VIII.—COLONEL OXBURGH AND HIS COMPANIONS.
M eanwhile, another arrival had taken place at the castle.
A party of horsemen, all well mounted, and well armed, rode into the court-yard, and claimed the earl's hospitality, which could not be refused.
The party consisted of half a dozen Roman Catholic gentlemen—staunch Jacobites—who had banded together, and were in the habit of riding about the country to see how matters stood—sometimes stopping at one house, sometimes at another—and always heartily welcome, wherever they went.
The leader of the party was Colonel Oxburgh, who had fought and distinguished himself under James the Second. His companions were Captain Nicholas Wogan, Charles Wogan, and three other Jacobite gentlemen, named Talbot, Clifton, and Beaumont. They had pistols in their holsters, and swords at the side, and presented a very formidable appearance, as they rode together.
Colonel Oxburgh was an elderly man, but in possession of all his energies, and expected a command, if a rising should take place in favour of James the Third. He was tall and well-built, and though equipped in a plain riding-suit, had an unmistakable military air.
His companions were very much younger, and all of them looked like gentlemen—as indeed they were—the most noticeable being the two Wogans. Both of these young men were very good-looking, and graceful in figure. Captain Wogan had a very interesting countenance. As they had no servants with them, each carried a small valise attached to his saddle.
Colonel Oxburgh was an old friend of Sir John Webb—indeed, they had served together in Ireland—and, wishing to see him before he left the North, he was proceeding to Bamborough Castle with that object, when he learnt that Sir John and his family had just taken their departure, but meant to halt at Dilston. Thereupon, the colonel changed his course, and went to the latter place.
On his arrival, his first inquiries were whether Sir John was there, and, being quickly satisfied on this point by Newbiggin, he dismounted, and his companions followed his example. The horses were taken to the stables, and the bags ordered to be brought into the house, as if it had been an inn, and while this was being done, the colonel again addressed Newbiggin, and asked if there was any other company at the castle.
The butler smiled significantly.
“We have a very important person indeed here, colonel,” he said. “I need keep no secret from you and your friends, because you are all loyal. What will you say, gentlemen,” addressing the whole party, “when I tell you that the Chevalier de Saint George is here?”
“I should say the statement is scarcely likely to be correct, my good friend,” rejoined the colonel, dryly. “You are jesting with us.”
“'Tis true, I assure you, colonel,” said Newbiggin. “His majesty is at Dilston at this moment. You will soon be convinced of the fact.”
“I am convinced now,” cried Colonel Oxburgh. “But you cannot wonder at my incredulity, and you see it was shared by all my friends. Since such is the case, gentlemen,” he added, turning to the others, “we must remain where we are for a few minutes. We must not present ourselves to the king till we learn that it is his majesty's pleasure to receive us.”
“I have no doubt upon the point, colonel,” said the butler; “and I will venture to take you to his majesty at once, if you will allow me.”
The punctilious colonel, however, could not be moved from his position, nor would he enter the house, so New-biggin was obliged to leave him and his friends in order to make the necessary announcement.
Ere long, Lord Derwentwater appeared, and welcomed them with the utmost cordiality, stating at the same time that his majesty would be delighted to receive them.
His lordship then conducted them to the garden, and presented them to the prince, who accorded them a most gratifying reception, shaking hands with Colonel Oxburgh, and treating him like an old friend.
“I have often heard the king, my father, speak of you, colonel,” he said; “and always with regard. He was deeply sensible of your attachment to him.”
“The attachment I ever felt towards his majesty is now transferred to his son,” replied the colonel, laying his hand upon his heart. “I only hope the time has come when I can prove my loyalty and devotion.”
“We will talk of that anon, my dear colonel,” replied the prince.
And he then addressed himself to the others, to each of whom he had something agreeable to say. His highness seemed particularly pleased with Captain Wogan.
While this was going on, Colonel Oxburgh exchanged a greeting with Sir John Webb and Forster, nor did he omit to pay his devoirs to Lady Webb and the younger ladies.
IX.—CONFESSION.
Feeling that their presence might be some restraint upon the meeting, the ladies soon afterwards withdrew, and entered the house, accompanied by Father Norham.
