"Deborah, you may depart for a little space," he said. "I have a word for Mistress Perrient's private ear."
Audrey rose, somewhat fluttered by this opening, and calling to mind the alarming reports she had heard of Mr. Marshman's dictatorship in Lynn, but she hardly anticipated the experience that awaited her.
"Mistress Perrient," he began, "I am acquainted with that learned gentleman, your father. He is one of a very tender and sanctified spirit, although, to my judgment, his eyes are not fully opened to the dangers of prelacy. Yet I doubt not that by him you were nurtured in the admonition and fear of the Lord."
"I trust so," answered Audrey, somewhat abashed by the solemnity of this commencement.
"Therefore," continued the minister, "seeing your father is not at hand, it is my duty to open thine eyes to see rightly the way thou art going. No question it hath been a misfortune that it has been your lot to abide in Meshec, in the dwelling of a prelatical woman, and have been given over to your own devices and the vain follies of youth. Nevertheless, I will believe you can yet call to mind the pleasantness of the paths of righteousness, and your ears having been once open to the words of wholesome admonition, your heart may not have wholly turned aside to folly and vanity."
"Indeed, sir!" cried Audrey. "Madam Isham was very strict with her household; there were no more evil ways there than——" She was prudent enough not to finish her sentence.
The minister paid no attention whatever to her interruption, but continued in the same tone—
"And because, as is mine office, I desire to snatch thee from the snares that do beset youth, and more especially womankind, I do hereby warn and exhort thee, and do thou give ear with docility and meekness. It is not fitting that you should go forth after this fashion with this young man, even Richard Harrison. Even among the careless walkers of this generation would such a thing be counted scandalous, and much more for the daughter of one of the Lord's people is it an open shame! Now, indeed, may the ungodly say, 'Lo, how their daughters have run eagerly to destruction! Is this that modesty and sobriety of which they were used to make their boast?'"
"Sir!" gasped Audrey, "what have I done? What can I do? I am in danger of jail if I abide at Inglethorpe."
"Better is it for thee to lose thy liberty than thy good name," answered the minister more sternly. "Tarry and bethink thee while there is yet time. What profit shalt thou have of thy pleasures when the end of them is death? Knowst thou not that the way of an evil woman is the path of hell, going down to the chambers of the grave. Call to mind the end of them that did bring a curse even upon the cause of the king by reason of their dicing and swearing and chambering and wantonness, and fear to go forth on this journey lest a like curse fall upon thee. Oh, bethink thee of the lessons thy father hath taught thee! And for his sake will I even yet have patience, and I will seek out fair words that I may persuade thee."
He paused, but Audrey's breath was so lost in anger and amazement that she could find no words to answer, before he resumed his harangue, but in a tone of studious calm.
"Thou hast indeed made thyself a mocking and a byword by this foolish adventure, nevertheless, there can be a way found by which thou mayst escape, if thou wilt obey my counsels. But answer not rashly nor in haste, for by thy resolution in the matter shall I judge what manner of woman thou art, and thy choice shall be as a winnowing fan to show if thou beest chaff or wheat. It hath come to my knowledge that there was an agreement made between Sir Gyles Perrient and Major-General Harrison, who I trust hath found pardon and acceptance, though, as I must needs hold, he waxed wanton, and fell away from the grace vouchsafed unto him, when he sacrilegiously laid hands upon the sacred person of the king, and received his due reward therefor by being given over to strong delusion and belief in a lie, concerning the Fifth Monarchy, on which it is not now convenient to enter at large. My friend, Mr. John Rogers, I say, who was with Major-General Harrison in his prison, hath made this matter of the agreement plain to me, and his testimony agreeth with that of Richard Harrison, who is an honourable and ingenuous youth. Mr. Rogers and Richard Harrison, I say, bear witness that there was an intention of marriage betwixt you and the said Richard Harrison, decided and agreed upon by your lawful guardians, which agreement was not carried out, by reason of the sudden death of Sir Gyles Perrient, and the imprisonment of Major-General Harrison. I ask thee now, Audrey Perrient, art thou ready to fulfil this agreement and contract in obedience to the will of thy grandfather, and presently take this young man for thy husband and lord, that in leaving this land thou mayst depart after a modest and godly fashion, even as Sarah did go into a strange country in the obedience and fear of her husband Abraham, when he was commanded to go forth from the land of the Chaldees."
"But, sir, does Richard Harrison know of this? What is his mind in it? He never said any word to me of such a thing."
"I am glad of it; I am glad of it," answered Mr. Marshman. "I judged he hath too much the ground of the matter in him to give rein to idle words. Nevertheless, he is ready as an obedient son, to do the will of his father by adoption."
"But, sir, this is too serious a matter—at least for me—to be decided in this hurry. I have no mind to be married because Richard Harrison was bidden to it by his uncle," replied Audrey, with rising spirit.
"Young woman, your words are lighter than befit your situation, nevertheless, I will have patience with you," said the minister, very seriously. "Bear in mind, that this marriage is not alone the will of General Harrison, but also that of your late grandfather, for whom you can scarce yet have lost all sense of duty and obedience."
"No, sir. But my beloved and honoured grandfather did only desire I should marry where I should both give and receive the affection fitting to such a state, and that being his will, my very duty to him forbids my marrying, without Captain Harrison hath more to say in the matter than doth at present appear."
"You have a nimble wit, mistress," replied Mr. Marshman, grimly; "yet can you not so easily beguile me. Do you deem this sober house is as the antechambers of Whitehall, a fitting place for idle lovemaking and lascivious compliments? Nay. If you will hear and obey, it is well. But if you remain stiffnecked and obstinate, beware! I will not permit thee to lay a snare to delude this young man from the right way, after the fashion of the wanton daughters of this evil age, neither shalt thou go forth with him to make him a shame and a byword and a laughing-stock before the multitude. Therefore, in one word, answer me. Wilt thou take this young man to thy husband?"
"No!" cried Audrey, her cheeks flaming. "It is a shame and an insult to speak so to me, a defenceless girl. Does Captain Harrison commission you to purvey him a wife in all haste for his journey, as he would send for a cloak-bag, or a pair of riding-boots? I will not be used so by any man!"
"Then is your journey at its end," answered the minister, coolly, and closed the door behind him.
In the study, Richard Harrison was pacing impatiently up and down, turning now and then in a sort of desperation to Mr. Rogers, who had sat down to his writing at the table.
"What can Master Marshman have to say to her that he went forth in such haste?" he cried. "What is he not capable of saying?"
"Take patience," answered the other, with a smile, though he himself looked hardly the right man to prescribe patience. His thin form was worn to a shadow by ill-health and privation, and appeared to be only sustained by a fire of inward enthusiasm, that glowed in his large light eyes with a brilliancy that almost betokened insanity. His soft fair hair floated like a cloud round his transparent features from under the small black cap of a minister, although the rest of his dress was the ordinary dark habit of any professional man.
"Take patience, Dick," he repeated, smiling. "Brother Marshman can scarce do so much mischief in ten minutes that thou canst not amend in five. Surely I can bear testimony to the power of thine arguments, seeing they carried me from the meeting-house in Coleman Street, when I was set to abide there!"
