cloak."
The hard, stern look passed from the lad's face at the words; he turned,
sat down by his brother, and clasped him tightly in his arms. Neither
spoke for some time; at last Hubert broke the silence.
"How beautiful the moonlight is to-night!"
It was indeed a glorious sight. Sheer down two hundred feet and more
below them lay the calm, mirror-like sea, reflecting the moonbeams in a
pathway of silver, stretching far, far into the horizon, till it ended
in a distant speck on the great North Sea. The stars were paled by the
radiance, but still stood out gloriously in the clear still atmosphere,
like specks of shining foam dashed up from the silvery sea below. No
sound broke the stillness but the low beating of the surf and the scream
of a sea-bird skimming through the air after its prey. It seemed in
that lone, desolate spot as if there might be no other living creature
in existence but the bird flitting across the landscape. The two lads
nestled under the cloak and--the watcher!
"The moon was at the full, you know, when He died, Geoffrey, and fell
upon his cross and his tomb. I wonder if it falls as brightly in that
far-off land as it does here? Father Humphrey told me all about it the
last time the moon was full, just before he died. How sad, and yet how
glad a thing it was for Christ to die, Geoffrey! I can hardly tell
where the sadness ends and the gladness begins, they seem so mingled in
it all. May I talk to you about it now?"
"Yes, if you are warm," and the arm was drawn more tightly around the
slender form.
"Oh! yes, I am so comfortable now;" and then he began, and in sweet,
touching eloquence detailed the well-known story of the persecuted
Nazarene. He drew the picture of the lowly manger, of the carpenter's
workshop; he spoke of Him as homeless, hungry, thirsty, weary, desolate,
despised, rejected, betrayed. He followed him to the garden, the
judgment-hall, the cross. He described in burning words the gibes, the
mocks, the sneers, the insults, the cruelty, the hatred that followed
the meek and gentle Jesus from the cradle to the grave.
"And He forgave them, Geoffrey," said the little speaker, as he closed
the account, "he forgave them every one."
"He was a God," said Geoffrey solemnly.
"Yes, but he was a man too, and out of his man's heart, as well as his
God's heart, he forgave them."
The elder lad's face had softened strangely; there was a moisture on the
lashes which shaded his downcast eyes.
"He taught us our 'Pater Noster.' He had a right to teach us to say:
'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.' It is
hard to act it, but then we must, for we have so many sins to be
forgiven--so very, very many, Geoffrey. I think it is an awful prayer
to say, though it is so simple and short. It is like Jesus himself, so
perfect, so heart-searching. I tremble often; for just think, if we
should have just the least little revenge in our hearts, we are praying
for condemnation."
Lower, lower on his bosom sank the proud head of the young noble.
"I said it to-night, Hubert." The words came in a trembling whisper.
"Then you must _act_ it, quickly, quickly, before God answers it against
you."
The boy had roused himself, and in his eagerness had caught both his
brother's hands in an earnest grasp. What Geoffrey would have replied
to this appeal cannot be known, for just at that moment there was a
rustling among the stones, then the rush of a falling body, accompanied
by one of those horrible screams of mortal agony, which those who have
once heard them can never forget.
Both boys sprang to their feet with a cry of horror. Geoffrey's clear,
cool head first comprehended what was the matter. He ran as near the
border of the precipice, as he dared, and then, creeping on his hands
and knees to the very edge, looked down. There, far below him, but as
far above the water, caught in a scrubby tree that grew out of a cleft
in the rock, lay a dark object, only just discernible in the moonlight;
and again came the cry for help, but feebler than before.
"It is a man over the cliff!" shouted the boy. "Run, Hubert, for
Bertrand and a rope; quick, or it will be too late! He is hanging in
the elf oak!"
Then, when his brother was gone, he shouted words of encouragement to
the unfortunate man. "Hold hard, man! help is near, and the tree
strong, but trust not to the upper branch, it is a dead one; hold fast
but a little while."
The man was in too great a state of terror to hear or understand, but
kept exclaiming that he was lost, and vowing candles to every saint in
the calendar, and pilgrimages to a dozen shrines; but his voice grew
fainter and fainter, and had ceased entirely, before Hubert returned,
accompanied by Humphrey Singleton and Bertrand. It took but a moment to
uncoil the rope and fasten one end around a rock; then Geoffrey hailed
the stranger:
"Ho! friend, help has come; courage! We will send you down a rope; have
you strength to tie it round your body?"
No reply came. All shouted together, and then waited breathlessly for
an answer, but none came.
"He is dead, or he has swooned," said the old master; "may the Lord have
mercy on his soul! We can do no more."
Meanwhile there had been a tumult of varied feelings in Geoffrey's mind.
Who can this stranger be? had been naturally his first thought when he
saw the accident. There could be but one answer--it was an enemy; none
other would have been concealed at such an hour on those lonely cliffs.
One of Chichely's spies must have been lurking behind the rocks, and,
missing his footing, had fallen to what must be his certain destruction
if not speedily rescued. And this was the man whom certain feelings of
humanity in his heart were calling on him to save at the risk of his own
life--one of the very men, perhaps, who had aided in making his father a
homeless outlaw; nay more, who had been but a few moments before
thirsting for the blood of himself and his venerable protector. Was it
not the dictate of common prudence which incited him to send a cross-bow
bolt after the wretch, rather than rescue him to go on in the commission
of crime?
But however passionate Geoffrey might be when roused by a sense of his
wrongs, in his calmer moments he was always ready to be led by the Bible
laws of right and wrong, which had been taught him from his infancy.
"Thou shalt not do evil that good may come," was a precept which had
been impressed upon him by his father's lips more than once, and now the
conversation he had just held with his brother brought a still more
forcible argument to his mind. "He died for them even while they were
murdering him." "Forgive us our sins as we forgive them who sin against
us." He was decided: he would, as Hubert had said, act the prayer, and
in a moment--for it took him far less time to think all this than it has
to relate it--he stepped forward, and flung his loose cloak out of the
way.
"Nay, father, there is yet hope: I will go down and help him."
"You!" exclaimed the old master and Bertrand in a breath. "Boy, you are
mad! It is almost certain death; and know you not that this is without
doubt a spy, sent to hunt all of us to the scaffold?"
"He is a fellow-man," replied the boy undauntedly, "and a sinner too;
perchance his soul may be hanging over the gulf of perdition, as his
body is over yonder ocean. If it please God"--here he raised his cap
reverently from his brow, then flung it down on the ground--"if it
please God, I will save both!"
He then stepped toward Hubert, and bending low so that he might not be
overheard by the rest, said: "Brother, I am going to act the prayer; you
have saved me from the vengeance of God!" There was one tight grasp of
the hand, and then, before they had sufficiently recovered from their
surprise to prevent him, Geoffrey had seized the rope and commenced his
perilous descent.
The next few moments, so full of agonizing suspense, were spent by
Bertrand in pushing bunches of dried grass under the rope, to prevent it
from cutting against the sharp corners of the rock, and by the rest in
prayer. The dangerous descent was not quite unknown to the young
Lollard, as but a week or two previous he had climbed down to that very
tree to pick up a bird which he shot, and which had lodged in its
branches; hence his warning to the man to beware of the dead bough. But
then he had had the light and heat of the sun at noonday; now he must
guide himself over slippery rocks by the uncertain light of the moon,
which, glaring on the patches of snow, served only to render the shadows
deeper; still the boy, naturally fearless, was now inspired with a
supernatural bravery by the holy thoughts in his soul. Every sense was
stretched to its utmost; with firm hands he grasped the rope, and with
unerring feet sprang from rock to rock with a speed and sureness of
footing which seemed to those who watched him from above almost
miraculous, till at last he sent up a joyful shout:
"I am safe, and the man is only stunned; but send us down another rope,
and that speedily, for the tree is loosening."
The rope was not so readily procured; and for some time the boy had to
remain in the tree called the "elf oak" by the people around, on account
of the strangeness of its situation, and support the moaning wretch who
lay there, and whom his voice had recalled a little to life. He
occupied himself by chafing the man's limbs, and striving to regulate
their weight so as to press as little as possible on the tree, which,
jarred by the fall of the heavy body upon it, was becoming more and more
loosened from its frail tenure in the crevice of the rock.
At length the other rope was dropped to him, and he fastened both round
the man, who seemed incapable, either through terror or injury, of
giving himself much assistance. Then, supporting himself partly by the
rope, but more by clinging to the jutting points of rock, with a hand
ever ready to steady the swinging body or turn it aside from a dangerous
angle, he clambered up, and then sank down on the grass, wounded, dizzy,
and exhausted, but with a strange calmness at his heart, and a great
love burning there toward all mankind, and an intense feeling of
gratitude toward God for his preservation from a danger whose full
horrors he only now began to understand; for, just as he was mounting
the last few feet of the ascent, he had heard a crash behind him--the
old oak had torn itself from the rock, and was being dashed in fragments
by the surf below.
*CHAPTER XII.*
_*Caught and Caged.*_