As soon as they were alone together, Lady Webb embraced her daughter with more than her customary warmth, and again congratulated her on her good fortune.
“You are now in the most enviable position in which a girl can be placed,” she said. “You have obtained as a husband one of the richest and most powerful nobles in the land, and who, in addition to these recommendations, has youth, good looks, and extreme amiability. Could you desire more?”
“No, dearest mamma,” she replied. “I ought to be grateful, and I am grateful. I do not deserve so much. I ought to return thanks to Heaven for its great goodness towards me. I should like to see Father Norham alone.”
“I entirely approve of your resolution, my dear child,” replied her mother. “Remain here. I will send the holy father to you.”
She then left her, and the interval between her departure and the good priest's appearance was passed in prayer.
Father Norham found her on her knees before a small image of the Blessed Virgin, which was in the room, and did not interrupt her.
When she arose, he expressed his great satisfaction at finding her thus employed.
“I am now certain his lordship has chosen well,” he said.
“I hope he will never regret the step he has taken, father,” she rejoined.
“Strive earnestly to make him happy, dear daughter, and you cannot fail,” said the priest. “Have you aught to say to me?”
“I desire to disburden my conscience, father,” she replied. “I have not much upon it, but I shall feel easier when I have spoken.”
“You will do well, daughter,” he said.
He then sat down, and she knelt beside him, and cleared her breast of all that weighed upon it.
It was not more than many a maiden would have to avow, but the good father was strict, and imposed a slight penance upon her.
“You must debar yourself from the society of him you love till to-morrow,” he said.
She uttered an exclamation, but the priest went on:
“For the rest of the day you must remain in the seclusion of this chamber, so that your thoughts may be undisturbed. Part of the night must be passed in vigil and prayer. This will be a fitting preparation for the ceremony you are about to go through.”
“What will Lord Derwentwater think, father?” she asked uneasily.
“I will take care he receives such explanation as may be necessary,” he replied. “But I again enjoin solitude and reflection. Later on, I will take you to the chapel, where your vigils must be kept till midnight. Promise me not to quit this room, without my sanction.”
“I will obey you, father,” she rejoined.
X.—A BANQUET.
A GRAND dinner was given that day in the great banquet-ing-hall of the castle, at which the prince and all the guests assisted with the exception of her, whom the noble host would have preferred to all the others. Being told by Lady Webb that her daughter was rather overcome by the excitement of the morning, and deemed it best to keep her room, he submitted to the disappointment with the best grace he could.
The dinner was magnificent, though little time had been allowed for its preparation. Still with the resources at Lord Derwentwater's command, a great deal can be accomplished. The prince sat on the right of the earl, and on his lordship's left was placed Lady Webb. Next to her ladyship was Colonel Oxburgh, and next to the prince on the right, was Sir John Webb. Then came the Squire of Bamborough. We cannot record how the rest of the company was placed, but we must mention that the fair Dorothy was not very far from Charles Radclyffe, who sat at the foot of the table. Undoubtedly, the party lacked its chief attraction—at least in the eyes of Lord Derwentwater—but he was so much occupied by the prince that he had not much time to think of the fair absentee; and besides, Lady Webb assured him that there was not the slightest cause for uneasiness.
The Chevalier de Saint George was in high spirits. No contretemps of any kind had occurred since his arrival at Dilston. All the guests were devoted to his cause, and some of them were his warmest partisans. Of the attachment of Sir John Webb and Colonel Oxburgh, he had no doubt. Of Forster's loyalty he was not quite so sure, and he therefore paid him particular attention. But he had a gracious word for every one, and not a single person present could complain that the prince had over-looked him.
Moreover, his highness took care to make it understood that he desired his presence should be no restraint to the company.
The dinner therefore passed off admirably, and as the wine was not stinted, and bumpers were quaffed according to the good old custom, the enthusiasm of the guests rose to a very high pitch, and could scarcely be repressed. But it soon found vent when the cloth was drawn, and glasses were filled to the brim. The noble host arose and with him rose every guest—save one—and the hall rang with shouts of “Long live King James the Third.”
Lady Webb and Dorothy then disappeared, and all the servants having left the room, except Newbeggin, whose discretion could be relied on, some serious discussion took place.
As yet the prince had not made known his design of seeking an interview with the queen, his sister; and it was now, at his highness's request, disclosed by Lord Derwentwater. A deep silence ensued.
“It appears that you do not approve my plan, gentlemen,” remarked the prince after a short pause.
“My liege,” replied Colonel Oxburgh, answering for the others, “we all hoped and believed that you were come to call us to arms, and we cannot conceal our disappointment when we find that, instead of making a determined attempt to recover the throne, which we are persuaded would be successful, your majesty is about to appeal to the queen, who has no sympathy or affection for you, and is hostile to our religion. Rest assured the attempt will be useless, if it does not lead to other ill consequences. Abandon it, therefore, I pray you. On the other hand, there is every reason to believe that an insurrection in your majesty's favour would be attended with success. That we are fully prepared for it, I will not assert. But a very short time will enable us to get ready a sufficient force to march towards London, and we shall gather strength as we go on. None can be better acquainted with the feeling of the country than myself and my friends, who have visited the houses of half the Jacobites and High Church Tories in the North of England, and I can state positively that a rising would be hailed by many influential persons with the greatest enthusiasm. Should your majesty decide on leading the army in person—as I trust you will—thousands will flock to your standard, and you will find yourself resistless as well from the number of your followers as from the justice of your cause. That your majesty is the rightful King of England cannot be denied. Why then allow the crown to be kept from you—even for a day? Do not sue for it, but demand it; and if it be refused, take it!”
The exclamations that arose from the company made it evident that they all agreed with the speaker. But though stirred by the colonel's energetic language, the prince was not to be turned from his purpose.
“I have already explained to Lord Derwentwater my reasons for the course I am about to pursue,” he said. “Like yourselves he has endeavoured to dissuade me from my design—but ineffectually. I propose to set out for London to-morrow, or next day, at the latest—and his lordship will accompany me.”
“Without an escort?” cried Colonel Oxburgh. “That must not be. Since your majesty is resolved on this rash step, my friends and myself will attend you. Do I not express your wishes, gentlemen?” he added to the others.
“Most certainly,” replied Captain Wogan, answering for the rest. “We shall be proud to escort his majesty, if he will permit us.”
“I accept your offer, gentlemen,” said the prince. “I did not calculate on such good company.”
“We may be of use to your majesty on the journey,” remarked Captain Wogan.
“I doubt it not,” said the prince. “Will you go with me?” he added to Forster.
“I pray your majesty to excuse me,” replied the squire. “I must frankly own I would rather not be engaged in the expedition.”
“As you please, sir,” said the prince, with affected indifference. “I can do very well without you.”
“I see that I have not made myself understood, my liege,” said Forster. “I am ready to fight for you, and if need be, die for you, but I will not be instrumental in delivering you to your enemies.”
“Ah! I see I have done you an injustice,” said the prince.
The conversation then took another turn, and a good deal of curiosity was manifested both by Sir John Webb and Colonel Oxburgh as to the prince's future plans, but his highness displayed considerable reserve on this point, and did not choose to gratify them. Indeed, he soon afterwards retired, and Lord Derwentwater went with him, leaving Charles Radclyffe to attend to the company.
Those were hard-drinking days, and the Jacobites were as fond of good claret as their predecessors the Cavaliers. We are afraid to say how many magnums were emptied on the occasion, but before the party broke up, which it did not do till a late hour, a general resolution was come to, that a more strenuous effort should be made on the morrow, to induce his majesty to forego his ill-advised journey to London, and instead of endangering his safety by such a senseless attempt, to set up his standard, and summon all his adherents to join him. Then he might proceed to London as soon as he pleased.
A loud shout, with which his majesty's name was coupled, concluded a vehement harangue made by Colonel Oxburgh, and the party broke up.
Some of them retired to rest, but Tom Forster and two or three others adjourned to a smaller room not far from the butler's pantry, where a bowl of capital punch was provided for them by Newbiggin.
XI.—A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE IN THE CHAPEL.
Anna Webb submitted unrepiningly to the penance enjoined by Father Norham. She remained in her own room, and was not distracted by a visit either from her mother, or Dorothy. Some refreshments were brought her by a female servant, but they were untouched. Several hours were thus passed in solitude and prayer, and night had come on. She wondered when the priest would come, according to his promise, to take her to the chapel.
At length, he appeared, and desired her to follow him. Wishing to avoid the servants, who were crowded in the great hall, he led her down a back staircase to a small room on the ground floor, where he obtained a lantern. In another minute, they had crossed the court, and reached the door of the chapel.
The little structure, it has been said, was screened by trees, and the place was so dark, it would have been difficult to find the door, save with the lantern's aid.
A slight shiver ran through Anna's frame as she entered the building, but she attributed the feeling to the damp atmosphere. Meanwhile, Father Norham had lighted a couple of tapers at the altar, and their feeble glimmer enabled her to survey the place.
Its simplicity and diminutive size pleased her, and reassured her. Knowing she would have to remain there alone till midnight, she might have felt some misgivings had the room been large and sombre. Fortunately, she was not aware that there was a vault beneath, in which rested the earl's ancestors. Marble tablets were on the walls, but she did not read them.
After an exhortation, to which she listened devoutly, the priest withdrew. Thus left alone, she knelt down at the altar, and was soon engrossed in prayer.
For awhile she continued thus employed, but at length a feeling of drowsiness came over her, which she found it impossible to resist.
How long she slept she could not tell, but when she awoke the place was buried in darkness.
What had happened while she slumbered? And how came the tapers to be extinguished?
Very much alarmed, she started to her feet, and somehow—though she scarcely knew how—made her way to the door.
It was fastened. Father Norham must have locked it when he went out
She was thus to be kept in that dreadful place—for dreadful it now seemed to her—till his return at midnight.
She could not guess the hour, but she might have to wait long—very long! Moments seemed ages now. Her terror was insupportable.
Just then she heard the castle clock, and counted the strokes.
Eleven! Another agonising hour had to be borne!—another hour!—when five minutes had been intolerable!
Rendered desperate by terror, she went back to the altar, and kneeling down once more, prayed for deliverance.
Becoming somewhat calmer, she felt ashamed of her weakness, and tried to persuade herself that the tapers might have gone out by accident. The notion gave her momentary courage.
But her fears returned with greater force than before as she heard a deep sigh, seemingly proceeding from some one close beside her, and she fancied she discerned a dusky figure.
“Who is there?” she cried. “Is it you holy father?”
No answer was returned, but a slight sound was heard, and the figure seemed to retreat.
She heard and saw no more.
Uttering a cry, she fell senseless at the foot of the altar, where she was found shortly afterwards by Father Norham and her mother.
The former having brought the lantern with him, her situation was perceived at once, and the prompt application of a smelling-bottle by Lady Webb quickly restored her to consciousness. She was able to walk back to the mansion, but begged not to be questioned as to the cause of her fright till the morrow, when she should have quite recovered from its effects.
XII.—A LETTER FROM THE EARL OF MAR.
NEXT morning she related the mysterious occurrence to them both, but they treated it very lightly, though neither could understand how the tapers had been extinguished. All the rest they regarded as the effect of an over-excited imagination.
“No one could have entered the chapel,” remarked the priest. “I locked the door, and took the key with me. However, you must dismiss all these thoughts from your mind, daughter. To-day the chapel will present a very different appearance from what it did last night.”
“Yes—it will be the scene of your betrothal,” said Lady Webb.
“I would rather the ceremony took place elsewhere,” said Anna.
“It cannot be,” said Father Norham. “His lordship has arranged the matter. The prince will be present, and it would be a great disappointment to the household to be deprived of the sight.”
“It would also be a great disappointment to Sir John and myself,” observed Lady Webb. “Besides there are several guests in the Castle who ought not to be excluded. For many reasons, therefore, there must be no change in the plan.”
“Don't say a word, mamma,” said Anna. “I am quite convinced. My objections were ridiculous. The morning is delightful, and a walk in the garden will set me quite right.”
“You will find Lord Derwentwater, his majesty, and almost all the company assembled on the lawn,” said Lady Webb. “Come, I will take you thither. Perhaps, Father Norham will accompany us.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” replied the priest.
On Anna's appearance, Lord Derwentwater, who was standing with the company on the terrace, came forward to meet her; and as he approached, he remarked that she looked very pale. This did not detract from her beauty, but rather gave interest to her countenance—at least, in his eyes. He made some slight allusion to the circumstance, but she laughed it off.
Not much passed between them, for the prince presently came up to offer her his greetings, and by this time her cheek was flushed.
“I have news for you, fair lady,” said his highness, “and I desire to be the first to communicate it. I do not mean to rob you of your lover, so you may rest quite easy on that score. My proposed journey to London will not be undertaken. A messenger has just arrived at the castle bringing me a letter from the Earl of Mar, Secretary of State to Queen Anne. His lordship had engaged that I should see the queen, and led me to hope that great results would follow from the interview. These confident expectations are now at an end, and my project must be given up. Lord Mar writes that the queen, forgetful of her promises, refuses to receive me, and that if I should present myself at Saint James's Palace, he will not answer for my safety. Under such circumstances, it would be madness to make the attempt It is well that I arranged with the Earl of Mar to write to me here, as if I had not heard from him, I should have started on the journey. What might then have befallen me I know not. Perchance, imprisonment in the Tower, in hope of compelling me to relinquish my pretentions to the crown—but that I never would have done.”
“Your majesty need not give us that assurance,” cried Anna. “But imprisonment would have been grievous, and might have disheartened your friends.”
“From the first I have been opposed to the scheme, as your majesty is aware,” said Lord Derwentwater; “and I cannot, therefore, affect to regret its abandonment.”
“I do not wonder you are better pleased to remain where you are, cousin,” said the prince.
“I shall be far better pleased if your majesty will decide upon summoning all your partisans to arms,” said the earl.
“Nothing would rejoice me more than to see ten thousand men assembled at the castle,” said Anna with increased enthusiasm, “and eager for their king to lead them on to victory. That is how I should like to see your majesty march to London—and Lord Derwentwater with you.”
“Ay, I will never be left behind,” cried the earl.
Fire lighted up the prince's eyes as they spoke, but it faded away.
“It cannot be,” he said. “It cannot be.”
“What cannot be, my liege?” cried Anna, regarding him fixedly. “Not the insurrection? Not the march to London?”
“No,” he replied. “The Earl of Mar, in his letter counsels me to make no immediate movement.”
“For what reason?” demanded Lord Derwentwater in surprise.
“He gives no reason,” rejoined the prince. “But Lord Mar knows the feeling of the clans, and evidently deems the present juncture unpropitious to a rising.”
“I cannot tell what may be the state of the clans,” said Lord Derwentwater, scarcely able to repress his impatience; “but I am certain the opportunity is favourable in the North of England—as can soon be shown, if your majesty will give the signal.”
“I will not commit myself to any decisive step now, my lord,” said the prince, who when thus urged, seemed to shrink from the enterprise. “Nor do I think it will be prudent for me to remain here long.”
“What danger does your majesty apprehend?” cried the earl. “All are devoted to you. There are no traitors in the castle.”
“But I have many enemies in the country, and the Earl of Mar bids me 'beware,'” said the prince.
“We will defend you against your enemies, my liege,” said Lord Derwentwater. “You need not fear them. Immediate preparations shall be made.”
“No haste is needful, cousin,” said the prince. “I have a strong guard enough,” he added, glancing at Colonel Oxburgh and his friends, who were standing at a little distance. “Let the day pass tranquilly—if it will. To-morrow we will consider what shall be done.”
“Heaven grant your majesty may change your mind in the interim!” observed Anna.
“If you exercise your powers of persuasion, fair lady, there is no saying what you may accomplish,” said the prince, gallantly.
At this moment a bell was heard, and Newbiggin came forth with two other servants in livery, and respectfully announced breakfast.
The prince offered his hand to Anna and led her to the house, and the rest of the party followed.
XIII.—THE BETROTHAL.
A profuse breakfast, served in the good old style, awaited them in the dining-room. The sideboard groaned with the weight of huge cold joints, hams, tongues, and pasties; and broiled trout and salmon in abundance appeared on the table. How many good things there were besides in the shape of cutlets and omelettes, we cannot tell, but nothing seemed wanting. Chocolate was handed to the ladies, but claret suited the gentlemen best, though in some instances a flagon of strong ale was preferred.
Breakfast over, the ladies withdrew to prepare for the ceremony appointed to take place in the chapel, while the prince again walked forth on the terrace, in company with Lord Derwentwater and Sir John Webb, and gazed with fresh delight at the prospect.
Colonel Oxburgh and his companions, with Tom Forster, adjourned to the stables. There was a good deal of conjecture among them as to the prince's plans, which now seemed quite undecided; but they came to the conclusion that no rising would take place. At the same time, they all rejoiced that the hazardous—and as they deemed it useless—journey to London had been abandoned.
“Something ought to be done,” cried Forster. “But it puzzles me to say what.”
“Have patience,” said Colonel Oxbugh. “Depend upon it we shan't remain long idle. His majesty will be forced to make a move of some kind.”
Long before the hour appointed for the betrothal, the little chapel was filled. All the household craved permission to witness the ceremony, and none were refused. The guests entered at the same time, and found places where they could. But little room was left, as may be imagined, when all these persons were accommodated. In the large pew were the prince with Charles Radclyffe, Mr. Forster and his sister—the latter looking bright and blooming as usual.
Lord Derwentwater was standing at the door of the little edifice in momentary expectation of the arrival of her to whom he was about to be affianced. She came, leaning on her father's arm, and attended by her mother—not decked in bridal attire—not draped in a bridal veil—for such adornments would have been unsuitable to the occasion, but arrayed in a charming costume of azure satin and lace.
After salutations had passed, Sir John Webb consigned his lovely daughter to the earl, and followed them with Lady Webb.
An irrepressible murmur of admiration burst forth as the youthful pair moved towards the altar, where they immediately knelt down, and a group was formed behind them of which the prince was the principal figure—his highness having come with the others from the pew.
Not till a prayer was recited could the spectators obtain a glimpse of the scene at the altar, and if this was quickly hidden from their sight they heard the vow pronounced that bound the pair together, and they likewise heard Father Norham's benediction.
Those near the altar saw the earl embrace his affianced bride as they rose together, and some of them remarked that she looked strangely pale. Only for a minute, for her colour quickly returned. The prince, however, noticed the circumstance, and so did Dorothy. But both attributed it to deep emotion.
Nothing whatever marred the ceremony, the sole fault of which, in the opinion of the majority of those present, was that it was too brief.
Several of the household grouped themselves on either side of the path leading to the gate to offer their good wishes to the newly-affianced pair as they passed by. Among these were old Nicholas Ribbleton, and an elderly dame who, like himself, had lived in the family for years.
“Eh! she's a bonnie lass!” cried this old woman, after scrutinising her sharply. “But I doubt if she'll make his lordship happy. He had better have chosen Dorothy F orster.”
“Why, what ails her?” said Ribbleton.
“I cannot exactly tell—but there's a look about her I don't like.”
“Well, it's too late to change now, Grace,” observed Ribbleton. “The troth is plighted.”
“Ay, that's the worst of it,” rejoined the old woman. “But a time may come, when his lordship will wish what's done were undone.”
This was the only discordant note uttered, and it reached no other ear but Ribbleton's, and him it made angry. So he walked off, and left the old prophetess of ill to herself.
XIV.—THE SPY.
T he rest of the day was spent in festivity and amusement.
Lord Derwentwater and his affianced bride did not stray beyond the garden, and seemed so perfectly happy in each other's society that no one went near them.
The prince explored the mysterious glen, and Charles Radclyffe acted as his guide, introducing him to all the beauties of the place, and relating all the legends connected with it. A large party accompanied his highness, including Lady Webb and Dorothy Forster—the latter of whom had often seen the place before, but was quite as much enchanted with it as ever.
The visit to this picturesque dell, which has been previously described, occupied some time, for there was a great deal to be seen. But neither the prince, nor any of those with him, were aware that, while they were tracking the course of the Devil's Water over its rocky channel, or standing near the pool, they were watched by a person concealed amid the brushwood on its banks.
This person was an emissary of Sir William Lorraine, of Bywell Park, high sheriff of the county, and a strong supporter of the Government. That very morning, Sir William had received the astounding information that the Pretender had arrived at Dilston Castle, and that a rising in his favour was imminent among the gentlemen of the county; but as the news came from a suspicious source, the high sheriff, though alarmed, did not entirely credit it, and, before taking any active measures—such as raising a posse-comitatus, or calling out the militia—he determined to send a couple of spies to Dilston to ascertain the truth of the report.
One of these emissaries was now concealed, as we have stated, among the trees overhanging the glen. Without betraying himself, he got sufficiently near the party to hear their discourse, and soon learnt enough to convince him that the plainly attired, but distinguished-looking young man, whom he beheld, and to whom so much attention was paid by Charles Radclyffe and the rest, was no other than the Chevalier de Saint George.
As soon as he had clearly ascertained this point, he stole away, mounted his horse, which he had left in a thicket near the moor, and galloped off to convey the important information to Sir William Lorraine.
On reaching Bywell Park, he found the high sheriff anxiously expecting him, and called out:
“I have seen the Pretender, Sir William—seen him with my own eyes.”
“You are certain of it, Jesmond?”
“I saw him in the glen by the side of the Devil's Water. He had a large party with him, and I heard several of 'em address him as 'your majesty.'”
“Enough,” cried the high sheriff. “You have done your work well, Jesmond. But where have you left Hedgeley?”
“I've seen nothing of him since we got to Dilston, Sir William. He went to the castle, and I went to the grounds. I took the right course it appears, for I soon found the person I was looking for, and without asking any questions, or letting myself be seen.”
“I hope Hedgeley has not been seized as a spy,” said the high sheriff.
“If he has, he'll tell nothing, Sir William. Don't fear him. If you want to take the place by surprise tomorrow, you can do it. His lordship has taken no precautions. With half a dozen mounted men I could have taken the Pretender prisoner myself, and have carried him off.”
“I wish you had done so, Jesmond,” laughed the high sheriff. “It would have saved me the trouble of getting a party of men together. I must set about the task without delay. You think all will be safe at Dilston till tomorrow?”
“Not a doubt about it, Sir William. Lord Derwent-water's guests seem to be amusing themselves. I think—from what I overheard—that his Lordship has a grand banquet to-day. Certainly, some festivities are taking place at the castle.”
“It would be a pity to disturb them,” said the high sheriff. “To-morrow I will present myself at the castle with sufficient force to render all resistance useless.”
Hedgeley, the emissary to Dilston, had not fared so well as his comrade. Stopped at the gate, and unable to explain his business entirely to the porter's satisfaction, he was locked up in a strong room for the night. This was done by Colonel Oxburgh's order, who chanced to be in the court at the time, and interrogated him. Except detention, the spy had nothing to complain of, for he had plenty to eat and drink.
Jesmond had correctly informed the high sheriff, when he told him that a grand dinner would be given that day at the castle. A vast deal of handsome plate was displayed at the banquet, which was far more agreeable to the noble host than the dinner of the previous day, since it was graced by the presence of his affianced bride, who now sat next to him, and looked more charming than ever, being beautifully dressed, and in high spirits. The prince was likewise in a very lively mood, and contributed to the general gaiety at the upper end of the table.
In the evening there was music in the grand saloon, which was brilliantly lighted up for the occasion. Anna produced a great effect, and her magnificent voice enraptured the prince as much as it had enraptured Lord Der-wentwater when he first heard it.
Very different in style, but equally effective in their way, were some simple ditties sung with great taste and feeling by Dorothy Forster.
As we have intimated, the prince was in a very gay humour and seemed to take no thought of the morrow—though that morrow had much in store for him. He talked lightly with Anna and Dorothy, laughed and jested with Sir John Webb, Colonel Oxburgh, and Forster, but he talked seriously with no one.
So passed his last night at Dilston Castle.
XV.—A GENERAL DEPARTURE.
A BRIGHT day dawned on Dilston. Fair looked the garden with its lawn and terrace, inviting those within the mansion to stroll forth and enjoy the freshness of the morn. So calm and still was all around that the rippling of the hidden burn could be distinctly heard in the deep glen. Within the park, beyond the old grey bridge that linked it with the grounds, the deer could be seen couched beneath the oaks. The neighbouring woods, the dark moorland in the distance, over which hung a thin mist, the river glistening here and there through the trees—all completed a picture which was seen by more than one of the earl's guests, and often recalled by them.