"But, good Mr. Rogers," cried Dick, impatiently, "you know well that he has never spoken to any one of Mistress Perrient's station in his life. God knows, she is not proud; she hath treated me, a butcher's grandson, with the gentleness of an angel. But any trifle may arouse Master Marshman to lecture her as though she were one of his spinners or huxters of Lynn! Even though it be his own house, he owes some courtesy to his guests. I must after him and see that he treats her fittingly."
As he said the words, however, Mr. Marshman entered the room. He stood for a minute or two in gloomy silence, and then, raising his eyes to Harrison, he said—
"Thou must content thee, Richard, she will none of thee. And well is it for thee, for a froward and rebellious woman can have no part in thy lot, neither shouldest thou take a daughter of Moab to thy bosom."
"This passes all!" cried Harrison, startled out of any attempt at patience; "you are mad, Mr. Marshman! You have not dared to open to her that tale of the overture for her marriage? I must explain——"
"Tarry yet a while," answered the minister, standing before the door. "Favour is deceitful, and what availeth her beauty to thee if it bringeth thee but shame and reproach? Even as a jewel of gold in a swine's snout——"
"Master Marshman, I pray you stand from the door; you have already meddled further in my matters than any other man could do with safety;" and, brushing past the minister, Harrison dashed out of the room.
"Methinks, Brother Marshman, you have forgotten Æsop his fable concerning the sun and the wind!" said the writer, turning in his chair.
"Tush, Brother Rogers!" answered Mr. Marshman, whose temper had risen rapidly. "Soft words are but wasted on this wanton generation. Women who forsake the modesty of their sex and ape the stature of men! I know your pernicious doctrines concerning the liberty of women, a liberty that leads to licence, and to familiarism, and to anabaptism!"
"Hold!" cried Mr. Rogers, growing hot in his turn, "you shall not so pervert a pure doctrine. I deny not that the devil often makes women serve his turn, seeing that where they take, their affections are strongest, and he found out a Delilah for Samson and a Jezebel for Ahab. But as when they are bad, they are exceeding bad, so when they are good, they are exceeding good; and as gold will sooner receive the stamp than iron, so are women more readily wrought upon than men, and persuaded into the truth, and oftentimes take the fullest impression of the seal of the Lord, as witness the holy women of old."
"Ay," retorted Mr. Marshman, "the women of old, even as Eve, by whom sin and death did enter into the world! Well, did Hierome say——"
His tirade was interrupted by Harrison, who dashed back into the room with a distracted face.
"She is gone—she is fled!" he gasped.
"So, Brother Marshman, instead of leading the lambs into the sheepfold," cried Rogers, "thou scarest them with shouts into the jaws of the wolf!"
"She is departed from us because she is not of us," answered Marshman, gloomily.
"You are distraught," cried Harrison. "How will you answer it to her father, to the world that you have driven a lady of birth and breeding from your house—to heaven only knows what perils?"
Mr. Rogers had risen from his chair, and now snatched up his hat and walking-cane.
"Take comfort, Dick," he said. "Doubtless Mistress Perrient hath but gone down to the quay. It is the Little Charity, is it not, that her stuff is aboard? I will follow her there and bring you tidings of her safety with all speed. Methinks, Brother Marshman, you also might do worse than to seek for this strayed lamb, seeing it is not all of her own fault that she has wandered forth."
Mr. Marshman had by this time regained his ordinary manner.
"I will go forth instantly and make inquiries," he answered. "Nay, Richard, 'tis but folly for thee to come too. 'Twill but hinder our search if thou art taken by the constables. Keep private here, and doubt not we shall speedily overtake her."
The ministers departed in all haste, leaving the unhappy young soldier almost maddened by his impotence. He was roused from a sort of stupor of despair by the return of Mr. Rogers.
"Alas! they know nothing of her on the Little Charity, neither have the sailors seen any gentlewoman answering to her description on the quays. Her stuff is all aboard, and the captain is set to warp out in an hour's time. Therefore we must conclude on what we do in all haste. What do you purpose?
"Purpose? Can you imagine I can leave England While Mistress Perrient's fate is unknown? Am I a stock or a stone?"
"Nay, nay. Yet, remember, you can be of no assistance in the search, and you double the anxiety of our good host, to whom I have made the matter somewhat clearer, and who, I believe, is by now unfeignedly sorry for his roughness. Were you not, indeed, best safe out of the way in Holland?"
"Doubtless I were best out of the way—there or elsewhere. Best I should hang myself for very shame at having brought that angelic creature into such straits. Nevertheless, I cannot go."
"Well," answered Mr. Rogers, with a smile, "I can scarce blame you for abiding in England. But, if you do not sail, I had best take some directions to the ship concerning Mistress Perrient's goods. Shall I bid the sailors carry them to my wife's lodgings at Rotterdam, or are they best brought here till we can find her and know her mind? Methinks 'twill be best that my wife shall have them in her keeping. I will write her by the captain and give her fitting directions; and, when I have disposed all that, I will return and take council as to our further search. Await me, therefore, and I will return in haste."
"But it is not endurable," cried Dick, "that I, who brought Mistress Perrient into this strait, should sit here idle! Mr. Rogers, I must needs go forth! How can I hold up my head among honest men if I lie hid here in shameful cowardice, when God only knows what straits she may be in!"
"Now, give ear, thou foolish boy," cried Mr. Rogers, catching the distracted young man by the sleeve as he was preparing to dash from the room. "In primis, this charge brought against the gentlewoman by a foolish jack-in-office doth put her in no real danger, and most like he and his posse are by this time heartily ashamed of their folly. She stands in no danger unless thou art found, for there is no proof against her, but the word of that vagabond, which no man of gravity would hear. But, if thou art taken, she will indeed stand convicted of harbouring thee, and in no small peril. Thou canst now take no step without involving her in the charges brought against thyself. Consider, she would be held, for certain, a party to our rising under Venner, and what, to my mind, is far worse, idle folk love so well to charge us with anabaptist looseness that light tongues would be busy with her fair fame. Take heed, a maiden is a delicate creature, and a rough finger may do more evil than thou in thy very simplicity canst dream. But, to leave that, thinkest thou not that thou owest somewhat to this roof that shelters thee? If thou dost draw Brother Marshman under suspicion of Fifth Monarchy leanings, thou goest far to ruin, not only him, but all the poor folk that dwell in safety under his shadow. Be not a child, Dick; nothing but patience will serve this turn. Thy passion will ruin all."
It took all Mr. Rogers' powers of persuasion to induce Harrison to pause and reflect. But as his sober reason began to reawaken, the young man realized not only that Mr. Rogers was right in showing him that he would make bad worse by running into the arms of the constables; but a new thought dawned on him that filled him with sick dismay. He began to see that no rudeness of Mr. Marshman's could have so moved the girl; she was more likely to laugh at the ill-manners of one too far beneath her to be worth notice. No, it was the dread of an unwelcome suitor that had driven her from shelter, she imagined that he, Dick Harrison, had beguiled her there to take advantage of her helplessness and force her into marriage! Ingenious in self-torture, he saw ever new reasons for her flight. She was an heiress! She must believe he had entrapped her for her fortune. And more, Mr. Rogers had spoken of light tongues—he, he who would die for her had exposed her to evil report, so that she should not be able to avoid a marriage for the sake of her own credit! She had seen it all, she had fled from him in horror, and if he were to follow her, it would but drive her to some desperate expedient to escape him. It was not Mr. Marshman; he himself alone was to blame; he could never dare to see her again, and yet how could he endure to live under such imputations! With a groan he flung his arms across the table, hiding his face in them.
"Do as you think best," he muttered. "I am too great a dastard and a fool to be worthy to serve her."
It was late in the evening when the two ministers returned from a fruitless search through the town of Lynn. Mr. Marshman had learned a more merciful opinion of Audrey Perrient from Mr. Rogers, and had had time to recover from his indignation at finding his will withstood by a mere girl; he was now as anxious as the others concerning the fate of the fugitive.
"She is surely not in this town!" he said, entering the study. "My flock have aided the search to their best ability, and we are but too familiar with our hiding-places, for which we have had sad need in the past, and to all appearance shall have occasion in the future also. Had Mistress Perrient money with her for a journey?"
"Yes," answered Harrison; "she carried her grandfather's purse that was well filled with gold pieces. Other money she had, but she bade me carry it because of the weight; I have it in this little portmantel."
"Then, perhaps, she may have gone further than we thought. Had she any friends beyond the town who would hide her?"
"Sir Roger Lascelles of Hunstanton is of her kindred; but I heard her say he is in London," answered Harrison, thoughtfully. "She would never venture back to Inglethorpe Hall, and the parson of Inglethorpe Church is but newly come, and is a stranger to her. The old Vicar of Hunstanton dwelt with her grandfather, but he is newly dead; and Sir Frank Cremer, the High Sheriff, is not in the country now. I know not of a single friend she hath to turn to. The old Lady Cremer, I heard her say, is in Norwich—could she have gone thither?"
"She would never go so far without horse or waggon," answered Mr. Marshman. "She came by horse here this morning, did she not?"
"She only rode as far as a little farm at Gaywood, and left her pony there. Her old servant was to fetch it thence when he had leisure. I should have thought of that earlier."
"'Tis not too late," answered Mr. Marshman, rising briskly. "I will presently forth and see if her horse stands there still. If he is gone, she has surely ridden him to some friend's house, and is in safety."
When Mr. Marshman returned, he brought the information that the lady herself had returned to fetch her horse before midday, but that no one had noticed which way she went.
"Young Drake, the mercer, rides to Norwich early to-morrow," continued Mr. Marshman. "You were best give him a letter to Lady Cremer. I will let him know there will be an errand to do."
"If I rode thither myself this night, I should have the sooner assurance, and no one would notice me," hazarded Harrison.
"Nay, nay, this is pure folly," answered Mr. Marshman, as he left the room; and Mr. Rogers interposed.
"Consider, Dick, if Mistress Perrient were indeed there, the sight of you might but make her lie the closer hid. Send a messenger she knows not to Norwich, lest you fright her to fly further, and let me ride to-morrow down the other way, and ask if her servant hath seen aught of her at Inglethorpe. You cannot venture back there, yet to my mind that is the likeliest road to find her. I would start forth at once, but I fear I should scarce find my way in the darkness across the commons. I do, indeed, not hold myself guiltless in this matter, for that in my folly I deemed you had come to an agreement with the gentlewoman, and therefore spake unadvisably with my tongue of that contract of marriage, of which it would have been more fitting to be silent. Yet credit me, Dick, I did it but from folly, and not out of malice."
"Good, Mr. Rogers," cried Dick; "no one could blame you for this unfortunate mishap. It was but Mr. Marshman's unwarranted interference, or, rather, my unspeakable folly that exposed her to him."
"Nay, nay, of that we must say no more; but if you will pardon me my share in this trouble, you cannot refuse me the chance of making good the mischief I have done. As for thyself, good Dick, strive to arm your soul with patience. You have early learned to do; now must you learn the other mood, to suffer, and so win that perfection of patience that made Major-General Harrison find his prison a place of blessing, and a porch to the heavenly sanctuary. When we have done our best endeavours, the Lord takes the business in hand, and bringeth it to what conclusion seemeth right in His sight."
Richard had to resign himself to follow the good man's advice, and thankful was he that this agonizing time of waiting could be spent in the society of a sympathizing friend. With extraordinary patience did Mr. Rogers listen as he repeated again and again the story of Audrey's cheerful endurance of hardship, of her devotion to her grandfather, of her readiness of resource, her noble thoughts on religion and government, and all the wonderful things she had said and done since the day when she tumbled into the lily pond in General Harrison's garden.
But these confidences of Harrison's were interrupted pretty frequently by skirmishes between the two ministers, and if he had not been so distracted by anxiety, Richard would have found a mischievous amusement in the fallings out of the good men, who loved each other heartily, but could never meet without a battle; for the sudden impetus to individuality, given by the break-up of old forms of religion, and methods of government during the civil war, had made it rare to find two men who precisely agreed on matters of Church and State. The thorough going cavaliers, who believed in the divine authority of king and bishops, had little patience with the Presbyterians, who, though loyal to the Crown, abhorred Episcopacy and the Prayer-book; but both Anglican and Presbyterian looked with equal horror on the Independent sectaries, who had been Cromwellians, Republicans, Parliamentarians, or Fifth Monarchy men, and now saw the downfall of all their hopes in the re-establishment of Monarchy and Episcopacy.
For some little time that evening the Presbyterian minister was unusually subdued in his manner, for good Mr. Marshman was sorely perplexed and troubled by the result of his well-meant exhortations, and he did not join in the talk of the other two who sat quietly discussing their future plans, while Mr. Rogers urged Richard to travel with him as far as Leyden, and wait there for further news.
"It will be a well and a resting-place for you in this Valley of Baca; there is a little company of saints already gathered there, the love of whom has drawn me to dwell there awhile."
Then Mr. Marshman broke in: "I am, indeed, rejoiced that you have determined to study medicine while you are in Leyden."
"I have no other choice," sighed Mr. Rogers. "I must needs earn a crust of bread for my poor family, and seeing I am withheld from ministering to the souls of men, I can but fit myself to minister to their bodily needs."
"The life of a physician lends itself to a very Christian walk," answered Mr. Marshman "and I trust many comfortable experiences await you therein. Neither should you be over much cast down by the failure of your temporal and creaturely hopes, seeing the most glorious promise is yet yours, and the righteous shall rejoice in the abundance of peace."
The quotation roused Mr. Rogers like the sound of a trumpet.
"Nay, nay!" he cried, "there you err! Such forced interpretations are but the cloak of fearful and slothful spirits, who are loth to bear the reproach of Christ. It was by them that cried peace, peace, when there was no peace, that the good old cause was lost. And as the false prophets did deceive even the elect, behold, even Richard Harrison was carried away by their dissimulation, and hath taken part with the great green dragon Oliver that did persecute the saints."
"There I am with you," answered Mr. Marshman, "and I pray thee, Richard, take it not ill that I touch on this matter with thee. Surely in many things we offend all, yet may not a minister of the gospel hold his peace without the souls of his flock being required of his hand."
"Pray say on, sir," answered Richard, who was too miserable to resent blame from any one. "I promise you I will not take it ill."
"Then I do desire you to consider that the Lord doth not chasten idly, but for our profit, and when His hand is heavy upon us it beseems us to rummage in our bosoms, where may lurk the sin that hath brought His anger upon us."
"'Tis true," said Mr. Rogers; "nevertheless we must not join with the friends of Job to pass judgment upon the saints in their tribulation."
"I pray you peace a little season, Brother Rogers. I would not, truly, join with those that single them out for sinners on whom the tower of Siloam fell, but the judgments that come upon us be either for our learning or our chastisement. Therefore, we do suffer loss if we seek not out the Lord's purpose. I would not judge any man. I would desire every man to judge himself. But, behold now, what hath been the end of these men who have risen up against the king, set over us by the Almighty? Have they come to their graves in peace? Have not some of them been cut off in their strength, and have not the remnant of them come to a fearful end in their old age? For in this matter there can be no two opinions, seeing that the Word of Scripture is plain: 'Honour the king,' yea, though he be a very Nero! Therefore, Richard, I do lament that the stain of blood-guiltiness must needs cleave unto thee, seeing that thou wast consenting unto the death of the Lord's anointed king, even as Saul was consenting unto the death of Stephen; thou didst stand by even as he did, although thy hand was not lifted. And I do affectionately pray thee to take the chastisement that has fallen already upon thee as a warning."
Mr. Rogers' patience could hold out no longer. He burst in—
"In that, at least, did Richard well! and a glorious thing was it to be numbered among them that called the late Man to account for the blood he had shed."
But his interruption was unheeded. Mr. Marshman's steady harangue flowed on, as unmoved as is the bass of a mountain-torrent by the shrieks of the wind that may blow across it. Mr. Marshman appealed to St. Paul, and Mr. Rogers retorted from the Maccabees; the one instanced King David, and the other King Pharaoh, and quotations from the classics and early fathers flew as thick as hailstones in a winter's storm.
Richard sat half-stunned, half-amused, but knowing in his soul that no eloquence of either divine could go so far to shake his confidence in his own cause as the words of Audrey Perrient, "My father did not justify the death of the king."
It was as much to answer the sudden doubt that rose in his own heart, as to answer Mr. Marshman, that when he took advantage of an instant's lull in the debate to rise, he said—
"I thank you for your counsels, sir, and I will endeavour to profit by them, but give me leave to say one word. I do verily hold, that had the late Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell, seen any way to secure a settlement, save by the death of the king, I am assured he would have embraced it. But to my thinking matters had come to that pass that no choice was left him."
"Ay," retorted Mr. Marshman, "when the Gadarene swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea, they had no choice but to drown; nevertheless, it was the devil that set them a running at the first."
"Talk not of the subtle reasons of that hypocrite, Oliver Cromwell," cried Mr. Rogers. "General Harrison held no such doctrines of fearful expediency. Cromwell did doubtless talk of expediency, but only as a cloak for his own ambitions, and thereafter catching at greatness he fell from iniquity into iniquity."
"Ay, as a punishment for that crime was he given space to purchase to himself greater damnation," retorted Mr. Marshman. But Richard escaped, and, at last, in the silence and solitude of his sleeping-chamber, could fling himself on his bed and give way to the misery he was ashamed any human eye should see.
"'Be brave!' she cried, 'you yet may be our guest;
Our haunted room was ever held the best.
If, then, your valour can the fright sustain
Of rustling curtains and of clinking chain.'"
SCOTT, Old Play.
Early next morning Mr. Rogers was on his way to Inglethorpe. For some distance his ride was uneventful; but as he entered Castle Rising, he was roused from his meditations by very doleful cries for help. No one in distress ever appealed in vain to the kindly minister, and he instantly drew rein, and perceived, sitting by the road, a man, whose tawdry finery was so covered with dirt and filth as to be hardly visible. His head was tied up with a rag, and one of his legs was fast chained to a heavy log. Several urchins stood round him, and the rotten apples and egg-shells that lay about, showed the boys had been taking an active part in vindicating the majesty of the law.
"Oh, good sir, kind sir!" wailed the miserable object; "you ride Hunstanton way. Do have pity, and let Justice Tomkins know of my plight!"
"Justice Tomkins?" asked Mr. Rogers, with some interest. "What have you to say to Justice Tomkins?"
"Oh, kind sir, 'twas I that first put him on track of the plot—the Fifth-Monarchy plot, and the conspirators in hiding at Inglethorpe. And these ignorant folk will believe none of it, and hold me clapped up here as though I were a strayed donkey, 'od rot 'em!"
"Why is this man chained up here?" asked Mr. Rogers, of the biggest of the grinning boys.
"He frightened Molly Kett into fits, yesterday, and he robbed parson's hen-roosts the night afoor," answered the boy, taking a final bite out of an apple before aiming the core of it at the prisoner's eye; "and so his worship have clapped him into jail!"
"Into jail! Is this what you call jail?"
"Why, this be Castle Rising Jail, all the world knows? This here log is Roaring Meg, and that be Pretty Betty. Us be main proud of our jail—us be!"
"Where is your magistrate, your justice?" asked the minister.
"The mayor? Why, there he be! Your worship"—raising his voice to a shout—"here be a stranger fares to see you!"
"Does stranger want a thatcher?" answered a voice. "If he wants a thatcher, I'll come down to he; but if he wants the mayor, he must come up to I!"
Mr. Rogers raised his eyes and saw a portly man standing on a ladder, with a handful of golden straw, putting the last touches to a thatched roof. The thatcher Mayor of Castle Rising was a well-known personage in the country, and, removing his hat, Mr. Rogers stepped to the foot of the ladder and bade the dignitary good morning.
"May I be so far troublesome, sir, as to ask if this fellow, who sits tied by the leg, is indeed the man who gave Justice Tomkins news of a plot?"
"I know nothing of Justice Tomkins, sir," answered the mayor, raising his hat in his turn, "neither does Justice Tomkins know aught of me. Castle Rising is my place of office, and thatching is my trade, and I meddle with no other man's business. That drunken knave hath frightened a woman and robbed a hen-roost, for which I have committed him to jail, as by my duty bound, and I know nothing more of him."
"Sir, your discretion does you great honour," answered Mr. Rogers. "But it is not from idle curiosity that I inquire concerning this man, but from interest in a young gentlewoman who, I fear, hath been frightened out of the country by his malicious tales."
The temptation to a gossip was too much for the mayor's dignity. He turned round on the top of his ladder, and settled himself leisurely and began—
"And who may this gentlewoman be, good sir?"
The man's face was sensible and honest. Mr. Rogers rapidly decided that his help would be worth seeking.
"Mistress Perrient, of Inglethorpe, the granddaughter of old Sir Gyles Perrient."
"Sir Gyles was a very worthy gentleman. There is no man nor woman in the country but will say a good word for Sir Gyles Perrient, and I've never heard that his grandarter has done aught to fly the country for."
