The White Gauntlet Part 34

"There is danger here," he continued, after a pause. "Ah! villain!" he exclaimed, standing erect in his stirrups, and stretching out his clenched hand in the direction of the departing figures, "if you but dare--one word of insult--one ribald look, and I am told of it--the chastis.e.m.e.nt you've already had will be nothing to that in store for you!"

"O G.o.d!" he exclaimed, as though some still more disagreeable thought had succeeded to this paroxysm of spite, "a dread spectacle it is! The wolf walking by the side of the lamb!

"He is bowing and bending to her! See! She turns towards him! She appears complacent. O G.o.d! is it possible?"

Involuntarily his hand glided to the hilt of his sword--while the spurs were pressed against the ribs of his horse.

The spirited animal sprang forward along the path--his head turned towards the mansion; but, before he had made a second spring, he was checked up again.

"I'm a fool!" muttered his rider, "and you, too, Hubert. At all events I should have been thought so, had I ridden up yonder. What could I have said to excuse myself? 'Tis not possible. If it were so, I should feel no remorse. If it were so, there could be no ruin!

"Ha! they have reached the bridge. She is leaving him. She has hurried inside the house. He remains without, apparently forsaken!

"O Marion, if I've wronged thee, 'tis because I love thee madly--madly!

Pardon!--pardon! I will watch thee no more!"

So saying, he wheeled his steed once more; and, without again looking back, galloped on toward the gateway.

Even while opening the gate and closing it behind him, he turned not his eyes towards the avenue; but, spurring into the public road, continued the gallop which the gate had interrupted.

The head of his horse was homeward--so far only as the embouchure of the forest path that opened towards Stone Dean. On reaching this point he halted; and instead of entering upon the by-way, remained out in the middle of the high-road--as if undecided as to his course.

He glanced towards the sky--a small patch of which was visible between the trees, on both sides overarching the road.

The purple twilight was still lingering amid the spray of the forest; and through the break opening eastward, he could perceive the horned moon cutting sharply against the horizon.

"Scarce worth while to go home now," he muttered, drawing forth his watch, and holding the dial up to his eyes, "How swiftly the last hour has sped--ah! how sweetly! In another hour the men will be there. By riding slowly I shall just be in time; and you, Hubert, can have your supper in a stall at the Saracen's Head. Aha! a woman in the window!

'Tis Marion!"

The exclamatory phrases were called forth, as turning towards the park, he caught sight of the mansion, visible through an opening between the chestnuts.

Several windows were alight; but the eye of the cavalier dwelt only on one--where under the arcade of the curtains, and against the luminous background of a burning lamp, a female form was discernible. Only the figure could be traced at that far distance; but this--tall, graceful and majestic--proclaimed it to be the _silhouette_ of Marion Wade.

After a prolonged gaze--commencing with a smile, and terminating in a sigh--Holtspur once more gave Hubert the rein, and moved silently onward.

The ruined hut on Jarret's Heath was soon reached, conspicuous under the silvery moonlight, as he had last viewed it: but no longer the rendezvous of Gregory Garth and his fierce footpads. The dummies had disappeared--even to the sticks that had served to support them--and nought remained to indicate, that in that solitary place the traveller had ever listened to the unpleasant summons:--"Stand and deliver!"

Holtspur could not pa.s.s the spot without smiling; and more: for, as the ludicrous incident came more clearly before his mind, he drew up his horse, and, leaning back in the saddle, gave utterance to a loud laugh.

Hubert, on hearing his master in such a merry mood, uttered a responsive neigh. Perhaps Hubert was laughing too; but man and horse became silent instantly, and from precaution.

More than one neigh had responded to that of Holtspur's steed; which the cavalier knew were not echoes, but proceeded from horses approaching the spot.

Suddenly checking his laughter, and giving his own steed a signal to be still, he remained listening.

The neighing of the strange horses had been heard at a distance: as if from some cavalcade coming up the road by Red Hill. In time, there were other sounds to confirm the surmise: the clanking of sabres against iron stirrups, and the hoof-strokes of the horses themselves.

"A troop!" muttered Holtspur. "Some of Scarthe's following, I suppose-- from an errand to Uxbridge? Come, Hubert! They must not meet us."

A touch of the spur, with a slight pull upon the bridle rein, guided the well-trained steed behind the hovel; where, under the shadow of some leafy boughs, he was once more brought to a stand.

Soon the hoof-strokes sounded more distinctly, as also the clank of the scabbards, the tinkling of the spur-rowels, and curb-chains.

The voices of men were also mingled with these sounds; and both they and their horses, soon after, emerged from the shadows of the thicket, and entered the opening by the hut.

There were seven of them; the odd one in advance of the others--who were riding two and two behind him.

A glance at their habiliments proclaimed them to be men of military calling--an officer accompanied by an escort.

As they arrived in front of the hovel, the leader halted--commanding the others to follow his example.

The movement was sudden--apparently improvised on the part of the officer--and unexpected by his following. It was evidently the appearance of the ruin that had caused it to be made.

"Sergeant!" said the leader of the little troop, addressing himself to one of the men who rode nearest to him, "this must be the place where the king's courier was stopped? There's the ruined hovel he spoke about: and this I take to be Jarret's Heath. What say you?"

"It must be that place, major," replied the sergeant, "It can't be no other. We've come full four mile from Uxbridge, and should now be close to the park of Bulstrode. This be Jarret's Heath for sure."

"What a pity those rascals don't show themselves to-night! I'd give something to carry them back with me bound hand and foot. It would be some satisfaction to poor Cunliffe, whom they stripped so clean: leaving him nothing but his stockings. Ha! ha! ha! I should like to have seen that noted court dandy, as he must have appeared just here--under the moonlight. Ha! ha! ha!"

"I fancy I heard the neighing of a horse in this direction?" continued the leader of the little troop. "If the fellows who plundered the courier hadn't been footpads, we might have hoped to encounter them--"

"You forget, major," rejoined the sergeant, "that Master Cunliffe's horse was taken from him. May be the captain of the robbers is no longer a footpad, but mounted?"

"No--no," rejoined the officer, "the neighing we heard, was only from some farmer's hack running loose in the pastures. Forward! we've already lost too much time. If this be Jarret's Heath, we must be near the end of our errand. Forward!"

Saying this, the leader of the band, close followed by the treble file of troopers, dashed forward along the road--their accoutrements, and the hooves of their horses, making a noise that hindered them from hearing the scornful, half involuntary laugh sent after them from the cavalier concealed under the shadow of the hut.

"Another king's courier for Scarthe!" muttered Holtspur, as he headed his horse once more to the road. "No doubt, the duplicate of that precious despatch! Ha! ha! His Majesty seems determined, that this time it shall reach its destination. An escort of six troopers!

Notwithstanding all that, and the bravado of their leader, if I had only coughed loud enough for them to hear me, I believe they'd have, scampered off a little faster than they are now going. These conceited satellites of royalty--'_cavaliers_,' as they affectedly call themselves--are the veriest poltroons: brave only in words. Oh! that the hour were come, when Englishmen may be prevailed upon to demand their lights at the point of the sword--_the only mode by which they will ever obtain them_! Then may I hope to see such swaggerers scattered like chaff, and fleeing before the soldiers of Liberty! G.o.d grant the time may be near! Hubert, let us on, and hasten it!"

Hubert, ever willing, obeyed the slight signal vouchsafed to him; and, spreading his limbs to the road, rapidly bore his master to the summit of Red Hill; then down its sloping declivity; and on through the fertile, far-stretching meadows of the Colne.

Volume Two, Chapter V.

The Saracen's Head stood an exact half-mile from the Colne river and the end of Uxbridge town. To reach it from the latter it was necessary to cross over the quaint old bridge--whence the place derives its name.

It was a road-side inn, old as the bridge itself--perhaps ancient as the Crusades, from which its cognomen had come. It was the inn at which Scarthe and his cuira.s.siers had made their night halt, when proceeding to Bulstrode Park; the same afterwards known--as it is to the present day--by the appellation of _Queen's Head_. The altered lettering on its sign-board was not the act of the honest Saxon Boniface, who held it in the time of the first Charles; but of a plush-clad proprietor, who succeeded him during the servile days of the Restoration.

While in Master Jarvis's occupancy it might have borne a t.i.tle equally as appropriate, and perhaps more significant than either--the _King's Head_: since under its roof, this phrase was frequently whispered-- sometimes loudly p.r.o.nounced--with a peculiar significance--one very different from the idea usually attached to it. It may be, that words spoken, and thoughts exchanged, within the walls of the old hostelry led to a king's losing his head; or, at all events, precipitated that just and proper event.

On the same night that Henry Holtspur was riding down Red Hill--with the Saracen's Head as the declared goal of his journey--and about the same hour--a number of pedestrians, not all going together, but in scattered groups of two, three, and four, might have been seen crossing the Colne river at Uxbridge; who, after clearing the causeway of the bridge, continued on up the road, in the direction of the inn.

On reaching it--one group after the other--they were seen to enter; after giving a preliminary challenge or greeting to its host, who received them by the door as they came up.

This reception continued; until at least fifty men had glided inside the ivy-grown portico of the Saracen's Head.

They were all men--nothing in woman's shape, or apparel, appearing amongst them.