The prince was amongst those who brushed the dew from the lawn, and gazed at the charming prospect. He likewise attended matins in the little chapel.
As he was returning from the service with Lord Der-wentwater, he met Colonel Oxburgh, and was struck by the grave expression of his countenance.
“Good morrow, colonel,” he said, returning the other's military salute. “I fear, from your looks, that you have some bad news to give me.”
“What I have to tell your majesty demands instant consideration and decision,” replied Oxburgh. “By some means or other, your arrival has been discovered by Sir William Lorraine, the high sheriff of the county, and yesterday afternoon he sent a spy here to make sure that he had not been misinformed. The fellow was suspected and locked up for the night, but it was only this morning that I forced him by threats to confess his errand. It is certain from what he says that the sheriff will come here with a strong party of men to secure your majesty's person.”
Lord Derwentwater looked aghast at this startling intelligence, but the prince did not seem much disturbed by it.
“Instant measures must be taken for the defence of the place,” said Lord Derwentwater.
“It cannot be defended, my lord,” rejoined Colonel Ox-burgh. “His majesty must not remain here.”
“Do you counsel flight, colonel?” said the prince.
“Not flight—but a retreat, my liege,” replied Oxburgh.
“No need to fly,” said Lord Derwentwater. “I will undertake to conceal his majesty from any search that can be made for him.”
“Better he should seek shelter in some fortified house or castle,” observed Oxburgh.
“But where?” demanded the prince. “Where would you have me go?”
“If your majesty will not remain here, and trust yourself to me, I advise you to go to Bamborough Castle,” said Lord Derwentwater.
“But is Forster to be relied on?” said the prince. “Is he thoroughly loyal?”
“I'll answer for him with my life,” said the earl.
“And so will I, my liege,” added Oxburgh.
“Then I'll trust him,” said the prince.
“Shall I acquaint him with your majesty's determination?” inquired the earl. “No time must be lost.”
“I'll go to him myself,” rejoined the prince.
“Ah! here he comes!” exclaimed Colonel Oxburgh.
As he spoke, Forster was seen descending the steps with Sir John Webb, and immediately obeyed a summons given him by the colonel.
He was as much alarmed as the others when he learnt the prince's jeopardy, and before his highness signified his intention, offered him an asylum at Bamborough.
It was then decided that the prince's departure should take place forthwith, and it was likewise arranged that Lord Derwentwater with Colonel Oxburgh and his troop should escort his highness.
Some further arrangements were subsequently made, but these were sufficient in the meantime, and Colonel Oxburgh and Forster hurried off to the stables to give directions about the horses, while the prince and Lord Derwentwater entered the house.
As soon as the prince's intended departure became known all was bustle and confusion. The news was quickly communicated to the ladies, who very soon came downstairs, and another consultation was held in the library.
What was to be done? Anne and Dorothy were determined not to be left behind. Since the prince was going to Bamborough, and Lord Derwentwater, and almost everybody else were going with him, they would go too. Both were such perfect equestrians that they could be trusted to keep up with the fugitives, while their spirit was equal to any unforeseen difficulty or danger that might arise. So the proposition was acceded to.
Then came a suggestion from Lady Webb, to the effect that she and Sir John should drive back to Bamborough. This was likewise adopted.
Preparations for a general start were then made at once. Trunks and valises were packed up. Riding-dresses donned, horses brought round, Sir John Webb's carriage got ready, and in less than half an hour the prince and a large party consisting of Lord Derwentwater and his betrothed, Tom Forster and his fair sister, Colonel Oxburgh and his companions, were speeding down the chestnut avenue, with the intent of shaping their course to Bamborough Castle, which they hoped to reach before night.
Some quarter of an hour later, Sir John Webb's great lumbering coach took the same route.
Charles Radclyffe was left in charge of Dilston, and empowered to act as he deemed best, in his brother's absence.
Hedgeley, the spy, was detained for some time after the prince's departure, and then liberated.
END OF BOOK THE FIRST.