"We are in great anxiety as to Mistress Perrient's fate. None of her friends know where she is hid. I suppose you can give me no help?"
"Mistress Perrient," said the mayor, meditating, and coming a step or two down his ladder. "I hope the maid's come to no harm. What are they charging her of?"
"Being party to some manner of plot; but I know not precisely how the tale runs."
"'Tisn't likely a young maid would go for to be party to a plot, is it now?" said the mayor, growing more colloquial as he grew interested; "leastways, without there was a young man in it. A discreet maid will go the length of her tether if there be but a young man in the matter."
Mr. Rogers was rather taken aback by the correctness of this guess.
"Sir, you show much knowledge of the world," he answered at last; "but I have no doubt that this story is entirely trumped up by that runnagate yonder, to gain favour in the sight of the justice."
"Ay, 'tis very like;" and then, lowering his voice, the mayor continued, "I knoo naught of Justice Tomkins, as I said, and I have no dealings with him; but if he wants that there fellow to bear witness again' Mistress Perrient, he will have to wait a while, we like him too well to spare him for a bit," and the mayor gave a solemn wink. "I knoo naught of Mistress Perrient, good nor bad, and I never said a word to her, good nor bad, all my days—but a gentlewoman, on a dapple-grey pony, rode across the common about noon yesterday. A great straw hat she had. I took heed on the straw hat, for I was fetching a load of straw across the common for to thatch this roof, and she made down the trackway towards Inglethorpe—the trackway through the woods. 'Tis bad going, but 'tis a short cut, and private."
"I thank you heartily," answered Mr. Rogers. "I shall doubtless now get news of her from her old servant at Inglethorpe. These seasonable words of yours have greatly lightened my heart, and I go on my way with much thankfulness to you, and to the Lord who hath directed my steps hither."
"I am glad to oblige you, sir," answered the mayor, civilly, and so they parted.
By midday Mr. Rogers had reached Inglethorpe, and found the old cowman pottering about his farmyard. John looked with stolid indifference at the stranger.
"Noo; Mistress Perrient bean't here. Constables have took her to Hunstanton, to the justices."
"The constables!" cried the minister, in dismay. "When did they take her?"
"Two days agone, and left Jack Catlin in the house here to keep watch."
"Oh, then, friend," answered Mr. Rogers, "I have later news than yours. I know she rode into King's Lynn yester morning, and left her horse at Goodman Nobbs's, for you to fetch home."
John grinned and looked the questioner over, as if to measure how many lies it was safe to tell him.
"And we know further," continued Mr. Rogers, "that she rode away from Goodman Nobbs' as if she would return here, and methinks that grey pony I see in your shed yonder doth marvellously resemble the one I heard of her riding."
"Ay, ay," grinned John, "the poor beast knows his road home right well; he comes back to his stable like a Christian."
"Then we are afraid some accident may have befallen the gentlewoman," urged the minister; "if the horse came back without her, she may have fallen off, and be lying hurt somewhere."
"Ise warrant her can take care of herself," answered the old man. "I never meddled with missis's business, nor never will. And if her choose to send her horse home, her has the right to please herself;" and he resumed his sweeping with an immovable face, and neither persuasion nor entreaty could win another word from him.
Mr. Rogers stood awhile in perplexity, and then turned to try his fortune at the Hall. But there the constable could tell him nothing that he did not know already, and he began to despair of finding any further trace of the fugitive. He ran over in his mind the places Dick had mentioned. It seemed mere folly to hope to hear of her at Hunstanton. But at the thought of Hunstanton the remembrance of Harrison's description of the good-natured landlady at the Royal Oak suddenly flashed on him. It was just possible that the girl might have fled there, and thrown herself on the protection of the only person who seemed to have had a kind word for her in her extremity. He turned his weary horse, and trotted forward to Hunstanton.
The great door of the inn stood hospitably open, but the usual air of joviality seemed to have forsaken the place. The stable-man stood idly by the horse-trough, gossiping with two scared-looking maids, and a knot of boys stared up at the windows of the great house as if they expected to see some strange sight to appear. The maids fled as the visitor drew rein at the door.
"Is there trouble in the house, friend?" asked Mr. Rogers, as he dismounted.
The hostler shook his head solemnly. "'Tain't for me to say if it be trouble, nor what it be. The less I says the better, if missus be in hearing; but here her comes, and her'll do all the talking, I reckon."
Mistress Joyce's voice indeed went before her as she bustled from the back regions to receive her guest, and if her face was somewhat pale and her cap was awry, her hospitality was as ready, and her tongue as voluble as ever. The newcomer could but partly state his errand when she launched forth—
"Desire news of Mistress Perrient, sir? Ay, dear, dear, dear! Poor, sweet young gentlewoman! Pray, sir, come in, and take a chair in my parlour. I am rare glad to see any one who is a friend to our young lady. John hostler, take the gentleman's nag. All the way from Lynn! You do fare to be wholly weary, and your nag, too. Mistress Perrient! Why, sir, I have known her since she was that high. My husband held one of Sir Gyles' farms when first we came into this country. A sweet young gentlewoman she always has been, and a Perrient from top to toe. They be all as proud as proud. Old Sir Gyles, now, he was like as it were a king in the county. But to think of the constables making bold to lock our young lady up. No wonder the spirit of her couldn't brook it!"
"But what did she do, good dame; how could she not brook it? Where is she now? Do you know aught of her?"
"I would I knew," answered Mrs. Joyce, shaking her head solemnly; "but I have my thoughts, whatever folks may say. All I can say is, I saw her locked up in my best chamber on Wednesday night, and next morning, when Tom Constable opened the door, he fared to be wholly stanned, for there was naught to be seen, no more than if her'd flown out of window. Some folks are so bold as to say she 'as made away with herself, but that I'll never credit. I fare to think if ever miracles are worked 'tis the time for such to come to pass when a sweet young gentlewoman, and one of the real quality, is locked up by them jacks-in-office! Don't you think so, sir? And all for to furbish up Justice Tomkins' new loyalty, and cloak his old treasons. That's why he's so set on finding Mistress Perrient. 'A plot, a plot,' says he, 'and Fifth Monarchy men, and what not, from London, and a conspiracy with Mistress Perrient for to kill the king.' A plot, it is sure enough, and Justice Tomkins' devising, for to make him a grandee! I can't abide that Tomkins. A mercer he was, in Norwich, and a kind of a preacher, and now he has made money, they've made him a justice, save the mark. And if he can furbish up a great enough plot, he is assured it will bring him his knighthood at the least. And so he goeth up and down, that maliceful to our young lady—only thanks be, she have escaped the claws of him. The only thing that troubles me is the noises. Leastways, they doesn't trouble me, not to say real trouble; I hope I can keep my wits about me. 'Tis but those idle huzzies that talk of ghosts and noises."
"The noises! What manner of noises?"
