In Doublet and Hose Part 31

"Though in truth were I to be freed I would not know where to go. Still 'tis hard to be shut up within this dreary place."

"I know not, child."

"Why have I not been brought to trial?" continued the girl, "Others were tried and sentenced and met their doom, while I linger on, not knowing what my fate is to be."

"I know not," answered Mrs. Shelton again. "Question it not, girl. There are those here who have lain for years in like uncertainty, and will so wait until death releases them."

"And their lot will be mine," observed the maiden mournfully. "Happy were they who met death on the block! I am so young and so strong. 'Twill be long ere the tomb claims me. And to look forward to all those years--oh, 'tis hard, hard!" She paused for a time, and then went on pathetically: "I dreamed of the fens and the wildwood last night, mistress. Methought the breeze came fresh from the distant sea. I felt its breath upon my cheek. I heard the sound of the horns, and the bay of the hounds as they were unleashed for the chase. I mounted my palfrey, and dashed in pursuit of the dogs. I rode as ne'er I rode before. On and on! and then, as the clamor of the hounds told me the game was brought to bay, I reached for my bow, and--touched the walls of my prison. Then I awoke. It was all a dream," she ended with a sob. "All a dream, and I shall never ride in the forest again."

"There, sweetheart! think no more on it," soothed Mrs. Shelton. "Come!

let us go down to the bonny laddie who, even if he be thine enemy is more real than dreams."

Francis composed herself and followed the woman into the garden where Edward Devereaux already wandered. As she answered his greeting with a slight smile the youth ventured to enter into conversation.

"Hast heard the report?" he began eagerly. "'Tis said that the Spanish have been driven back to their coasts by a storm, but are again preparing to sail for England. Oh, for a chance at them! If I could but once take a Don by the beard I would content me to stay in these walls forever."

"Say not so, Master Devereaux," said Francis. "'Tis a dreary place, and hadst thou been here for nigh two years as I have been thou wouldst not utter such things. 'Tis dreary--dreary!" She sighed heavily, and despite herself a tear rolled down her cheek.

"How now, Francis," cried Devereaux touched by her distress. "Thou with the megrims? Why, Francis, 'tis unlike thy spirit!"

"I had a dream," said Francis striving to repress her tears, "and it hath made me long for liberty." And she related it to him.

"I wonder not at thy longing," said the lad. "I too desire with all my heart to be free. And," he lowered his voice and glanced about for Mrs.

Shelton but she was busied over some plants, and out of earshot, "and I intend to be soon."

"What!" cried Francis, her grief forgotten, looking at him with eagerness.

"Not so loud," cautioned Edward. "I mean to escape, Francis, and to go to Lord Howard to help fight the Spaniards."

"Oh, Edward," breathed the girl, "take me with you."

"Nay; I cannot. Thou art but a girl, and the risk would be too great. I have the freedom of this inner ward, but there still remains the outer ward and the moat, which, as thou knowest, is on all sides of the Tower, and on the south there is the Thames also. The hazard would be too great."

"Nay, nay," pleaded Francis, her soul on fire at the mere mention of escape. "Do take me."

"But what couldst thou do even were we to succeed?" demanded Devereaux.

"Where couldst thou go?"

"To my father in France," replied Francis.

"Nay; but"--began Devereaux again when the girl caught his hand and held it tightly with her own.

"I will not let thee go until thou dost consent," she cried with some of her old wilfulness. "Oh, Edward, do say yes."

Devereaux looked at her thin hands, her face so pale and worn, so different from its former sauciness, and all the chivalry of his nature rose up.

"When thou dost speak so, Francis," he said gently, "I can deny thee nothing."

"And thou wilt?" cried she with shining eyes.

"Yea, Francis; but consider well the danger. If we fail it may mean death."

"We will not fail," declared the girl with positiveness. "If we do, is not death better than imprisonment? I promise that I will kill at least one Spaniard."

"I will hold thee to that vow," laughed Devereaux. "But thy woman comes, Francis. I will inform thee of the plan when I fix on one. Fare you well."

"Fare you well," returned Francis.

"Thine enemy's converse hath done thee good," commented Mrs. Shelton waggishly on their return to the upper chamber of the Bell Tower.

Francis looked at her a moment and then said with dignity:

"I had forgot that he was mine enemy, mistress. Besides, I may have been somewhat unmannerly in my treatment of Master Devereaux, and it behooves me as a gentlewoman to make other recompense for his courtesy."

"And say you so, Francis?" laughed Mrs. Shelton who considered the affair great sport. "Belike it be no unpleasant duty. But there, child! 'Tis little of entertainment thou hast, so make merry with the lad for I fear that he will not remain here long."

"I fear so too," answered Francis, and in her heart lay the unspoken wish that not only Devereaux's time but her own might be short.

The days pa.s.sed and Edward Devereaux had not yet matured a scheme for their flight. June waxed and waned, and July was upon them. Then one day, when the girl had almost despaired of hearing him speak of the attempt again, Devereaux said to her in a low tone:

"Art thou willing to make the effort to-night, Francis?"

"To-night?" cried Francis thrilling at the thought. "Yea; to-night, Edward. But how?"

"Does Mrs. Shelton stay in your chamber at night?"

"Not now. Not since I recovered from mine illness."

"And is there not a flight of steps leading to the roof?"

"Yes;" replied Francis surprised. "How knew you that?"

"Easily. The alarm bell of the fortress stands on that roof, and there must of necessity be communication from the inside as well as from the outside. Besides all the other towers are so connected. Thou knowest that my lodging is the uppermost story of the b.l.o.o.d.y Tower where tradition hath it that the two princes of York were murdered by Richard of Gloucester. I have found that between the outer wall of the Tower and the chamber there is a pa.s.sage communicating with the top of the ballium wall to the west. Along that I will proceed until I reach the roof of the Bell Tower where I will make fast the rope for our descent. After we are down we must make use of our wits to pa.s.s the gate in the Byward Tower and so reach Tower wharf where friends will await us with a boat. There is no moon, and the darkness will favor the plan. There are secret pa.s.sages which lead out of the Tower but these I have been unable to discover.

They are known to but few and those few are incorruptible. The pa.s.sage leading to my lodgings is all that I have knowledge of, and I had much ado to find that, and to obtain the rope."

"But the sentinel, Edward? There is always one stationed by the bell."

"Leave him to me, Francis," said Devereaux evasively. "Do you fear to adventure it?"

"Nay, Edward. I rather rejoice at the opportunity for action."

"Then await my coming. And to-night the die will be cast. Liberty and England, or imprisonment and death! All depends upon this throw. Do you fear, Francis?"

"No;" answered she proudly. "I am no weakling that I should fear. Dost thou not know the motto of the Staffords: a l'outrance? (To the utmost) I am a Stafford. Therefore will I dare to the utmost."

"Well said, mistress. If my courage fail me thou wilt inspire it anew. So fare you well until night."

They parted, and Francis returned to her chamber to await the coming of the darkness with what patience she could. The hours went by on leaden wings. At last the portal leading to the roof was opened, and Edward Devereaux's voice sounded in a low whisper: