The White Gauntlet Part 79

"O, Sir Marmaduke--n.o.ble Sir Marmaduke Wade! I wish it were in my power to a.s.sist _you_."

"Ha!"

"Alas! But a short month ago I could with indifference have enacted the part I am now called upon to play. Then I knew you not. I knew not your daughter. Oh! that I had never known one, or the other--neither the n.o.ble father, nor the--"

"Sir!" interrupted Sir Marmaduke sternly, "I beg you will come to the point. What is this disagreeable communication you would make? You surprise and puzzle me."

"I cannot declare it with my own lips. n.o.ble knight! excuse me from giving speech to it. Here are my orders--too plain--too peremptory.

Read them for yourself!"

Sir Marmaduke took hold of the paper--extended to him, apparently, with a trembling hand. The hand trembled that received it. He read:--

"_To ye Captain Richard Scarthe, commanding ye cuira.s.siers at Bulstrode Park_.

"_It hath come, to ye knowledge of his Majestie that Sir Marmaduke Wade, Knight, hath been guilty of treasonable practices and designs against his Majestie and ye government. Therefore Captain Scarthe is hereby commanded to arrest ye said Sir Marmaduke, and convey him to ye Tower prison, there to await trial by Star Chamber, or such other Court as may be deemed sufficient for ye crime charged_.

"_And Captain Scarthe is moreover enjoined and commanded by his Majestie to lose no time in carrying out ye said command of his Majestie, but that he proceed to its execution on ye receipt of these presents_.

"_Given at my Palace, Whitehall_.

"_Carolus Rex_."

"I am your prisoner, then?" said Sir Marmaduke, folding up the paper, and returning it to the cuira.s.sier captain.

"Not mine, Sir Marmaduke. Alas! not mine, but the king's."

"And where am I to be taken? But I forget. I need not have asked."

"The place is mentioned in the despatch."

"The time too!"

"I regret it is so," rejoined Scarthe, with a pretence of being pained in the performance of his duty. "By this doc.u.ment you will perceive, that my orders are peremptory."

"I presume, I shall be permitted to take leave of my family?"

"It grieves me to the heart, Sir Marmaduke, to inform you that my instructions are painfully stringent. Even that has been made a part of them."

"Then I am not to bid farewell to my children, before parting with them--perhaps, for ever?"

"Do not talk thus, sir," said Scarthe, with a show, of profound sympathy. "There must be a misunderstanding. Some enemy has been abusing you to the ear of the king. Let us hope it will be nothing serious in the end. I wish it were otherwise; but I am instructed in a confidential despatch--that, after making known the order for your arrest, I am not to permit any communication between you and your friends--even the members of your own family--_except in my presence_."

"In your presence be our parting then. Can I summon my children hither?"

"Certainly, Sir Marmaduke. Alas! alas! that I am compelled to be the witness of such a sad spectacle."

Scarthe truly characterised the scene that followed, by calling it a sad spectacle. Such it was--too sad to be described: the cuira.s.sier captain appearing as much affected as any of those who a.s.sisted at it!

In an hour after, Sir Marmaduke Wade--in the custody of a cuira.s.sier guard--might have been seen pa.s.sing out of Bulstrode Park, on his way to that famous, or rather infamous, receptacle of political prisoners--the Tower of London.

Volume Three, Chapter XVI.

In less than a week from this time, Sir Marmaduke Wade stood in the presence of the Star Chamber--that Court which for long years had been the dread--less of criminals, than of innocent men.

When accuser and judge are one and the same person, condemnation is sure to follow. In Sir Marmaduke's case the accuser was the king himself.

The Star Chamber was a mere mask--a means of carrying out his arbitrary acts, while screening him from their responsibility.

The trial was as much a farce, as if it had been held before a conclave of the Holy Inquisition. Indeed, both Star Chamber and High Commission Court bore a close resemblance to that terrible tribunal; and, like the latter, however farcical might be the form of their trials, they had too often a tragical ending.

Sir Marmaduke's trial, like many others of the time, was a mockery of justice--a mere formality to satisfy the slight remnants of liberty that still lingered in the Const.i.tution. The Court had already doomed him.

It needed only for the Star Chamber to endorse the foregone decree; which was done by its truculent judges without any delay, and with as little noise or ceremony.

The knight was accused of treason towards the crown--of conspiring against the king.

The charge was proven; and the criminal was condemned to death, by the mode in use against political offenders of the time. His sentence was:--_to be beheaded upon the block_.

He was not even confronted with his accusers; and knew not who they were who bore witness against him. But the most specific charge brought up-- that of his presence and speech at the night meeting at Stone Dean--left him no reason to doubt that Richard Scarthe was one of their number--if not the prime instigator of the prosecution.

During the investigation, the accused was kept in complete ignorance, both of the witnesses and the testimony preferred against him. None was allowed in his favour--no advocate was permitted to plead for him; and indeed, long before his trial came to a termination, he had made up his mind as to the result.

It was scarce a shock to him, when the president of that iniquitous conclave, p.r.o.nounced in mock solemnity the sentence of _death_.

But it was a terrible shock to two tender hearts, when his son, Walter, hurrying home after the trial, carried the melancholy tidings--to the mansion of Bulstrode, soon to be deprived of its master.

Never was the hypocrisy of Richard Scarthe more successfully exerted than in that sad hour.

The children of his victim were almost deceived into a belief in his friendship. So sincere did his expressions of sympathy appear, and so often were they repeated, that Walter and Lora became almost disarmed as to his treason; and even Marion wavered in her suspicions of the honesty of this accomplished impostor.

Could Sir Marmaduke have communicated with them, there would have been no danger of such a deception. But this he was not allowed to do. From the hour of his arrest, his enemy had adopted every precaution to prevent it. The parting with his children had taken place in Scarthe's presence--where no word could be spoken unheard. Afterwards, from his prison in the Tower, he had not been allowed to hold the slightest intercourse with the outside world--neither before his trial, nor after it. Only a few minutes had his son Walter been permitted to stay in his company; and then only with spies and jailers standing near, and listening to every speech that pa.s.sed between them.

Sir Marmaduke had not even found opportunity to communicate to his son the suspicions he entertained: that the man who was making such loud protestations of sympathy and friendship, was not only his enemy, but the very individual who had denounced him.

To Walter, and Lora, and Marion, all this remained unknown. It had never occurred to them to speculate on the cause of Scarthe's absence from the mansion--during the two days of the trial. Little did they suspect that the double-tongued villain--so profuse in expressions of sympathy and condolence--during that interval, had been himself in the presence of the Star Chamber--secretly testifying against the accused-- freely supplying the testimony that had sealed his condemnation.

On the morning after the sad intelligence had been conveyed to the inmates of Bulstrode mansion, Marion was in her chamber, the victim of a double sorrow.

The Spaniards have a proverb, "One nail drives out another," (_un clavo saca otro clavo_), intending to convey, by this homely figure, that the heart cannot contain two sorrows at the same time, but that one must give place to the other.

To some extent is this proverb true; but, like most others, yielding to certain conditions. For a while recent sorrow, overweighing that of anterior date, may tend to its alleviation. If it be greater, it may conduct to its cure; but, if less, the old grief will in time return, and again resume dominion over the throne of the heart.

Either one of the sorrows from which Marion suffered, was enough to have occupied her heart, to the exclusion of the other; and yet, her experience confirmed the proverb only in part. Long after listening to the sad tale told by her brother, she had brooded over the misfortunes of her much-loved father, and the fearful fate that was awaiting him.

But love is stronger than filial affection; and there were intervals, during which, her anguish for a parent she was about to lose, was perhaps, less intense than that for a lover she had already lost! Judge her not harshly, if in the midst of her convulsive grief, there were moments when her mind dwelt upon the other and older sorrow. Judge her not harshly; but as you would yourself be judged! She was not alone.

Her affectionate cousin was by her side; and near by, her fond brother.

They had pa.s.sed the night together--in vain endeavours to impart mutual consolation. Their cheeks and eyes told of a night spent in sleeplessness and tears.