"Oh, like folks moving, and clattering, and steps, and rustling like of a gown, and I've heard a sobbing, I'll be sworn, and naught to be seen. If it betokens our young lady be lying dead somewhere, and desires a Christian burial, I do wish as she'd speak a bit plainer, for 'twould be my pride, and my husband's, to see everything done fitting, and pay for it out of our pockets, we would. But I cannot think a dear young lady, and as kind as kind, if she was a bit proud, would ever go to spoil an honest woman's business by making noises in her best chamber after she's dead, and frighting folks away from the Inn. So, as I said, I don't hold 'tis a ghost, not at all; and I should hope I knoo more o' quality's ways than those sluts in the kitchen!"
"This is truly a matter of great interest," said Mr. Rogers. "I studied such matters a little in my youth, and I should be glad, while my horse rests, if you would let me tarry awhile in that chamber."
"Ay, indeed, sir, and thankful shall we be for a learned gentleman to visit it. And 'tis very like—if it should be, I wouldn't have those hussies hear me say it—but if it should be the dear young lady, her may have more to say to you than to the likes of us. And you'll stop the night for sure, sir?"
"Nay, I thank you, I am in haste to return, so soon as my horse may undertake the road."
"Ay, dear sir, but the heath road is so mighty ungain at night, and 'tis dark so early now."
"Nay, I will but tarry till the moon be up, and then if this clear weather holds, I should be at Lynn by midnight. But I will gladly have some food and drink, good hostess."
"Ay, to be sure, sir. And glad am I 'tis baking-day, and a noble pie hot from the oven, and a brace of woodcock roasted, sir, and, maybe, you could fancy a dish of prawns, and a custard? And will a flask of Rhenish serve your taste?"
"Excellently well, good dame, 'tis a very feast you offer me, and I pray you have it set in this chamber you tell me of, and by God's help, I may perchance bring back quietness to your dwelling."
"Wenn der Lenzerwacht, und wenn Liebesmacht
Dich gefesselt hält mit Leide,
Wandle nicht allein, Nachts im Mondenschein,
Durch die grüne, grüne Haide."
M. NATHUSIUS.
Mrs. Joyce ushered her guest up the wide staircase with due ceremony and volubility. He was aware that faces peered from half-open doors and whispered remarks went round as he came out into the hall with the landlady, and when he began to ascend the stairs in her wake, the household ventured forth and watched his progress with admiration and awe.
The maid, who carried in the sumptuous feast Mrs. Joyce provided, glanced nervously around as she deposited her dishes clattering on the table, and fled as quickly as she could, and Mrs. Joyce herself, who followed to superintend, was evidently ill at ease, and her hands trembled as she re-ordered the maid's hasty arrangements. But, in spite of her alarms, it was with considerable difficulty that Mr. Rogers cut short her scoldings and apologies, and induced her to leave him to himself.
When the good woman had at last been persuaded to depart, Mr. Rogers took a careful survey of the room, and then he softly bolted the door and drew a heavy tapestry curtain across it. Then he walked over to the great fireplace and stood at one side of it, close to the panelled wall.
"Mistress Perrient," he said, in a low but clear voice; "Miss Perrient, I pray you let me speak with you. I am John Rogers, and I promise you, on my faith as a minister of the gospel, I will betray you neither to your enemies not yet to your friends. I have come hither to pray you to let me be instrumental in your escape, and seeing that I also have often times been both fugitive and a prisoner, I pray you to trust me as a friend."
He stood and waited, and all was silent. Then he spoke again—
"Mistress Perrient, I take God to witness I am a true man. I pray you trust me and be not afraid. There is no one here but I; if you will but speak with me, no one shall be told. Your secret is indeed safe."
There was a sound of a bolt shot back, and then a panel swung slowly forward. There, in a doorway, stood Audrey Perrient, a very deplorable sight, with her tear-stained face and disordered dress.
"My poor child!" cried the minister, stepping hastily forward and taking her hand. "You are indeed in a sorry plight! Madam, it goes to my heart to see you thus! I pray you come forth and sit by the fire—the door is safely fastened. Why, you look well-nigh as white as did my wife when she lay sick in Carisbrook Castle. Before I say aught further, you must eat and drink." And he poured out a cup of wine and carried to her.
"How did you know I was here?" demanded Audrey, with a scared face, disregarding his hospitable care.
"It was but a guess; but a guess I am right thankful to have made, and that no one knows of but myself. Why, madam, you would have perished of cold and hunger had you stayed long in that hiding-place."
"Oh no," she answered, with a wan smile. "I have a great cloak, and an old man will bring me provisions as soon as 'tis dark to-night."
Mr. Rogers remembered the description Harrison had given him of Audrey Perrient's fertility of devices; but he was too wise to make any comment, and contented himself with establishing her in the great chair, and pressing all Mrs. Joyce's dainties upon her.
"But, sir," said Audrey, a faint colour creeping back into her white face; "I know not why I should let you so trouble yourself in serving me. You have doubtless travelled far and are weary enough."
"Yes, by your leave I will willingly share your dinner, Mistress Perrient. They say 'tis ill talking between a full man and a fasting, and when we have dined I hope you will let me unfold the proposals I have for your escape."
"I thank you, sir," said Audrey, drawing herself up, "I have made my own plans for my journey. I care not to join company again with strangers."
"Nay, madam, I do entreat you not to count me as a stranger, for not only am I a minister of the gospel, so that it is mine office to seek out any of Christ's flock whom I may serve and tend. And further, it is now many years that I have known your name and even exchanged letters with your learned father. And so much as five years agone, when I was snatched from my congregation and thrown into prison by the late tyrant, who did rage and devour in England, in the same chains did lie my precious friend Major-General Harrison. And as we lay in bondage and comforted our souls with savoury discourse concerning holy things, so did we also speak of worldly concerns as casting our care concerning them on Him who careth for us. And then did General Harrison tell me of his excellent friend, Sir Gyles Perrient of Hunstanton, and also of his granddaughter Mistress Audrey——"
"Oh!" interrupted Audrey, a flash of angry comprehension coming across her face. "Then it was you who told that uncivil old gentleman at Lynn of the talk of my marriage?"
"To my sorrow I did. And for that indiscretion of my tongue I do heartily ask your pardon. But, indeed, I spoke of the matter in the simplicity of my heart with Dick Harrison, nor did either of us know that brother Marshman noted what we said. But I am all the more bound to amend that evil I did ignorantly. And, therefore, have I sought you, madam, to pray you to honour me with your company on my journey to Rotterdam, for I go there, God willing, by the next ship that sails from Lynn, to meet my wife, who waits for me there with our little lads."
Audrey cast an eager look at him. "Oh!" she cried, with a wild burst of weeping, "have I one friend in the world, can I trust any one?"
"Take comfort, my child," answered the minister. "I do verily believe I have been led hither, that I should be an instrument for your deliverance. Therefore I bid you take no further thought concerning your journey, seeing I will bring you to my wife, and you shall abide with her till we hear of honest folks undertaking the New England voyage, with whom you may cross the ocean. 'Tis but a small matter, you see," he added, jestingly. "We poor ministers are so well used to fleeing from one place to another, that we take little thought how to compass our ends, and yet doth the Lord bring us in safety to the haven where we would be."
Audrey gave a sob, and then suddenly springing up, she threw herself on her knees before him.
"I do believe you have been sent direct from heaven to succour me in my extremity of body and soul," she cried.
"Nay, nay," answered the good man, raising her and placing her in her chair. "Take not the matter with such passion. I partly guess it is the precious balm of Brother Marshman that has been like to break your head, for the true wisdom of his counsel is often times lost by reason of the bitter husk in which he doth enfold it. But the fear of man worketh a snare, therefore be of good courage and, by God's help, you shall come safe to your father."
Audrey sat silent awhile, passively enjoying the relief from terror and fatigue. The physical warmth and food that had refreshed her, seemed a sort of outward sign of the comfort that flowed into her soul from the good man's simple words of encouragement. Mr. Rogers saw she was almost at an end of her strength, and drawing his bible from his pocket, he proceeded to read and write notes without seeming to pay any attention to her. So they sat in silence for some time. At last Audrey spoke, hesitatingly, her eyes fixed on the fire—
"I am afraid I have been very fantastic and perverse."
"Nay, nay," said Mr. Rogers, laying down his pen and drawing nearer to the hearth. "There must be no more hard words, whether from ministers or yourself. You do well to defend your liberty, even with your life. If you feared that any man should arrogate a sovereignty over you, for which none hath any warrant, or to hinder your liberty of choice and force you by star-chamber admonitions into the bonds of a marriage you like not, you did well to flee. Hold fast your liberty, keep your ground that Christ hath got and won for you, and maintain your lawful rights."
"I do believe my grandfather gave me more liberty than many women enjoy," said Audrey, thoughtfully. "But I fear his goodness hath encouraged my natural pride and self-will most mightily."
"Then take the greater heed," said Mr. Rogers. "While I desire that men despise not women, neither wrong them of their liberty in voting and speaking in common affairs, yet I do also desire women to be cautious in the use of their liberty. Festina lente. First be swift to hear, slow to speak; your silence may sometimes be the best advocate of your orderly liberty, and the sweetest evidence of your prudence and modesty. And yet you ought not by your silence to trouble your conscience nor lose your privileges. But be not too hasty, nor too high, for"—he concluded with a smile, pointing to the writing that filled every blank corner on the pages of his Bible—"as the notes that come too nigh the margin are in danger of running into the text, so spirits that run too high at first, may soon fall into disorder and irregularity."
Audrey smiled. "I will lay your words to heart, sir," she said. "It would not be in nature, methinks, that I should forget anything that has happened this day, and the remembrance of my miseries, and of your goodness, should be a beacon to point me to the thought of your counsels."
They sank into silence once more. Audrey lay dozing in the great chair, and her companion was soon completely absorbed in his own thoughts. His Bible dropped on his knee, and his thin features worked with excitement, as broken vows of meditation and prayer escaped him now and again. "The Lord's muster-day is at hand—then, by the grace of God, the proudest of them shall know we are engaged on life or death, to stand or fall with the Lord our Captain-General on his red horse." "Though we may suffer hard things yet he hath a gracious end, and will make for His own glory and the good end of His people. God will give testimony unto what He hath been doing."
The early winter evening drew on, the shadows gathered in the corners of the great chamber, but still there was no sound but the crackling of the fire, and the murmured soliloquy of the minister.
At last the silence was broken by the deep note of the church clock. Audrey sprang up.
"That must be six," she said, "and old John awaits me below in the gravel pit. I must go down to him."
Mr. Rogers looked at her blankly for a moment, and then suddenly came down from the visionary regions in which he had spent the last two hours.
"And what order shall we take for your journey?" he asked, in quite a businesslike tone. "If you will honour me with your company so far, I pray you ride with me, to-night, to Lynn. I know an excellent poor woman," he hastened to add, "in whose house you may lodge till I hear when the Good Hope sails."
"Thank you, sir, I will gladly embrace your counsel. When do you purpose to start? Perhaps it were safest I should meet you without the town if you will set me an hour and a rendezvous."
"I think we may begin our march as soon as the moon rises. All that troubles me is to find you a horse without awaking notice, for if I should go afoot to Lynn, I fear it will somewhat delay your flight."
"Oh," cried Audrey, "did you, indeed, think I would consent to steal your horse! No, no, my servant hath for sure ridden my pony hither, and I will bid him tramp home and let me ride into Lynn. We can tarry as we pass Inglethorpe to shift saddles; old Molly will fetch me mine out without rousing the constable. Then, sir, may I await you about a mile out on the road? There is a pond there, screened by bushes. I can keep close there till you come."
When Mr. Rogers was aroused a second time from his meditation, by the message that his horse was in readiness, the whole household was on the watch to see him come forth from the haunted chamber, and as he passed down the stairs, his large eyes still bright with the vision that had occupied his hours of meditation, whispers went round from maid to man: "I'll warrant he has seen somewhat!" "A' looks mighty ungain." "A' might be a ghost hisself, and I'll be sworn I smell sulphur!"
The landlady bustled forward, but Mr. Rogers hardly noticed her.
"Pray, pray, good sir, tell me, have you seen aught?" she urged, in a loud whisper, catching his sleeve as he passed through the hall.
He turned his eyes vaguely upon her. "Have I seen aught?" he repeated. "Surely, surely, I have seen the glory of the Lord for many a year, and the vision is not for me alone, but for all! All flesh shall see Him, and shall walk in the light of His light."
"But, dear sir," she cried in great perturbation, her voice rising from a whisper in her urgency, "have you seen aught of our young lady—of Mistress Audrey Perrient?"
"Oh, ay, I crave your pardon, good hostess. My mind was set on certain words of promise that have been borne in on me while I read the Scriptures. Your young lady? She is in safety; she will speedily be with her friends."
"But the noises, good sir?" urged Mrs. Joyce; and the maids, encouraged by her open curiosity, ventured near to listen.
"The noises? They matter not—they are nothing; you will not be further troubled, you need have no fear! Nevertheless," he said, stopping suddenly, and turning with his hands raised to face the household, "ye do well to fear, seeing that the day cometh when all shall fear, both great and small. Therefore I warn you to seek a sure refuge while it be time, and turn unto the Lord to-day; for those that be his saints dwell in safety, neither fear they any terror by night, and the pestilence that walketh in darkness shall not come nigh them."
So saying, he walked out of the door.
Half an hour later, the bright moon that lit up the open moorlands that bordered the sea showed two figures riding along the bridle-path that led from Hunstanton to Lynn. Audrey led the way, and guided her companion down lonely little bye-paths and sandy lanes that were seldom used, save by the few fishermen or broom-binders, who lived on the borders of the moorlands.
It was one of those rare nights that sometimes come in an English February and carry with them the promise of May. The soft air brought wafts of fragrance from the balmy fir-woods and yellow gorse-blossoms, and the full moon shed a golden haze over the lonely heath. They rode in silence, the horses' hoofs scarcely making a sound on the sandy way. Mr. Rogers was still wrapt in dreams. Eager as he was to assist any one whom he considered was the victim of tyranny or cruelty, as soon as the immediate need of action ceased to press on him, he relapsed naturally into his habitual train of thought and returned to that visionary world that was far more real to him than the material one that lay around him.
The spiritual powers of evil, and the human persecutors of the Fifth Monarchy men, rose marshalled before him in the one great host that followed the dragon, mustering for the final conflict of Armageddon; and to his vivid enthusiasm there could be but a little time to wait before that conflict must end in the crowning victory of the saints, and the establishment on earth of the visible kingdom of Christ—the last and greatest of the monarchies of the world. He rode on, his head raised, his light hair floating back from his ecstatic face, riding, as he ever hoped it might be, to join the host of angelic horsemen, who might appear to him at any moment.
To Audrey, that night-ride seemed the strangest thing she had ever known. The silent, hazy landscape, the flood of golden moonlight, her own wild fears and resentments so suddenly stilled. It seemed to her as though the words she caught from time to time, half-chanted by her companion, were less strange and dreamlike than the events that were passing around her.
Silently Audrey led the way. Mile after mile they rode, now threading a cautious way through the dark aisles of the fir-woods, and then making better time on the delicate turf that bordered the waste of sand-hills to seaward.
"We must venture a little way on the road here,", said Audrey, at length. "I fear the Babingly brook is too much swollen by the rains for safe fording, and we must cross the bridge."
They turned on to the main road and reached the bridge, when a man suddenly sprang out from the bushes by the road, and barred their way. With a stifled cry Audrey turned her horse.
"All's well," cried the stranger, "'tis only I, Dick Harrison. I have waited here for you, thank Heaven, you are safe!" He stood between them, his hand on Mr. Rogers's saddlebow, and spoke rapidly. "The hue and cry is out after Mistress Perrient, and all the ways into Lynn are beset. I could not go out of the south gate without a scuffle; she must not try to enter. But I have a boat here, and if Mistress Perrient can endure a night on the water, 'twill be easy to board the Good Hope to-morrow morning, when she is safe out of Lynn harbour."
Mr. Rogers did not answer. Richard laid his hand on his knee.
"I have a boat here, good sir," he repeated. "We must not venture into Lynn for fear of the constables."
Mr. Rogers did not seem to hear. He still gazed away into the distance with the ecstatic expression that had illuminated his face during the silent ride; then, as he caught the last word, he started.
"Fear," he echoed, "what do we know of fear? is it not for the soldiers of the Most High to fear when the trumpet sounds?"
"No, sir," urged Richard, "but there is no fighting towards now; it is only that Justice Tomkins desires to hinder Mistress Perrient's journey."
The minister was too entirely absorbed in his own dreams to attend to the words of Harrison, except when they fell in with his own train of thought.
"Tomkins," he repeated, "Tomkins, ay, he doubtless hindereth. He that letteth will let, till he be taken out of the way. Nevertheless, his time is short, and the day of repentance is well-nigh at its end. I will back and warn him."
Audrey looked at him in dismay. "Dear sir," she ventured to say, "you had set to take me to Rotterdam by this ship."
"Cast not a stumbling-block in my way!" cried Mr. Rogers, more wildly. "Shall I have the blood of this man Tomkins on my head? Shall he go down into the pit suddenly without warning? The great beast Oliver is cast down, and the remembrance of him is a scoffing; so shall it be also to all them that have followed him. The Lord's muster-day is at hand; his magazines and artillery, yea, his most excellent mortar pieces and batteries are ready. We wait only for the Most High to fall on——" His voice died away in murmurs like those of a man talking in his sleep.
Audrey's heart died within her. What had befallen her half-angelic guardian? Was her confidence once more given amiss? If he had failed her, who indeed could she trust? Astonished and alarmed, she looked from one to the other. Where could she go? She was once more as helpless and unfriended as she had been before Mr. Rogers had found her. Nay, she was even in some ways in a worst plight; her self-reliance and self-confidence were shaken, for her calmer reason told her that Mr. Marshman's comments on her adventurous journey were perfectly just, that her grandfather would have said the same, though in more polished terms, and that no words at all would have been equal to expressing Madam Isham's horror at such an unconventional proceeding.
That silent night-ride had calmed her spirits, and she could judge her life with a curious sense of detachment, as though she had risen for a while to look down on it from some starry height. She read her own heart with a new clear-sightedness, and she knew now that it was not the dictatorial manner or the cruel candour of Mr. Marshman that was the true cause of the wild revolt that had filled her soul. She had discovered why the thought of such a usual thing as an arranged marriage with Richard Harrison had stung her so bitterly, why the bare thought that he might have overheard the brutal plainness of Mr. Marshman's words brought back the wild desire to fly anywhere, so that she might hide herself.
If it had not been for the strange quiet that had descended on her soul from Mr. Rogers's half-inspired words at Hunstanton, she would not have had courage to face this new discovery, for she knew now that this ache in her heart would never leave her and what its true name was. Well, this pain must be endured with the other troubles of life, and endured in silence.
Harrison turned to her, and she met his eyes without flinching. She was relieved to find there was no intimacy, no claim to familiarity, only courtesy and the cool readiness of a leader.
"Mr. Rogers is overwearied," he said, under his breath. "We must rouse him."
"Dear sir, you must come this way," he continued, laying his hand on the minister's rein.
"Stay me not, stay me not," he answered, wheeling his horse so abruptly that Harrison had to step quickly out of the way. "I must back to Hunstanton lest destruction come upon him even as a thief in the night."
Harrison caught his bridle once more. "You would not go alone to him," he said, in a cheerful voice, "Remember, it is written that two witnesses shall establish a matter. You will seek Mr. Marshman, and go together to warn this man."
"You say well, you say well," answered the minister, hurriedly. "There shall be two witnesses, and two prophets before the great day of the Lord. I will go seek Brother Marshman instantly," and setting spurs to his wearied horse he dashed forward along the road to Lynn.
Audrey looked at Harrison in dismay. "Is he mad?" she asked.
"I sometimes fear he must be near it," he answered. "But, in truth, I believe it is but that he is very high-flown concerning the Fifth Monarchy and such matters, neither do these fits last long with him, I have never seen him so near distraught. Yet Mr. Marshman knows how to handle him and will not let him run into any danger, and, I doubt not, will see him safe aboard in the morning." He noticed that Audrey was still silent. "Even if anything should befall the good man, which God forbid," he said, "we had set us a rendezvous at Mrs. Rogers's lodging at Rotterdam, so if you will do me so much grace, I will bring you thither; 'tis but a short voyage to come there."
He looked at her. Her face was white in the moonlight, and looked thin and drawn. When might he dare to ask what had happened during the last two days? When might he ask for her pardon?
"I entreat of you to come to the boat," he said. "Most like you know the old fisherman who owns it, Job Hamont? He waits below for us. I fear though the road is too bad for riding."
Audrey made no answer in words, but slid from her horse and stood waiting in the road.
"Shall I lead the pony down to Job's hut?" asked Harrison.
"Oh, no, Dapple knows how to take care of himself," answered Audrey, at last. She tied up the reins, and then with a sudden movement she laid her cheek beside the pony's. "Farewell, old friend," she murmured, "I shall scarce find one more faithful. Now home, little horse, home!" she cried, recovering herself and clapping her hands, and the docile little beast trotted off in the direction of Inglethorpe.